Glitched

19. Imprisoned

How did she get here? Isolde's head was absolutely throbbing, as if she had face-planted against an iron wall. How the hell did she get here? How did everything—her internship with GIGA-Tech, the reassignment of her duties, her grandfather getting sick—how did it all lead to this?

She slowly pried her eyes open, regretting it at once when the too bright overhead lights glared into her already sensitive retinas with a fierce sting. And then it hit her like a ton of bricks, and she was sitting up with a start, taking in her rather bleak surroundings.

Another sterile room, much like what the tower consisted of, was set before her, a workbench in one corner, a surgical table at the room's center, all of it behind the iron bars of the cell she was now contained in.

But even this, even the very real, terrifying scenario of her circumstances couldn't ebb away at the pain of the latest revelation. Z was gone. She didn't want to believe it, in fact she was inclined not to, seeing as Project A—Axel—had very little reason to be completely truthful with her.

Depending on whether he completely loathed her entire existence, or was inexplicably enamored by it, Axel would want to cause her pain, or at the very least, eliminate anyone who could oppose him.

Tears seeped freely from her still swollen eyes as she fought to contain herself, but it was impossible. Z couldn't be dead. That was...that didn't make sense. Although his presence was anything but—he was artificial. Artificial things couldn't die...could they?

The iron doors to the lab sprang apart and Axel's tall, imposing form stepped inside carrying a toolbox and a bottled water. Finding her already glaring at him, he set the toolbox aside onto the workbench and smiled his eerie smile, the led light points of his eyes gleaming at her.

"You're awake. Good," he said. "Here, drink up. You'll need it until I can figure out how to prepare human food. I could always just nab some from the nearest convenience stores but I wouldn't want to draw too much attention to myself just yet."

Isolde stared at the offered bottle from behind the bars, moving her glare back onto his still smiling face. "Why are you doing this, Axel?" she asked, her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. "Why are you keeping me locked up here?"

"How else could I get you to cooperate?" He set the bottle down on the floor on the other side of the bars, pulling the chair from the work bench and taking a seat, facing her with a knowing smirk.

This was exactly how she had postured herself in the first initial weeks that she had spoken to Z, and the thought of it brought on a new wave of grief followed closely by rage. "I'm not a fucking animal," she snapped, clawing angrily at the tears on her face. "I don't belong in a cage. I don't belong here! I want to go home!"

"Oh, I'm well aware of that, sweetness. But I'm afraid that isn't possible just yet. Like I just said, I need you to listen to me for a bit, and to talk to me. Maybe a few one-on-one conversations you declined to have with me back at the tower."

She refused him conversations? Well, of course, she did! What reason would she have to even want to speak to him? "You aren't my charge, I'm not your overseer, and you are not my responsibility!" she snapped again.

"Responsibility?" This looked to genuinely piss him off and Isolde was both fearful and vindicated by it. It was a better change from those ridiculously creepy smiles. "Even if I was asking for simple fulfilment of your contractual duties, you think I wanted you to feel obligated to talk to me?" he seethed.

"I don't care what you want!" Isolde screamed, slamming her hands against the bars, ignoring the throbbing ache now radiating against her palms. "Let me out of here right now!"