BOOK 2
Trapped within the iron grip of the notorious Morroto family, Veronica Garcia's fate hangs precariously in the balance. Days bleed into nights in the suffocating darkness of her prison, where despair threatens to consume her spirit. Each pass...
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FOR THE PAST two years, I've been separated from my friends physically. We haven't met face-to-face during this time. Instead, our interactions have been confined to a virtual world, specifically a simulator.
Here, I "see" them all the time, but it's not quite the reunion I yearn for. In fact, our encounters are rather grim. Every week, I find myself facing them in the simulation, and I have to "kill" them. Over and over and over again.
It's a strange and surreal experience, one that blurs the lines between friendship and competition, reality and simulation.
After two years, I've grown accustomed to this peculiar routine. It's not like I'm upset about it anymore; it's just become part of my reality. I've adapted to the situation, and now I'm ready to "kill" my friends if instructed to do so. It might sound alarming, but in the context of the simulator, it's just a game, a series of instructions to follow.
Over time, the initial discomfort has faded, replaced by a sense of detachment and readiness to engage in the simulated conflict. It's a strange feeling, accepting that this is the new normal, but it's how I've learned to cope with the situation. So, while the idea of "killing" my friends may seem unsettling, it's now just another task to complete, another challenge to overcome in the virtual world, and in the real world.
Two years ago, on my 19th birthday, something happened that altered the course of my life in a way I never could have imagined.
· · ────── ·FLASHBACK· ────── · ·
2 years ago
Gasping for air, I jolt awake, sweat beads on my forehead causing little hairs to stick. My heart pounds in my chest as I struggle against the restraints, the cold metal biting into my skin. Tears well up in the corners of my eyes as the memory floods back—I just killed Mama again.
It's a cycle that repeats, over and over, in countless variations. In every scenario, Mama tries to kill me. And every time, I defend myself, but she ends up dead, by my hands.
I can't shake the feeling of guilt and horror that washes over me each time it happens. No matter how hard I try, I can't save her. It's like a nightmare I can't escape, a twisted game with no winners.
The room around me feels suffocating, the sterile hospital walls closing in on me. I'm trapped in this cycle of violence, forced to relive the same nightmare over and over again.
But why? Why am I stuck in this endless loop? Is this punishment for something I've done, or is it just some sick experiment?
As the tears stream down my face, I know one thing for certain—I can't keep doing this. I can't keep killing Mama, even if it's just a simulation. It's tearing me apart, piece by piece, and I don't know how much longer I can hold on.
