RESIDENT EVIL 2: THE EVIL OF THE REVEAL, SEASON 2

chapter 3: "Hush! don't touch it and be silent....."

Chapter 3: "Hush! Don't touch it and be silent..."

Rose stood alongside our present family, encompassing my parents on a fiat pillar. Behind them loomed an enigmatic machine emitting a continuous whirl. As if in a sinister dance, a figure extended their hand towards us, seemingly reaching for our very souls. But in an instant, chaos erupted, and all those standing on the pillar were forcefully thrown onto the machine's rotating gears. The machine, immense and filled with interconnected gears adorned with sharp blades, resembled the inner mechanics of a clock. Each blade meeting the gap of the next, in a mesmerizing sequence. As the weighty bodies fell upon the gears, the blades tore through their flesh like a ravenous beast. Blood flowed freely, merging with the mechanical whirlwind.

My eyes snapped open, my body drenched in sweat, the lingering image of that flood of gore clinging to my mind. My heart raced, as if joining in a frantic race against the relentless rotation of the gears. As the insane torment of the asylum continued to grip my existence, I longed for a glimpse of my parents, even a single phone call to connect with them. Yet, I found myself stripped of all dignity, reduced to an embodiment of suffering that would elicit pity even from stray dogs or beggars. But within the darkness, a flicker of clarity emerged. I realized that survival hinged upon projecting an image of sanity, of gradual recovery from the depths of my despair. It became a ruthless game of deception, where my actions needed to reflect a semblance of normalcy. I ate my meals with precision and gusto, masking the inner turmoil that swirled within me. When they demanded a display of human creativity, I eagerly complied, weaving together the threads of imagination to reveal a facade of normal activity. The medication they administered became part of my charade, expertly ingested and discreetly discarded when no eyes were upon me.

Month after agonizing month dragged on, until the ninth month provided the breakthrough I had been patiently waiting for. With a newfound determination, I requested books to study. The mere utterance struck a blow to their assumptions, challenging their misconceptions about my condition. The staff reluctantly acknowledged my plea, and a flicker of hope ignited within me. Perhaps, through intellectual pursuits, I could find an escape from this hellish existence. They called my parents. My facade of madness concealed a world of emotions, a cocktail of sorrow and happiness that churned within me. The fear of undesirable consequences lingered, forcing me to hide my true feelings from the watchful gaze of the asylum manager. A friend within those walls revealed the truth, whispering that my parents eagerly awaited my return, brimming with joy and on their way.

Their happiness fuelled my determination to keep up the act, to prevent the manager from changing their mind.

But time, relentless in its cycle, continued to tick away, bringing forth the unexpected and shattering my fragile existence. The gears of fate ground to a halt, leaving me stranded at the threshold of both homecoming and tragedy. It was the day when my countdown began, and the floor beneath my feet seemed to betray me, with wavering support.

Clutching a newspaper, its pages dampened by unshed tears, I stumbled upon a headline that pierced my heart. "Road Accident Near Charles Road... Violence and Destruction." The article detailed a horrific incident involving a couple in a car, deliberately targeted three times by a truck.

The first blow overturned their vehicle, leaving them trapped inside. As they struggled to escape, the truck returned, mercilessly colliding with their upturned car. An unforeseen calamity unfolded, as the truck rammed into a nearby building, unleashing chaos and claiming the lives of both the couple and five innocent bystanders. Minutes later, the management of the asylum arrived at my room, their footsteps heavy with a sorrow I could almost taste. They presented me with a partially torn present box, its contents miraculously spared from the wreckage. With solemn voices, they explained that it had been salvaged from the damaged car, a final message from my father. As I carefully opened the box, my eyes welled up with a mix of disbelief and grief. Within it lay a brand new computer, with the retrieved memory of the broken one. I cradled it against my chest, feeling a pang of envy rip through me, tearing at the very fabric of my being. Alongside the computer, a letter rested, its words etched with a heavy burden of remorse. "Sorry, my child, for the oaths and afflictions: that led you to this asylum but its for your benefit," In the letter, it continued, "I took the opportunity to repair this computer, and now I am pleased to present it to you... Both your father and mother are coming to collect you...and from now on, we will be with you forever, showering you with unconditional love...!"