The Sixth | Ekko

Chapter Thirty - Flashback #5, Part 1

-    Stillwater Prison, Three and a Half Years Ago

Their prison cell was always cold.

There was a permanent dampness in the air, probably a result of the prison being built under the ocean. It made everything feel sticky. Heavier. A new layer of skin on their bodies in the form of humidity induced perspiration.

Ocean water was supposed to smell fresh. Salty. Six often wished the smell would penetrate through the concreate walls of the prison. That way the smell of old metal and mold would be less prominent.

It was a dark hole, only received broken light through the cell's bars. It was as minimalistic as it could get. Two beds, opposite walls, and a toilet-sink combo.

Stillwater wasn't an ideal place to be under normal circumstances. God forbid you end up hurt or ill.

Six never did have the best of luck.

For the last week, Six had been suffering through bursts of nausea, which later evolved into uncontrolled vomiting.

"She needs help!" Derora would call through the cell bars in hopes one of the guards would actually care enough to come see what the commotion was about.

No one ever came.

Derora held Six's hair back as she heaved up her stomach contents into the toilet. There was so much hair that it was a struggle to tame it enough to prevent loose strands from falling into her face.

During another attack of retching, Derora spotted something on the side of Six's neck, just under her left ear. She'd seen the '6' mark before during their cell block's shower times. Any other time, she swathed her neck in bandages to keep it hidden. But with all the vomiting she'd been doing, they seemed to have come loose.

Typically, the mark swirled with purples and blues, like a magic-filled chasm but planted in the flesh of a person. But now, its glow was of teals and reds, which were interrupted by a series of whites and faint pastels. That wasn't the most striking part of it though. An indistinguishable pattern sprouted from the mark, climbing down her neck to her shoulder and sneaking up past her hairline. It was gold and silver at the same time, its shape a hybrid of stringy vines and cobwebs.

"Six... Your neck..." Derora murmured, free hand raising and ghosting above the infected site.

Six couldn't respond, mouth too occupied with throwing up.

Derora's fingers brushed against the pattern with a feathery touch, the tips barely skimming the markings before it aggressively started to climb up her arm.

"What the fuck!" She dropped Six's hair and stumbled backwards, feeling her own bout of nausea rise as she watched her arm vigorously glitch before becoming whole again. She turned her arm over, thoroughly searching her hand for any remnants of the mark. There weren't any.

Six's condition got worse after that, her vomiting peaking in the afternoon.

Derora didn't know what to do. She felt uselessly idle, scared to touch the other woman yet having a strong desire to comfort her somehow.

Six's most recent episode of vomiting slowly came to an end. She wiped at her mouth, rubbing away the remnants of saliva and upchuck. She stared inertly at the floor, her entirety plagued with fatigue.

She wasn't sure what was wrong with her, but she hoped whatever it was would hurry up and kill her already.

She missed dinner in the mess hall, too sick to haul herself up from the floor, let alone trudge through the hallways and force food down her throat.