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You mull over what you should buy. You really wanted the BEER VENDING MACHINE, you really do, but you can't muster a good enough excuse to do so. You'll probably get your final anomaly (given you only have three cells) on <span class="mu-s">Day 5</span> so there's no rush to get any anomaly stuff right now..
You hope they'll give you a way to buy another containment cell next time they ship you a catalog.
>+POWER BUNDLE, +WEIGHT SET, +CONTAINMENT ATMOSPHERE UPGRADE, +WELDING SUPPLIES, +CELL DECORATION BUNDLE
Your best (and only) weapon right now is a shitty, flimsy pocket knife so having some better (if improvised) weaponry sounds pretty good to you. The weight set can blunder people to death and a welding torch, while short ranged, would scorch the hell out of flesh.
Tomorrow's going to be a busy day. Another work shift, you'll probably have to deal with August somehow and god knows what else this facility is going to throw at you. You know what, though? Fuck it! You've survived three days! You can survive another one!
You nurse on the hot cocoa Ashton gave you. You can't help but to wonder why she's being so nice to you. Hidaka DID warn about 'people who are too sane' but the security guard just seems to be genuinely helpful (compared to the rest of the facility that is).
Oh well.
You wait for the Catalog Collector robot to take your marked catalog before you throw yourself onto your bed.
Another day, another dollar. Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, you shit on company time. That's the mantra you lived by when you were free and you're going to need to live by it if you're going to survive here.
Sleep soon overtakes you. Distorted, half-remembered images flash through your mind as your consciousness fades...
<span class="mu-i">Right outside your accounting firm. It's there. Hanging from the entryway.</span>
<span class="mu-i">Lub-dub, lub-dub. Lub-dub, lub-dub.</span>
<span class="mu-i">The chained, pierced heart calls for you. Every heartbeat sprays more and more LOVE onto the floor. Weeping crimson oozes out of the many gashes caved into its surface.</span>
<span class="mu-i">Lub-dub, lub-dub.</span>
<span class="mu-i">The stench of crimson and rot floods your nose. Even when they made your mind forget, this smell always brought the memories back.</span>
<span class="mu-i">Lub-dub, lub-dub.</span>
<span class="mu-i">No one else around you can see it. Their hearts are closed off, unable to acknowledge the heart's call.</span>
<span class="mu-i">Lub-dub.</span>
<span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-s">Vncent? Vincent? Vincent?</span></span>
<span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-s">I love you. I love you.</span></span>
...
<span class="mu-s">DAY 4</span>
You wake up in a cold sweat. Your chest is struggling to contain the thumping, beating heart trying to break right through your ribcage. Your head is assaulted with a cluster headache that threatens to crush your fucking skull with how much it hurts.
>+PHYSICAL HEALTH, --MENTAL HEALTH!
>MENTAL HEALTH now at <span class="mu-g">DOING GREAT?</span>
You need to get moving, to get your mind off the bizarre nightmare that flashed through your mind. You stumble out of your bed without a second thought. You hastily exit the BARRACKS, ready to distract yourself.
