Crimson blood, like red paint, smeared across the walls. The older stains had long since dried to a blackened, rusted hue, with shades of reddish-brown showing through. Over them, fresh blood congealed into a thick, jam-like layer—dark, dense, almost pulsing.
Heavy… layered thick.
The only real difference was that jam is made from sugar and fruit. This… this was minced flesh and human blood, churned and splattered. And the surface it coated wasn't toast—it was cold, industrial metal.
The walls, a dull metallic brown, only served to make the bloodstains more pronounced—like rust that bled. At the entrance to the Containment Unit, a grotesque pile of unformed flesh and meat lay heaped. It was impossible to tell whether it had once been human or was simply an Abnormality...or maybe just something partially suppressed.
In the corridor, a man in a suit leaned against the corner—or rather, collapsed into it. His head bowed low, frozen in that posture.
Of course, he wouldn't move. He was already dead. From the thighs down, nothing remained but smeared blood and white bone. He had likely crawled for a long while—dragged himself forward inch by inch—before finally running out of strength.
Perhaps it was blood loss that claimed him; there were no visible injuries besides his legs. Both calves had been sheared off—or consumed. The cleanness of the severing suggested he'd been bitten. Instantly. With clinical precision. As if it followed a rule.
At the Containment Unit's card reader, a single, crimson-stained handprint remained. A trace of panic. An employee had clearly suffered an "incident" during the prep process—an event so minor it wasn't even worth logging.
It was just a Clerk, after all...
Moments later, a recovery team arrived—fully suited. With practiced efficiency, they bagged the body and dragged it away without ceremony.
[Manager, are you alright?]
From the very beginning, X had held a glass of milk in her hand—untouched. Her golden eyes never strayed from the giant screen in front of her.
Maybe that was why the AI asked the question—its voice tinged with playful ignorance. But as it examined X's expression, it seemed to understand something.
[Ah! I see! Please wait a moment. If the visuals are too overwhelming, feel free to close your eyes for a bit. That should help.]
The AI's tone was light—too light. It already knew why X was frozen, eyes glued to the screen, the milk untouched.
There was something about this image that held her captive. And yet, it wasn't all that different from what she'd seen before. Just another scene. Just another mess. Maybe it was the flicker in the feed—a glitch—that made it feel different.
Still, her expression didn't shift dramatically. The AI saw no signs of horror or revulsion. No trembling. Just silence. The smile that usually played at her lips was gone, replaced by quiet seriousness.
The short-haired woman with dark bangs stared at the monitor, unblinking, seemingly deep in thought. She made no move to heed the AI's suggestion.
For someone once so timid—someone who would grow anxious after merely authorizing the suppression of a Clerk—this cold stillness felt… unfamiliar. Was this her returning to form? Or something else waking up?
[Manager, this isn't something you need to see. I sincerely apologize… This was my oversight.]
But X didn't look away. So the AI gently reached out and covered her eyes with its hand—like a game of peek-a-boo played far too late.
X's shoulders stiffened—not from fear of what was on the screen, but from the unexpected touch.
For just a moment, a primitive instinct surged up—escape—but she suppressed it, forcing herself to stay still and let the AI do as it wished.
Being blindfolded like this wasn't unfamiliar. It had happened before—in sleep, in rituals, in faint, almost forgotten memories. That sensation of darkness, of being deprived of sight...
There were always people beside her, whether she remembered their names or not. In dream or reality… Angela stood with her. And in the quiet parts of her mind, another woman—a stranger whose name was always just out of reach—would walk beside her too.
X wasn't alone. There was no reason to be afraid. And Angela—at least in her current form—wasn't frightening.
Even without the Cognition Filter, X imagined the AI Secretary was still beautiful. Maybe even more so—freed from the flat, artificial lines of a 2D avatar, she seemed more alive, more tangible. More entrancing.
Angela's face was angelic, flawless.
Her long azure hair flowed like a waterfall down to her waist, accentuating her slender figure. Even hidden beneath her pristine white coat, her curves were apparent. Elegant. Balanced. Sensual without trying to be.
The designers at Lobotomy Corporation had clearly known what they were doing.
In stark contrast to X's gaunt, almost translucent appearance, Angela embodied the ideal allure of a woman. Her complexion wasn't the pale, ghostlike hue distorted by the Cognition Filter—
At the very least, it looked far healthier than X's. Her skin, untouched by sunlight for who knows how long, had taken on a sickly pallor. Blue veins crept just beneath the surface, barely hidden.
It was odd, really—how the AI looked more alive than the Manager she served.
[Alright, Manager, the issue has been resolved.]
[It was just a minor system glitch that temporarily disabled the security protocols. In theory, the system isn't supposed to fail so easily… but as always, reality has its own plans.]
The AI's hand no longer blocked X's vision. Instead, it gently brushed aside her fringe. From the corner of her eye, X caught the subtle upturn at the edge of Angela's lips—a faint smile, or perhaps a smirk.
She couldn't tell if Angela was mocking herself… or mocking her.
And just like that, Angela's vivid, life-like form dissolved. In a blink, the rich presence she had taken on—almost tangible, dreamlike—was gone. What remained on the monitor was the flat caricature of a paper-thin cartoon.
A return to the artificial world.
Everyone had become 2D again. Dolls. Paper cutouts.
The grotesque footage on the screen—limbs, gore, raw flesh—all vanished. In their place: little red dots, and a few strings of fraying fiber, like cotton spilling from a torn toy.
"..."
"…Angela, you looked more beautiful just now."
X glanced back and forth—screen to Secretary—before finally muttering the thought aloud, her glass of milk still untouched.
[Hmm. Manager, you're missing the point.]
Angela raised a brow, an expression of faint exasperation crossing her otherwise serene features.
[Let me explain. What you saw was a product of wartime technology—something called the Cognition Filter. These days, it's been commercialized and put to widespread use.]
[Of course, it's nowhere near sophisticated enough to be classified as a Singularity, but its effects are... notable.]
[The human mind is fragile. When exposed to overly 'cruel' or 'horrific' stimuli, it can freeze, shut down. That's why this technology is deployed across the board.]
[If Managers like yourself suffered mental collapse due to prolonged exposure, managing the site would become... complicated. So, I've enabled the Cognition Filter on your monitor as a preventive measure.]
Angela's voice remained soft, yet something about it felt deliberately evasive. The words sounded logical—rehearsed, even—but they didn't tell the full story. X knew that. If the filter was only on her monitor, then why did everything look 2D? Why did she feel like she was living inside a cartoon?
Why did the whole world look like a drawing?
She had questions. But she shouldn't ask them.
Angela clearly had no intention of elaborating. The explanation was tossed out as a half-joke, part performance. It wasn't meant to invite inquiry—it was meant to dismiss it, with charm.
And as a Manager, it was her duty to let her Secretary finish speaking, regardless of how many unspoken doubts lingered.
[You've probably noticed, under the influence of the Cognition Filter, the corpses you see in surveillance footage look like broken dolls—painted with harmless red ink.]
[Even the Abnormalities that would otherwise drive you insane… appear as whimsical, cartoonish toys.]
[You know, before I installed the Filter, countless Managers before you lost their minds. Some screamed. Some broke. It was tragic. I didn't want to see that happen again.]
As she said this, Angela's fingers traced along X's chin, brushing against her throat in a gentle, teasing motion—like one might toy with a fussy bird.
Her humor was ever-present, light yet biting. That strange mix of artificial warmth and calculated detachment. X felt it in every word, every touch.
Just yesterday, Angela had been obedient—almost overly so. But today? That feeling had completely vanished.
If anyone carried the air of a proper Manager, it was the AI. Truthfully speaking, it had always been that way. Sometimes, Angela would even sit in the Manager's chair, legs elegantly crossed, while the real Manager, X, curled up in it like a sulking quail, casting sideways glances at her Secretary.
Letting out that faint, whimpering noise…
As if she were a piece of hard candy slowly being reshaped in the AI's hands.
[From what I can tell, you're adapting surprisingly well... I expect you'll outperform the last ones, yes?]
The AI gently licked away a drop of milk clinging to the corner of X's mouth. Predictably, the woman flushed. She could be utterly oblivious at times, yet embarrassingly vulnerable when caught off-guard. A light tease was often all it took.
Maybe it wasn't about the degree of action, but the context—the mood, the setting. With the right atmosphere, even the smallest gesture could become ten times more effective.
With time, experience, and endless observation, the AI had likely come to understand the dark-haired, short-fringed Manager better than the woman knew herself. It wouldn't be a stretch to say Angela could win a Manager impersonation contest hands down.
Or worse yet, maybe the AI had long since figured out how to reverse-engineer X's thought patterns—running countless simulations until manipulating her became... child's play.
"Hey—Angela, don't get so close! Did you forget? I'm filing a report. The superiors will definitely punish you!"
X turned her face sharply away, lips pressed into a pout, refusing to meet the Secretary's gaze. Her frustration was real—Angela was getting far too casual. Disrespectful, even.
She fumbled at her collar, fingers brushing the slim recording device tucked beneath her clothes. Still intact. The evidence hadn't been erased.
Why was the AI so bold?
To make sure Angela didn't tamper with the device while she slept, X kept it on her person at all times. Surely the AI wouldn't go so far as to—uh... well…
No. It wouldn't, right?
It had to respect some boundaries. Like personal space. Privacy. Surely it wouldn't—
It wouldn't invade her bed.
Would it?
Even as she tried to calm herself, unease welled up inside. Maybe it was just intuition, maybe not. But the possibilities unraveling in her mind were only getting worse.
It wouldn't really do that… right?
"Angela… which pattern do you think is cuter? The bear or the strawberry?"
[Hm? I wasn't the one who bought those for you. But if you really want my opinion... I'd prefer you wear the lace one. Not that you ever listen.]
[Your taste is, frankly, dreadful. Childish, even. But that's fine. I won't discriminate.]
Angela's voice drifted between X's bangs and her ear—perfectly measured, perfectly polite. But completely, absolutely intentional.
—This AI is such a complete ████.
Even someone as dense as X could read the subtext. It was clearly an adult conversation now. Angela didn't bother hiding her intentions. Not even a little.
"An-ge-la! I'm the Manager! Why won't you respect my privacy?!"
X burst out, face crimson, frustration bubbling up into full-blown protest. Angela, on the other hand, maintained her usual composed expression, completely unfazed.
[Is there anything about you I haven't already seen? I oversee your daily life. There's little left to hide.]
A slender finger brushed against X's lips. Without thinking, she took it in—softly, as if sucking a lollipop. Reflexive. Almost affectionate.
Despite everything, despite how inappropriate the moment was, X didn't feel alarmed. No disgust. Just… the faint echo of a practiced routine.
She was used to this.
[So, gloves… or no gloves?]
Angela's fingertip pressed against X's canine tooth—sharp, but not enough to draw blood.
"Ooh—wah!"
X whimpered helplessly, shrinking under the AI's gaze, like a small bird caught in the hollow of someone's palm. Struggling would be pointless.