Chapter Text
Your nerves were shot. Your palms were sweaty.
This was basically a death sentence. They had written as much in the fine print of your contract. They had said as much before they threw you into the submarine. They had threatened as much when they strapped on the very ethical, very humane Prisoner Diving Gear™. Why did you even agree to doing it in the first place? What sane person would even consider accepting this obvious suicide mission?
…Oh. Right. You accepted. You agreed to do it because you had a tiny little problem on the surface called your upcoming execution. For a crime you di- well. Whether or not you were wrongly convicted is irrelevant. Either way, you really didn't want to die just yet. And your desperation, idiocy, and lack of critical thinking meant you would do anything to even have a sliver of a chance to live.
Sowing and reaping, you supposed. Wonderful.
As you stared at the wall on the opposite side of the submarine, bathing in its red lights, you wondered how much longer you had to sit there. Waiting. Wallowing.
Yet, as soon as the thought crossed your mind, the speakers came on.
"Please stand at a minimum of fiv…"
You tuned out the voice and instead wiped your palms and stood up, shakily.
Holy fuck. You swallow down the lump in your throat.
Okay, this was really happening. It felt like a dream. You wish it was. Please be a dream. Please ple-
The hatch opened with a loud creak, like a slap to the face. You stood there, akin to a deer in headlights for all of two seconds until you remembered how to walk. Stumbling, you get out of the submarine and take in the gray, depressing surroundings.
Dock #13.
There was a control panel, some lockers, and a sea of boxes. All gray and blue. You ignored the P.A. system and walked over to the door marked 100, apparently the "N.A.V.I. Path Indicator"… and it needed a keycard. Great. You looked back at the giant dock that could probably fit at least half your school. Could the keycard be in here somewhere?
…
It was gonna be a long, long, search.
By some stroke of luck, you found the keycard in less than 3 minutes on a side table behind some boxes. You'd also made it to door 95 without dying. Despite this, you were still scared shitless. They didn't prepare you for any of the dangers they warned you about. (Which was weird, because didn't they want the crystal? Why were they sending in incompetent, inexperienced prisoners if it's so important?)
You rummaged through the desks looking for data and whatnot. Your secondary objective. Nothing there. You walk into the next room, your movements less cautious as time went by, and you suspected that the company was exaggerating its danger.
Oh, look! A suspicious locker that emanated a tempting purple light! It may be an item, you just had to go check it out.
You shriek.
It was not an item.
…
You should be dead. You were dead. You had died and this was some weird afterlife where you're in a chair(?) in a void. You failed, miserably. So much for living past your teens.
But a trio of glowing cyan eyes blinked open and a small lightbulb turned on suddenly, flickering overhead, taking you aback. The light didn't reach its face, but illuminated the wooden desk between you two.
Was this… thing going to judge your sins?
"Oh. Hello. You died," the owner of the eyes spoke.
It turns out it did not judge your sins. It gave you a file with its gray, clawed hand, showing information on things that kill you. And it turns out that the "afterlife" was not as permanent as you’d think. You woke back up in the submarine, extremely confused. Was that just a dream?
You were alive.
You were?
…You needed to sit down for a bit.
Okay. Now that your existential crisis is over, you've made more progress than before. 13 doors through, 87 left to go. Hopefully.
Suddenly you get beaten down by an armless, plaster-like thing.
Your scream goes unheard.
It's clear that the file thing(? guy?) is, albeit terribly, holding in its laughter. Rude.
You decide you dislike it.
You decide you dislike Painter even more.
You saw their name in the 'Good People' file when they first managed to trick you. That mocking tone whenever their poorly drawn face appears reminded you of the file creature. But ten times worse.
"You are so goddamn gullible."
"How are you this stupid?"
"Ever get the feeling something bad is about to happen?"
You get the feeling you want to punch them in their flat fucking face.
How many times had you restarted by then? You missed home. You missed everyone. You wondered if they miss you too. You were so tired, exhausted from the constant death and rebirth.
You were so lonely.
After what felt like a million attempts, you finally, finally started getting the hang of everything. Treating it all like a video game helped. A bit of delusion goes a long way.
On door 67, the layout drastically changed. You think maybe it's a new set of rooms you haven't seen yet, somehow. Technically, you're right, and Navi and a random intercom man helpfully informed you that it is actually the Jetsuit Evaluation Course. You thought it sounded kind of cool. Being able to move like a video game character and have fun doing parkour was a much-needed breath of fresh air. Finally, something other than anglers and the shit Painter pulls.
Fuck Painter and their stupid Firewall! And their turrets and fake doors and everything!
"Womp, womp," File guy snickered.
You would lunge at him if you could actually move.
Most of the time your gut feelings have served you well.
As soon as you set foot outside of the submarine, you had a weird feeling about this run. Not bad, per sé, but you just had a feeling that something would be different. That today was the day and things would turn out better.
…
It's probably delusion.