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“The initial anxiety will only last for a few minutes. Soon, your body will relax into the water, and you won’t feel much of anything anymore.” That’s what Cucurucho had told her before she was locked inside the chamber.
At least, that’s what she remembered being told. It had probably been hours since she heard it. Some different phrasing could have been used, or it could have even been a different employee. She’d lost all sense of time, and with that sense of time, she eventually lost her cares and worries.
At first, she floated on the water. She’d occasionally look around: count the perfect number of pristine, white tiles—squint and count the blinding, turquoise sea lanterns— feel the thickness of the water in between her fingers as they pass through the endless grains of salt—bask in the perfection of the rigid, square room.
Now, however, she was no longer simply floating. She felt as though she was a part of the water, as though the salt had seeped into her body through her pores and weighed her down to a point that, even if she wanted to, she could not escape the comfort of the water.
Her arms were spread out around her, floating and swaying to their own desire. They became so numb, she could almost swear that her limbs would disconnect from her torso and float away to the edges of the chamber. When this thought first appeared, she’d flex her fingers instinctively and look over so her eyes could trail down her arm, watching her wrist twirl and the digits move.
Eventually, she couldn’t bring herself to care enough about the routine.
When the feeling would return, she’d simply allow her mind to indulge in its strange, armless fantasy. The feelings would even spread to her legs, where she’d attempt to curl her toes. The scare of her body not responding left her brain giddy, and a masochistic smile would pull at her face, the only sensitive part of her body left.
She seemed to have no concept of what was meant to be strange or scary anymore. All her fears, worries, anxieties, and thoughts had completely evaporated after what she could only assume had been an hour in the chamber. Now all her brain was concerned with was the present and wanting to enjoy the feeling of being just like the water—still and calm with nothing to make her feel like she was in danger. Nothing to leave her overthinking. Nothing in her head.
Something that normal Jaiden would properly question was the occasional pressure on her body. She was in a white one-piece given to her by the Federation, but that was a constant feeling to the point where she also forgot it was there. The other pressure was fluctuating, ranging from a light, ghostly graze on her skin to a longer-lasting and heavier grip on her arm or wrist, but even those were almost non-existent. She had to question if she actually felt it.
The weirdest feeling was the pressure on her left palm. It was different. Most of the feelings were like transparent hands—unable to touch her, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t feel their non-solid form pass through her skin. This particular feeling, however, was slightly more constant. Although it shifted occasionally, she never felt it go away.
Not to mention that there wasn’t a single object in the room except for her own floating body.
Regardless, she paid no mind to it. It simply didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in this mental abyss that soon became her mind. Why would it? All she had to do was lay there and do nothing, and if anyone were presented with the opportunity to do nothing, they would jump right at it.
There were little things to pass the time once she stopped making things up like counting the tiles and seeing how long she could keep her eyes open and stare at the lights before they instinctively shut. She’d listen to her mind, allow it to run, and think of whatever it might. Most of the time it was nothing, (Empty head, remember?) but there was the rare thought. She couldn’t recall any, now, of course. They were long gone. When they stuck around, though, it was a nice five minutes of entertainment before blissfully returning to her torpor.
Sometimes, thoughts that weren't her own would enter her head. They were voices and phrases that were intelligible unless she really took the time to focus on each word, which was too much work in her honest opinion. It didn’t help that they were almost muted by the water that clogged her ears.
“…hold her down…steady…mask…her face…”
“…have to protect…kill…knew we couldn’t…”
“…stop her…sheilds…protect…don’t kill…”
She didn’t know where they were coming from, but she would feel better simply blocking them out, which wasn’t difficult. All she had to do was focus on the water, which she had done the entire time, occasionally dragging her fingers (which were still attached to her arm) across the surface of the still water, causing little ripples to form and splash the side of the chamber.
Jaiden was the happiest she had ever been on Quesadilla Island ever since…she couldn’t seem to remember the last time she was happy. All she knew was that such a time existed, but there was no evidence, no thoughts that came when she tried to think of it. All she knew was that something ruined her happiness, and the Federation was there to grant her a new happiness.
(“…trust you…Jaiden…”)
She had a perfect world in this chamber. No thoughts, no fears. All feelings and emotions had been consumed by happiness and unconditional bliss.
(“…gonna remove it…okay…?”)
She was happy. She was content.
.
.
.
But, suddenly, her perfect world was ripped away.
Her head was pulled forward into the water, and she was overwhelmed with the feelings that surged through her body.
Her throat was clogged with saltwater that scratches the sides of her esophagus. All she could taste was salt and…something metallic? Blood? Her eyes stung. She hadn’t realized they were open until she was thrown face-first into a body of salt water. She was gasping for air despite herself, the breaths starting off deep but quick and shaking before becoming more panicked as she looked around.
Where was Cucurucho? Why wasn’t she surrounded by white walls?
The chamber was gone. The water was gone. She was in the middle of the forest, completely dry and surrounded by people. They all had swords, and they held up shields defensively. Her eyes went between each and every face: scared, worried, angry, worried again…the pattern only continued, but unlike the tiles, it was not comforting.
Suddenly, a hand on her shoulder brought awareness to the man in front of her. He had brown hair with bleached ends (the lighter color matched her own, which had been chopped off to shoulder-length), vivid blue eyes, and cat ears. A grimace overtook his features, but he tried to smile through the pain as a way of comforting her.
She should know his name. Why couldn’t she remember his name?
She wracked his body for a source of his discomfort, locking onto where his other hand clasped over his arm with red liquid seeping through his shirt and onto his hand. It was too small and the wrong part of the body to be a stab wound, meaning he was shot. Jaiden suddenly remembered the pressure in her left hand.
His other hand was on her shoulder, pressing into the sleeve of a shirt she didn’t realize she was wearing. It hugged her arms too tightly, especially her elbows, and the white vest that came with it hugged her waist uncomfortably. The white pants pushed at her hips, and she hated it.
She wanted the comfort of the one-piece bathing suit back.
Her body was lighter than she remembered it being, and she missed the strange feeling of floating in the chamber. She had managed to escape gravity back there, and it was nice to finally be in control. Why did they make her leave? Why did they have to ruin it?
She pulled at the shirt and the vest. She pulled away from the man in front of her so she could scoot back just to hit a convenient tree. She twists her shoulders awkwardly, pulling at the vest before noticing the buttons.
“Jaiden…” the voice trailed off. How does he know her name? Why would he know anything about her if she doesn’t remember him? She ignores him and unhooks the buttons. She’s on the third out of four before he says her name again. “Jaiden. Please, look at me.”
She obeys, looking up with her eyes blown wide at her own actions.
“Do you…remember me?” The man with the cat ears asks, putting a hand on his chest. “Do you remember…anything at all?”
Where is Cucurucho? Where is the familiarity of the white hallways and the screens of random sections of the island? That’s what she remembers, so where is it?
She wants to say something, but when she opens her mouth no words come out. She can tell if it’s her nerves, or if the salt ruined her throat. She shakes her head instead.
“That’s okay. That’s perfectly fine.” He smiles sympathetically. “I’m Cellbit. I was your friend. Do you want help taking off the vest?”
“Cellbit,” she repeats quietly, the name feeling familiar on her tongue. She unhooks the last button before shrugging off the vest. It gives her a small dose of comfort to have the pressure gone from her waist, but it’s not much.
“Here.”
Cellbit carefully removes his bloodied hand from his arm and uses both hands to slowly reach forward, grimacing as his arm stretches out towards Jaiden. The people around them tense up, scared of what’s going to happen. With their eyes locked on her, Jaiden can tell they were more scared of her than him.
Why? What did she do?
His fingers work at unbuttoning the top button of her collared shirt, although he struggles due to the slipperiness of the blood coating his fingers. He does the second one as well, and Jaiden is somehow able to breathe more than she had ever been able to since she was removed from the chamber.
He carefully settles back onto his knees, giving Jaiden a minute to settle back as well, and she does. She looks over at her left hand, noticing she had dropped what was causing the pressure—
A black pistol.
It stood out against the grass, and Jaiden's eyes flicked over to the wound that was obscured by Cellbit’s hand. The turn of her head was her slowest movement of the day, and the realization that she had never once been in a chamber of saltwater hits her hard enough to cause her to slump against the tree.
Cellbit stands up, grunting his way through the pain of pushing himself up with his injured arm. He offers Jaiden a hand paired with a friendly grin, his eyes creasing at the sides. She looks at it, not realizing her eyes are beginning to water until her vision is blurred enough that she can barely make out his figure.
This time, she notes with bitterness, the saltiness she tastes is real.