004 — Possession and Promises
Months Passed
Micquel's Room
The room was dim, lit only by the soft pulse of the machines monitoring her vitals. Shadows clung to the walls like they'd been listening too long. Micquel lay motionless on the bed, her expression peaceful—untouched by the war raging outside, and the one steadily consuming Tyzion.
He sat beside her. As always. One hand resting on her arm, the other gripping her cold fingers. His thumb brushed over her knuckles in slow, careful circles, like a ritual carved into muscle memory.
"You're still not waking up," he whispered, voice low and unsteady. "Do you even know how long it's been?"
A pause. His jaw clenched.
"I've waited. Every day. Every second. Do you know how many times I thought I saw you flinch? How many times I prayed you'd just… blink? Move your hand? Say something?"
He chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it.
"Conrad's gone. He left you to me. Trusted me to keep you safe. And I did—I am. You're still here. Still breathing. Because of me."
Tyzion stood and began pacing, slow and measured, but his eyes never left her.
"You don't understand what it's like out there. The world's gone insane. Everyone's hunting everyone. The game doesn't care who's right or wrong—it just wants blood. And me? I gave them nothing. Not one chance. Not one slip."
He stopped at the foot of her bed, voice lower now—tight, intense, almost dangerous in its devotion.
"You're mine to protect, Micquel. You always were. Before the game. Before the system."
He sat again, leaning forward, brushing her hair gently back from her face. His voice softened—almost tender—but something raw still trembled beneath it.
"I don't care what they say. I don't care if you're broken. I don't care if you wake up and don't remember me."
He leaned in closer, forehead nearly touching hers.
"You'll remember me."
Silence.
The only answer was the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor, and the faint hum of the artificial heart. Tyzion closed his eyes, breathing in her scent—still faintly sterile, but undeniably hers.
"I kept this place alive for you. I kept me alive for you. So when you finally open your eyes…"
His grip on her hand tightened.
"You'll stay."
He didn't leave.
Not that night.
He pulled the chair so close her breath could have kissed his cheek. Her hand never left his. The room felt warm now—not from heat, but from pressure. From the weight of everything left unsaid.
"I wonder if you can hear me," he murmured. "They say coma patients can. That maybe… somewhere in there, you're listening."
He reached out, brushing a thumb under her eye with reverent care.
"I talk to you like this every day, you know. I read those dumb books you used to hate. I tell you what's going on outside, even though I know you'd scream at me."
A bitter smile flickered.
"But I worry. I worry about you. About this place. About what I'll do if you never wake up."
His voice fell to a whisper.
"And what I'll do to anyone who tries to take you from me."
He leaned in, face inches from hers now, breath shaking with restraint.
"You have no idea how many people want you dead, Mic. The system doesn't forget. The Reapers haven't stopped looking. But they can't have you. They won't."
He exhaled, shaky and slow.
"I built this cage for you. I made it beautiful. Quiet. Safe. You're not leaving until you open your eyes. And when you do… when you finally look at me…"
His fingers drifted from her cheek to her collarbone, resting there with eerie gentleness.
"You'll understand. You'll see what I've done for you. What I've become for you."
Tyzion dropped his forehead to the edge of the bed, resting against her arm. His voice cracked—lower now, softer, barely audible.
"I just want you back."
Silence thickened around them. The lights overhead flickered once—softly, like breath.
And then—
A twitch.
His eyes snapped open. He lifted his head.
Her finger moved.
He froze, breath caught in his chest.
Then—it moved again. Small. Weak. But real.
"Micquel?" he choked. "Mic? Can you hear me? Hey—look at me. Come on. Come back."
Her eyelids fluttered. Not open. Not yet. But not still.
The movement stopped. Her breathing remained steady. The machines stayed unchanged.
But something had changed.
That single twitch had shattered the stillness.
She was still in there.
She was trying.
Tyzion laughed—a broken, disbelieving sound.
"You felt me," he whispered. "You felt me."
He leaned close again, voice trembling with dangerous hope.
"You're waking up. You're coming back. And when you do…"
His smile turned soft.
"I'll never let you go."
---
One night, something changed.
Tyzion's fingers trembled as they brushed over Micquel's. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with the hum of machines.
"Come back to me," he whispered, voice raw.
Her fingers twitched—barely.
Then—
The security console beeped once. Sharp. Out of place.
Tyzion turned slowly. A single message blinked on the encrypted screen.
YOU ARE WHERE YOU SHOULDN'T BE.
SHE WALKS THE MAP. YOU ARE THE SHADOW.
WHEN LIGHT MEETS ITS ECHO—THE SYSTEM RESPONDS.
DO NOT TRIGGER THE COLLISION.
His heart pounded. He stared at the screen, the meaning crawling under his skin.
She's an active player now. She's part of the map. And him? He was never meant to be seen.
Another line appeared:
IF SHE SEES YOU, SHE DIES.
Tyzion backed away from the console, breath uneven.
He looked back at Micquel.
He didn't want to leave.
But he had to.
Not because he feared dying—but because he feared losing her for good. She was coming back. And if he stayed, she might vanish before ever opening her eyes.
He pressed his forehead gently to hers, voice cracking.
"Micquel. Please… stay alive for me."
Then, with one final glance, he turned.
The door sealed behind him.
The room grew cold again.
And in the silence—
Her eyelids fluttered.
Not a dream.
A beginning.
---