The Recreated Dungeon
"Hmm, I see."
"That's roughly everything I've heard. But why is this..."
I finished my meal a little early, and by the time the coffee Team Leader had personally brewed for me was nearly gone, I had managed to relay most of what Nero had told me about the Inquisition. I had assumed she would already know more than I did, but apparently that wasn't the case.
"Most of the Inquisition's work is handled directly by Sarakael. My role was simply to hand over the prisoners."
"I see..."
"I've participated in interrogations when necessary, but I don't know much about the prisoners' daily lives. Listening to this now, I'm surprised Sarakael hasn't fallen yet."
Surprised was an understatement. The prisoners' wretched living conditions were so far removed from the usual image of angels that words like "demon" and "hell" felt far more fitting.
"I've just had a good idea. I should contact Founder."
"..."
The way "good idea" sounded coming from Team Leader never felt reassuring. Her subsequent explanation only confirmed my uneasy premonition.
The very next day, I stood outside Scarlet's—no, Prisoner 018's—containment cell, taking several deep breaths before I could bring myself to enter.
"Heehee... What's this? You actually put some thought into it today. I still don't like this heavy ability suppressor, though."
She ran her fingers over the soft fabric of the gown she wore, shooting me a smug little smile. It was an extremely arrogant expression, clearly conveying how satisfied she was.
When I handed her a set consisting of a high-quality silk slip and matching gown—the kind of thing one might wear to bed—she accepted them, turned around without hesitation, and tore off the clothes she had been wearing right in front of me. She paid no mind to my presence or the surveillance from the management team as she changed with obvious delight.
"Not that this means I'll be satisfied and side with you guys or anything~."
Normally, prisoners were given plain white short-sleeved shirts and shorts because anything with sharp edges could become a weapon. She probably wanted long sleeves to cover the ugly burn scars covering her arms, but it seemed she had simply wanted pretty clothes as well.
"Hehe... Still, I suppose I should at least thank you for fulfilling my request so quickly."
On top of that, I had prepared an expensive steak, fine wine, and a carefully chosen dessert for her meal today. As she had requested, I hadn't attempted any mental connection even once—partly because I didn't want her to sense the guilt I was currently feeling.
"Compared to my usual life, this is still pretty low-class, but it must have been quite a hassle to prepare all this... Oh, you're not changing the bed?"
"Prisoner identification number 018."
"...?"
"...I'm sorry."
She had been lounging with her legs crossed and her back against the chair, chattering away in high spirits, but my sudden apology made her expression harden. Or perhaps it was because I had addressed her by her prisoner number instead of her name.
Clank. Clatter.
The time had come. For the first time since the initial day, the suppression team from the management division entered the counseling space, led by Team Leader, and strode toward us.
"What the hell are you—"
I didn't see what happened next. I had already turned my gaze away from her.
Smack! Thud...! Thump...!
But the sound of someone being struck hard, followed by a body collapsing limply to the floor, made it easy to imagine what was happening behind me.
The situation ended in an instant. Before I knew it, I found myself standing near the door, where Founder was waving at me.
"Then I'll leave it to you, Founder."
*
When she opened her eyes again, the bright counseling room was nowhere to be seen.
"..."
It was dark. Her feet were cold, the air was damp, and for some reason, there was a foul smell.
"Ugh, what the..."
Frowning at the lingering numbness at the back of her neck, she tried to reach up to check if it was bleeding. Or rather, she tried to.
Clank...!
"...What?"
Clatter...! Clank...!
Through the heavy sound and resistance, she immediately realized both her hands were bound behind her back with restraints and chains.
...A chill ran down her spine. Because her body recognized this sensation as something it hadn't felt in a very long time—something familiar.
Her ankles and wrists were fixed in an awkward position that was neither standing nor sitting, secured by heavy restraints and thick chains bolted to the wall. The cramped space allowed no movement at all...
By the time her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness—
Clang...!
Along with a dull, painfully familiar noise from her memories, the surroundings lit up brightly.
"...!!"
Under the harsh, uneven light that hurt her eyes, she finally managed to focus and saw the scene revealed before her. She tried to deny it.
"Ah... Aah... No..."
This couldn't be happening.
"This place... Why? I was clearly... How did I... get out of here..."
This was a space she knew all too well. To be precise, it was an exact replica of a space she knew all too well.
"I... I... I'm not... I'm not..."
Her voice had shrunk to a barely audible whisper, trembling as she muttered. It was hard to reconcile with her usual arrogant, cocky demeanor.
Step. Step. Step.
She had been shaking her head in extreme confusion and failed to notice the presence approaching.
"...Looks like you've woken up, 018."
With great effort, she lifted her head, which had been hanging low under the weight of confusion and creeping despair. Beyond the bars stood a man in a black priest's robe, looking down at her coldly with a familiar face.
"You... You're...?"
Though his clothes were different, he was clearly the counselor she knew. Yet the moment her eyes fell on the priest's robe he wore, she found herself unable to speak another word.
Before she had been given the role, before she had been given the name Scarlet—back when she had been no different from any other ordinary prisoner, in a time she didn't want to remember—this place was a perfect, chilling recreation of those memories.
The headquarters of the Vatican Inquisition. The deep underground prison where not a single ray of light reached.
"What's wrong?"
His tone had turned coercive, his cold gaze and voice stabbing into her. She trembled. Then she realized something: she had felt a chill, but now she understood why—she wasn't wearing a single thing.
Yet with her hands bound behind her back, she couldn't even cover herself.
"Ah... My clothes... My clothes..."
"The ones you tore up?"
She had barely managed to speak, but his response was icy. He was referring to the slip and gown she had torn apart while changing.
"I...? Ah... No, I..."
"Hey."
She flinched...!
Her body stiffened reflexively. Even though she knew he wasn't someone she needed to fear that much, the thorough sense of powerlessness as a prisoner that had been carved into her body and mind took over, robbing her of her freedom.
"You used to strip so boldly right in front of me. What's there to be ashamed of now..."
"...That's... I, no, I..."
"Enough. Here's today's rations."
Thud...!
He scooped a ladleful of the watery, pale gruel from the old, dented tin bucket he was holding and carelessly dumped it into the bowl fixed inside the bars.
"..."
The bowl, protruding and fixed to the barred door she was facing, was positioned at just the right awkward height that, even with her hands and feet bound in this cramped cell, she could lean down and lick the bottom if she pressed her face into it.
So for someone with bound limbs like her, eating meant she had no choice but to bury her face in the bowl. As someone with experience, she understood this all too well.
"Why aren't you eating?"
"I can't possibly eat something like this..."
There was no particular smell, but the sight of the unpleasant, soggy mass of food made her hesitate. She couldn't bring herself to degrade herself by eating it.
"..."
The man who had returned the ladle to the tin bucket looked away from her as she wavered before the filthy meal. Without any particular reaction, he spoke a single line and left.
"If you don't want to eat, then don't. That's one of the few choices you can make in that cramped cell."
"..."
Clang...!
Not long after he left, the noisy sound returned and the lights went out, plunging her into deep darkness once more. She could hear the faint sound of the lights cooling, and when even that stopped, only a heavy silence remained in the space.