Story Reader / Affection / Lilith: Daemonissa / Story
Instead of responding immediately, she shifts her gaze to the weapon in your hand.
You look at the tactical dagger in your hand and gently place it on the ground.
If you knew how to get us to meet all along, why didn't you just say so?
Are you afraid of being eaten alive by the other inmates in this cage?
For a moment, she locks eyes with you. Then, with a light tap of her umbrella on the ground, she signals you to move to a more secure location.
So, that was just a test for them—for us.
Too bad, human nature doesn't hold up well under pressure.
You'd make a terrible gambler.
As you take a step forward, you feel the Punishing Virus concentration around you begin to drop. Eleanor moves closer, her presence both reassuring and unsettling.
In this deadly intimacy, you study the woman who remains an enigma.
The woman in elaborate attire moves like a walking artisanal treasure from the Golden Age—every movement poised, every step effortless, leaving just a whisper of tart gooseberry in her wake.
The woman stands there, motionless, as if she's always belonged to this faded world of gilded excess.
This is the only information you can gather—she shows no signs of an Inver-Device or any other mechanical structures on her body. At least, not that you can see right now.
One final question.
Eleanor has moved behind you.
You went through a lot of trouble to get here...
Something hard digs into your side—right where the old viral wound flares to life with fresh, searing pain.
She's already picked up the dagger that had fallen to the floor, its blade glinting in the dim light. With a menacing gesture, she forces you deeper into the room.
Aren't you worried I might just hurt you?
Or did you give me your weapon to show you have other aces up your sleeve?
The hard, unyielding sensation on your body begins to fade, but the corruption of the virus replaces it with a searing, needle-like pain. Eleanor, who had been standing at your side, now turns to face you directly.
She grabs your collar and sits on the nearby card table, forcing you to look up at her face.
The pain comes roaring back—your heart jackhammers against your ribs, stealing your voice.
Your terms at the negotiating table...
Are a bit underwhelming.
Continue.
The cold kiss of steel against your throat stops you cold. She handles the blade with dinner knife precision, enough pressure to command obedience, not enough to draw blood.
Then, cold steel presses under your chin, tilting your head up. Only then do you realize your breath has gone ragged.
In the event of a draw, the one with the fewest gestures loses.
That way, the odds of winning become even...
But once they catch on and switch tactics, you're back to a coin flip.
I don't see your terminal on you.
Eleanor looks down at your bare arms.
You've stashed it away. In your plan, the terminal's more valuable than you are.
Her gaze shifts, turning playful and curious. An enigmatic smile tugs at her lips, hinting at genuine interest as she leans in closer.
Are you threatening me? If we don't work together, we all lose.
Eleanor gives a soft chuckle, withdraws the dagger from your collar, and steps down from the table.
Like you said... the possibility is the most intoxicating poison, isn't it?
Without warning, the woman reaches out and takes your hand. The pristine white silk of her gloves brushes against the worn, dirt-streaked fabric of your combat gloves.
Then, she places a dagger in your palm, guiding your fingers to close around it.
You breathe a sigh of relief as you sheathe the dagger at your waist.
The pain you had been holding back suddenly surges, sharp and unrelenting. During your crossing between sectors, your left arm must have been briefly exposed to the corrosive elements outside. Even that fleeting contact was enough to cause severe, irreversible damage.
Despite the agony, your eyes flick to the terminal. Seeing the Punishing Virus concentration still at safe levels, you let out a sigh of relief out of instinct.
Eleanor notices your struggle, your expression slipping as the pain becomes harder to mask.
You look rough.
Her tone cuts through the air, cold and indifferent.
It's a difficult decision, but if you don't treat this wound now, you probably won't make it until the end of the game.
Your muscles scream in protest as you struggle to remove the protective suit, your hands slipping repeatedly from the pain.
However, an unexpected force unlocks the buckle at your waist.
After all, we're still counting on your "genius" to save us.
You're welcome.
She continues speaking without waiting for a response.
Her voice carries a mocking tone.
Eleanor's movements are calm and steady as she bandages your injured arm and shoulder, following your instructions.
Your skin makes contact with the not-fully-contaminated air again; with the help of the serum from earlier, you should barely be able to resist its effects.
Your gaze shifts to your own blood-soaked undergarments and clothes, the fabric clinging stubbornly to your wounds, glued by tissue fluid.
A rope hits the table first, followed by several serum vials.
Only three serum doses remain out of the original six. They roll across the table, coming to a stop at the edge of the wooden corner alongside flint and emergency flares.
The first aid kit and thermal blanket finally slip free from the opening, landing with a soft thud on the velvet-covered tabletop.
With your left hand, you awkwardly grip the first aid kit—your posture strained, a desperate attempt to ease the pain—while your right hand fumbles to unzip it.
Anything I can help with?
A clear, colorless liquid with a pungent smell gurgles from the bottle's mouth, its scalding sensation assaulting the skin.
You slam the medicine bottle onto the table, snatching up the bandage with your left hand, finding even simple bandaging difficult now.
Eleanor doesn't say a word. She steps closer, and takes the bandages in your hand.
Just a warning, I'm no Florence Nightingale.
She stretches the bandage and, with remarkably precise pressure, wraps it around your chest and shoulder.
You're pretty easy to win over, aren't you?
The bandage secures your chest and shoulder while the hemostatic powder applied to it quickly begins to take effect.
After makeshift treatment, merely maintaining your current physical state feels like a small miracle.
