【torn ａｐａｒｔ】|| ultimatewriterprodigy
Oxygen coursed unsteadily in and out of her lungs. She doubted reality each and every time she opened her eyes-- perhaps this was a hallucinatory limbo that her mind had created. The prospect of being allowed to restart, to be a part of this new future that was being constructed; it seemed far too surreal. Never before had she experienced a beneficial pathway leading towards her future. If she weren't to have been executed, if she hadn't taken such a severe fall into despair's relentless clutches-- she would have stayed at Bocchan's side. Undyingly loyal until she took her last breath; watching on the sidelines as he lived his life-- became the leader of his family and perhaps took a wife. While it was difficult to ignore the fact that she had unprofessional feelings for her master-- she would have had to stand stone faced by his side. Feelings? They were nonexistent for a tool.
The recovery quarters within the Future Foundation's base was where she was stored along with the other remnants. There had been quite some debate to allow them to be stationed there of all places. She and the other remnants still weren't trusted-- that much was made apparent by the cameras that monitored just about every angle of the hospital-like sector of the building. The door and walls were made of a thick, almost inescapable material-- the windows locked tight and closed off from the outside world with metal panels. While it could be described as uncomfortable to be living in a permanent lockdown as such-- she supposed that she deserved it. For having ended so many lives, for being such a horrid criminal that she would take so many lives with her blade thoughtlessly. Yes. On top of her execution, this was her punishment. Facing her weakened state bedridden and unable to walk, reduced to a thin patient unable to do anything but stare at a wall.
Due to the showy extent of her death within the rehabilitation program, her body was convinced that the pain she had experienced was indeed real. She felt pain that had never even physically been inflicted upon her. Upon first awakening, she was entirely paralyzed and numbed. Over time, she began to relearn to use her arms-- practicing lifting items, chewing her own food. Walking, however, was the largest challenge. Hell, even sitting up served to hinder her. She required help for everything. And in that way, those staffed to take care of her weren't afraid anymore. Even though the rumors of her crimes in despair had been infamous, they could feel inferior, looking upon the fallen swordswoman.
As such, Peko remained respectable. She didn't say anything to those who came to act as her caretakers-- if anything, just to offer a raspy 'thank you' every once and a while. She could only ever hold a proper conversation when Bocchan came in to visit her. He would tell her of his work-- and what they could do together in the future when she got better. He was there whenever the physical therapist was there to help her. He was supportive, always there. He had changed so much-- and she was proud. He, perhaps, was the reason that she was making an effort not to give up or keel over. Close enough to losing her life again, she followed instructions given to her by the medical workers in the building. However-- time spent bedridden had always served her ill-- when she was left to explore her memories, the darkest depths of her own mind.
Just as her thoughts seemed to be leading her astray, down a thorny, dangerous path-- the door squealed open and a girl in a pencil skirt, blouse and somewhat crooked tie walked in. Her footsteps clicked-- and yet they sounded somewhat clumsy and light against the linoleum floor. Two long braids bobbed behind her as she moved and a tray was rattling between two pale hands. A glass of water, a bottle of pills, and a meal of some sort sat atop it.
Peko had never seen this girl in person. But based upon her physique, it could be said that she was one of her underclassmen-- one who survived the first game of mutual killing. Her stomach twisted a little with regret at this deduction-- her eyes slanting thoughtfully. Curiosity settled in the former kendoka's head and she gave the girl a patient look.
"Who are you?" She tried to crane her neck a little-- her voice came low and quietly, arms curling atop the blanket over her midsection; as though a mechanism to defend herself.
