A grating sound digs into my ears, burrowing into my brain with irritating tenacity, like the repulsive buzzing of a fly or the constant grinding of nails on sandpaper. Such a sound tries to rudely awaken me from my dreamless sleep, but I resist. After forcing my mind deeper into the tranquil darkness, it’s as though the sound follows me into the deepest reaches of my consciousness. The ruthless noise prods my mind, yet I continue to resist. I don’t want to wake up. I can’t. I can’t face this reality. This horrible truth, I can’t bear to look at it…!

It seems I’m doomed to live an unfortunate existence.

I open my eyes. My blurry line of vision shifts. My tangled thoughts vanish like scattered seeds in the wind. A distant voice, hidden deep within me, wails in despair and agony as I find myself trapped within a nightmare. The sight of the snapping mandibles inch closer and closer to my face. The hunkling body trashes against the walls. A warm liquid runs down the side of my cheek. My empty mind. My frozen body. My fragmented melancholy. I grin. The memory shatters into pieces, fracturing like a mirror smashed against the ground. I draw in a breath of air, feeling how my lungs expand, then contract as I release the warmth inside me. I rid myself of the pollution that has seeped into my heart. I open my eyes.

I find myself sitting upright, leaning against what I presume to be a wall. A grisly scene is spread out before me. I stare coldly at the sight. The room is barren and pitch black. The walls are stained, and appear to be made of concrete. Various spotlights situated on tall poles shine about the room, giving me a sense of depth, plainly presenting the size of my surroundings. The room is more akin to an empty warehouse than anything. A cold, concrete box. Cracks and fractures decorate the floor. My focus locks onto a single place, however, unconcerned about the rest of my surroundings.

Rotting heads. They pile together, stacked into a massive mountain of blood and flesh, that fade away into the blackness above me. Not every head is human. Grotesque, horrid faces, twisted by mutation, corrupted by disease and decay, are placed next to the blankly staring eyes of men, women and children. This mountain is the sole piece of furniture. An imposing monstrosity that serves no other purpose than being a trophy to admire. I spot beasts with morphed expressions of rage, skulls dripping with sludge, heads leaking with brain matter, bulging with tumors.

The nauseating smell corrodes my insides. Nearly knocking me out from its putridness alone. It stinks of rot, blood, and bile. Terrible and maddening is the stench of decaying flesh. The air is heavy with the miasma, and I find myself choking on the rich taste of iron that coats my throat. I begin to hack, and cough, as though to force the disgusting smell out from within me. Instantly, I feel a meaty hand clamp over my mouth.

Spine-tingling terror rushes throughout my body as I glare at the bloodied palm at the edge of my vision. My stiff body is frozen in wariness, unsure how to respond. The skin is scarred beyond recognition, the rough texture of calluses upon calluses rub against my lips. The sticky moisture that clings to my skin is almost as unpleasant as the sensation of being touched in the first place.

My vision trembles as I struggle to find the owner of such a hand. Finally, I see him. He’s no different from a beast. Salt and pepper hair drape over his eyes, which are a bloodshot red that glare at me with hostility. Beneath that violent glare are heavy purple bags, merging with the deeply ingrained wrinkles embedded into his flesh. His knotted hair drapes over the torn, stained rag he uses as a shirt. Through the bloodied rips in the fabric, I see thick cords of muscle, as tense as a cat prepared to pounce.

Seeing that I’ve calmed down, the stranger quickly withdraws his hand, resulting in a sticky sound ringing out as his fingers tear from my mouth. My nausea grows as I feel the dried blood tightening against my skin. I feel disgusted. I suppress the repulsion to the best of my ability, as my mind instantly thinks about the warmness of a bath.

“I guess you’re not one of them?”

His gruff voice is rich with wariness and distrust. It’s a heavy sound, like a wild beast growling a low warning. The cogs within my mind immediately begin to spin as I think of a way to extract myself from this situation unharmed.

“Them? Are you referring to that monster that Anna turned into?”

“Yes. They always end up like that. The instant they eat, they twist into those beasts that only hunger for flesh.”

“Eat? Anna had offered to feed me, before she turned into that creature.”

Before my eyes can process what my brain senses, the man vanishes from my sight. I turn my head and narrow my eyes, feeling a spike of fear as I understand the depths of the man’s madness. He stands before me, hefting a massive ax across his shoulders without breaking a sweat. His eyes are dark and narrow as he shoots daggers at me, the murderous flicker within them flaring to life. He questions me in a low roar.

“You didn’t eat it, did you? Did you?!”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have dared to eat anything that woman offered. Please, lower your weapon, there’s no need to get so worked up.”

I had thought my calm reply would clear up his mind a little, but I suddenly find myself dumbstruck. Now really. Just what is this idiot saying?

“Your clothes, take them off!”

“For what purpose?”

At my sarcastic tone, he narrows his eyes and tightens his grip on his weapon. I feel a shiver run down my spine.

“They all have a Stigma somewhere on their body...”

“Stigma?”

“A mark of the damned that proves how much of a monster you really are!”

I see. Overall, the chances of this being some kind of perverted ploy seem rather low to me. This man is far too insane to desire my body. From a logical standpoint, I have no reason to resist. After all, I’m no monster and I have no Stigma. If for some reason I did, I would have seen it when I was looking at myself in the mirror last night or while taking a shower. Still, I feel intense indignation well up within me at the thought of presenting my body to this man. I nearly vomit.

“Alright, no big deal. I’ll move slowly.”

I slowly lift my body into standing position, ignoring my aching limbs and stifling my inner loathing. I’m in no position to resist this man, without a doubt he holds my life in his fist. While struggling to lift my shirt, I notice that my palm, which had been cut when Anna tried to attack me, is tightly bandaged. My fingers are stiff as I clench and unclench my hand. Holding the edge of my shirt, I smoothly remove the fabric, ignoring the biting cold that assaults my nearly bare skin.

I’m grateful that I’m not wearing a belt, as I don’t think I’m capable of moving my fingers that carefully. It’s a real pain unbuttoning my pants, but I manage, and the article is dropped to the ground. I step out of it, as to not patiently entangle my legs should I need to run away, and with the edge of my shoe I kick it over to my shirt. I’m left standing in the cold, thin undergarments doing nothing to insulate my body. My arms hang loosely at my side. I make an unconcerned expression. I wonder, do I come off as a shameless woman?

“Turn around.”

I do as I’m told. After a short moment of waiting, I hear heavy footsteps approach me from behind. Suddenly I feel a rough hand press against my body. Before I can instinctively react, my unconscious mind shuts down any hint of resistance, having already concluded the man's intentions through his actions. His sandpaper-like fingers rub against my glass-like flesh, searching for any wet spots that may be a sign of makeup. Up and down my legs, across my back, under my arms. I face him again and he presses his hands against my stomach, chest, and collarbone. I stare into his eyes as he does so. Not a hint of desire is present. Is such a thing possible? My body is exceedingly beautiful, so how is it possible for him to not lust after me? Is he really human?

“Get dressed.”

“Take yours off. It’s only natural for me to not trust you. I’ll check with my own eyes that you’re not some monster toying with me.”

My irritation has caused me to say some unnecessary things. Before I can backtrack on my words, however, the man angles his back to me, revealing his scarred skin underneath. He lifts his shirt again, shows the rest of his aged and wrinkled flesh before my cold eyes. He exposes his stomach, rolls up his pant legs, and lowers his waist, giving me a show as he twists his body into uncomfortable poses, all while keeping a tight grip on his massive ax. His entire body is covered in dried blood, the remnants of his past victims. I look away and begin putting on my clothes, hiding my trembling fingers and pale face.

“So what’s the deal with the ax?”

“... I took it from a corpse.”

“And what did that corpse try to do?”

“... The bitch liked toying with the folks on the lower floors. Tried to kill me, so I snatched it from her dead hands after I was done with her.”

“So where did she even get it? This doesn’t look like a place where you can just casually pick up medieval weaponry.”

“Haaah, I see they’re still intent on keeping newcomers in the dark huh? Bastards…

“...”

“Stigmas are magic little markings that give crazy assholes powers. They’re usually weapons but the strong Stigmas get pretty abstract. They never tell anyone this, guess they just like watching you folks squirm, huh?”

“...”

I calmly accept this new information without any intention of thinking further.

“I can already guess how people get Stigmas, but what determines its strength?”

Instead of answering me, the man turns around and plops himself onto the floor, leaning against the wall. Though he looks rather at ease, his knuckles are white as he grips his weapon. I’m left standing in front of him, like an actor at an audition. Before my thoughts can wander, he sighs in obvious annoyance, his expression twisting hideously.

“You really are a dumb bitch, huh?”

“... Excuse me?”

“I thought you were special since you were placed higher than the baseline, but I guess not. Usually when someone directly gets assigned a room that high up, they have something going for them. As far as I can tell, you’re a rather useless piece of meat, huh?”

“...”

“What? Ya got a problem?”

“... So what would make me special and how come you’re so quick in assuming that I don’t fit in that category?”

“Huh, now that’s not a very pretty expression, guess your looks are just that, huh? No need to get your panties in a bunch, cool it lady. Lets just say that those special people might know some things about their time before this place, or maybe they have some crazy skill that’s especially unique, which gives them a bit of an edge over others. Sometimes that edge places them on higher floors. Can’t say that system always works though, seeing how useless you are.”

“... I see. And what do you mean by baseline? What’s that?”

“‘What’s that what’s that?’ Your words irritate me lady... Haah… Well, I might as well explain. Not even a useless person can be wasted in this shithole…”

I suppose the act of showing my irritation lowered his guard a little. Had I remained stone faced and unresponsive, he would have been far more distrustful towards me. If he thinks I’m an easy read, then I can control the flow of the conversation easier. It also seems he’s not in the mind to kill me right now. I suppose this is the best chance for a “useless” person like me to find some actual helpful information.

As I stare at him, the stranger lets out a sigh. His breath reeks, though not of blood and flesh like Anna’s. It’s a foul stench of rot, and in the overhead spotlight, I catch sight of the inside of his mouth. His blackened teeth are rotting away, ever so slowly. He doesn’t even seem to notice the pain as he clenches his jaw while in thought, before beginning to feed me the information that I so desperately hunger for.

“First, know that you’re in no hotel, girl. This is a prison. A cage of beasts and monsters only wants to get your flesh and grow stronger. You can trust no one in this place, that much is obvious. But there’s a convenient system in place that separates the crazier bastards from everyone else. There are 140 floors in total in this shithole. The first five are reserved for the completely incompatient idiots. They’re used as “food” by most facilities in this hotel. Don’t pity them. Their presence alone lowers the intelligence of everyone in the room, and they're better off dead. Floors 6-20 are for people skilled enough to survive on their own in this place. When their instinct kicks in, they eat those on the bottom floors, getting a Stigma that’ll allow them to eat stronger folks. Like I said before though, there’s a baseline. Floor 10 is the cutoff point between ordinary folks and the actual competent fellows. Serial killers, soldiers, politicians. They’ll all be above floor 10. There are other factors that decide where a person is placed, but that’s generally where everyone goes.”

“I don’t understand. If there are 140 floors, but only 20 of them are filled with people, what about the rest of the floors? Are they empty?”

“No. The shithole works in mysterious ways. There is always an influx of fresh meat. People will be relocated to the higher floors, with entire rooms being placed in a different location. Don’t question it. In this place, the less you know, the safer you are.”

While a bit unreasonable, I don’t question his words. At present I can only accept these words as fact and make plans around them. I tilt my head in confusion.

“What makes a Stigma powerful. There are people stronger than Anna in this place?”

“Heh, Anna is about as little of a fish you could be. The more powerful a Stigma, the more control you have over it. That beast was a creature of instinct no different than a rabid dog. In this place, being a mindless beast only leads to death. No one fears an insect that can’t plan.”

In that case, I suppose that’s how he was able to ambush her so easily. It hadn’t escaped me. I could tell that this man was waiting beyond that door for the perfect moment. Still, that leads me to wondering about the truth of the matter, how did he know?

“I’m curious… How did you know that I was with Anna? I’ve only been here a day.”

For the first time, his expression changes from one of hostility. He flounders a second, his face clearly showing how hesitant he is. After a brief moment of silence, he seems to have reached a conclusion, as he locks eyes with me and answers in his usual unrefined voice.

“Pfff, it wasn’t anything hard. I knew that your room would be filled soon, so I was keeping an eye on it, hoping the next idiot that was assigned would be useful somehow. No matter the level, rooms always fill quickly. There seems to be an endless supply of competent assholes outside of this shithole.”

“Curious… How long does it take for a room to replenish?”

Mentioning time was a trigger for Anna. I’m choosing to take the risk since there’s something fundamentally different about this man and her. Even so, if he does go berserk and tries to kill me, there’s not much I can do. It’s a gamble to bring this topic up, but what’s a bit of gambling when information is on the line?

“It’s hard to tell time in this place, you know, since there’s no windows and all, but I’d say it takes about a week or so. If a room remains empty for any longer, a new idiot will be assigned to take their place.”

I move my legs, feeling a cramp beginning to form. I feel a sense of restlessness overtake me. I can’t help but shake the feeling that I’m actively choosing a difficult path. I was told to greet my neighbors, but this is ultimately a ploy by the hotel to push me to desperation. Logically there’s no reason I should do this. Still to ignore the rule is to directly oppose whoever made the rule in the first place. Is that something I can do? I don’t even know how this is possible. Monsters? Stigmas? Rooms that change location without anyone noticing? An endless supply of new people? I don’t understand how anything in this place works or is even possible, yet I’m ignoring the rules set in place by the person, or people, that are running this show? Still… It’s not like I have a choice. In a way my situation is similar to that of a hostage. I don’t know this man’s intentions, but going by what I’ve gathered from his personality, he won’t be letting me go scot free. The room sinks into silence as I contemplate my options.

“How many people in this hotel, would you say, are Stigma-less?”

“Heh, not many. Nobody lasts long in this place without one. There’s always something to push someone to their limits. Pretty much everyone above floor 15, I guess, has one. You won’t find a person without a Stigma on the higher floors, unless they’re being kept as pets of course.”

“I-”

Before I can give any response, the man begins to mutter to himself. His eyes darken and his bones creak as he tightens his grip even further, his bulging veins close to bursting. His demented voice seems to fill the entirety of the room as his words seep into my ears like black sludge.

“Those bastards eat, and kill, and torture, and they don’t feel a shread of remorse doing it. It’s fucking sickening… I hate them. Those hypocritical assholes! They stomp on the corpses of those weaker than them, but who gave them that “right”?! I want to punch the asshole that made this shithole right in the face. I’ll drag him from the top of this tower, bashing his ugly face into every step along the way. I’ll show them… I’ll show those assholes that have hunted, and tortured, those weaker than them… I’ll show them… I’ll make it to the top with my own power! Who needs a Stigma?! I’ll kill all those crazy bastards along the way! I’ll show them!”

I watch in silence as the stranger rambles to himself. My heart is cold as I listen to his emblazoned speech. If I can secure this opportunity, if I can establish a friendship with this man, then I have a lifeline that I can leech off of. When you have no guide in life, find one. To survive, I must be a parasite. I don’t like this man. He’s threatened me, used me as bait, insulted me, and made me shamefully expose myself against my will. Still, I must survive. Securing my safety. This is the best option I have available.

“I agree! This entire place is backwards! I don’t understand what’s happening in its entirety, but even I can tell that what’s happening here is wrong! I want to help you! Please, I might not be the special person you were hoping for, but I’m sure I can make myself useful!”

My eyes burn with fury and my face contorts as I express intense anger at the state of the world. My breaths come out hot, and my fists clutch and tremble. It takes everything I have to rouse my heart into pumping faster, filling my face with a flushed heat.

I watch without passion. Cold, detached. I observe my performance from an outside perspective. Hmmm, my lines aren’t that great. It’s obvious that my statements aren’t nearly angry enough, but still… Yes it should be good enough to pass. My acting brings up the performance a lot more. There’s a mixture of both suppressed rage and revealed anger. The burning fury that smolders within my eyes is what really matters. Anyone can pretend to be angry, but few can truly embody rage in its entirety. Rage isn’t an emotion that shows itself easily. It leaks out every so often in short bursts, and that’s what’s most important to remember. I must thank this man before me, as it’s because of him that I can so accurately portray rage. It’s because of him that I’m able to hear the words that I’ve been greatly anticipating.

“Roland.”

“Pardon?”

“Names Roland. Wasn’t sure about you, so I never bothered telling you. I can tell though. You’ll definitely be useful.”

“Oh… Yes, though it’s delayed, I’ll introduce myself as well. My name is Mary. I was told it by Cat when I first arrived. I’m not sure how he knew it.”

His eyes are still suspicious, but that’s to be expected. I’m also suspicious of him, this Roland that doesn’t have a Stigma. Even so… heh. This is the best outcome I could have asked for. I’ve secured a lifeline. I’ve found someone useful. He definitely has ill intentions towards me, that much is obvious, but even a pawn can overthrow a king with enough time. Keep that suspicion, Roland. If you trust me too easily, I’ll be very disappointed.

“Mary? Hmmm…”

Ah, Mary. The word itself causes my heart to flutter. What a warm feeling. Say it again, Roland. Just one more time. Ah Mary… How strange, I wonder why I feel this way…?