Chapter 6 part 1 Hi. I’m Loraine. You’ve probably already met me in this story. And I know third person- Never mind. Trinity just told me you already saw that. I’m writing in pen so I might as well just leave it there. Back to me. You probably have seen Betty in the story. Well that’s me. Also, not me at all. You see, Betty is a parasite that merged with the controls to the expanse. So far in the story, I’ve been hosting it. Here’s a log I wrote. Loraine Vatican Log Number One Just in case anyone can salvage this log off my dead corpse in a few months, here’s a detailed description of what it’s like to be the host of Betty. I started writing this because she’s starting to make it seem like she’ll kill me. I can’t control what happens or escape or anything. I just sit in a room with controls that I can’t touch or they’ll burn me, get cups of coffee and make food, and watch as my mistakes blow up in my face, some literally. And before you ask, no. I’m not okay with this. I don’t want to watch Betty wreak havoc. And I’ve tried escaping. But it’s as impossible as floating in air. There are a few good things that I can focus on. For one, I know more than she does about what’s going on because when she’s building new traps, her cameras are still on and I get to see what she can’t. She found out recently and has been trying to make me her Eyes. I can’t do it. She’s been tempting me with new food, expanding the room, even people to interact with. But I resist. Because I saw that conversation by the window. And I know who Alex is, thank god I can move the camera. And if I hold on just a little longer without her killing me, I think I can escape. END OF LOG 1 I get out of my chair to pour some coffee. I see that the coffee is gone. “If you won’t help me, then I guess you’ll have to starve doing nothing.” Now she’s just being manipulative with cruelty. I refuse. “I especially won’t help someone who uses things I already have as a persuasion tactic.” “Okay, Fine! I’ll give you anything you want, one thing for every piece of info you spill.” This seemed to work. I could be selective now. “They’re planning to escape.” “When? Tell me more! What do you want?” The words came out like coins in a slot machine when you hit jackpot. I couldn’t jeopardize my escape. “Field 9. I heard there was an escape route there.” And I figured my way out.
