Fluffy Markiplier Oneshots

Ch. 11 - Fighting Alone

Hey guys~! I know, it's been a while since I've updated - especially my SCP series. I'm really sorry if there aren't many people reading this series, but I refuse to simply give up on it. As long as there is even one person reading and enjoying it, I will keep the SCP series alive. The hardest thing about writing a series is that - unlike writing an actual book - I can't just go back and edit everything. I mean, I can, but people have already read it. I do a lot of my own editing as I write, making sure that the plot still makes sense and that the grammar and spelling are okay. I've invested so much time into this series already, and it would be wrong to abandon it. So, until it's finished, I will continue updating new chapters, with oneshots in between. That way, everyone's happy. 

Okay, that's the end of my spiel. Enjoy chapter 11!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I woke up in a cold, dark room. My initial memory was lacking in key details; I couldn't recall much of anything that had happened prior to my awakening. The air around me was filled with a steady, comforting hum, and slowly I became aware of the fact that I was in a soft bed. I felt like going back to sleep. I'm at home, I thought. Whatever happened, it was just a dream. A sharp metallic banging soon destroyed that hope. 

"Good morning, 2238," a female voice said at the other end of the room. Her tone indicated that her morning must have been anything but "good". "Breakfast is served." A small slot opened up in one wall, briefly illuminating the shockingly small space I was in. I winced at the light. The woman shut the slot as soon as my tray was in. She walked off briskly, muttering to herself about not being paid enough.

I pulled myself up slowly, groaning groggily. I shivered at the chilly air that greeted my skin as the blankets fell away. "Excuse me," I called, my voice hoarse. "Ma'am? Where am I?" She was gone. I sighed. "Figures." In the darkness, I felt around for any kind of artificial light source. Beside my bed was a short nightstand, and a lamp with a spherical base. I clicked it on, this time shielding my eyes. As my vision adjusted, I took in the room around me. It was a cell - I had figured that out already. But it wasn't as dreary as I had anticipated; there was a soft rug laid out across the concrete, and the bedspread had a rainbow-striped print. A short cedar truck sat at the end of the bed. There were paintings on the walls - reproductions of Renaissance works, it seemed, but I couldn't name them. The walls themselves, covered in plaster to allow the paintings to hang on hooks, were covered in random doodles. On the nightstand, a single picture frame sat propped against the lamp. 

It was a picture of Mark and me. 

My heart flew into my throat. I had never seen the picture before in my life. It looked like Mark had taken it, with his arm extended to get both of us into the shot. He was kissing my cheek, and I was laughing. We were dressed for cold weather. I couldn't make out much of anything in the background. There was a sidewalk and a few bare trees, suggesting that it had been taken in a park. 

"Where the hell did this come from?" I whispered, taking the picture up in my hands. Oddly, even though I was certain that I would remember having the picture taken - there was no way I could forget something like Mark kissing me - I felt a strange stirring in my chest, like my heart was being tugged. A tear slipped down my cheek before I realized what was happening. Why was I crying? As my awareness kicked in, I suddenly recalled how he had turned on me. Mark had handed me over to the Foundation, as well as Jack. My pulse jumped as I pushed away thoughts of what they had to be doing to Jack. 

I set the picture on the bed and stood to take up the tray. It contained two pieces of cold toast, a small plastic jar filled with jam, orange slices, and a mug of coffee. No sugar or cream in sight. I sighed and set it at the edge of my bed with the picture. I just stood in the center of the cell, looking around. The furnishings implied that I was intended to be more than a temporary guest. I also caught a whiff of a faint scent; it was perfume - the same kind I used at home. But I hadn't put any on in days. How could the smell have transferred?