From my prison within the Psyche Environment—a silent, stone witness trapped in a form called the Neutco—the truth finally crystallized. I was more than a prisoner; I was an archive. Every sensation, every emotion that washed over my vessel was etched into my being, a living record of the sins that had claimed my body as their own. By delving into these memories, I traced the intricate chain of events that led the purple storm of Envy to my doorstep. It began not with her schemes, but with the raw, unbridled fury of Wrath, a raging red tempest that threatened to consume everything.
**Flashback**
The colossal gates of the Juvenile Detention Academy JDA slammed shut with a sound that vibrated deep in my bones—a heavy, metallic finality that spoke of lost freedom. This was no school; it was a fortress of cold, polished steel and humming energy fields, a gilded cage constructed by the world government to contain what they feared most: us. Unstable supernatural teens, children who were less people and more like unpredictable conduits for powers that ripped through our fragile humanity.
But the "I" who felt that fear wasn't in control. Not then.
**Wrath** was.
In a violent coup within my own mind, he had seized the throne, shoving my primary consciousness into this psychic cocoon. I became a passive recording device, a statue forced to observe, to feel, but never to act. He was the warden of my own flesh, and for a month, he lived my sentence, a simmering volcano of rage wearing my face like a poorly fitted mask.
Our days were a rigidly enforced cycle of containment and so-called "education." The lectures took place in a stark, circular amphitheater. The seats rose in tiers around a central stage where Maestress Biondh stood, a figure of unwavering authority. Her voice, cool and precise, never needed to rise to command absolute attention.
"Psyche energy is not your enemy," Biondh began, a complex holographic model of swirling emotional energy rotating above her palm. "It is a fundamental force, like electricity. Wild, it causes blackouts and fires. Harnessed, it powers cities. Your dominant emotion is the source. The question is not how to suppress it, but how you will channel it."
She paced slowly, her eyes, sharp as flint, scanning each student's face, reading their fear, their arrogance, their confusion.
"There are two primary paths," she continued. The hologram split. One side showed a chaotic burst of energy flooding into a pocket watch, which then twisted into a screaming, spectral form. "First, transference. You can pour a significant portion of your emotional energy into an object you have a deep, treasured connection to. If the bond is strong enough, and the emotion pure enough, it may give birth to a new entity—a **Psych Sentient**. A being of pure emotion, tied to that item, possessing a will of its own, albeit a singular one."
The other side of the hologram showed the energy being funneled through a complex lattice within a human form, emerging as controlled beams from the hands. "The second path is internal harnessing. You refine the emotion, build psychic structures to direct it. This grants you specific, controllable abilities. These are called **Gifts**."
A tall, muscular student near the back, who moved with a deliberate, almost lethargic grace, raised a hand. It was Ose. "Maestress," his voice was a low, steady rumble that filled the space without effort. "If you create a Sentient, does the original emotion within you diminish? Is it… spent?"
Biondh offered a rare, slight nod of approval. "An excellent and crucial question, Cadet Ose. The answer is no. The core capacity for that emotion remains within you. The Sentient is like a powerful echo given independence—a snapshot of your emotion at its most extreme. You can still feel rage, but the Sentient *is* that rage."
Another student, a girl with nervous eyes, asked, "But which is stronger?"
"Neither is inherently stronger," Biondh replied. "A Gift offers control and versatility. A Sentient offers raw, autonomous power but at a cost—it is a piece of your soul set loose in the world. It can be destroyed, or worse, turned against you. The choice defines what kind of weapon you become."
Wrath, sitting silently in my body, observed this entire exchange with profound contempt. These lessons were for insects learning to crawl. He was an ancient, primordial force; this was like teaching a hurricane the principles of blowing out a candle. The very concept of "choice" was a mortal limitation he scorned.
* * *
The transition was never smooth. One night, as **Wrath** brooded in the darkness of the cell, the psychic environment *tore*. It wasn't a gentle arrival. Two other colossal presences violently forced their way into the shared space of my mind.
The first was Pride. His form manifested as a blinding, golden light, so intense it was painful to perceive. It spoke of absolute superiority, of a worth that demanded worship. The second was **Greed**, a shimmering, amorphous shape the colour of tarnished silver and old coins, constantly shifting, its edges never defined, always seeking more.
"Finally," Wrath's voice boomed, a red wave of aggressive heat washing through the mental space. *"Have you come to shatter these bars? Or have you merely come to admire my prison?"*
**Pride's** voice was cold, sharp enough to cut. *"Do not flatter yourself, you blunt instrument. We are not here for your comfort. We are here because our collective situation has become… undignified. An inconvenience that requires a unified response."*
*"Inconvenience?"* **Wrath** snarled, the **red** around him flashing like an alarm. *"Speak plainly!"*
*"Our… associate,"* **Greed** interjected, his voice a slippery, calculating whisper that seemed to come from all directions at once. *"The one who wears **purple**. Envy. She has been captured."* He let the word hang in the air, savoring the reaction. *"Not by the JDA. Not by a worthy adversary. By a mortal. A merchant, a parasite named Prey who traps stray energies in dolls and sells them like common trinkets."*
A cataclysm of **red** fury erupted from **Wrath**. The mental prison shook with his outrage. *"CAPTURED? That pathetic **purple** schemer! She was always too arrogant, too careless! This is an embarrassment! A stain on us all!"*
*"It is a stain on *her*,"* **Pride** corrected, his **golden** light flaring with disdain. *"Do not group my radiance with her failure. My brilliance would never be snuffed out by such a mundane trap. Her weakness is her own."*
*"Your 'brilliance' is what attracted the attention that got you locked away in the first place,"* **Greed** retorted sharply. *"We are not a family. We are not friends. We are partners in confinement, a coalition of mutual necessity. Save your posturing. I have a plan to retrieve her."*
*"Why should we care?"* **Wrath** shot back, the **red** coalescing into the shape of a snarling beast. *"Let the fool rot in her trinket cage. It leaves more room for us to maneuver. One less voice in this cramped space."*
*"Because,"* **Greed** explained with the patience of a mathematician, *"she possesses intelligence we lack—knowledge of the modern world's underbelly. Her power, however poorly managed, is a resource. Allowing a resource to be wasted is inefficient. Furthermore, her capture reveals a human network, this 'Prey,' that we can exploit. He is a tool waiting to be used."*
*"State this plan, then,"* **Pride** demanded, his tone dripping with profound skepticism. *"And I warn you, do not waste our time with one of your characteristically convoluted gambits. Elegance through simplicity."*
*"The plan is to use the merchant's own nature as the weapon,"* **Greed** began, unfolding his scheme like a master strategist. *"Phase one: we have Gluttony pay his shop a discreet visit. Let him sample the finest items in Prey's collection. A significant, unexplained loss will make the merchant desperate, hungry to recoup his value."*
*"A crude but functional starting point,"* **Pride** conceded reluctantly, as if admitting it caused him physical pain.
*"Phase two,"* **Greed** continued, *"I will carefully guide his greed. He will be driven to replace his losses by hunting strays in a place where such energies fester: a casino. A den of avarice, desperation, and lost hopes—a perfect feeding ground for my influence."*
*"Too many variables!"* **Wrath** grumbled, the **red** energy flickering impatiently. *"Why this circus? Why not just find this 'Prey,' burn his shop to the ground, and take back what is ours by right of power? It is the direct path! The strongest path!"*
*"The direct path is often the least profitable,"* **Greed** countered, a sly, knowing edge to his whisper. *"Your path leaves ashes and questions. My way, we achieve multiple objectives. We not only retrieve **Envy**, but we also manipulate the human justice system to deliver her directly to this facility. She becomes our Trojan horse. Furthermore, the event will create a vessel—the mortal Prey will be imprisoned here, a new host for one of us. We gain a strategic position inside our enemy's stronghold. We turn their own rules against them."*
*"And what is the critical flaw?"* **Pride** pressed, his **golden** light intensifying as he sought to dismantle the plan. *"You claim this human will commit murder on your subtle command. What if he lacks the stomach for it? What if the authorities are not the predictable puppets you assume? Your entire house of cards collapses."*
*"The flaw is the same as the opportunity: the predictable frailty of human nature,"* **Greed** answered, unnervingly smooth. *"I will not *command* him like you would, Wrath. I will *inspire* him. I will make the potential reward seem so immense, and the perceived risk so negligible, that he will convince himself the act is his own idea, born of his own brilliant opportunism. As for the authorities, they are slaves to procedure and pattern. Patterns can be studied. Patterns can be gamed."*
*"This plan reeks of your trademark arrogance,"* **Wrath** spat, though the **red** storm around him had calmed slightly, replaced by a grudging calculation.
*"And your preferred plan reeks of ash and ruin, as always,"* **Greed** replied without missing a beat. *"We are a coalition of mutual interest, not a brotherhood. My interest is in a maximal return on our investment of time and power. This is the way."*
A tense, silent communication passed between the three colossal, unfriendly egos. It was not an agreement born of trust or camaraderie, but of cold, logical necessity. They were three scorpions in a bottle, temporarily agreeing not to sting each other until the bottle was broken.
*"Do it,"* **Wrath** finally growled, the **red** energy subsiding into a low, simmering glow. *"But if this intricate web of yours unravels, I will hold you accountable. Personally."*
*"Noted,"* **Greed** said, his presence already beginning to fade, withdrawing from the psyche environment like a tide. He hadn't fully become my Sin then. He was always plotting, a master of games moving pieces on a board I couldn't even see.
**Wrath** was left with his impatience, **Pride** with his disdain, and I, the Neutco, with the horrifying, crystalline knowledge that my life was a pawn in a game played by ancient, selfish forces. The plan was set in motion with the precision of a falling domino. And it led, with terrifying inevitability, to the **purple** storm named Envy, to the dusty streets of Babi, and to the war that now raged just beyond the walls of my silent, stone prison.