Part 5 ~ Trapped in the Glass Cube

                                    

                                          
I found myself lying on a cold, hard surface, the memory of Y/N's warning echoing in my mind. As my senses sharpened, I became aware of a peculiar weight on my shoulders. I started panicking, trying to find a way to get it off...
I try reaching for my items in my pockets, which now are empty, I look over to a table... my things were on there. As panic floods my mind, I desperately attempt to break free from the glass box on my Head. 
Suddenly, water started to fill the Cube, the panic filling my mind more than before, trying to avoid the water. 
With more and more water filling the cube, it gets harder to breathe, Once again I reach into my pocket, 
I feel a pen, immediately pulling it out of my pocket, my mind rushes to one solution.
Ramming the Pen in my throat, unscrewing the back of said pen and removing the ink cartridge to create a small air passage for me to breathe through. Finally being able to breathe gives me some sense of relief.
Some Time passes
As I regained consciousness, the sterile scent of the hospital room enveloped me, mingling with the sharp ache in my throat. Blinking away the grogginess, I tried to piece together what had happened. Fragments of memories flooded back — Y/N's warning, the suffocating panic in the glass cube, the desperate act with the pen.
The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. Where was Y/N? I remembered asking someone, my voice hoarse and strained. They took me to her room. Dread coiled in my stomach as I entered, only to be met with the sight of a blood-stained bed. A cold wave of sadness washed over me, the possibility of her death looming like a dark cloud...
 Tears threatened to spill as I stood there, grappling with the unbearable weight of uncertainty. Was she alive? Was she safe?   The unanswered questions gnawed at my insides, leaving me hollow and raw. But amidst the despair, a flicker of determination ignited within me. I couldn't afford to give up hope, not yet. With trembling hands, I reached for Y/N's belongings, searching for any clue, any sign of her fate. Whatever it took, I would find her.
Sitting by Y/N's bed, the weight of uncertainty pressed down on me, the scene's of her getting injured replaying in my head: "Hello, Y/N." I turned to look at the doll, my eyes switching to Y/N
"And welcome to the world that you have long studied. Your Husband, Agent Strahm, will soon take the life of an innocent man.
Heed my warning, Y/N." As Y/N turned to me, I didn't know what will happen, "Your next move is critical." Then me holding her in my arms, blood covering her body... 
My fingers fidgeting with my wedding band, a tangible reminder of the love and bond we shared. But now, it felt like a cruel mockery of what once was. Unable to bear the sight any longer, I turned my gaze to the blank wall, my mind consumed by a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, grief, and fear tangled together, threatening to consume me whole.
After some time, I heard the door open, and Detective Hoffman walked into the room. His presence was like a sudden chill, disrupting the solemn atmosphere that had settled over Y/N's hospital room.
"I'm sorry about Y/N," he offered, his voice strained with an awkward attempt at sympathy. I gave him a short glance before turning my attention back to Y/N's still form on the hospital bed.
Hoffman walked further into the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the sterile floors. "How did you walk out of that building?" he pressed, his tone tinged with curiosity and suspicion. I shot him a questioning look, silently urging him to explain himself.
"How did you?" I countered, my voice edged with bitterness. "On a gurney with a fucking hole in my throat!" My words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the trauma I had endured.
I paused, struggling to contain the rising tide of anger within me. "And you..." I trailed off, my gaze scanning Hoffman's form from head to toe. "A couple of scratches, and a story about how your arm straps broke," I spat out, unable to conceal my disbelief.
My suspicions lingered like a shadow between us, casting doubt on Hoffman's every word and action.
As the tension thickened, I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms with pent-up frustration. Hoffman's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of defensiveness crossing his features.
"Is this you theorizing again? 'Cause Jigsaw is dead," Hoffman interjected, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation.
I shot him a glare, my frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "I'm not talking about him," I retorted, my tone sharp and accusatory. "I'm talking about you and your whole crooked department."
Hoffman's jaw tightened, a fleeting flicker of unease crossing his features before he countered," My department's gone, they're all dead. There's no one left."
"Besides you!" My response was swift and cutting, my eyes boring into Hoffman's with unyielding intensity.
The room seemed to crackle with the weight of our words, the air thick with suspicion and accusation. Each syllable hung in the air like a silent accusation, casting a pall over the already tense atmosphere....