[indent][COLOR=GRAY][i]The motel room was steeped in shadows, a canvas of darkness punctuated only by the feeble glow of a streetlamp outside. Its amber light seeped through the flimsy curtains, casting a ghostly pallor over the room. Harper lay motionless on one of the twin beds, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, a blank screen onto which her anxious thoughts about the impending flight to Canada were projected. She had believed Sierra to be deep in slumber on the adjacent bed, the rhythm of her sister’s breaths a comforting, steady sound in the otherwise silent room.[/i]

[i]Unexpectedly, the quiet was pierced by a gentle voice, soft yet clear. [/i][i][color=#fb0207]“Harper, are you awake?” [/color][/i][i]The words, barely louder than a whisper, seemed to vibrate through the stillness.[/i]

[i]Jolted, Harper turned, her eyes finding Sierra’s. In the scarce light, her sister’s eyes were like beacons, luminous orbs in the engulfing darkness. [/i][color=#8a9a5b][i]“Yeah,”[/i][/color][i] Harper whispered back, her voice a faint mirror of Sierra’s question. [/i][color=#8a9a5b][i]“What’s on your mind?”[/i][/color]

[i]Sierra’s posture, usually a fortress of self-assuredness, now seemed to crumble into something more fragile, more human. [/i]

[color=#8a9a5b][i]Stop being so easily fooled, Harper. [/i][/color]

[i][color=#fb0207]“Why didn’t you tell me about your enhanced vision?” [/color][/i][i]Sierra’s voice, usually so full of conviction, now trembled with a vulnerability that made the air around them feel charged, heavy with emotions that had long been suppressed, now clawing their way to the surface. [/i][i][color=#fb0207]“Why keep it a secret from me, of all people?”[/color][/i]

[i]The question caught Harper off-guard, a curveball that left her scrambling for the right words.  It was an unusual sight—Sierra, always so composed and impenetrable, now seemed exposed, her defences down, her soul peeking through the cracks of the facade she’d been putting on since their reunion. [/i][i][color=#8a9a5b]“I… I didn’t want you to worry,” [/color][/i][i]Harper faltered, turning her head away in a subtle attempt to hide the sting of pain that crossed her expression. [/i][i] [/i][color=#8a9a5b][i]“I didn’t want to be seen as different. But it seems that was inevitable.”[/i][/color]

[i]A heavy silence fell upon them, a gulf that seemed to expand with each ticking moment. [/i]

[i]Then, gently and with a touch of reluctance, Sierra’s voice pierced the quiet. [/i][i][color=#fb0207]“But…you are different.”[/color][/i][i] The words were not laced with accusation or tinged with bitterness, as Harper had anticipated. Rather, they were imbued with an indescribable sentiment, one that Harper had never thought to associate with her sister. What was she playing at here? [/i]

[i][color=#fb0207]“After mom and dad died…it was like you closed yourself off from the world.” [/color][/i][i]​​Sierra’s confession was soft, almost lost amidst the rustle of sheets as she shifted in her bed.  [/i][i][color=#fb0207]“I thought your withdrawal was just a phase, but…you never went back to your old self.” [/color][/i]

[i]Harper’s eyes returned to Sierra, widening as they struggled to pierce the murky gloom that filled the motel room. The darkness seemed almost sentient, wrapping itself around Sierra’s figure, blurring her into a spectral shape made of half-tones and hushed secrets. Yet, even veiled by the obscurity, the sincerity in Sierra’s voice painted a vivid portrait of her visage—eyebrows drawn together in concern, the creases of worry etched deeply on her brow as if carved by the weight of her thoughts.[/i]

[i][color=#fb0207]“And then that whole thing happened with your eyes and…it just felt like I’d lost you too.” [/color][/i][i]The pause that followed was filled with an unspoken heaviness, the air thick with the ghosts of memories they both tried to keep at bay. [/i][i][color=#fb0207]“But who was I supposed to be mad at for that? Dad?” [/color][/i][i]The question hung between them, a rhetorical one, laden with the pain of loss and the bitterness of unresolved anger. [/i]

[i]Harper’s reaction was immediate, her brows knitting together in a display of bewilderment. The mention of their father, the insinuation that Sierra had known something more, sent a jolt of confusion through her. [/i][color=#8a9a5b][i]“You mean, you knew about him? That he was…” [/i][/color][i]Harper’s voice faltered, the word [/i][color=#8a9a5b][i]‘monster’[/i][/color][i] echoing in her mind but never reaching her lips, [/i][color=#8a9a5b][i]“…different?”[/i][/color]

[i][color=#fb0207]“Sorta…well, no, not exactly.” [/color][/i][i]Sierra’s words were a tightrope walk between conviction and doubt, her voice a veneer of composure over the subtle quiver that betrayed her uncertainty. [/i][i][color=#fb0207]“It’s more like I found out about other things.”[/color][/i]

[i]Harper’s breath hitched, her gray memories of their father suddenly awash with new light, new questions. [/i][i][color=#8a9a5b]“What do you mean, ‘other things’?”[/color][/i]

[i]The silence that followed was thick with tension, the only sound being their synchronized breathing. Sierra seemed to gather her thoughts, a prelude to revelations that would change everything.[/i]

[i][color=#fb0207]“I mean that I saw him too. The monster.” [/color][/i][/COLOR][/indent]

[COLOR=GRAY][CENTER][COLOR=8A9A5B][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/COLOR][url=https://open.spotify.com/track/4eAwB5pnKFTmsgc3zWoYO0?si=eb3f9f6b9be741ae][img]https://i.imgur.com/defFT2x.jpeg[/img][/url][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=8A9A5B][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]Southern Plateau[/I] - [I]Pacific Royal Campus[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=8A9A5B][b]Hope in Hell #2.043:[/b][/COLOR] [I]The Cat Gets the Tongue[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][COLOR=8A9A5B][SUP][sub]_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sub][/SUP][/COLOR][indent][sub][color=8A9A5B][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR][I]Interactions: None/ Open?  [/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=8A9A5B][b]Previously: [/b][/COLOR][COLOR=GRAY][I]Dreaming While Awake[/I][/color][/right][/SUP][/indent]

[indent]Harper’s eyelids trembled, a delicate dance of resistance against the beckoning call of consciousness. The world around her, initially a blur of indistinct shapes and muted colours, began to crystallize with painstaking clarity. Each element of her surroundings declared its presence, asserting itself with the precision of a master craftsman’s stroke. The dream, a sanctuary of solace, clung to her with the tenacity of a cherished memory. The imagined warmth of her mother’s enveloping arms remained a ghostly comfort, while the soothing lilt of her father’s voice, tenderly uttering her name, receded into silence like the last note of a lullaby.

She remained motionless, suspended in the liminal space where the intangible touch of dreamscape met the solid certainty of reality. A hesitant blink banished the final vestiges of sleep, her pupils contracting against the room’s glaring luminescence. The light, devoid of any softness, immediately invaded her eyes, its sterile brightness an assault on the remnants of her nocturnal reverie.

Gradually, her eyes adapted, and the clarity of her surroundings imposed itself upon her. The walls, devoid of any personal touch, stood cold and clinical, their immaculate surface interrupted only by the sporadic sound of medical machinery—a beep here, a whisper of air there. The pervasive aroma of antiseptic irritated her nostrils, and as Harper shifted, the sound of the linens rustling beneath her was a crisp counterpoint to the silence. 

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her mind. Had she emerged from the simulation? Was she now safe within the confines of reality? Questions about the whereabouts of the others surfaced, especially one in particular, their fates momentarily shrouded in mystery.

In response to her silent queries, a throb of pain pulsed at the base of her skull, a sharp retort that demanded her attention. Instinctively, her fingers sought the source, trailing to the nape of her neck. There, they encountered what was merely a tender spot at first before they encountered something wet. Harper winced, bringing her hands in front of her to see what it was. 

Blood. 

A sharp intake of breath seized Harper, her chest constricting as her eyes locked onto the vivid scarlet that defiled the paleness of her fingertips. The shock rooted her to the spot, a statue of disbelief, as the initial haze of confusion that had clouded her mind began to scatter. It was as if a sinister tide of dread was rising within her, wave after wave threatening to capsize her sanity. She grappled with the elusive fragments of her memory, attempting to weave them into a coherent tapestry that could explain the blood that now seemed to accuse her. What in the world had happened to her?  

With each mental tug, a spike of agony lanced through her head, a relentless sentinel that seemed to guard the gates to her past with sadistic vigilance. The more she delved into the labyrinth of her mind, the more intense the throbbing became, as though her very brain was rebelling against her quest for clarity. The enigma of her location gnawed at her, an itch that couldn’t be scratched, as her gaze began to absorb the minute, yet telling details of her surroundings.

Her eyes flitted to the medical apparatus that surrounded her, their beeps and whirs a discordant orchestra to the chaos of her thoughts. These machines, with their blinking lights and scrolling numbers, bore an eerie resemblance to those she had seen in another time, another place—a memory now muffled by the dulling pain that enveloped her head. She recalled nights shrouded in vigilance, her gaze fixated on the vital signs displayed before her, each beep a harbinger of hope or despair. The only question was, which outcome would she achieve tonight? 

Was it her own form that had once been ensnared in the web of wires and tubes, or had she been the person at another’s bedside? The recollection was fractured, a jigsaw puzzle with too many missing pieces, a mélange of antiseptic odours and hushed, reassuring whispers. Yet, amidst the fog of her memory, there was a sense of déjà vu, a recognition of patterns and routines dictated by the unemotional cadence of the medical devices that now held her in their grasp.

The urgency to free herself from the invasive touch of the medical equipment surged within her. She needed to rid her skin of the foreign objects that pierced it, to reclaim the autonomy of her own body. Her gaze fell upon her arms, and the sight that greeted her sent a jolt of horror coursing through her veins. Angry, raw lacerations crisscrossed her flesh, lying against the torn remnants of her augmented reality suit. The blood from each wound, fresh and vibrant, welled up from the jagged cuts, tracing a crimson path down her arms, dripping onto the pristine bed and the cold tiles below.

The rhythmic throb of her cheek pulsed in time with her racing heart, each beat a drum of agony that resonated with the steady drip of blood she now felt running down her neck. The wound was a raw landscape of pain, its edges tender and vulnerable to even the faintest touch. Her hand, shaking with a mixture of fear and pain, reached up to explore the damage, only to retreat, coated in the same slick evidence of another injury. The scent of copper, rich and overpowering, filled the air, mingling with the sterile tang of the room. Her eyes barely glanced at the blood tracing a warm, sticky path down her cheek, soaking into the fabric of her AR suit, spreading like a dark bloom.

Harper’s head throbbed with relentless intensity, each heartbeat echoing like a drumbeat of agony within her. The pain’s nucleus, buried deep at the base of her skull, sent out relentless shockwaves of distress that distorted her vision and scrambled her thoughts into an incoherent jumble. Her fingers, driven by a blend of instinct and newfound alarm, reached for the epicenter of her suffering, only to encounter the unexpected warmth and stickiness of blood matting the lower locks of her hair.

Yet, the nightmare continued to unfold.

As her fingers probed deeper, the grim reality sent an icy tremor coursing through her body. Her hair, which had once flowed in a rich, chocolate-brown cascade that gracefully fell past her shoulders, was now a butchered landscape. The strands had been crudely chopped, seemingly at the whims of a callous, uncaring entity, leaving behind a jagged, uneven canopy that told a silent tale of brutality and rashness.

The epiphany hit Harper with the devastating impact of a wrecking ball, compounding the already profound sense of violation that permeated her disoriented consciousness. The cold, impersonal touch of medical devices, the savage butchery of her once-beautiful hair, the sticky warmth of blood—all these elements coalesced into a macabre scene of utter disregard and cruelty. Harper’s breathing grew labored, each shallow gasp interwoven with the piercing agony that wracked her battered frame. The room seemed to close in on her, the walls creeping inward, exacerbating her feelings of captivity and bewilderment.

In the midst of the chaos that churned within her mind, a voice cut through the thick silence, its sharpness as startling as the crack of a whip. Harper’s head jerked upward, her eyes darting to find the source of the cold interruption. There stood Sierra, her sister, embodying an aura of impatient indignation that seemed to slice through the very air. Their eyes met in a collision of emotions—hazel eyes, brimming with confusion and the raw edge of fear, clashed with the turbulent brown of anger and silent accusation. Sierra moved to loom over Harper, her presence heavy with an impatience that was almost tangible, piercing through the veil of fear that now shrouded Harper’s heart.

[color=#fb0207]“You’re not meant to be conscious yet. My [/color][color=#fb0207][i]piece[/i][/color][color=#fb0207] is incomplete,”[/color] Sierra declared, her voice tinged with a disquieting irritation, her words detached as if she were discussing something as mundane as a chore left unfinished.

Harper’s breath stalled in her throat, a choked gasp as she confronted the surreal horror before her. The words she tried to form were reduced to a hoarse whisper, fragile and scarcely audible against the thick silence. [color=#8a9a5b]“What… what did you do to me?” [/color]she breathed out. Her hands fluttered upwards once more, grasping at nothingness. Without the veil of her long hair, she felt exposed, as if stripped of a protective layer that had once shielded her from the world.

The corners of Sierra’s mouth twisted into a perverse grin, a dark mirth that seemed to mock Harper’s disarray. [color=#fb0207]“It seems we’ve both embraced the role of artist,”[/color] Sierra sneered, her tone laced with derision. [color=#fb0207]“What’s your opinion of my latest masterpiece, so far? You can be honest about it being too much on the nose.”[/color]

Bewilderment clouded Harper’s gaze, her eyes searching Sierra’s face for some hint of jest, some sign that this was all a terrible joke. [color=#8a9a5b]“What are you talking about?” [/color]

Sierra moved with purpose, each step measured and resolute as she closed the distance between them. From the shadowed recesses of her pocket, she produced a small, plain mirror and with a flourish that seemed almost theatrical in its execution, she thrust it forward, holding it high and steady. It was an unyielding command for Harper to look up and witness the glory- the horror- reflected back at her.

The brunette’s heart lurched, skipping a beat in sheer terror as her gaze collided with the grotesque spectacle in the mirror. Carved into the tender flesh of her still-weeping cheek was a single, condemning word—a word that landed with the force of a physical assault:
[COLOR=#2e2c2c]▅▅▅▅[/color]

[b][i][color=ffffff]—“FREAK.”[/color][/i][/b][b] [/b] 

[COLOR=#2e2c2c]▅▅▅▅[/color]

[color=#fb0207]“I thought it suited you,” [/color]Sierra’s voice was devoid of any semblance of sisterly warmth, her tone as cold and hard as steel.  [color=#fb0207]“And I’ve got the perfect title too. ‘A Hot Mess.’ Apt, don’t you think?”[/color]

Tears, unbidden and unwelcome, swelled in Harper’s eyes. The pain of the physical wound was nothing compared to the agony of perceived betrayal, the humiliation of being reduced to a spectacle, the confusion of a world suddenly turned upside down. Why were they doing this to them?  To [i]her[/i]? The Foundation. What did they possibly have to gain from this?  Her vision clouded, a mist of sorrow that threatened to spill over, and she bit down on her lip—a futile attempt to dam the flood of emotions.

Yet the tears defied her, spilling over her cheeks in a silent rebellion, mingling with the blood from the fresh, vicious inscription. It was a poignant blend of salt and iron, a bitter concoction of anguish and misery.

[color=#fb0207]“Oh, look at you,”[/color] mocked Sierra’s doppelgänger, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. [color=#fb0207]“Still the crybaby baby sister. Some things never change, do they?” [/color]The taunt was a knife, twisting with each syllable, each word designed to cut and wound.

Harper’s frame trembled with the force of her crying, each shudder a clash between her longing for dignity and the crushing wave of sadness. Sierra’s double watched the display with a malevolent grin, her delight in Harper’s anguish unmistakable.

[color=#fb0207]“God, you’re so pathetic,”[/color] the clone hissed. [color=#fb0207]“Just like you’ve always been with no mommy to tuck you in or daddy to clean up all of your[/color][color=#fb0207][i] bullshit[/i][/color][color=#fb0207] anymore.”[/color] The words were a reflection of Harper’s deepest insecurities, the fears that had haunted her in the quietest moments, now given voice by the one person who knew her best.

Herself. This was her, the guilt she still felt in the guise of the sister that she’d hid from after all this time. 

The clone’s smile unfurled like a flag of war, a grotesque contortion of what once might have been a gesture of joy. Now, it was nothing short of a harbinger of agony yet to be inflicted. [color=#fb0207]“You know, perhaps it’s time those lovely eyes of yours served a better purpose,”[/color] she murmured, her voice a sinister lullaby that sent shivers down Harper’s spine. Her breath felt like a venomous mist, seething with malice as it brushed against Harper’s skin.

With deliberate slowness, the clone reached for a scalpel that lay gleaming on a nearby tray, its edge catching the light with a menacing sparkle. She wielded it with a perverse sense of ceremony, bringing it ever closer to Harper’s eye. The cold metal kissed the tender flesh of Harper’s eyelid, sending a jolt of terror and something raw and animalistic through her. 

It was a challenge laid bare, a gauntlet thrown at Harper’s feet—a challenge she was compelled to accept, because she couldn’t have them. They were [i]hers[/i]. 

Driven by a primal surge of instinct and desperation, Harper’s hand shot out, seizing the clone’s wrist with a strength born of raw emotion. Caught off guard by this sudden act of rebellion, the clone struggled to maintain her grip on the scalpel, but Harper’s will to survive burned fiercely within her.

Their struggle erupted into a frenzied clash of limbs. Harper lashed out with her foot, striking the clone’s knee and sending them both crashing to the ground in a tumultuous heap, the beeping of medical equipment providing a discordant soundtrack to their battle. The scalpel flew from the clone’s grasp, its metallic surface catching the harsh light as it slid across the floor.

With adrenaline coursing through her veins dulling her pain, Harper crawled frantically, her hands slipping on the cold, unforgiving tiles as she reached for the scalpel. The clone was quick to react, lunging at Harper with a feral growl. But Harper was faster, her fingers wrapping around the handle of the scalpel just in time.

With a raw, guttural cry, Harper swung the scalpel wildly, slashing through the air as the clone descended upon her. The blade arced with desperate, frenetic energy, finding its mark again and again—each connection a spray of crimson that splattered the pristine tiles and stained Harper’s face with the evidence of her struggle.

The clone’s movements began to falter, its vitality draining with each slice Harper delivered. At last, with a strangled gurgle, the clone fell, its body convulsing in the final throes of defeat.

Harper stood, panting heavily, the scalpel slick with blood in her trembling grip. She had prevailed, but the victory was hollow. The room fell silent, save for the sound of her laboured breathing and the steady beep of the heart monitor.

[color=#8a9a5b]“You talk too much,” [/color]Harper uttered with icy detachment, gazing down at the bloodied scalpel, then at the lifeless form before her. A twisted smile crept across her face as she knelt, positioning the cold blade beneath the clone’s lifeless eyes.[color=#8a9a5b] “But I suppose some things really do change.”[/color]

[/indent][/color]