[COLOR=GRAY][CENTER][COLOR=8A9A5B][sup]_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/COLOR][url=https://open.spotify.com/track/3qeTDINIdJjblabgluS5rK?si=9459b1e8b3af499a][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 #2.057:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Livin' on a Wing [/I][/right][/sup][/indent][COLOR=8A9A5B][SUP][sub]___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sub][/SUP][/COLOR][indent][sub][color=8A9A5B][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]Haven (hey gurl heyyyyy)[@Skai] [/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=8A9A5B][b]Previously: [/b][/COLOR][COLOR=GRAY][I]The Cat Gets the Tongue[/I][/color][/right][/SUP][/indent]

[indent]The weight of Harper’s injuries made each step a monumental effort. 

Her legs, once firm and agile, now quivered like frail saplings in a storm, barely able to bear the weight of her battered body. She trudged through the desolate hallways, the silence around her so profound it felt like a tangible shroud, smothering any hope of life or rescue.

The artificial light, sterile and unforgiving, cast an unflattering glow over the scene where she was, unfortunately, the sole character. It was as if the light itself was an interrogator, exposing every tear of her AR suit and every streak of blood that defiled her once pristine skin. The walls, observers of her plight, stood lined with glass-fronted study rooms that bore witness to countless hours of scholarly pursuit, now just empty chambers echoing with the ghosts of academia.

Driven by fear and determination, she continued to navigate the mazelike corridors, her mind clinging to the faint hope of encountering another soul. Surely, in this expanse of isolation, there must be another living being? A friend, preferably. Surely, the fickle hands of fate must turn in her favour once more? The young girl did not think she could fight someone else in her state and live another day. Not this time. 

Her fingers, smeared with the crimson evidence of her ordeal, clung to the cool glass for support, leaving behind a macabre trail as her vision blurred and danced with the threat of unconsciousness. The only sounds that dared to break the oppressive silence were the ragged symphony of her breathing and the morbid percussion of her blood, drop by drop, staining the pristine tiles beneath her feet. 

The lights above began to sputter like dying stars, yet Harper, perched precariously on the brink of shock, scarcely noticed it. Instead, she fought against her body’s attempt to succumb to an encroaching darkness, a creeping void threatening to swallow her whole. 

[color=#8a9a5b]“Keep moving,”[/color] she murmured, the words a fragile lifeline in the engulfing darkness. With each push against the solid reality of a doorframe, she willed her body forward, grimacing as pain lanced through her. But the agony was a mere echo compared to the thunderous call of duty that resonated within her—Aurora needed her. She needed help. And she was somewhere in here. This singular thought, this unwavering purpose, was the beacon that guided her through her suffering.

As she rounded a corner, Harper’s balance faltered, her body teetering on the brink of collapse. The corridor stretched endlessly before her, a gauntlet of flickering lights that cast long, haunting shadows as if the very darkness was reaching out to claim her. Each step was a declaration of war against the rebellion of her own flesh and bone, her spirit the general commanding her to persevere. It was a reliance on sheer willpower she had summoned many times before, but never under such dire circumstances, never while waging a simultaneous battle against the betrayal of her own wounded form.

At long last, the end of her torturous journey came into view—a set of double doors, slightly parted, as if in invitation or warning. Beyond lay a room shrouded in shadows, its contents obscured and ominous. Harper’s heart hammered against her ribs, a drumroll of anticipation and dread, as she mustered the strength to push the doors wide. Her gaze, sharpened by adrenaline, immediately found the still, supine figure on the unforgiving floor.

[color=#8a9a5b]“Rora?”[/color] she managed, her voice filled with some hope. It was only when she really started to take in what- or rather [i]who[/i]- she was seeing that Harper practically bolted forward, ignoring the pain that shot through her as a result. She knelt beside Haven, her hands shaking as she reached out. She hesitated, the blood on her own hands briefly reminding her of her earlier ordeal. She wanted to touch Haven, to shake her awake, but fear of causing more harm stayed her hand.

Compelled by desperation and tenderness, Harper leaned in, her whisper a fervent plea against the silence.[color=#8a9a5b]“Haven, please, wake up. It’s me, Harper. We need to get out of here.”[/color] Her voice, laced with urgency, seemed to dissipate into the void, met with nothing but the stillness of the unresponsive form before her.

Harper’s eyes roved over Haven’s form, searching for any signs of further injury. The uplinks lay discarded on either side of her head, a possible clue to what had happened. Harper carefully moved one of them aside, her fingers brushing against Haven’s temple in the process.

[color=#8a9a5b]“Haven, I’m here,”[/color] she murmured again, placing her hand gently on Haven's shoulder this time, giving a light, tentative shake. [color=#8a9a5b]“Please, wake up.”[/color]

Time seemed to fracture, each second a heavy drop in the ocean of Harper’s anxiety, each tick of the clock a measure of her growing fear. 

[i]Please. [/i]

Haven's shallow breathing suddenly hitched as the movement altered her conscious. Where her limp hand laid beside Harper, her fingers twitched. Then an imperceptible line formed between her brows, so subtle that only keen eyes could notice.

She'd heard Harper's voice. She'd felt her teammate's touch against her shoulder. Inside her, she clawed her way to the surface of alertness. Harper was here-- she was safe. Haven climbed her way out of the sludge that her mind had become, and...

Slowly, Haven's eyelids lifted. They were still so heavy. Her body still refused to move. She desperately wanted to take Harper's hand, but she found herself settling for the ankle positioned next to her weak digits. Her lazy eyes lifted to Harper's face, and what she saw carved into her teammate's pale skin wrung the life out of her heart.

[color=tan][i]"Harps..."[/i][/color] The words slipped out of her scarcely moving lips. Her rasping voice still carried the weight of her grief.

The moment Haven’s voice pierced the silence, it was as though time itself had paused, the air charged with the gravity of her utterance. Relief cascaded through her, a wave that cleansed away the layers of fear and pain, if only momentarily, infusing Harper with newfound vigour.

With hands marred by the trials of her ordeal, Harper reached out, her fingers quivering as they sought the warmth of human connection. They found Haven’s hand, cold and still, and enveloped it, the blood from her wounds painting the pallor of the skin there. And then, a miracle—a faint pressure, a squeeze from Haven’s fingers, feeble yet unmistakably present, a silent message of the will to survive shared by both women in the moment. 

[color=#8a9a5b] “Little Dove,”[/color] Harper exhaled, her voice fragile. [color=#8a9a5b]“We… we need to go. Can you… move?”[/color]

The name warmed Haven’s heart the same way Harper’s hand warmed her fingers. Yet the anxiety present in Harper’s tone didn’t make it easy to feel better. She’d never heard her friend sound so… scared. What had she been through? Who had done that to her skin?

[color=tan]“Too much blood.”[/color] She managed, swallowing against the soreness in her throat before she took another shallow breath to speak again. [color=tan]“It’s over. The walls… they’re blank.”[/color]

[color=tan]“We’re ok.”[/color]

As Harper’s eyes swept across the room, they caught the intricate honeycomb pattern etched into the walls and ceiling.

So, it was indeed over. The trials, the terror, the relentless pursuit—it had all come to an end. 

Finally. 

[color=#8a9a5b]“We can leave…” [/color]Harper’s voice was a hushed murmur, a soft declaration of their hard-won freedom. Despite the exhaustion that clung to her words, a faint smile graced her lips.[color=#8a9a5b] “Just… hold on.”[/color]

Gathering the remnants of her strength, Harper pushed herself to her feet. Her stance was shaky, her body protesting the movement, but her spirit was unyielding. She scanned the room for something to aid Haven, her eyes landing on a sturdy chair that seemed untouched by the turmoil. With a grit born of necessity, she dragged it across the floor, its legs scraping against the tile. 

Positioning the chair beside Haven, Harper eased her friend into the seat with as much gentleness as her trembling arms could muster. They both grimaced, their injuries a chorus of pain, but the act of sitting was a small victory in itself.

[color=#8a9a5b]“Lean on me,”[/color] Harper encouraged, her arm wrapping around Haven’s shoulders in a solid embrace of support.

The winged woman looked warily at the space before her, unsure if she could bear to put any more weight on her leg. Yet Harper’s spirit was contagious. Despite their mutual pain, and the sluggishness in her own movements, Haven placed her trust in Harper and willed her body to make the final journey.

Her mind drifted to the past as she was reminded of another friend, whom she’d considered a sister, who had done the same for her once. Her eyes slid over to Harper, and she found herself thinking of her teammate the same way. Had she noticed it before today? How was it so easy to let Harper pick her up like that?

The pair found the exit to the room. What once had been sterile, endless white hallways now stood dark passages of honeycomb. In the distance, they could already hear the school’s emergency response faculty searching for survivors. They’d survived the game. 

Could they survive the fallout?
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