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Location: Southern Plateau - Pacific Royal Campus
Hope in Hell #2.023: Spot the Difference
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The first thing Aurora knew was pain.
She instantly felt her throbbing head, pulsating with each labored breath she took. God, she’d never had this bad of a headache before. Was this what a migraine felt like? The right half of her face was on fire, hot and achy, and her arms and legs were heavy and sore. Maybe she’d slept funny? Or she was having an allergic reaction to her detergent again.
What were those god awful noises? She winced, the ringing in her ears amplifying each sound tenfold. Five more minutes. She’d hit snooze and then once her alarm rang she’d get ready for class. Pop a painkiller. Lorcán would understand if she was late for breakfast.
The redhead whimpered, hoping to find any relief from this torment. She shifted, although it was agonizing, feeling the cool bite of a leather cushion underneath her.
Wait a minute. This wasn’t her bed. It wasn’t a bed at all.
And then it all came rushing back to her like a tidal wave. The Trial. The classroom underneath the ocean. The cracked window. The locked door. Teleporting to find the panel. And after that… nothing.
Finally managing to open her eyes, Aurora let things come into focus. She saw the string lights first, their warm hue welcoming as opposed to blinding, then the vague square and round shapes that adorned the walls.
Records.
She knew this place.
Her eyes continued to drift along the wall until they landed on what she was looking for. The red guitar suspended off the ground.
Lorcán’s garage. The trial was over? They’d made it out?
The redhead glanced up from her spot on the worn leather couch and sure enough, a familiar head of wavy hair slowly moved closer, his sunset colored eyes searching as he stood over her. She went to sit up but groaned, lying back, the movement causing more pain to course through her body. “Lorcán? What happened…” Aurora trailed off, groggily.
“Something for the pain.” He muttered, bringing a cool drink to her lips and placing a thick cloth wrapped around a few ice cubes against the bruise forming on her face.
“You took a nasty fall, Princess, maybe surfing isn’t your thing.” Lorcán chuckled slightly. He was wearing a tank top while a black suit was half pulled off, torso and arms tied around his waist. Though even in her groggy state, Aurora noticed it wasn’t like any wetsuit that she had seen Lorcán wear before. The heavy boots on his feet were a far cry from the barefoot or flip-flops the normally clumsy boy ran around in.
“Surfing?” She asked, trying to rack her brain to recall the incident he spoke of, but nothing came to mind. “But the trial-”
“Trials?” Lorcán asked with a confused look. “You mean like we had back at P.R.C.U.? We haven’t run a trial in almost seven years. The school has been decommissioned for nearly five. You helped me torch it for Hyperion's glory.” He laughed like someone reminiscing about a camping trip despite cruelly talking about the destruction of their home.
“You truly did get hit hard in the head.”
Hyperion?
Aurora’s head seemed to pound even more brutally as she tried to wrap her mind around what Lorcán was implying. She closed her eyes, hoping it would help her find some clarity, but she struggled, “No, that… that’s not true,” The redhead managed to choke out, propping herself up on her elbows even though her arms seemed to scream at her in protest. “We were running the Trial, someone messed with the simulation…” She recounted each detail, holding tight to the narrative, “We were locked in a Foundation classroom, we were going to drown…”
“That Draoi from Nepal must have gotten into your head on our last mission.” Lorcán leaned down, gingerly placing a hand on the non-bruising side of Aurora’s face as he carefully inspected her eyes. Her own blue eyes locked with his before noting the jagged scar running the length of the left side of his face.
“Just as I suspected, you’re concussed.” He muttered, “We should get you looked at by one of the Sages. They’ll patch you right up, have those nasty false memories pulled out so you can get back to your right self.”
Her eyes went wide, fear intertwining with her discomfort. She moved away from his touch, sinking further into the leather couch to create as much distance as she could between them. She wasn’t going to let him do that, mind wipe her, how could he even suggest such an outlandish thing? “Lorcán what are you talking about?” She exhaled, panic laced into her voice, “You’re not making any sense.” The redhead broke eye contact and looked around his garage, hoping she could find something, anything, to jog her memory as well as his.
But upon more detailed inspection of the space, she noticed things were… off.
His bass on the wall was coated in a layer of dust, evident he hadn’t played it recently. The boy always tried to squeeze in at least ten minutes minimum per day.
He always kept an extra Canis uniform thrown over the back of his desk chair, for those times when he was working on his bike and got grease everywhere or when he wanted to surf before class. But where the blazer should have been were a pair of plain black swim trunks.
Gone were the pictures of their friends he’d framed and displayed. The one of him and Rory after they’d won Hyperball championships sophomore year. He and a drunk Gil at a party Blackjack threw last November (which got them all extra community contributions for two weeks). She and him on the first day of University when they were freshman. She was smiling at the camera in the photo, he was looking at her. Where they once sat held only scattered papers and drawings.
Aurora looked at the corner of Lorcán’s desk for one of the first birthday gifts that she had ever given him when they were younger. She’d spent weeks collecting sea glass from around the Island. All sorts of colors, shapes and sizes. The jar was nowhere to be found.
It clicked.
This wasn’t Lorcán’s garage. And the boy standing over her was definitely not Lorcán.
Aurora mustered her strength and teleported across the room, practically keeling over upon reaching the other side of the garage next to the assorted tools. Her knees buckled, she was still weak, in no shape to use her abilities, but she knew she had to get away from him at all costs. “Where’s Lorcán.” She spat, keeping her eyes pinned on the doppleganger as she braced the wall in order to stay upright. “Where are my friends.”
The boy that looked like Lorcán let out a heavy sigh before slowly shaking his head.
“I gave that name up after watching my father cut down in cold blood. Your Lorcán, he hasn't had that happen, he’s happy, he’s carefree. Never had a bad thing happen to him.” He stated, looking towards Aurora while slowly untying his suit from his waist and pulling on the armoured attire. A long hood hung from his shoulders as he finished fastening the last few straps.
“I am Raze. And your friends are dead.” He replied.
“Or at least they will be. Even if they survive their own fears, the mind can only take so much.” He tapped the side of his head where Aurora’s neural uplink was located.
“Hyperion's Children needed you to be their sacrificial lambs. Through you, Hyperion will return again. So forget Lorcán, he’s gone, your friends are gone. Embrace the future, you have so much potential being wasted by P.R.C.U.”
Raze extended a hand towards Aurora from where he stood on the other side of the room.
“Join me, together we can take our rightful place as rulers of a new world.” He stated before motioning towards a cabinet with his chin.
“And I’ve already picked you out a wedding gift, go ahead. Open it.” He urged.
She grew lightheaded as Lor- Raze spoke. From his reveal that Hyperion would rise once more, to the promise that her friends would be killed one by one, each word struck a chord and further unsettled Aurora to her core. She was injured, she knew that, and she highly doubted he was lying when he mentioned her having a concussion. There was a slim chance she would be able to teleport out of here. And even if she did, she likely would not make it far enough, and he’d come after her once more.
She also was well aware of who she was up against. Although he wasn’t the version of Lorcán she knew, he shared his abilities. In her current state, he’d overpower her in an instant. So the redhead made a choice to play the game, to bide her time and reserve her strength. She had to be strategic if she was going to get out of here alive. The words wedding gift churned in her gut, but cautiously she approached the cabinet. She wrapped her fingers around the handle and opened.
Her heart rate skyrocketed and her breathing grew quick and shallow as she met the cold and harsh eyes of Damon Fray.
Her step-father. The man who haunted her nightmares, who abused her mother relentlessly, who's vehement hatred was the reason she was given up and put into the system.
Age showed on his face, but otherwise he hadn’t changed from the last day she saw him 11 years ago. The man still had the same thick brows, dark hair and tattoos covering his arms that she had memorized. He was bound and gagged, stuffed into the closet and actively fighting his restraints. But the second he saw her, beheld her, he froze. Damon attempted to speak, but all that could be heard were muffled sounds. Something like pain in his eyes, which morphed into unbridled fury as he began to resist his bounds once more.
The redhead wasn’t able to look for more than a few seconds before slamming the cabinet shut, pressing her back to the surface and sliding down to the ground until she was seated. A broken noise escaped from the back of her throat, her eyes welling up almost instantly. Rendered speechless, she turned to Raze, horror etched onto her features. “I-I…”
“Go ahead,” Raze urged, “He is beneath you, it is time you bring penance upon him for the suffering of your youth. Use your abilities and banish him to freeze in the Antarctic, or send him to the depths where his life will be snuffed out. Drop him in an active volcano where he’ll burn alive. You are like a god to him, he is not worthy to even clean your boots with his tongue, daughter of Hyperion.”
Aurora shook her head quickly, closing her eyes and trying to fight back the tears that began to fall. She took a shaky breath, attempting to regain her composure. She’d always wondered in the back of her mind how she’d react if she’d ever saw him again; what she’d say, what she’d do. But nothing could have prepared her for what it would actually be like experiencing it. The feeling was paralyzing. But she knew one thing for certain.
Death would be too easy for Damon. She wanted him to suffer, to live out the rest of his days behind bars. He didn’t deserve her mercy.
Not today.
She didn’t want his blood on her hands. He already had reign over her dreams, the last thing she wanted was his execution on her conscious mind. She refused to let him have any more power over her than he already did. The redhead continued to shake her head, “No,” She blurted out, “No, I’m not like you, I refuse to be like you.” She pushed herself to her feet, walking backwards and creating separation between herself and the cabinet where one of her demons lurked.
“I want no part of this, I won’t join you.”
“Disappointing,” Raze replied. “But to be expected, P.R.C.U. has made you weak. Did you realize one among you trapped you here? Did you realize one among you still lives to serve Lord Hyperion?” He chuckled darkly.
“No, Team Blackjack solves all problems through the power of ‘friendship.’ Pathetic, relying on others to compensate for one’s own weakness. It makes you blind and vulnerable. Ironic how your team's greatest strength will be its downfall.”
Raze opened the door of the garage, the sterile white hallways of the Foundation lay beyond it.
“I suggest you run now.” He grinned wickedly, his hands igniting into flame.
Aurora didn’t hesitate.
She bolted from the garage, not turning back.
She instantly felt her throbbing head, pulsating with each labored breath she took. God, she’d never had this bad of a headache before. Was this what a migraine felt like? The right half of her face was on fire, hot and achy, and her arms and legs were heavy and sore. Maybe she’d slept funny? Or she was having an allergic reaction to her detergent again.
What were those god awful noises? She winced, the ringing in her ears amplifying each sound tenfold. Five more minutes. She’d hit snooze and then once her alarm rang she’d get ready for class. Pop a painkiller. Lorcán would understand if she was late for breakfast.
The redhead whimpered, hoping to find any relief from this torment. She shifted, although it was agonizing, feeling the cool bite of a leather cushion underneath her.
Wait a minute. This wasn’t her bed. It wasn’t a bed at all.
And then it all came rushing back to her like a tidal wave. The Trial. The classroom underneath the ocean. The cracked window. The locked door. Teleporting to find the panel. And after that… nothing.
Finally managing to open her eyes, Aurora let things come into focus. She saw the string lights first, their warm hue welcoming as opposed to blinding, then the vague square and round shapes that adorned the walls.
Records.
She knew this place.
Her eyes continued to drift along the wall until they landed on what she was looking for. The red guitar suspended off the ground.
Lorcán’s garage. The trial was over? They’d made it out?
The redhead glanced up from her spot on the worn leather couch and sure enough, a familiar head of wavy hair slowly moved closer, his sunset colored eyes searching as he stood over her. She went to sit up but groaned, lying back, the movement causing more pain to course through her body. “Lorcán? What happened…” Aurora trailed off, groggily.
“Something for the pain.” He muttered, bringing a cool drink to her lips and placing a thick cloth wrapped around a few ice cubes against the bruise forming on her face.
“You took a nasty fall, Princess, maybe surfing isn’t your thing.” Lorcán chuckled slightly. He was wearing a tank top while a black suit was half pulled off, torso and arms tied around his waist. Though even in her groggy state, Aurora noticed it wasn’t like any wetsuit that she had seen Lorcán wear before. The heavy boots on his feet were a far cry from the barefoot or flip-flops the normally clumsy boy ran around in.
“Surfing?” She asked, trying to rack her brain to recall the incident he spoke of, but nothing came to mind. “But the trial-”
“Trials?” Lorcán asked with a confused look. “You mean like we had back at P.R.C.U.? We haven’t run a trial in almost seven years. The school has been decommissioned for nearly five. You helped me torch it for Hyperion's glory.” He laughed like someone reminiscing about a camping trip despite cruelly talking about the destruction of their home.
“You truly did get hit hard in the head.”
Hyperion?
Aurora’s head seemed to pound even more brutally as she tried to wrap her mind around what Lorcán was implying. She closed her eyes, hoping it would help her find some clarity, but she struggled, “No, that… that’s not true,” The redhead managed to choke out, propping herself up on her elbows even though her arms seemed to scream at her in protest. “We were running the Trial, someone messed with the simulation…” She recounted each detail, holding tight to the narrative, “We were locked in a Foundation classroom, we were going to drown…”
“That Draoi from Nepal must have gotten into your head on our last mission.” Lorcán leaned down, gingerly placing a hand on the non-bruising side of Aurora’s face as he carefully inspected her eyes. Her own blue eyes locked with his before noting the jagged scar running the length of the left side of his face.
“Just as I suspected, you’re concussed.” He muttered, “We should get you looked at by one of the Sages. They’ll patch you right up, have those nasty false memories pulled out so you can get back to your right self.”
Her eyes went wide, fear intertwining with her discomfort. She moved away from his touch, sinking further into the leather couch to create as much distance as she could between them. She wasn’t going to let him do that, mind wipe her, how could he even suggest such an outlandish thing? “Lorcán what are you talking about?” She exhaled, panic laced into her voice, “You’re not making any sense.” The redhead broke eye contact and looked around his garage, hoping she could find something, anything, to jog her memory as well as his.
But upon more detailed inspection of the space, she noticed things were… off.
His bass on the wall was coated in a layer of dust, evident he hadn’t played it recently. The boy always tried to squeeze in at least ten minutes minimum per day.
He always kept an extra Canis uniform thrown over the back of his desk chair, for those times when he was working on his bike and got grease everywhere or when he wanted to surf before class. But where the blazer should have been were a pair of plain black swim trunks.
Gone were the pictures of their friends he’d framed and displayed. The one of him and Rory after they’d won Hyperball championships sophomore year. He and a drunk Gil at a party Blackjack threw last November (which got them all extra community contributions for two weeks). She and him on the first day of University when they were freshman. She was smiling at the camera in the photo, he was looking at her. Where they once sat held only scattered papers and drawings.
Aurora looked at the corner of Lorcán’s desk for one of the first birthday gifts that she had ever given him when they were younger. She’d spent weeks collecting sea glass from around the Island. All sorts of colors, shapes and sizes. The jar was nowhere to be found.
It clicked.
This wasn’t Lorcán’s garage. And the boy standing over her was definitely not Lorcán.
Aurora mustered her strength and teleported across the room, practically keeling over upon reaching the other side of the garage next to the assorted tools. Her knees buckled, she was still weak, in no shape to use her abilities, but she knew she had to get away from him at all costs. “Where’s Lorcán.” She spat, keeping her eyes pinned on the doppleganger as she braced the wall in order to stay upright. “Where are my friends.”
The boy that looked like Lorcán let out a heavy sigh before slowly shaking his head.
“I gave that name up after watching my father cut down in cold blood. Your Lorcán, he hasn't had that happen, he’s happy, he’s carefree. Never had a bad thing happen to him.” He stated, looking towards Aurora while slowly untying his suit from his waist and pulling on the armoured attire. A long hood hung from his shoulders as he finished fastening the last few straps.
“I am Raze. And your friends are dead.” He replied.
“Or at least they will be. Even if they survive their own fears, the mind can only take so much.” He tapped the side of his head where Aurora’s neural uplink was located.
“Hyperion's Children needed you to be their sacrificial lambs. Through you, Hyperion will return again. So forget Lorcán, he’s gone, your friends are gone. Embrace the future, you have so much potential being wasted by P.R.C.U.”
Raze extended a hand towards Aurora from where he stood on the other side of the room.
“Join me, together we can take our rightful place as rulers of a new world.” He stated before motioning towards a cabinet with his chin.
“And I’ve already picked you out a wedding gift, go ahead. Open it.” He urged.
She grew lightheaded as Lor- Raze spoke. From his reveal that Hyperion would rise once more, to the promise that her friends would be killed one by one, each word struck a chord and further unsettled Aurora to her core. She was injured, she knew that, and she highly doubted he was lying when he mentioned her having a concussion. There was a slim chance she would be able to teleport out of here. And even if she did, she likely would not make it far enough, and he’d come after her once more.
She also was well aware of who she was up against. Although he wasn’t the version of Lorcán she knew, he shared his abilities. In her current state, he’d overpower her in an instant. So the redhead made a choice to play the game, to bide her time and reserve her strength. She had to be strategic if she was going to get out of here alive. The words wedding gift churned in her gut, but cautiously she approached the cabinet. She wrapped her fingers around the handle and opened.
Her heart rate skyrocketed and her breathing grew quick and shallow as she met the cold and harsh eyes of Damon Fray.
Her step-father. The man who haunted her nightmares, who abused her mother relentlessly, who's vehement hatred was the reason she was given up and put into the system.
Age showed on his face, but otherwise he hadn’t changed from the last day she saw him 11 years ago. The man still had the same thick brows, dark hair and tattoos covering his arms that she had memorized. He was bound and gagged, stuffed into the closet and actively fighting his restraints. But the second he saw her, beheld her, he froze. Damon attempted to speak, but all that could be heard were muffled sounds. Something like pain in his eyes, which morphed into unbridled fury as he began to resist his bounds once more.
The redhead wasn’t able to look for more than a few seconds before slamming the cabinet shut, pressing her back to the surface and sliding down to the ground until she was seated. A broken noise escaped from the back of her throat, her eyes welling up almost instantly. Rendered speechless, she turned to Raze, horror etched onto her features. “I-I…”
“Go ahead,” Raze urged, “He is beneath you, it is time you bring penance upon him for the suffering of your youth. Use your abilities and banish him to freeze in the Antarctic, or send him to the depths where his life will be snuffed out. Drop him in an active volcano where he’ll burn alive. You are like a god to him, he is not worthy to even clean your boots with his tongue, daughter of Hyperion.”
Aurora shook her head quickly, closing her eyes and trying to fight back the tears that began to fall. She took a shaky breath, attempting to regain her composure. She’d always wondered in the back of her mind how she’d react if she’d ever saw him again; what she’d say, what she’d do. But nothing could have prepared her for what it would actually be like experiencing it. The feeling was paralyzing. But she knew one thing for certain.
Death would be too easy for Damon. She wanted him to suffer, to live out the rest of his days behind bars. He didn’t deserve her mercy.
Not today.
She didn’t want his blood on her hands. He already had reign over her dreams, the last thing she wanted was his execution on her conscious mind. She refused to let him have any more power over her than he already did. The redhead continued to shake her head, “No,” She blurted out, “No, I’m not like you, I refuse to be like you.” She pushed herself to her feet, walking backwards and creating separation between herself and the cabinet where one of her demons lurked.
“I want no part of this, I won’t join you.”
“Disappointing,” Raze replied. “But to be expected, P.R.C.U. has made you weak. Did you realize one among you trapped you here? Did you realize one among you still lives to serve Lord Hyperion?” He chuckled darkly.
“No, Team Blackjack solves all problems through the power of ‘friendship.’ Pathetic, relying on others to compensate for one’s own weakness. It makes you blind and vulnerable. Ironic how your team's greatest strength will be its downfall.”
Raze opened the door of the garage, the sterile white hallways of the Foundation lay beyond it.
“I suggest you run now.” He grinned wickedly, his hands igniting into flame.
Aurora didn’t hesitate.
She bolted from the garage, not turning back.