evanna

ALONE. THE WALLS whisper it around me like a taunt, like a tease, like a trigger. Alone, alone, they echo. Alone... I press one palm to the warm marble table I lie on and push myself up. Swinging my legs around, I let myself down onto the floor— and I stagger, crashing into a metal container whereupon stands a rack of two dozen glass test tubes. I watch, in momentary paralysis, as the rack falls. One by one, the glass tubes shatter, and I continue to watch with blank eyes as they splinter within the proximity of their protector.

The thought brings a grim smile to my face. That is the problem, with people over you, those more powerful that you, those that believe they can protect you, shelter you. When they fall, you fall as well. That is why I am better. I needn't rely on another person to survive.

The container rattles as I push myself off of it, my feet feeling numb, my sense of orientation raw and dizzying, brand new, blinding.

The walls continue their barely audible assault on my thought processes, now catapulting information towards me, but there is nothing of importance there to note. Just more insult, more junk, more nonsense to add to my confusion.

Where the hell am I?

Stooping, I pick up a shard of broken glass, turning it around in my fingers, watching as the sharp edges slice at the pale skin. What falls is no longer clear, but transluscent, dyed pink.

Wiping my hand on the uncomfortable white gown I wear, I make my way towards the entrance— but something strong, something uncomfortable holds me back.

A sharp tug against my movement causes me to back up and inspect what this thing is. It is a wire, fitted to the back of my waist. Lifting up the gown, I inspect the way it's fitted into my flesh. It is almost like a socket around a plug, a socket surrounded by flesh. Shaking my head, I pull. It budges, and I feel a sharp pull along my spine. I hesitate, then give the wire a twist, and the pull returns. It is, however, only something directly linked to my muscle, so it won't damage my spinal cord; therefore it isn't dangerous, I conclude. I give it another few twists and with a cry, wrench it free.

The skin around the socket constricts together and then closes beneath my impressed gaze, as if nothing had ever been there in the first place. Slightly befuddled, I let the gown drop again, and look back at my hand, which is now completely healed too. How does it work, I wonder. How does it work? Self-regenerative tissue; it's the only explanation. Interesting. I do most certainly not remember having that.

I sit back down atop the marble counter, breathing heavily, taking a moment to settle down, collect myself. A nauseating feeling begins to rise, making my head throb, but I do my best to suppress it, closing my eyes. After a moment, I open them again, and begin to properly assess my surroundings.

There is dust everywhere: on the tables, on the floor, on the equipment— this laboratory has been neglected for some time: and quite... carelessly, too. There are outdated chemicals on the shelves, the filled test tubes are more proof of that. Still, there has to be someone somewhere.

I try to speak, but I haven't done so for so long that my throat feels raw, my lips dry, my vocal cords non-existent. Hello?

"H- he- h- h-" I feel it rising up my throat. My god, what is that? What is that? I'm on my hands and knees, my chest heaving, my vision flickering between red and blue, an acrid taste fills my mouth. And then I'm retching, gasping through half-attempted coughs as a black, strong smelling, viscous liquid spills out onto the floor, its surface tension keeping it together in one, large black puddle, slowly making its way towards the drain beside a trolley in the corner of the room, labelled, in bold lettering, with the word ᴬᵁᵀᴼᶜᴸᴬᵛᴱ.

I slump against the side of the counter, wipe my mouth of the liquid, feel bubbles burst on my lips with every breath I release as I pant, trying to regain my calm.

There is a computer on the other side of the room, old, with a cracked screen. I stagger over to it and press the screen with my forefinger, shake the thin object, watch as the blue screen comes back to life, flashing red letters as a voice speaks.

Trial:_ unsuccessful. Please try again.

Trial:_ unsuccessful. Please try again.

Trial:_ unsuccessful. Please try again.

Trial:_ unsuccessful. Please t-.

Angered by the unnerving repetition and by the fact that it isn't telling me anything, I punch my fist through the glass thing. It gives way easily, but three shards remain in the taut skin between my knuckles as my skin begins to close up again. Quickly I pull them out and toss them onto the floor.

One lands atop the black puddle of what seems to be a petroleum of sorts. It pierces through the surface tension and remains there, a little monument erected in a large, ugly dark world. I turn back towards the entrance of the laboratory, and begin my way through it, evading scattered objects.

My retina flashes red, and my left eye becomes a screen to me. A plasma screen. Upload Successful, I hear. It's a female voice, and the words appear in red in front of my vision, before dissipating. What is it? Have I been merged with some Artificial Intelligence? Or is it just my subconscious trying to reach out to me? I pick up my pace. Red lights along the ceiling flare up. A siren sounds.

They are coming for you, the walls tell me. Coming for you. You... you... They echo.

I run.

I follow the red lights out of the laboratory and find myself in a maze of white corridors, pathways that meander here and there. I have reached a delta of possibilities. I take the second left. I allow instinct to take over me and I guide myself through this unfamiliar terrain. But it can't be all that unfamiliar, can it? I must have gotten into that lab someway or another. I can't remember.

I can't remember anything, anything except my own name.

▿

I hear voices- two men, distinct, paired with the sound of scuffling.

A steel door blocks the pathway before me, but it is from the other side that I can hear them. Pausing, palm flat against the cold steel, I listen.

"Shit!"

"What do we do?"

"Do you think I know what we're supposed to do, Parrish?" The first voice responds, irritated. "I know as much as you do, you idiot. Just shoot it, dammit!"

"Yeah, but, I was thinking— see, maybe if you—" I take a step forward, slamming a fist against the door. "The hell was that?"

A long silence follows, punctuated only by the clicking of guns as bullets are placed into their respective chambers, ready to be fired. The sounds come to me easily, and I pin them down.

"Shit!" The first voice continues to use crude language whilst the other man, Parrish, remains silent.

"Hang on— hang on—" The panicked scuffling of feet, muffled by whatever is covering the ground, resonates in the corridor around me as the sound passes through the door. "They said the left side!" The second man continues to speak. "Hit the left! Just do it!"

Taking another moment to consider my options, I make my move.

I ram against the door, hammer against it, and within moments, I hear the snap of a chain on the other side as it breaks. One more push— and I burst into white oblivion.

A/N: finally, chapter one is up! Thank you all so much for all the encouragement I've gotten since the prologue! I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for the support, it means a ton <3