Rebooting...

Day 365

A body stirs awake, as its hung head shakes ever so slightly — a tremble lingering on the skin. The being was so madly intoxicated everything was numb and fuzzy. An image of a masculine figure with a gun plagues the mind, the picture is faded and blurred. Deep brown eyes wander their surroundings, as heavy black eyelids, with midnight lashes, rise. Just blinking felt like a chore, while the hazy objects around her became clearer.

Everything was black — no color on the floor, no light ahead. The only thing vaguely recognizable was her own body. Skin like brown leaves, clothes like the night sky. A heavy duty chest plate — vandalized in stickers and beaten down — strapped to her. Long, ripped sleeves, with fingerless gloves, and an unfamiliar neon bracelet. Shiny leather pants and boots, with the wedges giving off extra height — silver lines the bottom of the boots.

Sat in a chair, she grips its armrests, then releases. Illuminated in a bright bluish-green light, she tracks the color. Gently tossing her head back, with a wince — burned tentacle curls flow alongside her movements — she looks to her left, there's an IV bag on a stand. Inky teal liquid filled the bag, it glowed with so much radiance, it was almost hypnotic. The girl then traces the light in the extension cord right to her shoulder. The adrenaline from the realization shook her to the core like electricity. Yanking the IV cord from her skin, she jumps up out of her chair. Pain comes rushing in within seconds, she leans forward in anguish as her vision fills with stars momentarily. The girl grips her chest, ripping off the armor, revealing her wound as a turquoise stained piece of clothing falls to the ground. A shot right through the heart.

She stares at the battered padding in her hands for a moment, breathing heavily. She squeezes the broken protection with quivering hands, then casts it aside in anger. Memory snippets come flooding back in, only to fade out like they were never there. Her eyes load with warm tears, her quaking hand hovering over her injury. Flashes of that tall figure, his condescending smile, the Charger's glow, and all the vibrant ink left spilling on that cold floor were drowning out her sanity.

How could she have been so stupid? Why did she ever believe a word he said? Why would she risk so much for someone like that? What was she thinking? What is she thinking? The girl freezes, wide, teary eyes on the floor. The jumbled images in her mind dissolve fast as the room's air begins to feel limited. What is wrong with her? Is she just going crazy? She pulls her hand away from her chest, it's covered in ink. No, no... She was dying, but how? She swore she'd done everything right, then the scene came back to her. There was a flash and a bang, then a tampered blue pierces straight through her. She breathes in deep at the memory. A gunshot, but with no context.

She closes her shaky hand around the turquoise ooze. What happened to her? Did she do this to herself? She slowly opens her hand again, the ink stringing from her palm to her fingertips. No… She would never. It was… a shadow? Her brown eyes wander over to the discard padding. That figure, the chest plate… they were both connected somehow. What was the importance of it again? It's all a blur now. She glances back down at her palm. Was she hung up on a silhouette? Something straight out of her imagination? No, that couldn't be right. It felt so real, this moment felt so real. Her gaze shifts, foggy from loaded eyes, as a thought runs around her mind once more. A troublesome, flashy smile, with a glowing sniper in the figure's hands, aimed directly her way. It speaks, but the words aren't audible. She draws closer swiftly before stopping when there's a loud bang. She gasps at the recalled noise.

It was a man. Guess that made sense, but where did this man get her now? She looks up with wandering eyes. Now… where was she now? She really doesn't know. She touches the color spilling over onto her black, pleather, corset top. It dripped like the tears rolling down her cheeks. Clenching her teeth releasing a distressed breath. On the edge of death, that's where she stood, after… after what exactly? She couldn't remember. The feeling of anger clung to her aching heart, but why? What was she mad about? She was… taking a stand. A stand… for… for? What was she fighting for again? The memory escapes her completely, replacing it with the undying sensation of suffering. Her face was flush, and her ears were angled towards the floor.

"I'm your friend, remember?"

Her chest burns, a feeling so intense, it brings the girl to her knees. Who said that? The guilt of not knowing torments her. The uproar of mental and physical agony is so powerful it leaves the girl sitting on her own legs beneath her, ink covered hands within her lap. Something feels heavy in her chest, it stings. Did she love her killer or did she hate him? The true emotion is complicated, far too complex to be understood. To have loved him is madness, but who is he? Nothing is lucid, nor is his face. A distorted one comes to mind, but it seems more like a rushed photo. What did he look like? Blue eyes? No… they were green and brown. Who had blue eyes then? Somehow they felt more comforting than the other option. What was his name, anyway? Something along the lines of love… L… Le– Wait… no… That was somebody else… right? She was becoming too tired to figure it out. How did he even act? Charismatic… kind… loyal? No, maybe… expectant… demanding? No, more like ambitious… right? How is she supposed to know if she loved him when she's not sure of anything?

Love… What was it, anyway? What's the point of it? How do we love? Is it something we're born knowing how to do, which can grow tainted… or is it something that's taught whether it's done correctly or not? It's unfortunate to say, she wasn't doing it right… Maybe she's just losing it… her sanity… her memories… her life… Herself entirely. Who was she again? She isn't even sure at this point, she's just so tired. This couldn't be reality, right? There's no way this is where she dies, not without knowing the truth. She weeps, wishing that she's dreaming, but the pain is unbearably real.

"Kat?"

Right... That's her name, but that's not her voice, it's the same one from before. Who's voice is that? Is it his? The stress and loss of fluid makes the girl's head spin, as she gazes down at her hands with tear filled eyes. Suddenly a different voice rang in the back of her head.

"You're such a child..."

That's his voice, she was sure of it. Holding her trembling hands close to her chest, it throbbed in pain. She winces in pain, bawling heavily as a quick image plays in her mind. A hand glowing in a bright cyan reaches out, there's a masculine figure in a lit up doorway. The only feeling was pain, aching agony everywhere. The hand has a voice, it attempts to speak, but to little avail. The shadow looks back, but doesn't respond. Swiftly, it turns away. It walks out the room, shutting the door. There's a click when the door is shut, as if it locked itself tight. The hand was left in the dark, the only source of light was the ink.

She plants both her hands on the tile floor, her tentacles swaying as she stared at that ground. The memory drains from her subconscious like her falling tears. Her whole body was caught in a quake, while her breathing became heavier. She was sweating, crying, and bleeding — the tears and fallen ink continuously touching the tiles, creating splattered puddles of clear and cyan fluids. She stares at the vibrant green and blue. She hated the hypnotic color, though she could no longer remember the reason.

Her crying calms as her breath becomes caught in her chest, leaving her wheezing. Her arms grow weak as she crumbles to the floor, curling up like a fetal, the bright turquoise on her hands remains in her sights. She lies still, pondering whose voice said her name. It sounded so familiar, but it saddens her within her moment of tranquility. She felt suffocated — the room seemed smaller, the darkness appeared to be surrounding, the floor looked like it's shifting, and the musty smell of an old building came across as threatening. Yet the senses were welcomed, for now that aching feeling had dissipated. She was numb, and she was exhausted.

"Hey, hey… Look at me… You're never gonna be alone, because I'm staying right here."

Her bright hands curl into loose fists, her own heartbeat in her ears.

"Woah… It's okay, this isn't your fault!"

Her fists unclench as her body grows limp. Her eyes become weary and heavy as she blinks slowly.

"…stop and listen to me. You need to rest."

A single sigh leaves her chest, and her eyelids linger over her eyes. Her heartbeat was soundless, while a single tear taps against the tile. A pool of vivid ocean green surrounding her cold body.