Sammie trudged to the nearest bus stop, her body weary from the events of the night. The chill of the pavement seeped through the thin soles of her new sandals, a constant reminder of her lack of proper footwear. She spotted a bus approaching, the headlights cutting through the darkness. As it pulled up, she stepped on without a word, ignoring the driver's tired glance. He looked exhausted, clearly uninterested in engaging with passengers at this late hour. Sammie moved past him without tapping her card, brushing off the rules as inconsequential in her current state.

An elderly lady near the front seat scoffed at her behaviour, muttering something under her breath about "young people these days." Sammie ignored her, not in the mood for confrontation. The bus was nearly empty, save for a teenager at the back blasting music through their headphones as they stared out the window, the beat loud enough to vaguely make out from where she stood. Sammie chose a seat near the second door, positioning herself for a quick exit if needed. She slouched down, pulling her hood further over her face and adjusting her sunglasses despite the dark. It was an odd ensemble, but she didn't care about appearances; anonymity was her priority.

As the bus rumbled along, Sammie fished the candy bar from her pocket and unwrapped it. She took a bite, only to grimace at the taste of peanuts. She hated peanuts but forced herself to eat it anyway, needing the energy. The sweet and salty combination settled uncomfortably in her stomach, a fitting end to an already bizarre evening. She pulled out her phone and began scanning the news and social media, trying to get a gauge on the situation. She was relieved to see that the fires and other disturbances orchestrated by the syndicate were overshadowing the explosion at her hideout. The chaos they had sown was widespread, and it seemed her actions had been lost in the noise, at least for now.

Sammie rode the bus to the end of the line, the city's lights gradually giving way to darker, quieter streets. When she finally stepped off, the bus driver barely acknowledged her, too tired to care. She found herself in a rundown part of town, the buildings old and worn. A low-budget motel stood on the corner, its neon sign flickering erratically. It was exactly the kind of place she needed—anonymous, unremarkable, and likely to ask no questions.

She walked into the dingy lobby, the stale air filled with the scent of mildew and cleaning chemicals. The night clerk barely glanced up as she paid for a room, handing her a key with a number scrawled on it. She climbed the creaking stairs to the second floor, the carpet threadbare underfoot. Her room was small and shabby, with peeling wallpaper and a bed that sagged in the middle. But it was a refuge, a place to regroup and figure out her next steps.

Sammie locked the door behind her, double-checking the flimsy chain lock and the deadbolt. She checked the windows, ensuring they were secure, and then headed for the bathroom. She stripped off her clothes and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to warm up before stepping under the stream. The hot water was a shock to her system, washing away the grime and tension of the night. She scrubbed every inch of her body, watching the dirty water swirl down the drain. As she washed, she noticed her old scars were still present—faded lines from past injuries. Yet, her recent wounds, the gunshot, and the burns were inexplicably absent. Her skin was smooth and unmarked, as if the injuries had never occurred.

Sammie ran her hand over her bald scalp, frowning. Her hair had been a part of her identity, and its absence felt like another piece of herself had been stripped away. She wondered if it would ever grow back, or if this was a permanent change. The thought unsettled her, adding to the growing list of mysteries surrounding her survival. She knew she needed to blend in, to avoid drawing attention. Makeup and a wig would help, but she also needed proper clothes. The oversized hoodie and sweatpants she had grabbed earlier were temporary, and she couldn't continue to wear them without drawing suspicion. Buying underwear at the pharmacy had felt too awkward, and now she regretted her hesitation. Tomorrow, she would have to remedy that.

Wrapping herself in a motheaten towel, Sammie made a mental checklist for the following day. She needed to acquire a wig, makeup, and a new wardrobe. Additionally, she needed to secure a more permanent place to hide out and regroup. Her resources were scattered, and she needed to pull them together while keeping a low profile. The urgency of her situation weighed heavily on her as she padded around the room, checking the locks once more.

Exhaustion pulled at her, but her mind refused to quiet. She plugged in her phone and the power bank, then lay on the bed, scrolling through surveillance footage from her compromised hideout. She watched the grainy images, noting the faces and actions of the intruders. She could do little to alter the events now, but she made subtle changes to her online presence, erasing traces and misleading any potential trackers. It was a temporary fix, a small effort to cover her tracks. The motel room's dim light flickered, mirroring the instability she felt inside.

The hours slipped away, and before she knew it, it was 3 AM. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't completely relax. The flickering neon light outside her window was a constant annoyance, casting an eerie glow into the room. Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, and she drifted into a fitful sleep, her phone still clutched in her hand, pistol resting within arms reach.

Her dreams were chaotic, a jumble of flashing images and sensations. She saw the three men who had attacked her, now together, checking in to board a flight at an airport. The scene shifted, and she felt the terrifying sensation of drowning, trapped in an endless loop with no escape. She struggled to breathe, her lungs burning, as the darkness pressed in around her. The dream shifted again, and she saw the woman with piercing hazel eyes—the same woman from before now stood outside the terrifyingly familiar pharmacy. Her intense gaze seemed to pierce through the chaos, focusing directly on Sammie.

Sammie bolted awake, her heart pounding in her chest. The fear was visceral, gripping her with icy fingers. The woman from her dream was real, and she was certain she was after her. Sammie felt an overwhelming certainty that this woman was close, closing in on her. The motel room felt suffocating, the walls too close. She glanced at her phone, its screen lighting up the darkness. It was still early, but the fear wouldn't let her rest.

She sat up, the events of the night and the dream replaying in her mind. Her instincts screamed at her that she was being hunted, that her time was running out. Sammie knew she couldn't stay here for long; she needed to keep moving, keep one step ahead of whoever was chasing her. The mysteries of her survival, the strange visions, and the pursuit of this relentless woman all loomed over her, demanding answers she didn't have.

With a deep breath, Sammie steeled herself for the day ahead. She had no choice but to face whatever came next. The questions and uncertainties could wait; for now, survival was all that mattered. She began to plan her next moves, determined to uncover the truth and find a way out of this nightmare. The road ahead was uncertain, but she knew one thing for sure: she wouldn't go down without a fight.