Chapter Text
Sweaty palms meet the floor in a feeble attempt to rise.
Searing lights above make already-tender vision blurred, a piercing shriek of ringing within the woman's head.
She blinks. Once, twice, then three— until she snaps her head up and a rush of dizziness floods through her.
Pressing one of her hands to her head, she groans to no one but herself.
Where was she? What could she remember? With the pounding through her temples, she hadn't a clue initially, the world around her devoid of the colour she'd been forced to know. Everything dressed itself in dull greys, blues, and greens— a lack of activity evident.
Sucking in a breath, she closed her eyes tight, only to open them as wide as she could.
Recollecting herself, the view of a headset comes to focus. She stares at it, body unsteady when she reaches forward, her fingers tracing over the edges. It feels cold, but it isn't dusty. When she comes to realise this a few seconds after touching it, she pulls away as if she'd been burnt.
Attempting to rise once more, she pushes herself up. She's successful against her expectations, swaying before steadying against a nearby desk.
The lights help null. They're too bright— too much— and her vision is downcast in an effort to keep her retinas intact.
Her headset lays stationary. Her headset. She's glaring at it now, eyes clearing with caution. Like one might keep watch of a spider that threatens to lunge, she's doing anything but nearing it, edging around it slowly. Her legs feel partially numb yet she tries to walk on them anyway, needing the aid of the surrounding environment to keep upright.
Where was she? What could she remember? Despite the pounding in her head, she has a vague idea. More than that, if she's honest, finally taking a proper sweep over the place. She looks down at herself, the drab clothing she'd once chosen feeling all too mute. It's comforting, in one way, but jarring in another. Who was she, without the bright hues of the uniform she'd been in prior?
One of the lights flickers above her. She flinches, looking at the headset as though it were to blame. It isn't— she knows this, subconsciously— but every effort to unlearn everything that'd happened over who knows how long wouldn't be an achieved one in such little time. Not everything is dictated by an AI set of teeth in the real world, and somehow, that feels like a foreign concept all of a sudden.
Reaching out tenderly, she takes a look to her hand. Her skin, ignoring the unsettling layer of sweat shining over it, is hers. It isn't a white glove, it isn't a cartoony shape. It's hers.
She breathes out. Then in. Then out again. Breathing feels normal, and it feels real. Necessary.
Gingerly, she steps forward. Her foot grazes against the headset. She has every reason to crush it beneath her heel, but she doesn't; she begins to walk, instead choosing an attempt to recollect everything that'd happened and then some.
How long had it been? She looks to one of the walls. There's a clock, but it doesn't appear to move after staring at it for what she assumes is an approximate minute. Prying her eyes off of it after, she glances around her, wondering if anything else will give her answers.
That's when it hits her. Among all the walls, the cubicles, the desks— she's found herself where she'd started. Easing her hands down her torso, she wraps her arms around herself, leaning forward in an attempt to stop the nausea that'd hit her with realisation in tow. It's sickening, this office.
The office.
She needs to get out. Every desire to leave and never come back pulses through her veins, and it carries her feet with haste. She's running before she knows it— swaying and stumbling, but running nonetheless. The adrenaline shoves her forward like a plane reaching maximum speed. Everything, then, flashes through her brain, her memory electrifying her, and she bites back an agonised yell as she runs.
The circus. The people. The cellar.
The exit.
They're out too, aren't they?
All of them.
Not only the 'living', but the 'abstracted', too.
They all got out, and it was thanks to her.
It was thanks to all of them.
Shoving doors open as she gets to them, turning corners left and right as if she knows where she's going by divine intervention, she pulls one last doorknob and swings it towards herself. As she does, an even brighter light blinds her, rendering her stunned for only a moment before the genuine shine of the sun meets her for the first time in what's felt like years.
Grass and dirt beneath her, an actual breeze through her hair— it's new, yet anything but. She can't move, because it feels all too real, and it is real. It's truth, and she can't believe she's happy the world is as it was when she'd left, the enchanting sensation of being alive coursing within her blood.
Her previous name comes to her, then. With the sun gracing her face, the wind blowing through her jacket, it lingers. It isn't what she'd randomly been given, it isn't a name she'd had to choose over a string of nonsensical letters.
It isn't "Pomni".
It isn't Pomni.
And she hasn't any idea why, but she begins to cry and laugh. Her name being hers causes the tears to fall, her body shaking. She's overwhelmed, she's free, she's happy, she's devastated— it's all she'd ever wanted for the longest time, and she's gotten it.
It's bitter, in a way. Being alone in this feeling. But with what she knew of the others, she wonders if they're feeling the same, too— with everyone everyone else, too. She wonders what their names are, where they woke up. She wonders what they did with the headset, or what their first word was when they came to.
She wonders if they remember her like she remembers them.
Shaking her head softly, her cheeks wet with tears, a shaky breath escapes her.
Does it matter? She doesn't know.
All she does know, however, is how warm it is to be real.