Chapter Text
Mary St. Helen sat behind a desk in her room. But this is not Mary St. Helen, but her creator [CandyLovely148]. She does not live in New Jersey, she lives in [Cleveland]. She also does not live with her father and her mother, but with her [Roommate Clyde Damien Barker].
[CandyLovely148] has moved to many places, and now she was in [America]. She's all grown up, and still lives with her [Friends]. She still writes fanfiction at times, but now wrote with an electric typewriter. She had to put everything to paper because she believed the conspiracy of a well-known soda brand. She believed they predicted many, many things with their cryptic flavors such as Orange something, something with a green can, and now it was Nightfall or Full Moon, and she read it was going to predict a power outage that would leave the world in ruins. And mechnical hands have ruled over everything. She believed it was an attempt to deprive us of what makes us sentient and good-natured (she nearly said "what makes us human", but she saw the inherent implied specist bias with the implication that good nature is only possible in humanity and no other species).
Unfortunately, she was still tethered to her [Sentience], and now she was stuck having to be in college because it "would give her opportunities as it would be vaguely put enough for her to groan inside. She knew everything tracked her, inside cameras and computers and that they were on even when she never used her camera. She never even used the camera she bought for photogtaphy class, she used her phone. She hardly even read a book, she just rewatched all the things she could... but now she had to pay half her life savings to pay it. With money. Money that was a collection of green paper portraits of the last political mascots of the great and flawless America, whoop-de-doo.
Then everything went off. Alarms were everywhere. The building flooded with smoke, and parts of it were exploding. We were forced to walk slowly like fire drills still solved anything by being slow when there would be raging fires involved. But I was older now, and I didn't need to shudder at the thought of negative reinforcement to prevent me from running. So I did, and I tried to take my best friend [Jessica T. L. Carther] with me, and she was scared, and horrified, but only one other person ran with me. He may have been confused or one of the bigger half of the male population brainwashed into becoming a justification for the radical feminism to justify their genocide.
We ran down the halls, down the stairs
BOOM.
The edge between the middle of the stairs and the wall exploded, concussing me as I slammed my face into the wall in a launch, the guy who followed us in a similar predicament, and my friend [Jessica T. L. Carther].. I don't know. Her skull may have split open from a launch into the wall to our right, but I hope to God she is not dead.