Help! This can’t be true. Why would Sage lie about that?! 

She tried to move, to lift a hand, but her body felt like it was encased in lead. Instead, she lay there, her fingers barely twitching as she took in her surroundings. The sterile smell of disinfectant was the first clue. The second was the incessant BEEP BEEP of a heart monitor, punctuating the silence like a metronome. A hospital, then. It had to be. But why?

The room was quiet, save for the mechanical whirr of a breathing machine beside her. The sound was unmistakable, a constant reminder of the clinical environment she found herself in. The air was thick with that peculiar blend of antiseptic and something else—something faintly metallic that tickled the back of her throat.

Her brain, sluggish as it was, tried to put the pieces together. Okay, hospital room. Breathing machine. Heart monitor.

There’s been an accident. That’s what happened. I had an accident, and now I’m in the hospital. Maybe the thing with Sage was not real…

But if that were the case, why did the voices next to her bed sound so... wrong? And why did the dream feel so real?

One voice was sharp, grating, full of barely contained rage. The other was softer, hesitant, with an edge of desperation. And one of them—one of them—was disturbingly familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it. If only her eyes weren’t so damn heavy. 

The second voice belonged clearly to a nurse, struggling with his explanations. The so-called doctor, on the other hand, was yelling at him, and it was clear this had nothing to do with patient care.

“You stupid imbecile! You’re ruining my research!” The doctor’s voice was all venom and frustration, each word landing like a slap. “How many times did I tell you to keep your eyes on the monitor?! Are you trying to ruin me on purpose?! You gave her the wrong dose! Every uneducated idiot knows how to read the monitor!”

The nurse stammered in response, his voice trembling. “I-I’m sorry, she was stable until now… I… I just—”

“If she were stable, she wouldn’t be waking up any minute, would she?!” the doctor snarled.

“But I gave her the right dose, like I did with eve—” 

The doctor cut him off again, voice seething. “Are you trying to mess with me?! If she had the right dose, she wouldn’t be waking up!! I’ve had enough of your idiocy! Give me the syringe!”

There was a shuffling noise, the kind that accompanies a struggle for control. Then, eerily, the BEEP BEEP of the monitor began to slow, becoming softer, quieter, until it was just a faint echo, barely there at all.

Saya’s heart should have been racing, but the sounds told her otherwise. It felt like her own consciousness was dimming, along with the monitor’s steady rhythm. What was happening? Was this a dream? A nightmare, maybe? She had to be imagining this. 

And yet, just yesterday… yesterday had been the most astounding day of her life. If she could remember it, she would have sworn it had been full of magic, wonder, and impossible things. She had always wanted to fly. But… maybe yesterday was the dream?

And if yesterday was a dream and this was reality… maybe she should go back to sleep and dream of a better life.

The thought tugged at her, comforting in its simplicity. Just close her eyes again—well, if they were even open—and let herself drift away from this strange, unsettling reality. Return to whatever wondrous place she had been before waking up here. It was tempting, so very tempting. The kind of tempting that gnaws at you, whispering promises of escape, of a world where the impossible was real, and the real was just a distant memory.

The room seemed to pulse with an ominous energy, the tension between the two voices near her bed mounting as they argued over her very life. Something about the importance of the sleeping patients.

“I told you how dangerous it is if more than one of them wakes up! The system needs to…“, the doctor's voice faded away. Or was it her?  If this was a nightmare, it was the kind that sank its claws in deep, refusing to let go. 

But then again, if yesterday wasn’t a dream—if it was real—what had happened to bring her here? And why did her mind feel so scrambled, like a radio tuned to the wrong frequency? 

More importantly, why did that one voice sound so familiar? Somehow…the doctor sounded like someone she had known for a very long time. Who was he?

A flood of frustration washed over her, cutting through the fog in her head. She needed to wake up, fully wake up, and figure out what the hell was going on. There was no room for maybes in this situation. Not when she was lying in a bed, connected to machines that beeped and whirred and hummed with a purpose she couldn’t yet understand.

The air in the room felt thicker now, charged with the anger and panic of the voices beside her. They were growing louder, the argument escalating into something that could no longer be ignored. It was becoming increasingly clear that this wasn’t a normal hospital, and these weren’t normal circumstances.

“Are you even listening?!” The doctor’s voice cut through the haze like a knife, sharp and unforgiving. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake here? You’re jeopardizing everything!”

The nurse’s voice wavered, barely holding it together. “I’m doing my best… I didn’t mean to… please, just let me—”

“Enough!” The word echoed in the room, commanding silence. “Give me the syringe. Now.”

Saya’s pulse quickened, despite the monitor’s contradicting rhythm. This was wrong, all of it. She could feel it in her bones, in the pit of her stomach, that cold, creeping dread. They weren’t here to help her. They weren’t trying to save her.

She had to move. She had to open her eyes, force her limbs to respond, do something—anything—to get out of here. But her body refused to cooperate, pinned down by whatever drugs they had pumped into her system. A sickening helplessness set in, and her mind raced, searching for a way out that didn’t involve the horrors of whatever “research” they were conducting.

The beep of the monitor faded into the background, almost inaudible now, as if even the machines had resigned themselves to whatever fate awaited her. And for a brief, terrifying moment, Saya considered that maybe, just maybe, going back to sleep would be better. 

But no. She couldn’t give in to that. Not yet. Not without knowing the truth. She had to fight, to resist the pull of unconsciousness that threatened to drag her down.

There was something beyond this haze of confusion and fear, something she needed to remember. If only she could break free from this paralyzing grip… 

As the shuffling noises beside her bed grew louder, more frantic, Saya’s determination solidified. This wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. There was too much left unanswered, too much that didn’t make sense. And she wasn’t about to let some twisted experiment dictate her fate.

With every ounce of willpower she could muster, Saya focused on the sound of those voices, trying to anchor herself to reality. She didn’t care how heavy her eyelids felt, how sluggish her limbs were. She had to see. She had to know.

She knew she was about to fall asleep. She felt the drugs heavily. But she also knew she would wake up again.

You just wait and see! I‘m going back at you, you quack!

And she fell... and fell... into a long, deep sleep. But she had never been more awake.