The Man With The Gorilla Mask

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After some far too conviently blind security, Sicillian managed to make it to the elevator and jam her palm onto the button marked "PT" within ten minutes of receiving the phone call from herself, factoring in time to get from her apartment to the hotel. She didn't live far away at all, another coincidence that seemed to be the universe screwing with her, telling her she wasn't in control. The green eyed girl hated that.

The journey up the thirty-two storied building was painstakingly slow. The brunette had deduced that the matter of getting there was pressing, given the short telephone conversation and desperation in her own voice. She still had no clue how she called herself, but that was a question for later. She supposed she had more important things to do right now.

When the lift doors dinged open, the green eyed female practically threw herself out of them, grip-less converse trainers skidding with a piercing shriek on the polished floors. It was clear from the grandeur of the double doors down the corridor, that this was the Penthouse. Sicillian quickly headed down the hallway, carefully not to trip.

Funny, she thought, the door isn't even closed.

And upon pushing the oak door open, she saw why. Everyone inside was dead. It took her several seconds to fully survey and take in the scene, bile rising at the back of her throat.

Three disgareded bodies torn limb from limb in a horrific scene of severed arms and blood. Burn marks coated the ceiling, a harsh black on the once white finish. Electrical? She pondered. She turned away, feeling nauseated. Or more specifically, turned into someone.

"You!" She looked up at the figure, eyes widening. It was, far too coincidentally, a man in a plastic gorilla mask, like one might get from a zoo.

"Do I know you?" Sicillian asked slowly in response.

"You're the woman I was with downstairs!" She had no decent response for that.

"But I wasn't downstairs with anyone...?" She said finally. It was the same voice as the guy who invaded the phone call, who the other version of herself called Dirk.

"Ah, yes, well you weren't down there with me me, you were down there with other me." He explained, not clearing anything up at all.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" She asked at the same time the man added:

"Why are you here?"

"I was told to find you... By myself," The brunette hated how illogical and stupid the words sounded coming out of her mouth, "I woke up today and I knew something would change, everything lead me here, to now-"

"Everything is connected." He finished for her. Sicillian froze, at the phrase, the three words inciting memories of fear and familiarity with her.

"You're one of the others." She breathed, barely daring to believe such a thing. She watched as the man took off the mask, revealing bouncy brown hair and pale blue eyes. Then everything fell into place.

"Svlad?" Her voice was quiet, shaking as she whispered the word.

"That's not my name anymore..." He responded equally as quietly, studying the woman with a inexplicable curiosity. Sicillian hadn't seen him in sixteen years since the breach at Blackwing. They hadn't exactly been close, but she considered the British male a friend at least. "Who are you?"

Sicillian opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off when 'Dirk' spoke again. "Nevermind, we don't have time right now, this is a murder scene, we need to go." Whilst she was a little hurt he had no recollection of her, the brunette understood the urgency of the situation. She watched with fascination as he quickly darted through the door, only to reappear a moment later clutching a small, black kitten.

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