Deception | NaNoWriMo2023

Chapter Nine: There's the Door

Normal people go to hobbies, media, exercise, drinking, or socialization to distract themselves from their worries. I am not normal. I don't think I ever was.

So I find myself standing in front of the Don't Go There hall, leaning on the wall as a dizzy spell makes my head spin and preparing to step inside. Moving too fast makes me nauseous despite the fresh (normal grade) PowDown burning the nape of my neck, and hunger pangs twist my stomach, but I need to move. I need to do something other than stew on last night's conversation. And apparently moving means exploring the one place I was told not to go to.

Why am I like this? Answers bubble up, coated in sticky purple slime. I shove them down and push myself off the wall, stumbling into the hall. At first, it's just like all the others—curved like a tunnel, lined with doors, painted with red and black—but as I slink deeper, the scent of grease, oil, and machinery hits my nose.

On the left is a large door left askew, light, sound, and the grease smell pouring out of it. Cautiously, I approach, trying to breathe quietly. Did this lead to some sort of illegal gun or weapon factory? Or maybe an armory? Surely there'd be more security around that sort of thing.

I stop short, scanning the ceiling and walls for cameras to no avail. Unease curls like a restless mist and I frown, glancing over my shoulder. I shouldn't be doing this. I am captured by a villain, the villain of South Quarter, and the last thing I need is her ire. She could do anything to me and there's no one but myself to prevent her.

Anything like telling you the truth about your past? Cold tingles wash down my back and I square my shoulders against it, firmly pushing away the thought.

Maybe she might be the only one alive who knows what happened—really happened—to me between Ten School and the memory wipe, but I can't trust her to tell the truth, at least the full truth. There's just too many unknowns about her, too many facets to her face to be sure.

But she wouldn't do that to you, a thought murmurs, and whether it comes from my head or my heart, I can't tell. She proclaims to love you and that you loved her once. Why would she lie to you about your life? She cares about you; you've seen the look in her eyes.

Yes, the look in her eyes, those bottomless amethyst pits warmed with the honeyed affection of wine, and the shine of hurt and sorrow when I told her I don't remember her. A hand tightens around my lungs. She cares about you, the voice whispers, louder. She cares about you. Doesn't that make her trustwo—

I slam my hand on the door with a bang! ripping away from the incessant echo. Cold nips my fingers and, in a rush, the door crumples into sheets of metal with a terrific clatter. Behind it, elbow deep in the guts of some sort of bot and surrounded by other gutted or frighteningly sharp and pointy contraptions, is a girl smeared head to toe in thick, black grease.

Our eyes lock and all thoughts except terabytes drop to my feet.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY DOOR?" the girl roars, spinning towards me and drawing a gun faster than a blink.

Recoiling, I take a step back, hands in front of me. They're white as the hex code #ffffff. "I—"

"GET OUT!" The barrel of the gun swings up. BANG!

Instinctively, I drop and roll out of the doorway, the hiss of something whizzing past my ear sending my head spinning. Scrambling to my feet, I race down the hall and skid behind the consoles in the main room, ducking down beside the largest one.

With my back pressed to the console, I gasp in air against the pounding of my heart. A blizzard of static and icicles slams into my hands and stabs the back of my neck, leaving the rest of my body shaking from the force of impact.