20. Deathly Needle.

                                    

                                          



.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
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Present Day.
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My chest tightens as panic rises in my throat, but I force myself to breathe, to focus on something, anything to hold onto. I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears, drowning out all other sounds as the cold metal chains press into my skin. I want to scream, but my throat is too tight. Every breath feels like it's not enough, like I'm suffocating in the quiet, sterile room.
This can't be happening. It feels like a nightmare I can't wake up from. The harsh reality is that I'm trapped, completely powerless in the hands of people who see me as nothing more than an experiment. I don't belong here. That thought repeats in my mind over and over, as if it's the only thing left to hold onto.
I try to glance around the room, but all I see are the sterile white walls, the cold instruments, and the harsh lighting that makes everything feel more intense, more real. The smell of antiseptic burns my nose. I'm alone, surrounded by strangers who have no care for my life. They want to hurt me, I realize with growing dread. They want to break me.
My mind races, trying to think of a way out, but every option seems impossible. Even if I could somehow free myself, what then? The doors are locked. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, faster and faster, threatening to overtake my sanity. What if I don't make it out? What if this really is the end?
I want to scream again, to beg for mercy, but it feels pointless. I know Warner won't listen. They're going to do it. They're going to end it all right here, right now.
The worst part is the silence. The silence that surrounds me, a void that amplifies my fear. It's almost like everything is happening in slow motion. Why can't I just wake up? I'm not supposed to be here. I never asked for this.
But despite the fear, there's something else. A flicker of anger. How dare they do this? How dare they take my freedom, my life? How dare they decide that I'm nothing but a piece on their game board?
No. I'm not just a pawn. I won't let them win.
I feel a surge of strength deep inside me, an instinct that tells me to fight, to keep fighting even if it seems impossible. I focus on the thought of escaping, of getting out of this hellhole and back to my life, back to the people who need me. I think of Amy, Jules, of Lucas, of Eric. I can't let them do this to me. I can't leave them behind.
For a second, the fear seems to fade, replaced by something more powerful. Survival. It's all that matters now.
But then the needle in Miguel's hand moves closer, and my heart skips a beat. Panic surges back, squeezing the breath out of me.
I have to stay calm. Focus. There has to be a way out of this.
My eyes widen as Miguel holds the needle in his hand. Warner's words echo in my mind.
"Your journey ends here."
What does that mean? Is this needle my death sentence?
I try to break free from the restraints holding me down—metal cuffs, chains that seem to lock me into place, my arms, legs, and even my neck held tight. I struggle against them, panic rising in my chest. "What do you mean?" I demand, my voice high-pitched with fear.