Footsteps drummed heavy against cracked tile.

  Being presented with another ill omen, another wave of anguish wrought by an influx of jumbled memories washed over her, and the first thing she could think to do was run.

  The screams scratching at her hearing, both her own and others she knew, were disorienting enough as she scrambled to try and remember what could have given rise to such pain, but now that she had gotten some idea, they only became harder to stomach.

  Damara ─ The organization that she and all the other Sprouts had been told was created for the betterment of the world. The organization that had pulled a large majority of its current residents from their own set of cruel circumstances.

  Suddenly, she's come to the realization that that very same organization had something much more sinister hiding beneath the surface ─ something which threatened the lives of every child in the facility.

  Beyond the blatant threat of Amalgamations and Outlaws which they were diligently, and at times brutally, trained for, it seemed that there was another enemy the children of Damara needed to be wary of.

  Still, that wasn't something she could so quickly accept. So instead, IS-131 ran, making a mad dash through the ruined segment of the compound, uncaring how the black ooze, suddenly broken away from its linear path along the walls, squelched and stuck to her bare feet.

  Even as she broke free of the restricted area, returning to the sterile environment she was accustomed to, those ghostly howls gnawing at her senses refused to fade.

  Her ears burned with pain, blood threatening to pour free as her nails dug into them, desperate to shut out the horrible nose. Although, she could ignore that pain.

  She just needed to make it back to her room. The comforting air of the familiar personal space was sure to help her keep herself steady while she thought over this newfound information.

  Soles slick with the odd substance coating the halls she ventured through earlier, she almost fell over as she rounded the corner separating her from her destination, however, before she could hit the ground, she felt a force hold onto her, keeping her airborne mere inches from the floor.

  With her sight preoccupied with visions, she couldn't see exactly who had caught her, blinking rapidly in hopes of clearing her view, however the voice that met her ears was more than enough of a tell.

  "Careful, 131! While you can recover from a shattered skull, I do hate to see my little ones hurt." The soft, womanly voice warned in concern. Although, with what she had recently uncovered, IS-131 had to wonder how genuine that concern truly was.

  With an odd, almost instinctive anger welling up in her, the apparitions obstructing her vision seemed to fade to allow her to see the woman before her.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Clad in an outfit exclusive to her, the head of the organization ─ an off-white coat bearing Damara's symbol on its sleeve and sporting black fur around its collar, worn over a pair of black high-heeled boots, pants and a shirt, all lined with golden accents.

  A gloved hand laid atop IS-131's head as the telekinetic force acting on her set her back upright, golden eyes looking down at her with worry.

  Her pale complexion and slight build would give most the opinion of a well-meaning, caring mother-figure ─ a sentiment shared by the majority of Damara's residents ─ however, the burns and scars along the left of her face, thinly veiled by flowing lavender locks, told a different story which birthed many a theory among the Sprouts.

  "I would have thought you'd be with your friends, attending the History lecture..." Mother hummed, crouching down to be on eye level with the girl, "Instead I find you dashing through the halls. What could have you in such a rush, I wonder? Perhaps you forgot something in your room?"

  IS grit her teeth at the question. The variety of newfound negativity she felt for the woman left her unsure of what she should say to her.

  Part of her wanted to confront her outright. Part of her wanted to forego the flimsy facade of ignorance and pummel the woman right then and there. But the more logical parts of her, in conjunction with the pitch black string manifested by her Expression, told her that was the worst course of action, the knowing glint behind Mother's eyes almost challenging her to attack...

  Still, she had to come up with something, however futile the lie may be.

  "I wasn't feeling well... So, Ninety-Nine and One-O-One left for the lecture together while I went to see one of the doctors..."

  A blatant lie. There was no way to the medical ward in the direction she came from, and even if there was, all it would take was the simple question of "Did IS-131 come to you?" to cut her story to ribbons.

  "Oh, dear..." Although, for whatever reason, it seemed like Mother was willing to go along with it. "That being the case, run along back to your room and rest as long as you need. Don't push yourself, understood?"

  The hand resting on her head ruffled IS-131's hair lightly, a show of paternal affection masking her suspicion.

  IS gave a simple nod of agreement as Mother stood back upright, waving as she walked off to whatever business she had to attend to, leaving the young girl to walk silently to her room, as empty and eerily quiet as she left it.

  A light tap to the panel beside the door caused it to slide shut, and as soon as it did, and she was well and truly alone,

  BANG!

  Her fist slammed hard against the wall beside her, the specialized material showing no signs of damage despite the blood gushing from her knuckles.

  She had enough sense left beyond the haze of newfound animosity to allow the injury to heal, laying her palm flat against the wall as she watched new flesh grow swiftly in place of what was damaged, the fading pain doing little in ways of calming her down as the auditory hallucinations grew ever-louder.

  The screams seemed to have faded into the background not long after she exited the restricted section of the facility, however, what took to the foreground was almost equally as grating, the anxiety and fear that the former instilled being replaced by the incessant, repeated mutterings.

  Run.

  Save them.

  Get out.

  The words buzzed around her mind like flies, as obnoxious as all the whispers before, and just as hard to distract herself from, even as her fingers clawed and bled against the walls.

  It wasn't much solace, but the pain was enough of a distraction. And so, she clenched her fist, and pulled her arm back, having found something to keep herself occupied with while she waited for this newfound headache to die out...