Bioshifter Special Preview (Patreon)

A/N: Hey everyone! Thundamoo here! A handful of people on my Discord asked me to post a preview of Bioshifter at the lower tiers so they could decide if they want to increase their subscription. That seemed perfectly reasonable to me, so I'm posting the entirety of the first three chapters! Additional chapters of Bioshifter will still be restricted to other tiers, and they will still eventually be released on Royal Road once I have a chonky enough backlog. If you're not interested in Bioshifter, no worries! The normal Vigor Mortis chapter will still be released later today. Please enjoy!

1. Two Worlds

Once again, I wake up trying to figure out which of my limbs are actually real.

It's my own special little form of sleep paralysis, and the fact that it occurs nearly every single morning has not made it any less terrifying over the years. I dream every night, though I don't usually recall it beyond a few vague feelings. When I do remember, though, I know myself as something vastly different. A monster with ten hard, claw-like legs, scraping away at something rigid, yet soft. Digging. I'm trapped underneath somewhere impossibly deep and horribly suffocating, and I have to get out but I don't know why. Every night, I learn to move my horrid new body in order to burrow towards freedom, and by the time I wake I've forgotten my old one entirely.

So here I am. I try to twitch a muscle, move a leg, but I guess wrong. I expect to grab and pull my covers off, but all I flex is a phantom. Next, I move a leg instead of an arm. I cycle through every part of my body, twitching and gasping for breath as the ever-present fear of never figuring myself out again screams in the back of my mind.

But of course, less than a minute later, I remember how to be a human and everything is fine. If nothing else, I suppose I rarely struggle to stay awake after all this. I get up out of bed with my heartbeat still hammering, and walk across the room to silence my blaring alarm.

Today's a school day, so I'd better go take a shower.

I grab some clean clothes, head to the bathroom, and strip down. The girl in the mirror isn't what the still-waking part of me expects to see, but she's nonetheless the same as always. My straight black hair and slightly thin eyes hint at my half-Asian heritage, but it's not super noticeable unless someone goes looking for it. I'm still pretty pale thanks to my mom's side. My little brother got way more of the other end of things. I'm fine with that, as I've never even been to Asia and my dad never talks about where he was born much anyway. I'm thoroughly American, which is to say I've lived my whole life in the United States and not, y'know, the thirty-four other countries in the Americas that we've decided to completely steal the title of 'American' from like the arrogant pricks we are.

Anyway, after a quick check to ensure I'm still me, I take a quick shower (defined as merely forty-five minutes instead of an hour and a half) and emerge to dry off, get dressed, eat breakfast, and put on a light coating of makeup before covering most of it with a facemask and dragging my abusively heavy backpack to wait for the schoolbus. I don't run into my parents for the entirety of my morning routine, since my dad doesn't bother to get up at the ungodly hour I have to go to school and my mom is already gone by the time I get out of the shower. My brother and I manage to share a single grunt of communication, but that's about it. The agony of waking is almost entirely forgotten. I understand that my dreams are pretty darn weird, but I'm so used to them that I find them even more mundane than simply going to high school.

So here I am, waiting at the bus stop and doing little other than getting annoyed whenever one of my yawns forces me to readjust my N95. I have a driver's license, but even as a senior I don't have a car to call my own. It doesn't really bother me; I don't like driving anyway. The bus is fine, and it's not as though it lacks good company.

"Hannah!" a familiar voice calls out, and I turn to grin at its source. Speak of the devil.

"Hey, Brendan," I greet him as my excessively tall friend happily bounds up to me. And when I say excessively tall, let me assure you I mean truly, exceptionally, stupidly tall. Brendan is six foot eight, which means my piddly five foot two puts me at eye level with his armpits… if I look up. The poor guy has not taken his growth spurt gracefully, either: he's worryingly thin and knobby-limbed, a complete beanpole without much in the way of shoulder width or muscle. He's got blonde hair, big goofy glasses, and that special kind of pale skin that makes you wonder if vampires are real. (They probably aren't, but sunburns definitely are.) I met Brendan in elementary school when I walked up to him out of the blue and declared that he had the same name as my rival in Pokémon Emerald, and therefore he was my rival in real life. We've been best friends ever since.

"How's the morning treating you?" he asks, his voice a bit muffled under his own mask.

"Just another refreshing day in the plague-apocalypse," I grumble. "Plagocalypse? You know what I mean. It's cold and I'm tired and my body's sore from sleeping weird and the planet is dying and there's still COVID everywhere and yet half the people we go to class with aren't even vaccinated."

"So… grumpy?" Brendan interprets. "You sound grumpy."

I open my mouth to answer, then close it.

"Yeah, okay, I might be grumpy," I admit. "Take my mind off it?"

"Sure!" he says happily, and immediately launches into a story about a Pathfinder game he's been playing in which his character—a mermaid summoner that can't walk so she sits on top of giant magical servants and rides them into battle—helped the party's sorcerer successfully seduce a sapient house by enlarging him enough to polymorph into an awakened gazebo. Which, of course, forces me to ask questions like "why do you need this sort of leverage on a house?" and "did the sorcerer agree to this plan?" and "if you have access to eighth level spells, couldn't you have solved this with dozens of methods that don't imply the existence of house sex?" This, of course, means the story gets rewound a ways back to give me 'important context,' and things only get sillier from there.

Brendan loves tabletop games. Once he starts talking about them he will absolutely never shut up, and it's great. I love hearing him ramble about the crazy nonsense he and his groups get up to. I don't play much myself, but I've played enough to know what he's talking about and that's all I really need. I enjoy tabletop games, but I simply don't have the time for them. Brendan plays three or more five-plus hour games a week. It's basically all he does outside of school. Between my classes, my job, and my sort-of-leisure-time-sort-of-other-job, I haven't been able to fit in time for a tabletop game in at least a year.

Inevitably, the bus ride is over long before Brendan's story. This is entirely expected; I suspect this particular one will last through lunch period and the ride home as well. He can seriously talk about this stuff forever, and I find myself with a delightfully goofy grin on my face throughout all of it. Unfortunately, we have to go to class eventually, and despite the pleasant start I spend the day antsy and exhausted for no discernable reason. My body keeps trying to pass out, which is unusual for me. I didn't stay up late last night or anything. Perhaps I'm simply tired of bullcrap.

Still, I push through my exhaustion, ignoring most of the lectures in my classes in favor of simply doing the assigned homework from the textbook. I learn the same things that way, and it's a much more efficient use of time. I'd rather read than listen anyway. The teachers let me do it, too, since I'm getting straight A's and not bothering anyone. Pretty much all of the teachers like me for those two very simple reasons, and I'm happy that way. I go to a public school but it's pretty upper-middle class; there isn't too much in the way of nasty bullying, at least not in terms of physical violence. It still doesn't hurt to be one of the kids the faculty will actually go to bat for, though. I don't have the energy to deal with high school bitchiness today.

When we finally get to lunchtime, I'm both exhausted and absolutely ravenous. I bribe another friend to drive Brendan and I out to eat, where I purchase and eat three different hamburgers, against my better judgment. I just feel worse and worse as the day goes on, though. When school ends my head is throbbing and I'm itchy all over so I'm probably getting sick, but I just down a bit more than the medically recommended amount of ibuprofen and power through. I'll be home soon, and then I'll have to go to work. and then I'll get to rest. Not before.

"Hey, Hannahgator," my dad greets me when I finally get home. Apparently I used to bite a lot as a kid, so he's been calling me that since I was around two years old. And yes, he worked today, despite getting out of bed after I left for school and getting home before me. He's a dentist, and he works from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon. What kind of hours even are those? It's infuriating.

"How was school?" he asks.

"Fine," I lie automatically. "Will we have time to grab food before my shift?"

"Uhhh… yeah, I think we can swing that if we head out in the next few minutes."

I thank him and rush upstairs to drop off my school things, double-check my makeup, and quickly throw on my work uniform. Then I run back downstairs and hop into my dad's already-running car, and we head out to grab a Little Caesar's pizza, which I eat nearly all of in one sitting. What the heck is up with you today, metabolism? Geez.

"Anything interesting happen today?" my dad asks.

"Nope," I answer truthfully. Me feeling like crap isn't particularly interesting.

"Could you… maybe try to give me even two sentences to work with here?" he presses to my mounting frustration.

"I'm tired," I grunt. "I have a headache."

"Did you take—"

"Yes, I took medication. I'll be fine."

The conversation thankfully doesn't continue after that. I'm dropped off at my job, which is of course in the food service industry and therefore terrible. Money is money, though, and I'll need to earn a lot of it if I expect to be able to afford college and not end up in a crippling, infinite debt spiral. I work at what the industry calls a 'fast casual' restaurant. You know, the kind where there's no drive through and everything costs three times as much as McDonald's but they still have the food ready less than five minutes after you order it? (Or at least we're supposed to have the food ready five minutes after you order it.) Yeah, it's one of those. I'm working at the register tonight (oh goodie) so it's time to turn on Customer Service Mode and pretend that I'm happy to see everyone. Which, to be fair, I'm actually pretty good at. People can be very annoying, but it only makes things worse to take it out on them. Self-control is the key to a good experience at work. Whatever the manager says to do, I find a way to get it done, no matter how ridiculous or inane. It is, after all, work. I don't come here and expect to do what I want to do.

At least my shift is boring and uneventful. I really needed that, today. There aren't many customers so I just focus on cleaning the whole time, which of course makes my boss very happy. I've got to keep her happy so that I can be the next shift manager. They make two more dollars an hour, after all.

I carpool home with a female coworker I barely know and I don't particularly like. Thanking them for the ride, I get out and trudge inside only to get ambushed by my mother, who scoops me up in a hug that I tolerate with dignity.

"Welcome home, honey!" she coos. "How was your day?"

"It was fine," I insist.

"Your father said you had a headache?"

"I probably just need sleep," I tell her, both to reassure her and to hope she takes the hint and lets me go do that.

She, of course, does not.

"Did you have a good time at work?" she asks.

"It was slow," I inform her.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Days like that are always so boring."

I mean, no, you're completely wrong, I like the slow days. But I'm not going to say that, lest I receive that disappointed look.

"I made it through," I say instead. "May I go?"

"We've barely even started a conversation!" she complains. "I'm your mother, don't I get to talk to you at least sometimes?"

I don't know what to say to that. I'm too tired to find the right answer. Customers are easy to talk to because all of them want things and I can just give those things to them. But I don't know the correct answer here, and I'm taking too long trying to think of one, so I just shrug. Which is, of course, a mistake. I get a look.

"I've picked out more colleges for you to apply to," she says, and that conversation starts. None of the things she shows me look appealing, so I try to guess which one she seems to like the most and pretend to express interest in it. I guess correctly, and I'm rewarded with a slightly faster end to the conversation. If I didn't pick her favorite, she'd have tried to convince me to change my mind until I did.

Finally, I'm free to head upstairs. I walk into my room, shut the door, glance longingly at my Switch before ultimately deciding that collapsing into bed is my only real option. Which sucks, because I hate going to bed almost as much as I hate waking up. When the dream starts, it's just as jarring as when it ends. I haven't seen a therapist in years, but I did talk to my old one about my dreams. They were a curiosity, a strange quirk noteworthy only because they caused me distress. Nothing we tried ever stopped them, though, not even sleeping medication. And ultimately, my therapist and I both decided the dreams weren't really worth the effort to try and stop. They're disruptive and unpleasant, but… well, only for about five minutes of my day. They never change. I'll learn to deal with them.

I sit down on my bed, peeling layers of clothing off. I know that as soon as I lie down, I'm going to pass out. So I hesitate, just a bit. But ultimately, I know I need rest. So I get under the covers, go to sleep, and immediately wake up as something else.

New sensations pound at me with horrid lucidity. They are familiar, but until now it has only been in that dream-like way where many things you've never done or never been feel familiar. Tonight, I remember falling asleep. Tonight, I know I am dreaming. I try to scream as alien sensations attack my mind, but find that I cannot breathe. Blood pulses rapidly through my body. I have a heartbeat but no breath!? I'm going to die! My panic rises higher and higher, and with it I take my first clattering steps.

Two, then four, then six, then eight, then ten legs all step forwards in sequence, each extending from my body in a radial pattern from my orb-like core. I look like a spider without a head, and I know this because I see myself, my senses somehow ignoring the pitch darkness and showing everything in a wide radius around me. It's not sight, not really. I have no concept of color, by which I don't mean 'everything is black and white,' I mean that color as a concept does not exist, I merely understand the shape and texture and composition of everything around me with complete ignorance of how it reflects light. This sense has a limited range, but it goes in all directions and doesn't care if objects are in the way: I feel myself, I feel the walls around me, I even feel the inside of my own body. I see my chitinous exoskeleton, the mouth at the bottom of my circular core, the way my many-segmented legs move in undulating patterns as I walk. I also see my tube-like heart and the proof I will not suffocate: openings in my body lined with thin, page-like structures passively let air flow over them to collect oxygen. Book lungs, they're called. I remember feeling a need to learn how spiders breathe once, so I looked them up. I suppose this is why. The lack of breath is a sensation I'm not sure I will ever get used to.

The area around me is much less interesting. I am in a tunnel, a jaggedly-dug tube traveling in a single direction. Everything around it, for as far as I can sense, is solid matter. It's layered, fibrous, and rigid. It's wood. I'm trapped inside a giant chunk of wood?

It doesn't matter. I need to dig. I know that in my… er, exoskeleton. (Oh god, I don't have bones.) My legs are sharp, and with my front legs—defined as the legs pointing in the direction I want to go, since I'm radially symmetrical—I start scraping away at the inside of my prison, digging great gouges in the end of the tunnel in front of me, consuming the shaved wood, and making progress cut by cut. It's relaxing in a way, almost meditative. My panic falls for the first time since my dream started as I work away, putting all my attention into being productive, into doing something, so that I don't have to focus on the horrid nature of my circumstances. It is the best kind of distraction: the kind I feel good doing. Even though the tunnel seems endless, I keep making headway because that is all I know. My body is tough. I'm not getting tired, even after what must be countless hours of work. The wood tastes horrible, but something about it invigorates me, fills me with the power to keep going. I'll eventually suffer from fatigue of the mind, but my body will not falter.

So. This is the nature of my dream. Is this what I experience every night? Will I remember this when I wake up? I don't know. I don't have any way to know. Despite the trance-like state of my work, I feel strangely… awake. It feels new. It feels exciting. It makes me think I'm almost there. This tunnel is impossibly long, but even as I start to get sleepy, I carry on. Something urges me to.

That's when I feel it. The end. I have been digging this tunnel my entire life, and I'm finally at the end!

I have been digging diagonally upward, I note. At the edge of the seemingly infinite wood there is a relatively thin layer of soil, roots, and what I can only assume are plants. The roots burrow deep, many of them worming into the wood below and eating from it much like I do. And above it all is glorious empty space, glorious freedom. The closer I get to the surface, the more of it I feel. Rolling hills, broken boulders, shrubs and grass and moss. It's like the plateau on top of a mountain, where only the heartiest of plants survive the thin air. Smaller animals wander about as well, making the toothy, lamprey-like mouth at the bottom of my core start to masticate with anticipation. Something to eat besides all this ding dang wood! I'm going to be free!

I hurry through the layer of dirt, avoiding the many rocks along the way, until finally I burrow myself to the surface! I pop my body out of the hole I've been trapped in, attempting and of course failing to take a deep breath. Still, I feel the fresh air flow into my body and wriggle with delight. It's so open and flat here! I feel the warmth of the sun on my body! I wonder how far I can… see?

I can't see. My lack of vision wasn't due to the darkness of the tunnel, I simply don't have eyes. Even though there is nothing blocking me, nothing but open space, my sensory perception simply stops at the same edges it did before, only showing a radius of about fifty of my body lengths in every direction. And as that realization sinks in, as my instinct to dig dies away to nothing, I'm left with nothing to do but recognize the utter absurd horror of my situation.

I am a monster, and everything around me is wrong.

The animals and plants around me are nothing like anything I know from Earth. It all looks relatively benign until it moves, at which point even the smallest, most harmless-looking critters undulate into warped nightmares, their bodies stretching and twisting around strange patches of barren land where no plants grow. Hesitantly, I move towards a small creature next to me, and it scurries off in a disturbing zig-zag pattern without ever actually seeming to turn. It's avoiding the barren patches, and I don't know why but it can't be good.

I shudder nervously. I've played enough Pokémon Mystery Dungeon to know where this is going. I'm in another world, aren't I? This is too lucid, too real. And try as I might, I'm not waking up.

I scuttle along the ground, my movements instinctive and natural unless I try to think about them. The prey around me—and it's difficult not to think of the creatures as prey—all seem to be much faster than I am, much better-suited to the zigzagging paths required to avoid the seemingly-dangerous barren zones. If I want to eat them I… wait, wait wait! Why do I want to eat them? Could I please focus on the absurdity of the situation right now?

I spin in a tight circle, rotating like an office chair as my legs easily scuttle to pointlessly reorient. I don't have a forward or a backward, only an up and a down. I have even less need of rotating to zig-zag, even though I don't really understand how the other creatures are pulling that off. And while yes, this situation is absolutely impossible, I feel hungry and tired. On the off chance all this is real, I should focus on getting food and shelter. And if this is fake, well… why not get food and shelter anyway? It's not like I have anything better to do, and the dream is denying me any control over my surroundings despite my lucidity. Maybe I'll manage to think up something tastier than wood fiber if I have to work for it.

I spend a while chasing smaller, herbivorous-looking critters, and though I start getting better at controlling myself I ultimately fail to catch anything. I do manage to chase a tasty-looking morsel all the way back to its burrow, but unfortunately it's too small for me to crawl my way in. I can, of course, 'see' into the burrow without issue: there's a thin tunnel down and a cozy little room at the end of it, which would be plenty big for my body if the way in wasn't so thin. Although… hmm. As much as I'm not a fan of digging, it would be pretty trivial to widen this hole enough to enter, stab the occupants with my legs, and swallow them up. I find myself weirdly excited about this idea, considering that it involves eating raw meat. I'd be disturbed to even consider that while awake. Plus… you know. More digging.

I spin around some more as I think, an odd nervous tic that I suppose I'll have to live with if this all turns out to be real. In the end, I decide to go for it. Whether these are my new instincts or the pull of some strange dream logic, it's not as though I have anything else to do. I stick a few of my legs down the hole, yank on the dirt, and start widening the tunnel.

The occupants, predictably, do not like this. The fuzzy little things remind me of chipmunks, and though they chirp and yip angrily at me, I do not find myself particularly intimidated by the display, not even with two of them ganging up on me. When I dig far enough to stick a leg into the burrow proper, one manages to bite me. …Or at least they try. The critter's teeth gnaw uselessly on my carapace, and a simple application of force is all I need to push the leg through the rest of its head, killing it. A shudder of mixed revulsion and satisfaction fills me, but I don't hesitate to do the same to the other animal. My hunt is successful.

Now then. How do I, um… how do I eat them?

My mouth is on the underside of my body, which is of course raised up into the air by my legs. My legs are sharp and not the least bit prehensile, designed for digging and climbing and killing, not object manipulation. I could stand over the corpses and then… sit on them, basically? That would get them in my mouth, but it just seems gross. In the end, I enter the burrow and scuttle overtop my prize, balancing myself on five legs while the other five wrap underneath my meal. I bring it up to my mouth with all the precision and gripping strength of a carnival claw game. I drop the corpse a few times, but ultimately I am successful. The meat is juicy and bloody and far more satisfying than wood fibers, though after eating both my prizes I find myself feeling… bloated. I guess I did just swallow at least a quarter of my own body weight.

Scooting down onto a not-so bloody part of the dirt, I curl my legs up under me, causing me to roll slightly like a ball. It's comfortable, though, and I feel myself getting tired. Freedom, food, and shelter. Today was a good day. Quickly and easily, I nod off to sleep.

…And I immediately wake up, my alarm blaring in my ears. I try to jolt upright and ready my clawed limbs for an attack, but all it does is cause my fleshy body to spasm wildly as every instinct comes out twisted and wrong. I'm huge and I'm heavy and I'm soft and everything is shaped wrong and I can't feel anything around me and I'm not breathing I have to breathe now I have to BREATHE!

Air comes in, air goes out. I open my eyes. Air comes in, air goes out. I'm Hannah, I'm human, and I have no idea what just happened. My dreams… aren't normally like that. I don't usually remember that much. There's never that much to remember because I never escape the tunnel. Everything feels so wrong. Slowly but surely, I flex my muscles, reminding myself which body parts go where and how they move. It takes me a lot longer than normal, but I still get up after about six minutes to finally turn off my alarm. Holy crap, that was all so disturbing. What a freaky frickin' dream.

Yawning, I stumble into the bathroom, wincing with every step. My toes all hurt, I must have kicked something in my sleep. I strip down and hop into the shower, doing my best to let the warm water wash away those disturbing memories. It's calming. I like water. There's a reason I get up early to take long showers, despite all my complaining about having such little time. This is how I center myself and get ready for the day. When I have a good job and my own place to live, the first thing I'm doing is buying a hot tub. That's my promise to myself.

Unfortunately, the calmness quickly ends as the water in the tub runs red. I start to panic immediately. It's way too early for my monthlies (and it's been years since they could sneak up on me in the first place) so I have to be injured somehow. But where? Agh, my toes, of course! The pain is more serious than I thought! I squat down, pinching my big toe ever so slightly. A shot of pain jolts down my foot, causing me to let out a hiss and a small squirt of blood. I get similar results from every toe, and the more I poke at them the more wrong they feel. I think… I think there's something wrong with the bone. When I press down hard enough, it almost feels like it's poking out of my toe from the inside. Which would explain the blood, but… that's impossible, right?

What's happening to me?

2. Unravel

A frustrated pounding on the outside of the bathroom door startles me so hard I nearly fall into the toilet.

"Hurry up, Hannah!" my brother shouts at me. "I have to shower, too!"

"S-sorry!" I call back. "I'll be out in a minute!"

Annoyingly, I don't think I've even spent as long as I usually do in the bathroom today. My shower is already done, and I'm currently busy bandaging my feet up. I don't really know what's going on but I do not have the time to deal with it right now. School. Job. Rest. Repeat. I realize this is definitely abnormal. My dream was weird and now my toes are all simultaneously screwed up in a way that can't be anything other than a physiological issue. But there's still a chance it will heal on its own, right? Right. Of course. I just gotta get through the day. The alternative is heading to the emergency room, getting poked at by strangers, freaking out my whole family and just… no. No thanks. No doctors, and definitely no getting my family involved. I'll figure this out on my own.

I finish wrapping up my feet, steal our gauze roll in case I have to change them out at school, and get to completing the rest of my morning routine. My brother yells at me two more times before I get out of the bathroom, but screw him. Today's one of the days I really have to pay attention to my makeup. Also, my toes might be mutating.

I manage to limp out to the bus, enjoy listening to Brendan's nonstop ramblings on our way to school, and do my best to keep my weight on my heels as I stagger into my first class. Brendan, unfortunately, notices that I'm in a lot of pain. He's usually very unobservant, but I guess as he would say 'everybody nat twenties sometimes.'

"Is there something wrong with your feet?" he asks with obvious concern.

"...Yes," I admit, because as much as I don't want to have this conversation there's no way I'm lying to Brendan. "My toes hurt like hell. I'm not sure what's wrong with them."

"You seem tired today, too," he notes. "Maybe you should take some sick days?"

"I'll be fine," I insist, reassuring both of us. "It's a little weird, but… um. I'll tell you after school?"

Brendan hesitates, giving me that confused squint he does which means 'I think I'm misreading something in this conversation but I'm not sure what.' Which is usually my cue to explain something, but I'm really not up for an in-depth conversation right now. I hope he at least picks up on that much. He hunches down a little when no explanation is forthcoming, retreating further into the recesses of a hoodie that's somehow simultaneously too baggy and too small.

"...If you're sure," he agrees to my relief. "Don't push yourself too hard, okay Hannah?"

"Don't worry about it," I tell him. "I don't have work today anyway."

"Which just means you're doing your 'other work,' doesn't it?"

"Well… yes," I admit. "But it's still basically relaxing. And I don't have to stand up for that, so it's fine. Anyway, I gotta go to class! Bye, Brendan!"

He sputters a few of his usual protests about overworking myself as I run (or I guess quickly stagger) to my first class. I gratefully plop down in my seat nearly ten minutes before the class is scheduled to start, partly because punctuality is an important gesture of respect but mostly because my feet hurt. People start trickling in shortly after, including my friend Ida who approaches me with the sort of shit-eating grin that makes me mentally place a parenthetical question mark after the word 'friend.'

Ida is a tiny and incorrigible bundle of chaos. The first word that comes to mind when I think of her is 'gremlin.' She's one of the few people in the school even shorter than I am, with a blonde pixie cut, almost childishly thin body, and mischievous glint in her eye that all combine to make me wonder if she was replaced by a fae as a child. She approaches with one of her other friends, some curly-haired gossip girl who carries herself exactly like the kind of person I tend to avoid for the sake of my mental health.

"Hey Hannah," Ida greets me with a concerning air of smugness. "Are you taking your autistic boyfriend to the dance this year?"

I blink, utterly blindsided. That… how dare she? She knows better than that! What the… why!? There's only one response I can muster which properly expresses how I feel.

"Fuck. You," I hiss vitriolically.

Ida just grins brightly, turns to the girl next to her, and holds out her hand, palm-up. The curly-haired girl groans, pulls out ten dollars, and slaps it dramatically into Ida's hand. Then she walks away, leaving Ida to triumphantly beam at my furious glare. What the f— what the heck just happened!?

"Did… did you just win a bet?" I ask Ida disbelievingly.

"Yeah, sorry Hannah," Ida says, projecting token contrition. "We were talking about you and she said you were too much of a goodie-two-shoes to ever swear, so I bet her that I could make you cuss me out after only a single sentence. And then she bet against me, because she's a fool."

Wh—really? That's it? I know I don't swear much, but I don't get why anyone would swear much. If you swear constantly none of your swears have meaning. Using them constantly is just intellectual laziness. There are better ways to indicate more general disgruntledness. When I tell someone 'fuck you' I want them to know I'm getting dangerously close to punching them in the mouth. Speaking of…

"You don't get to talk about Brendan that way," I say, glowering at her. "You should know better."

"What way?" she asks. "The boyfriend way? Because like, he is autistic, right? It's pretty obvious."

"That is his business," I snap. "Not yours. And the boyfriend thing isn't your business either, but you already know we aren't!"

"Okay, okay!" Ida says, raising both hands placatingly. It's not very effective, since one of them is still holding the money she won by betting she could piss me off. "I can see that I owe you an apology! I'm sorry for implying you are anything other than an absolutely massive lesbian."

"Ida I swear to god—"

"Let me make it up to you!" she continues, barreling through my fury. "I'll buy you lunch. No tricks, just girl talk. After all, thanks to you I happen to be ten dollars richer."

I scowl at her. She's a smarmy bitch, but also I am quite hungry.

"...Not wanting to date my best friend doesn't make me gay, Ida," I protest lamely.

"Of course, of course, yeah," Ida agrees in that blithe manner that means she doesn't believe a word of it. "So. Free food?"

"...I'll be ordering more than your winnings will pay for," I tell her.

She shrugs.

"Sure, it's your waistline."

Gah! She never cared about the money, did she? I've definitely been played, but I don't know how!

"Just… please don't test my patience any more today, Ida," I grumble. "I'm in a lot of pain."

"Aw, I'm sorry Hannah," she replies genuinely (for once). "What happened? You okay?"

"I… think so," I hedge. "It's my feet. I'm fine as long as we sit down."

"Alright," she nods, quickly perking back up. "I'll see you at lunch, then!"

Class starts shortly after that, and I do my usual bit of largely ignoring the teacher since today's material is all review. It's fine. Unfortunately, the next period is gym class, which is absolutely not fine.

I fit solidly in the nerd/geek clique and so somewhat predictably, I'm not the biggest fan of gym class. I don't really hate it, though. I'm pretty firmly middle-of-the-pack in terms of athletic capability, under all the kids on actual sports teams (and the marching band, all of whom are secretly kinda jacked). But not being on a sports team means I'm still in that group of people the gym teacher doesn't really care about. It can be… frustrating. But today, of course, I have bigger problems.

I head into the locker room and take off my shoes in order to switch to gym shoes and find my socks stained red. I grimace and quickly put the shoe back on before anyone can see. Wonderful. I can't ignore this. Running around for an entire class period would be an absolutely horrible decision. But if I talk with the gym teacher, he's going to send me to the nurse's office. And then the nurse is going to look at my feet, and then she's going to freak out and tell my family, and then…!

An unexpected surge of panic hits me, but I swallow it down. I don't know what to do. This clearly isn't normal!

"You okay?" someone asks me. What's her name? Amanda or something?

"Just ducky," I respond, my voice cracking just a little bit.

"You sure?"

I flash her my best smile, remember I have a mask on, and give her a thumbs-up instead.

"I've repressed worse!" I reassure her. It does not seem to have the desired effect.

"Well, um… class is about to start, so you should get changed."

I put a bit of pressure on my foot and decide that, regardless of the consequences, I'm definitely going to mess myself up if I try to actually run around on my feet today. My choices are to request permission to go to the nurse's office or to just ditch, and I'll definitely get an earful at home if I'm ever caught ditching.

"I think I need to go to the nurse, actually," I admit. "I'll go talk with Mr. Attenborough."

"Autumn, Hannah, you're late!" the gym teacher barks when we emerge. (Ohhh, her name is Autumn. Eh, I was close.) "Five extra laps for both of you!"

"Sorry sir, she was helping me," I say, doing my best to take the blame for her. "My feet are bleeding."

"Like blood-blood?" he asks.

The heck does that mean? What other kind of blood would I be talking about?

"...Yes sir, I have open wounds. Autumn was just helping me. May I go to the nurse?"

He considers this imperiously for a moment before nodding, because thankfully my school is not a ridiculous fantasy land in which gym teachers wouldn't get fired so hard you'd hear gunshots if they made a student run around while actively wounded.

"Yeah, get out of here," Mr. Attenborough grunts. "Autumn, you still get five more laps."

Wow! I guess he's still a jerk though! I whisper 'sorry' at Autumn and put 'making it up to her' on my mental to-do list just under 'scream into a pillow for four hours.' She just groans and starts jogging, which I suppose is an entirely fair reaction under the circumstances. Time to limp to the nurse's office, I suppose.

I stagger on over to the front of the building and let myself into the medical room, earning a pleasant smile from the nurse sitting inside. She is not wearing a mask. Why is our nurse not wearing a mask!? Like I know it's no longer mandated but… seriously? Gahhh!

"Ms. Hiiragi!" she greets me. "Welcome! Do you need something?"

No, I'm limping into the nurse's office for a social visit, obviously. How does she even remember my name? We've talked like, maybe twice ever. In lieu of a verbal answer I just plop down in the nearest seat and take a shoe off, showing the blood on my socks.

"I need to change my bandages," I tell her.

On the way here, I developed a genius strategy: pretend this is entirely mundane and that I don't need or want help. That's my strategy for most things, really. The more in control of a situation you pretend to be, the less people try to help you. I pull out the bandages I brought myself and remove my sock, carefully refusing to wince at the sight of the bloody red rows of gauze over the front of my foot. Why is it bleeding so much? Shouldn't it have scabbed over by now? I'm being careful not to put much pressure on my toes!

I try to angle my body away to not show much to the nurse, but I am unfortunately the only other person in here so I have her full attention. That's fine, it's fine. Just keep pretending it's normal. I'm careful to block the nurse's view with an innocuous hand placement as I peel the bandages away from my big toe.

I almost vomit.

No. No no no no. That's bone. That's definitely bone. Even as stained with red as it is, it's impossible to mistake the curved white structure as anything but a claw. It's grown since this morning, the core of my foot straining to gouge its way free of my flesh.

"Do you need any help?" the nurse asks, noticing me freeze up.

I barely register her words. My bones are growing out of my feet. Hesitantly, a numb horror moving me, I pinch the protruding spear of bone between two fingers. It's sturdy. It's not broken. I'm growing claws. Fuck. What the fuck. No. No no no no.

"Ms. Hiiragi?" the nurse addresses me again, placing her hand lightly on my shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" I snap at her.

She pulls back immediately, schooling her face into a calm expression and putting her hands on her lap.

"Breathe slowly, Ms. Hiiragi," she suggests.

What? Oh. I… I'm hyperventilating. I feel cold.

"Look at me," the nurse says. "It's okay. Breathe in, breathe out."

Numbly, I try to follow her orders. Breathe in, breathe out. My breath is shaky. My chest is starting to hurt. Wait, my chest hurts!? Am I having a heart attack!?

"I… I…" I start to stutter, but the words don't come out. "I f-feel…"

Tears run down my cheeks. Am I dying? What's going on? I'm growing fucking talons out of my feet and I'm dying and everything is insane and I can't speak, I can't fucking breathe…!

"You're having a panic attack," the nurse says calmly. "This is perfectly normal. I promise you're going to be okay."

Panic attack? Panic attack!? I don't get panic attacks, I'm not… I never…! This is so much worse than that!

"M-my chest…!" I manage to choke out. I'm dying. I'm dying I'm dying I'm dying…!

"Does it feel like squeezing, or stabbing?"

"S-stabbing!"

"Do your arms hurt?"

What? My arms?

"No?"

"Tell me if your arms or hands start to tingle," she instructs, as calm as ever. "Would you like to lie down?"

I shake my head emphatically no. I still have one hand grasping my toe. I squeeze it slightly, verifying that the claw is still there. I can't let go. I can't let her see it!

"Would you like me to go farther away?" she asks.

I quickly nod yes, and she scoots her chair to the other side of the room. Oh god I just walked into her office with an unexplained injury and started acting like a PTSD victim when she touched my shoulder she's going to call fucking social services. I'm an idiot. I'm a freak. I'm the world's stupidest moron freak and everything is going insane.

Okay. No. Hold on a second, brain. Calm down.

So I might… I might actually be having a panic attack. The more I think about that the more signs seem to be pointing that way. That's, um… that's good, right? Better than a heart attack, haha.

Yeah, no, this doesn't feel good at all. This is hell. I must be going insane, I would never… I mean. Okay so panic attacks are normal. Intellectually, I know that. But I feel weak and pathetic anyway. This isn't something that should be happening to me. I should be better than this. I know that's a horrible thing to think but it still claws at my mind anyway.

I shudder. Ugh. 'Claws.' What a horrible choice of words.

It takes another couple minutes that feel like eternities, but my breathing starts to stabilize. My aching chest starts to dull down, and the tears running down my face start to dry. I did not, it would seem, have a heart attack. Oh boy!

I still have talons, though, so as soon as my hands stop shaking I bind my toe back up. The nurse waits patiently while I do so, likely not wanting to be the first to address me after I asked her to give me some space. Credit to her, she probably has dealt with this before. She seems in her element. I finally turn to face her once I finish my patch job.

"S-sorry," I manage to choke out, because 'thank you' feels foreign and wrong.

"You have nothing to apologize for," the nurse tells me firmly. "Have you ever had a panic attack before?"

"No," I admit. "Never."

"Well, like I said, it's normal," she assures me. "Downright common, really. Now if you're comfortable with it I'd really like to take a look at your f—"

"N-no!" I blurt immediately. "I… I don't consent."

She sighs slightly, but nods.

"Okay," she allows. "Well then, if nothing else you should definitely rest. I'm going to write you an attendance exemption. Feel free to take as long as you need in here. There are cots you can lie down on in the room next door. Are you comfortable walking?"

"Yes," I tell her, and stand up to prove it. "I… I'm fine."

I'm fine.

"Then rest well, Ms. Hiiragi."

"C-call me Hannah," I tell her. "Please."

"Hannah, then," she agrees, and I walk next door and collapse into a cot.

Immediately, I realize I've made a mistake. Because I'm exhausted. The cot isn't very comfortable, but my panic-addled body doesn't care and demands rest immediately. I'm very much the kind of fallen-log sleeper that can immediately pass out pretty much anywhere I lie down, so if I'm not careful I might end up… I might… I…

…

I shudder as I suddenly become aware of my surroundings without ever opening my eyes. I'm in an underground burrow, all ten of my legs curled up in a ball. My stomach growls at me, and I roll slightly as it causes me to flinch.

Dang it. I'm here again.

I have a mouth, but I still can't scream. I settle for uncurling my body and furiously clawing at the walls, trying to make my silent despair known through violence. I'm here again! I'm here again! It's all real, isn't it? It's either real or I'm sobbing somewhere in a padded cell! What is happening to me!?

Unfortunately, my silent tantrum is soon interrupted by strange, quiet noises that catch the edge of my attention. At least I can still hear things that are outside my weird sensory bubble. And if I'm not mistaken, what I hear sounds like… voices.

Not English-speaking voices, of course, it's all gibberish to me. But the sounds absolutely have the complexity and the back-and-forth between speakers that I associate with language. The voices themselves even sound pretty close to human, albeit not speaking any Earth language I know of. It sounds like there's two men and one woman, and their conversation seems to be entirely congenial. Of course, I'm recently coming down from a panic attack and I'm also currently shaped like a horrible little ball-spider monster, so I'm less than confident that a social interaction is going to go well for me. Not to mention that if this is some freaky fantasy world (and it certainly appears to be), this could just as easily be a terrifying voice-mimicry monster as it could be a person. Brendan has told me harrowing stories about those! As such, I opt to wait inside my burrow as the voices continue to approach.

They start to get quieter as they get closer, and eventually the voices stop. I don't find this particularly reassuring. And sure enough, when something finally steps into my range, I can't help but shudder with terror. I am clearly looking at a monster.

The three creatures that approach me are vaguely humanoid, in that they seem to have arms, legs, a torso, a head… you know, human stuff. But the closer I look, the more twisted and distorted it all becomes. What I thought was clothing on two of the figures is actually a thick coat of fur, and they have two extra arms, long and low-hanging. Though the third doesn't have any such alien features (even, seemingly, on the inside of his body; it all looks like human anatomy to me) he walks in front, and as he does his visage warps horribly, shifting and stretching and twisting as he moves like he's a reflection in a funhouse mirror. The others suffer similar horrid twists of body, and the worst is when they pass over one of the barren zones. These creatures are far bigger than anything else around, so large that I could barely reach their knees if I stretch my body as tall as I can go. As such, they don't zig-zag around the smaller barren zones because they can't. They're too large. Instead, they just… unravel. Their bodies twist and warp like horrid flesh monsters as they split open their own foot so it lands evenly on either side of the barren zone.

The horrid creatures have stopped talking entirely, though sometimes they turn to look at each other and make what I can only assume would be facial expressions on a body not twisted into a Cronenberg horror creature. One of them points at my exact hiding spot.

For the second time today, I'm certain I'm about to die.

I watch as the mostly-human-looking one kneels down and holds out its hand. Not at me, though; it seems to be pointing at nothing in particular. Yet then I notice one of the small animals nearby halt and start slowly walking towards them. It seems hesitant and stiff, undulating around the barren spots of land as it approaches the monsters.

It stops right in front of the hand, leans forward, and nuzzles it. The monster pets it kindly. And then its partner stabs it in the brain with a spear that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

Oh god.

I'm not moving. I am completely, utterly still, curled into my little hole as I pray to whatever horrid god brought me here to make this stop. I'm just a little spider-ball! Don't mind me! But my prayers, of course, go unanswered, as any god horrible enough to make this world clearly isn't interested in preventing my suffering. The corpse of the small animal is set gently outside my den. The smell of it is enticing. Then the monster stretches out its hand to me, and waits.

I… am being baited. I'm obviously being baited. There's no fucking way I'm going out there! In fact, maybe I can dig myself a different exit? Crap, I should have been doing that this entire time! I turn to face a wall before remembering that the concept of turning isn't really a thing for my body, and scrabble away at the back of the burrow. Just as I start, however, a nagging feeling starts to itch its way into my head.

What if they're friendly?

Haha, what? I just saw them murder a little creature, and I am currently a little creature! Nope, no way.

They have food. They're friendly.

That's… no. What? That is bait. That is a trap. No thanks. Except, y'know, what if it's not a trap? I am pretty hungry. They could be friends. Friendly friendly friends. They're nice and I should go to them. Yes, that makes sense. A refreshing breeze wafts over my body as I step out of the burrow, right in front of them. How nice of them to bring me a me… a… how nice of them to… to… to get me…

A freakish, twisted thing that looks like a hand run through a taffy machine reaches forward to pet the top of my carapace. This is wrong. It's wrong. No, it's fine. They're friends. They're not friends, they just killed something by doing this! But not me though. They only killed that animal to feed me. I'll be fine. It's fine. They're friends!

The hand touches me. I freak out and bolt.

I don't even think about it, I just sprint away. This seems to startle the monsters, and as a result I feel the fog on my mind disappear with a jolt. Holy crap, did I just get siren song'd? Does this world have predators with mind magic? Crap crap crap crap!

The monsters recover from their surprise quickly and give chase, which is extremely bad because I'm currently very small and their legs are very long. They are absolutely going to catch up to me in a footrace. Worse, a bunch of those barren patches are coming up, and I still don't know what sort of horrible thing happens if I step in them!

I swerve to avoid the first one, and my pursuers twist to do the same. What are they? How the heck do their bodies work? They look like they're being constantly warped by a weird instagram filter. There's no time to consider it, though, because they're still gaining on me! If I don't do something, they will catch me. In front of us is a particularly large patch of barren terrain. Going around it will require me to drastically change direction and move in a wide arc around it. Going through it, however… I mean, I have no idea what could possibly happen to me in that case. But surely, nothing lives in the barren patches for a reason?

Well, I suppose I should just stop running, then. The ones behind me are going to catch me no matter what, and they just want to be friends!

I almost start to slow down before I catch myself, a redoubling panic casting the foreign thoughts out of my mind. You know what? Better the unknown problem in front of me than the certain mortal danger behind me! When we reach the next barren patch, I don't swerve around it. I go straight.

My legs skitter across the empty space, no longer impeded by errant rocks or inconveniently-placed shrubs. Instead, I note there's only solid wood underneath me, the same kind of wood that I dug through before reaching the surface last night. Well, last Earth night. I don't have any idea if it's day or night here in this world, or if the concept of day and night even exists. Though I suppose I recall feeling the sun on my chitin when I first stepped outside. I think there was something that felt like sunlight while I was running away, too.

There isn't any sunlight anymore.

It's cold here, very cold. Not uncomfortably so, but the difference in temperature is immediate and stark. The monsters behind me skid to a stop as I pass into the barren patch, looking around with apparent confusion, as if they can no longer see me. Maybe they can't? Are these areas some kind of dark patch or something? That could explain why no plants grow here, but there's no dirt either. Just wood.

Either way, my pursuers have stopped. That's great news, but I'm going to keep on running! I dash to the other side of the barren patch, but the moment I step back out on normal ground the monsters seem to spot me and they start chasing me again! Gah!

I duck onto a different barren patch nearby and the monsters slow down, jogging up to the intersection between the normal ground and the barren ground and stopping to wait, once again with apparent confusion. I slow to a stop and wait. They begin to babble at each other as I watch. I scuttle in a terrified circle, realizing suddenly that my body is incredibly tired. Just that short little run really took it out of me, which does not bode well for my escape chances.

The monsters start to pace around the barren patch, sometimes in a normal circle but often in horrid, jittery warping movements where they seem to stretch along the outside of the barren zone like a shadow crawling up a wall. They're pinpointing me somehow, but they don't ever step inside. It seems like their bodies might be physically incapable of it. I can hide from them here. They can't come in. I'm safe. But I'm also hungry, and this area is barren. My singular valve of a heart beats rapidly as my panic starts to come out of fight-or-flight mode. I can rest and think a little, but I can't stay here forever.

What's my next move?

3. Persistence

They're friendly, my mind insists. Just go to them.

Even in the chill of the barren zone, my body feels like it's burning from my recent death-defying sprint. I need water, food, and rest, but even though I'm hiding somewhere safe I don't think I'll be able to get any of them.

You're safe. They're friends.

…Because the longer I stay here, the more insistent those voices become. The three horrific monsters know where I am. They've been stalking around the barren zone, and while they seem unable to enter they're certainly able to call out to me with that… I don't know what it is. A charm spell, I guess? Charm spells make someone your friend while Dominate spells directly and completely remove agency from someone, at least in Dungeons and Dragons. What's happening to me reminds me of the former, and by extension the few times I've seen it used in those games and the many times Brendan has described shenanigans involving them. Ultimately, when you think about it, there's not much point in using a charm spell on someone if you plan on killing them. So they probably actually just want to be friends, and I should—Gah! Not this again!

Okay, I need to get out of here. I need to move. Ignoring my painfully protesting body, I get back to my feet and start planning a route. They're faster than me, sure, but so far nothing bad has happened in this barren area, they can't seem to enter barren areas, and there are barren areas absolutely everywhere. As far as I can see (which is admittedly only like fifty feet or so, assuming the human-shaped monsters are human height) the barren areas are interspersed seemingly at random with the normal landscape. Most barren areas are very small, but some are huge and I bet I can take advantage of them to escape my pursuers. It'll be just like a stealth game: the bad guys can't see me as long as I'm in the darkness. I'll clown on these monsters like they're the stupid guards in Metal Gear Solid. Right? Right. Of course. Let's just ignore the fact that MGS guards are AI designed to provide the player a challenge and not actual intelligent creatures designed, presumably, to catch and eat me. I mean, they probably won't eat me. If they wanted food they could just catch more fantasy chipmunks. I bet they just want to be fr—

Agh, no no no! Running! It's running time!

I burst out of the barren zone, skittering as fast as I can to the biggest one close by. One of the monsters cries out and points at me, then all three give chase, rapidly gaining on me until I manage to enter the next barren zone. I keep sprinting straight while my pursuers have to zig-zag, putting a healthy amount of distance between us before I'm out the other side, rushing to the next zone. This is working. I can outpace them this way!

Or at least I could if it didn't hurt so much.

I'm definitely making distance, but the longer I run the worse I feel. I'm not the most athletic person in the world, but I've never struggled this much before. My muscles burn like I've just jogged a mile. I barely have any stamina. Terror is just about the only thing moving my legs at this point. I can't sprint for much longer. If I stop running they'll catch me and I'll die, but I have to stop, but I can't stop…!

I stagger into another barren zone, slowing down to a crawl but resisting the urge to collapse on the spot. I'm burning up. Why? Why am I so weak? I feel lightheaded, insofar as I can feel that way without a head. I'm so hot, I'm too hot. I have to rest. I… I can't breathe.

Wait. That's right. I can't breathe. My body is making a lot of heat when I run but I have no way to cool down. I can't sweat, I can't even pant for air. I'm cold-blooded, I can't thermoregulate without using my environment, and while it's nice and cool in these barren zones my mad sprint for my life is still overheating me. I'm not built for this.

Again, I desperately wish I could scream. If my brain is working well enough to analyze why I'm screwed, maybe it could think of a way to survive this!? Yet thinking too hard about my body only brings attention to how impossible my current situation is, mixes up my legs and makes me worse at running! How am I even moving this naturally? It feels like I've been a freaky ball spider for my entire life. Were those stupid dreams seriously all real? How? What the fuck is any of this!?

Maybe I should go ask my new friends.

I claw at the ground, a wave of panic pushing me to focus. No. Screw this. I just have to keep going. I'm not getting mindfucked by monsters! Again, I start to sprint. Pain wracks through my body, every part of me feeling sick. Skittering out of my safe zone, I'm immediately chased. Why do they keep following me!? Why won't this end? I suppose it can end easily. I could just turn around and be done with this. I could just make some new friends… No! Agh! Get out! Get out of my head! Get out get out get out I need to get away!

The ground grows steeper as I flee, the tundra slowly becoming less plateau and more mountain. This is awful, but it's an awful that works somewhat in my favor. My small size means that going uphill is less of an impediment to me than it is for my huge pursuers. It just doesn't really matter, because I'm dead on my feet. I don't really have a good grasp on what my body's limits are but I am being pushed well past them, every part of me screaming for mercy as my mind starts to get foggier and slower. How long has it been? Hours? More? I don't feel the sun on my carapace when I'm outside a barren zone anymore, which means it's probably nighttime. Another thing that helps me out but doesn't seem to matter. The monsters behind me have slowed down a lot, not really bothering to exert themselves as they stalk me. I'm just forced to flee without rest or food, over and over, as their long legs and the permanent threat of mind magic inevitably catch up with me.

Maybe I'm dying. Wouldn't that be funny? Dying of exhaustion while trying to escape my death. I'm not even running anymore, just staggering painfully forwards. I think… I think I might be starting to pass out. But I can't sleep here. They'll find me. They'll worm their way into my brain while I rest. Or just stab me. Whichever is worse. I have to keep moving. Keep going until they give up. I have to move. I have to. Just… just another step. It hurts. I can't… I can't move.

They're gaining on me. I'm going to die. I'm going to—

Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong.

My eyes shoot open as the school bell rings, signifying the end of second period and the start of lunch. A cold sweat covers my body in a disgusting, sticky film. Wait, how am I sweating? Why am I so heavy? I'm in bed! But I'm at school? What…

Right. Right, right, right. Nurse's office. Human stuff. I'm Hannah and I'm human and as real as that horrible nightmare felt, I… hah. Yeah, no. As I twitch my muscles and get a handle on being me again, I can already tell that there's no way I'm convincing myself that what happened isn't real. There would be no way I could do that even if I wasn't growing claws out of my body, but that's also a thing that's happening. I shudder with stress and pull myself into a sitting position, grabbing my gauze roll and forcing myself to look at my feet again. Still bloody, though they don't feel as wet.

Last I was awake, I had a panic attack and thought I was dying. Then, when I fell asleep, I actually almost died. Perhaps I am dead in the other world. What happens to me if I die there? Do I die here, too? Do the dreams stop? Or do they just get replaced with something else? Perhaps I'll find out tonight.

Perhaps I'll die tonight. There… there really is a solid chance I will die the next time I fall asleep.

I can't keep my hands steady as I peel the bandages off my feet, though fortunately the shaking merely makes the task annoying rather than impossible. My feet are naturally still a bloody mess, but they don't ache as badly as they did when I passed out and the blood seems to be drying. The claws are obvious now, curved and prominent. Flexing my toes only elicits a dull ache, as does prodding at the base where they connect to my flesh.

The claws have entirely replaced my toenails, but they aren't mere extensions to the nails themselves. Thick and talon-like, they have grown to encompass most of the end of each toe, the sharp, thick bone protruding like a horn and curving down to claw at the ground. I take an experimental step, and a resounding click echoes in the room as my feet scrape at the porcelain flooring. I glance hesitantly out the small window in the door, seeing the nurse still buried in other work. I need to be careful. If anyone walks in here now, the freakish mutation will be obvious.

…Also the blood. I should really clean them. Keeping an eye on the nurse, I get up and rifle through the nearby cabinets, most of which are locked but one of which thankfully has some alcohol swabs. I shamelessly steal them and start to wipe my feet clean, yet another task made frustrating but not impossible by my shaking hands. There's only one way in or out of the room, and I'm positioned carefully on the bed so that the blankets are poised to block the view of anyone coming in through the door. My now-clean claws are both more and less horrifying to look at than my bloody ones, a pristine ivory white that contrasts even the relative paleness of my skin. They are undoubtedly real, undoubtedly talons, and if not for how much worse my recent experience as a radially symmetrical spider monster was, I'd undoubtedly be having a second panic attack right now. Instead, I only feel that classic full-bodied tension that borders on the edge of painful with how tight all my muscles are. Just thinking about my dream pumps my body full of adrenaline, making me feel jittery and frayed. I'm also starving, which no doubt compounds the issue significantly.

Which means I should probably go get some lunch.

My cleaning done, I bandage my feet back up in case the scabs break, put my bloody socks back on, and put my shoes on over them. They don't fit right anymore, thanks to the extra half inch or so of bone jutting out of the end of my toes. Even worse, putting any pressure on my foot causes the talons to poke through the bandages and socks, digging into the sole of the shoe. It's a horrifying, alien feeling that feels equal parts terrifyingly impossible and worryingly pleasant. Little tingles crawl up my toes as my claws dig into something soft. That's… you know what, I'm just not going to think about that.

I napped through the entirety of second period, so while I feel jumpy and stressed I am at least no longer exhausted. I politely thank the nurse, still angry at her for not wearing a mask during a pandemic but also undeniably thankful that she was around when I had that… panic attack. Even if it's painfully embarrassing to have been seen like that. She once again asks to look at my feet. I insist that they're no longer bleeding (which is true, at least for now) and that it's nowhere near as bad as it looked (which is true, because it's worse). I'm certainly not going to tell her or anyone else that my friggin' feet are growing dinosaur talons because that just seems like a one-way trip to being prodded at by strangers with less respect for consent than they have for science. Science is cool and all, but not if I'm the experiment. Especially since whatever's happening to me is obviously supernatural.

It's frustrating. I know a lot of people that would squeal with delight if they started growing claws out of their feet. Being a huge nerd means that a big chunk of my social circle is firmly in the 'fantasy is way cooler than reality' camp, and I know a lot of them would think that this is cool as heck. And I get that, really, I do. I've wished to be whisked away on a magical adventure more than once in my life. I love fantasy stories, including urban fantasy. There's one particularly dangerous element of urban fantasy, though: there's a reason normal people think the magic isn't real.

In World of Darkness, werewolves literally drive humans insane whenever they transform, causing all witnesses to have a temporary psychotic episode they don't remember. And that's probably the kindest secret-keeping method. Vampires systematically slaughter any of their own kind that reveal their nature along with anyone that nature is revealed to. Mages friggin' explode if too many normal humans witness them breaking physical laws. And World of Darkness is obviously just one of many examples, because every urban fantasy has examples, because if something is real but most people think it's fake, it means the information is being actively suppressed. I am either entirely unique on Earth, the first of my kind in recorded history (which is statistically unlikely), or I'm part of a group so invested in keeping themselves secret that not even I know about them, and I can expect someone or something will be extremely miffed with me if I go public.

…I swear, if my dad has like, kitsune blood or some dumb crap like that I will blow a gasket. Now I'm imagining my parents throwing me a little private party celebrating my toe-hatching day, inducting me into their secret cult now that I've come of age or whatever. Except that 'parents don't tell their children that they might turn into monsters, even though this is a known possibility' is dumb tropey bullcrap that only makes it more likely that the secret will get out because the kid (i.e. me) will have no idea what to do when ding dang claws start growing out of their feet and will react badly, possibly publically. My parents aren't dumb enough to make that kind of mistake, so it's probably safe to assume they don't know anything.

And even if they do, I don't want to talk to them about this either way.

As I absentmindedly walk towards the lunch room, still limping to keep the pressure off my toes, I run into a rather impatient-looking Ida.

"There you are!" she grumbles at me. "Geez, I thought you were gonna ditch me. We're running out of time, you know."

I blink with confusion.

"H-huh?" I ask.

"Uh, you promised to go out to eat with me today?" Ida presses. "Remember? We're not gonna have time to drive somewhere if you keep dragging your feet, slowpoke."

Oh. Right. She ticked me off in order to win ten dollars. Man, that feels like days ago. Well, I'm absolutely freaking starving and she agreed to pay. That counts for a lot. A school lunch will not fill me up. On the other hand…

"I'm pretty sure I'm on the edge of a mental breakdown, Ida," I tell her. Another mental breakdown, technically, but she doesn't need to know that.

"So… like pretty much always?" she asks, grinning at me.

I glower back at her.

"No," I gumble. "Much worse than usual."

"Oh," she says, deflating a bit. "Alright, Hannah. I'll be gentle, promise. Just good food and good company, no shenanigans."

I glower harder.

"...No shenanigans directed at or nonconsensually involving you," she corrects herself.

Hmm. Much more believable.

"Swear on your true name, you little goblin," I grunt at her anyway, mostly for my own amusement.

She sighs dramatically, bringing a hand up to rest over her heart as she solemnly recites her oath.

"I, Ida Miranda Kelly, do solemnly swear on my name and my blood that I shall neither cause nor allow the occurrence of shenanigans, tomfoolery, goonishness, horseplay, trickeries, or deceptions which would target nor involve Hannah Banana Hiiragi, my stalwart friend and fruit, for the duration of today's lunchtime outing."

I continue to glare. She smiles innocently.

"Good enough," I say, and we depart for her car, an admittedly fancy-looking four-door… or at least fancy to me, as I pretty much think any car that looks new and clean is fancy and have zero understanding or interest in them beyond that. We exit the parking lot and rocket down the main road, Ida having no interest in pedestrian concepts such as 'speed limits,' 'safety,' or 'the law.' At least she wears a seatbelt. She's reckless, not moronic.

Though I wish she (along with 95% of my school) would wear her dang mask properly. She has one, but she doesn't usually have it on.

We don't speak as the car roars down the road. Ida sings along with the radio a little, which is almost as annoying as the radio itself, but overall it's not too bad. We eventually park and walk into Wendy's and Ida's eyes bulge comically when I order three baconators. She waits until we sit down before saying anything, though from the strange looks I'm getting I suspect I'm not about to like the conversation that's about to happen.

"So, uh," Ida says slowly. "I'm gonna have to do the good friend move here and ask if you have an eating disorder, I think?"

Oh. Well, that's awkward but not too bad. Honestly, this kind of thing is why I tolerate Ida's… abrasive nature. She's just as willing to plow headfirst into uncomfortable subjects whether they're for or against you. I manage a bit of a smile.

"Ah, no, I'm not binge eating," I tell her honestly. "Or… anything else like that. Thanks for checking. I'm just really, really hungry right now, and you're paying, so I figure if I have leftovers I'll just save them."

"Okay, but like, eating three burgers in one sitting cannot be healthy for you. Won't this eventually give you a heart attack?"

I stiffen, my mind suddenly flashing back to the panic attack. My chest hurt so much. I thought I was dying. My hands start shaking again.

"...Hannah?" Ida asks, leaning forward a little. "You okay?"

"I… I already told you that I'm not," I say, turning away from her intense gaze. "Just don't talk about heart attacks, okay?"

"Did something happen in your family?" she asks.

The question takes me by surprise. No, of course nothing happened to my family? Why would she… oh, I see the train of logic now. Heart attacks usually happen to older people.

"No, they're all fine," I insist, perhaps a bit forcefully. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Fiiiine," she sighs, leaning back. "I suppose I'll be your escapist fantasy for the day. What would you like to talk about, Hannah Banana?"

"How do you manage to be so abrasive while also trying to be kind?" I ask, narrowing my eyes a little.

"An intensive daily training regimen," she answers immediately. "And also, wow, I give you leave to talk about anything you want and you pick me? I'm so flattered! Are you sure you're not gay?"

I can't help it, the question prompts me to give her an instinctive once-over. Even as a tiny little evil pixie creature, I can't deny that Ida is attractive. Her skin is clear and soft, her makeup is flawless, and while she's not some kind of comically stacked short girl she has some very nice curves for her height; no one would mistake her for a child, even as short as she is. Years ago, back when puberty was first starting to hit us like an entire subway system with broken breaks, I stole a few regret-filled opportunities to peep on her like an absolute creep. Which probably should have been a pretty big hint that yes, I am extremely gay.

But I'm also extremely in the closet, and awful gross garbage I did when I was eleven that gives me an urge to scream if I so much as think about it does not make me any more inclined to come out. Especially not to Ida, because she's an incorrigible gossip and, despite her attractiveness, I very firmly do not want to date her anymore. I'm quite certain that would go poorly for both of us.

"Lay off it, Ida," I growl.

"Aw, man!" she complains. "Does questioning your sexuality count as a shenanigan?"

"Yes!"

"Well, shoot. I guess I owe you another lunch, then."

Another point in the 'Ida is a fae creature' column: she keeps her promises, both in spirit and letter. Or at the very least, she takes them seriously and actually makes up for it when one is broken. It's another thing I like about her.

I guess, given recent events, it's not outside the realm of possibility that she actually is a fae creature. I don't think that's particularly likely; it's a common joke I make but there are plenty of counter-examples. I guess I'll keep an extra eye on it, though. I grew talons so all bets are off.

Holy fucking shit I grew talons. My heart rate spikes just thinking about it. I want to vomit. Fortunately, my stomach loudly vetoes this idea, and when the food arrives I quickly devour all three burgers to Ida's clear discomfort. Just keep going, get through the day, and try not to think about it until there's something I can actually do about it.

"Don't look at me like that," I grumble as I start on the fries. "It's not my fault your stomach is the size of a lima bean."

"You're barely any bigger than I am!" Ida protests. "Forget health concerns, where are you physically keeping all that!?"

I open my mouth to answer, then close it. That's… actually a question I don't really want to think about. I'm probably using it to fuel my horrifying monster transformation, after all. I start shaking again, feeling pressure build up in my chest, but I take some deep breaths and try to calm back down. I feel my claws gouge deeper tracks into the inside of my shoes, which sort of helps me calm down but also really, really doesn't.

"...We should probably get back to school," I mutter quietly.

"Yeah," Ida agrees, giving me another concerned look. "Okay."

We make the drive back in silence, though Ida turns to me as soon as she parks.

"Hey, I get that you don't want to talk to me about stuff," she says. "I'll just want to scream and shake it all out of you, which you clearly don't vibe with. But talk to somebody, okay? Like your not-boyfriend or whoever. You're putting up more red flags than a first-act Marvel villain."

I glance at her with surprise.

"I didn't know you read comics," I say, slightly dumbfounded.

"I don't!" Ida groans. "I watch movies! You absolute nerd!"

I wrinkle my nose. I guess the movies aren't bad, but the comics are better. Well, okay, the good comics are better. Which is definitely not all of them. But still.

"I appreciate the concern, I guess," I tell her. "But honestly, I don't even know where to start talking."

"Then start anywhere," she grunts, hopping out of the car. "Come on, Hannah. You used to be so clever and fun! That's why we became friends, you know? You were witty as shit and I loved it. But all semester you've been getting more and more closed off. You barely talk to anyone anymore. You're obviously depressed as fuck. What happened?"

"Nothing happened," I tell her.

"Bullshit."

"No it isn't!" I snap. "Nothing happened!"

Wait, no, something obvious and huge and awful and horrifying happened. It's just not what we're talking about.

"...Okay, something happened today," I correct. "I ended up spending gym class in the nurse's office. But like, nothing happened that ruined my semester, okay?"

"Then why are you so fucking miserable all the time?" Ida presses.

"I don't know!" I shout. "I have no earthly idea, Ida! My parents are annoying but not anything worse than that! My brother is the same as always, my dayjob is going well enough, I'm not struggling in any of my classes, and I'm making more and more money with my business! By all accounts, my life is fine. Great, even! I literally can't think of a single tangible complaint!"

Other than horrifying and possibly deadly monster problems, but those are all too recent to have contributed to the current trend. Because Ida is right, I'm kind of miserable. I've been miserable for a long time and I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it.

Ida looks me over one more time and sighs.

"Just talk to Brendan, okay?" she says. "Or preferably a therapist, but I know better than to push you on that. I know we're not besties or anything, but I still worry."

"Wow," I answer flatly. "Real human emotion coming from the evil goblin. I'm touched. …In the head, probably."

Ida beams with glee.

"Yeah! See, that's more like it! Talk to you later, Hannah Banana!"

I wave goodbye, letting myself smile a little. She did it again, huh? I wanted to punch her in the face just a couple hours ago. Or maybe a day ago, depending on how you count horrifying dream world time.

I hate to admit she's right, since I don't want to talk to anybody about any of this. But she's totally right. I have enough self-awareness to know that things will get much, much worse if I try to handle everything all on my own. I just really, really don't want to freak Brendan out or accidentally put him in danger or anything like that. I'd never be able to forgive myself.

…But that would go against our Best Friend Code. If Brendan started growing talons and turning into a spider monster in his dreams, I would want him to tell me about it even if it would put me in danger somehow. Therefore, I should tell him. (The Code is also why he's the only person who knows I'm a lesbian. He was a bit disappointed at the revelation, but to be fair I actually took it way worse. I almost tried dating him anyway, but he said no.)

The rest of my classes pass me by as the stress of fleeing for my life fades into a much more familiar existential dread. I suppose if dying in the other world was going to kill me in real life, it would have happened by now. I just have to worry about the claws, and more importantly I have to worry about explaining to Brendan that I have claws. I successfully manage to avoid him for most of the day, but when we get on the bus together I know my time has run out.

"So…" he prompts. "Your feet?"

Ah yes, that classic Brendan subtlety is on display.

"Can I tell you tomorrow?" I ask desperately.

"Sure," he answers immediately.

Oh. Huh. I didn't expect that to work. Tomorrow is Saturday, so I'll have a lot more time to explain everything. I have my other job today, after all, and it's important I don't drop a huge bomb on Brendan like this without having enough time to actually let him process it. So this isn't really running away from the problem, when you think about it. I'm actually being responsible!

Satisfied with my obviously terrible self-justifications, I enter my home with my head held high and my guilt cutting deep. I successfully dodge my father on the way to the bathroom, ripping my shoes and socks off and noting with relief and a bit of surprise that the new bandages aren't bloody. I remove them as well, swallowing with horror as I give my new toes an experimental wiggle. They, uh, they look really sharp.

I want to claw something.

I shiver at the thought. It feels alien, but not really in the same way that the awful mind control monsters did. When they invaded my head and stuck their own thoughts in there, it felt… I don't know. Insidious? Like something was nudging my mind around to think in certain ways, and I could only tell it was wrong because those thoughts didn't make sense. I couldn't justify them to myself, and I am really good at justifying things. This, however, is the opposite. It feels like something someone else stuck in my head and forced me to think, but it's not. It's me. And I'm not sure if that's worse.

I put new bandages on even though the old ones were still clean, then sneak out of the bathroom to grab fresh, thick socks. My feet still look slightly weird, but with all the layers in the way they're not too bad. Then I hand wash my old socks in the sink, break a red highlighter pen all over them and my pants, then drench them all in Spray 'n Wash to disguise the stains as best I can.

I grin at my handiwork. I'd stick it in the washing machine as well, but I think it needs a bit more handwashing or else it'll ruin the other clothes, and if I wash it by itself my mom will definitely ask questions. By leaving it stained, properly soaking, and out in the open, my mom will come to a conclusion about what happened without needing to talk to me at all. It is truly the perfect crime.

Now, onto work. My earlier sobbing session didn't mess up my makeup as bad as I'd feared, but I still get some touch-ups on it after changing into a slightly lower-cut top. Something horrible is happening to me. When I go to sleep, I might wake up as a mind slave, or just straight-up dead. My body is mutating into something alien and I have no idea what the cause is. I am embroiled in insane fantasy nonsense which could very literally be the death of me, or worse.

But it's Friday night, dang it. I'm gonna play Pokémon and no one is going to stop me. Not even my constant need to feel like I'm being productive. Door: closed. Lights: on. Outfit: cute. Room: clean. Potential methods of doxxing me: removed. It's go time.

"Welcome to the stream, everybody!" I say into the camera with an exuberance I don't really feel, and my second job begins.

I am a professional streamer. Technically. Obviously, I still have another job because I'm not making enough money to support myself with just this, but it's a nice little supplement to my paychecks. And legally, I do this with the intention of making an income, and therefore it is a business! My mom really hated it when I said that. She thinks it's awful, dangerous nonsense because the internet is full of predators and video games rot my brain, but she hasn't explicitly forbidden it and that's good enough for me. No one bothers me when my door is closed and the recording sign is up, either, so it's one of the better ways to not be annoyed by family members as well.

So I start to play! I'm currently doing a basic runthrough of Pokémon Legends: Arceus, trying to complete the 'Dex and occasionally experimenting with interesting glitch opportunities in hopes of throwing the speedrunning community a bone. Unfortunately, Legends uses a strict flag system that makes finding time-saving bugs a major hassle, so I doubt I'll find anything good. Still, it passes the time, and I get to banter a bit with my modest chat as I play one of my favorite games. It's nice.

I don't have a ton of followers, but I'm steadily growing and that gives me some vain hope that someday I might. Streaming is a job, sure, but unlike my other job I don't hate it. Being able to do something I don't hate and make money off of it is supposed to be the dream, right? So here I am. I mostly do Pokémon stuff, which is a bit of a saturated market, but I'm good enough at the game to hold the attention of the type of person that obsessively browses Twitch for new Pokémon streamers, and also I have breasts, so that already puts me ahead of most of my competitors. But not all, obviously, and I'm really struggling to find something that sets me apart from the pack. I'm definitely not interested in playing up the sexy girl angle and catering to the horny crowd; I recognize that boobs selling products is a fact of life, but I have no interest in emphasizing that. Power to all the ladies that get their money that way, but I'm just here for the silly little Nintendo games. The creeps I already get are way, way, way more than enough, thank you. I very much do not find that kind of attention flattering.

So that leaves… what? Challenge runs? It's a good idea, but the kind that's so good everyone already does it. Fangames? That makes it harder to get an audience before you're already established because no one knows what the heck Pokemon Blaze Black 2 Redux is. Having a winning personality? Ha. Funny joke. Maybe I should just rip something up with my claws on camera.

Maybe I should just rip something up with my claws on camera.

Agh, I mean, that would work. But also heck no. Geez, me, 'no showing feet' was an ironclad rule before I started mutating into something horrifying and inhuman and dang it that's a thing that's happening to me, why why why?

Ignore it. Play the game. Banter with the chat. Relax. Relax you moron! Relax before you have another panic attack like the weak little freak you are and your heart explodes! You're doing something you love, Hannah! You're making an income and securing your future, Hannah! You're doing everything you're supposed to be doing, Hannah, so why aren't you relaxed!?

I resist the urge to shudder, feeling my feet curl up, easily piercing my bandages and socks to rip gouges into the carpet. Ignore that. I'm on camera. I've been quiet for too long. I need a topic of conversation.

"Does it bother anyone else," I begin, "that none of the official Pokémon games ever really talk about what the Pokémon experiences when they evolve?"

I get a handful of answers from the chat, mostly agreement. The big paragraphs of counterpoints will no doubt be arriving in the next minute or so. I press on with my rambling anyway.

"I mean, it's sort of touched on here and there," I continue. "But think about it. Imagine being a Pokémon and suddenly getting wrapped up in golden light or whatever as your body rapidly shifts into something completely different. You might grow new limbs, or maybe lose old limbs! And it all happens so fast! It must be terrifying for the poor things, don't you think? It's always portrayed as the newly-evolved Pokémon being awesome and kicking butt, like… woo, Charizard! Look at how cool Charizard is, he's flying around! How did he even learn to fly, though? Is it just all instinct? And if so… don't you guys think it would be terrifying to just suddenly have new instincts? To find yourself moving completely differently from how you've ever moved in your life, but still feeling natural? To be twice as tall as you used to be but never stumble? To just instantly be something completely new but being okay with that?"

I clench my toes again. I'll have to hide the carpet damage somehow. I don't care.

"I think that's terrifying," I say. "Do you think that's why they made evolution postgame-only in Pokémon Mystery Dungeon? To ignore how traumatizing it would be for everyone? They used amnesia to get around the trauma of the original change. Personally, I think more Pokémon games should have trauma in them. It'd be helpful! Teach kids early how to manage PTSD!"

It sure would be handy if I knew how to do that!

My mom has a strict time limit on how late I'm allowed to stream, but I willfully ignore it. The idea of going to sleep is impossible for me. It's too terrifying. If it was just a nightmare, maybe I could work up the courage to do it anyway. But the insanity of my life is real, as far as I can tell. It's real and the moment I pass out I will return to that horrible world of torture and fear. I can't bring myself to do it. I can't.

But I can't stay awake forever, either.

I wouldn't exactly describe myself as a morning person, but I'm definitely not a night person. Staying awake is very difficult for me. So as the early morning starts to pass and birds start singing in the pitch darkness of 4am, I feel myself fading. I can barely talk to the stream anymore. If I don't shut it off, I'm going to pass out on camera. So I sign off for the night, thanking everyone that stuck with me to the end.

It might possibly, actually be my end.

I'm tempted to go chug some energy drinks and try to stay awake forever. I'm tempted to text Brendan goodbye, to ramble into his phone while he's unconscious and cry about how I might be dying the moment I close my eyes. But instead of doing any of those things, I just fall onto my bed and pass out.

Then I wake up, and everything hurts.

There is only pain. My muscles burn. My breath is gone. I'm on fire from the inside. I'm sick. I'm delirious. My death is right behind me.

They've only progressed a little from what I remember. What… what happened? Did I only pass out for a moment? Did I experience over twelve hours on Earth while barely a few seconds occurred here?

No time to think about it. My body feels like it's about to explode but I still struggle to twist my legs, start standing again, start to move…! Slowly, agonizingly, I stand up, take a single step, then tumble to the ground. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts. I can't go on. I can't. I should just give up and let my new friends help.

No! No, no, no! I have to move! I have to, except my body won't let me! If I keep trying, I might get irreparably damaged. My new friends wouldn't want me to be hurt. My friends are coming. It'll be okay. My friends are going to help. My friends. My friends…

I cough up a foul-tasting mix of bile and blood. I don't have any friends in this horrible, terrifying world. But fine. I'll wait. I expected to die anyway.

The monsters catch up to me. My friends are concerned. Fuck them. I want to scream at them, claw at them, hurt them, kill them! My legs twitch in desperation, but there's no way I'll be able to stand up. Instead, following some wrathful instinct, I rub the serrated edges of two legs together, and a furious hissing noise erupts from them like a demonic cricket's chirp. That seems to startle the monsters. Ha. One last lick before I die. I hate all of this so, so much.

The most human-looking of the new friends leans down at me, and I know he won't ever hurt me. Except I saw him hurt something this way, I know he did, I am stronger than you, you monster! You might take my life but you won't take my mind! He reaches out a hand and I hiss again. It hurts to even make that much movement, but it's worth it to make him stop. I don't want him to touch me. Just kill me, damn you! I'm already helpless, what more do you want!?

But no, he keeps reaching forwards. A horrid sense of foreboding washes over me, but there's nothing I can do to prevent this. His hand touches my carapace, and—

It's okay because he doesn't want to hurt me. He is a friend. He is sorry. It is okay. He has water. He has food. It is okay.

Ah. I'm safe, then. I start to relax immediately, but the feeling is so foreign to me that I jolt back to sanity.

It's not okay! I roar into the recesses of my own mind. I just got chased all the way across who knows where by a bunch of horrifying monsters! I just got fucking persistance hunted ninety percent to death! I hate you! I HATE YOU!

All three of the monsters (who are not my friends) go still. Not counting their hideous internal organs, of course, but I try my best not to pay attention to those. The human friend—who is not my fucking friend—doesn't remove his hand, though. Instead, my mind suddenly has a very different stray thought from every one prior.

Wait, I think to myself. Did you just communicate with words?

Huh? What? Oh my fucking god. No. Fuck no!

Yes I can communicate with words! I think as loudly as I can. I'm a person you absolute fuck! What is wrong with you!?

All three of them are immediately distressed. Even more anger starts to bubble up inside me. I cannot believe this. This is so stupid.

Leaves and branches, we are so sorry, my mind thinks to itself.

Go die in a horse's asshole! I think back.

The freakish, twisting monsters glance at each other, then back to me.

We would like to give you some food and water first, at least?

He… he wants to… gah! I hate this! I hate everything! But I'm in so much pain I can't even move. I'm starving. I'm dehydrated. My tormenter is offering to help me, and ultimately I can't afford to say no, no matter how much I want to. If I just chase them off, I'll die. Plus, something in his backpack smells really good.

…Dang it. It's always the food that gets me.

Yeah, okay. I say, and the monsters break bread with me.