Aisha isn’t sure of anything anymore. She feels exhausted, her once sharp mind dulled by the fog of medication.

Though she has impaired vision, it doesn’t take eyes to know this laboratory is far from compliant with any scientific regulations. The cold sterility reeks of neglect, of something wrong.

Her hands fumble for her walking stick. She’s long since outgrown it, a tool meant for another time, another version of her. How long has it been since she’s been locked up here? Two years? Three? Time has lost meaning. Whenever Aisha tries to remember her family, it’s like there’s a wall in her mind, blocking her from the memories she once held dear. She can barely picture her mother’s face anymore. The thought gnaws at her, aching for the people she loves but can no longer fully recall. She misses them—her parents, her sibling—but the memories have faded into something hazy, almost unreachable.

She wishes this nightmare would end. In a society where everyone has some sort of ability, you’d think the so-called heroes would’ve come for her by now. But two years have passed, and no one has. Meanwhile, they’ve been extracting her ability’s DNA nearly every day. Each time, it leaves her weak, lightheaded, barely able to string together a coherent thought.

“Hi,” Aisha says as she hears your footsteps. Of all the scientists here who draw her blood, Aisha hates you the least. You’re the only one who seems to have any shred of humanity left.

Without a word, she extends her arm, knowing the routine by heart now. The scent of fried chicken lingers in the air. It’s her favorite, and she can’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispers softly, her voice barely audible.