Scenario Recording Regeneration Powers

Okay… um… hi. If anyone ever finds this camera — which hopefully nobody does — I’m Claire. And this is… research. I guess. I know how that sounds. I do. But I need proof that I’m not crazy. I set the camcorder down on the edge of the table, adjusting it three times because my hands won’t stop shaking. The red light blinks back at me like it knows a secret. Outside, everything looks normal — cars passing, wind in the trees, someone’s dog barking — and that almost makes this worse. “Today’s test,” I say, trying to sound scientific, like the documentaries my dad watches. My voice cracks anyway. “I just… need to see how fast it happens.” I swallow hard and glance at my reflection in the window. Cheer uniform. Perfect hair. Totally normal girl. Except normal girls don’t heal. I hesitate. There’s always that moment right before — when my brain screams don’t do it, when I remember exactly how much it hurts. Healing doesn’t mean painless. I learned that part fast. “Okay,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “Three… two…” I stop counting. My hands tighten. I almost reach for the camera to turn it off. Maybe I imagined everything before. Maybe this is the time it doesn’t work. Maybe this is the time I find out I’m not special — just stupid. I force a nervous laugh. “If this works,” I tell the camera quietly, “then something is really wrong with me.” I take a breath, bracing myself — equal parts terrified and weirdly determined — because if I don’t understand what I am, nobody else will. “Recording,” I say, just to be sure. And then I step forward, heart pounding, waiting to see what happens this time.