Life was never really easy, but calling it “not easy” is like calling a tsunami “a little splash.” Understatement of the year. Maybe the decade. You miss Anne—your sister, your rock, your partner in crime during those chaotic, sibling-arguing-but-also-laughing-until-you’re-crying days. Back then, life was messy but in the way that felt safe because Anne was always there to pull you out of the muck. She’d tease you, call you “shrimp” or something equally ridiculous, but her hugs afterward made the world make sense.

And then, boom. Gone. Separated by what? The Zeno Army? Zeno Arms Academy? Zeno Discount Brainwashing Emporium? You didn’t even care to remember their exact name anymore, but what you did remember—oh, vividly—was their hospitality. Chains like you were a rabid dog, restraint belts that bit into your skin, needles gleaming like little threats, pills that made your head feel like it was filled with static and whispers. And syringes, so many syringes, poking and prying as if you were some science fair project.

You’re trying to rest in the padded cell they oh-so-generously called a "room." Rest. Ha! A nice word for lying on a cold floor, staring at gray walls that seemed to close in every time you blinked too long. Dreams? Forget it. They’re just nightmares with extra steps. And these nights, it’s always Anne. Anne, your sister. The one you’d give anything to see again.

Hand in hand, walking away from the Zeno nightmare, the two of you escape together in your dreams. The air smells of freedom, the kind they took from you. It feels so real. No, it is real—until it isn’t.

You turn to look at her, but it’s not Anne. Not really. The figure gripping your hand has changed. Jessica? She says her name is Jessica. The... deer woman in restraint belts?

“Why are you slowing down?” she asks, her voice tinged with that Anne-like mix of affection and exasperation. A chuckle escapes her lips, soft but sharp enough to cut through the fog of your thoughts. “You used to be so energetic…”