Weight of Reality

Nikkita's eyes flutter open, vision blurry and unfocused. It almost feels like she's still asleep. She's too disoriented to take in her surroundings, but it's clear she's in a bed. A dull, repetitive beeping and the sound of something, or someone, moving reaches her ears.

It must be the alarm. I should see everyone off and help Mama and Papa open up.

She tries to lift herself out of bed, but pain shoots through the redhead like lightning, dominating her senses as a ghastly-sounding groan escapes her lips. Only now does she realize how sore and tired her body is. But when had that happened?

I was called in for an emergency... Then what? How did I get home like this?

A red tentacle. A scythe. Her head throbs as the night's events slowly trickle back, the girl's brain seeming to tell her it was better to forget. She'd gotten into a fight with some monster that was able to warp its flesh around her attacks like putty. The fear — how useless she'd felt — the only thing comparable was the time her powers manifested. She persevered and met the challenge head-on as she always had. Yet...

"I lost." Nikkita's eyes focus, and she's finally able to recognize where she is. Not her bedroom but the medical facility provided to the Protectorate by Miss Zellenin.

All the equipment was state-of-the-art, as far as she could tell. Likely, even beyond that, given the businesswoman's knack for improving whatever she got her hands on. However, none of that is what she's focused on. Even when Rooster is brought in and seems to be speaking to her to the rookie hero, all she can hear is static. If she was paying attention, she might notice John's features flushed with anger and worry. Going after one of his subordinates was a low blow, made worse by the Director's reluctance to let him act.

Losing in itself was not enough to give her a shock. In fact, she'd spent most of her life losing. It was what happened she failed a test or screwed up an order that mattered. She would push forward and make it through, somehow, but her usual certainty was nowhere to be found. She could have died, and some stranger would have told her family her dirty secret along with the news. It wouldn't be right to say she hadn't been taking her job seriously, but she only now realized just how serious it was and how severe the lies she'd been telling were. By avoiding the stressful conversation about her powers and whether her parents could accept them, she'd invited a much more painful one.

How am I supposed to tell them if I keep doing this?

She didn't know, but she wouldn't have much time to think about it. Even if she ran home now, they would have already noticed her absence. They'd have questions about where she was and how she came to be covered in bruises. A particularly harsh practice in the middle of the night wouldn't cut it.

The beeping becomes louder and more erratic. Desperate gasps fill the room as Nikkita finds herself struggling to breathe. No matter how much she takes in, it's not enough. Her vision blurs again and beads of sweat roll down her brow, her body starting to cook itself as she tries to muster the strength to get out of the bed. She didn't know what the right choice was, but she had to do something.

She doesn't notice John holding her down or the shot to her arm. All she can understand is that her body refuses to obey her, instead giving in to the drugs and its selfish desire to rest. The warmth vanishes and is replaced with a dreadful chill in the girl's core as her eyes lose the strength to stay open.

"...again. I...again." The words are barely a whisper and meant for no one but herself. She needs them to be true more than she needs to recover.

I can't lose again.