The room was a small, white tiled square with a hospital bed at the edge. Two armed men in black uniforms stood by the door, eyes locked ahead. A young man in a white coat sat by the bed, observing its occupant.
I-330 lay completely motionless on the hospital bed, her arms and legs held down by handcuffs. The accumulation of blood and sweat had been cleaned off, leaving behind only scars, and she had been dressed in a clean hospital gown. The young man checked over the devices monitoring her, confirming heart rate, breathing, and other vital signs.
“Entity-361 shows no sign of change in condition.” He said, and noted it down in a file. He began to stand up, when suddenly I-330’s eye opened up. The man paused, staring in surprise at the glowing red iris, and stuttered, “Entity-361 appears to have-”
I-330 warped out of the handcuffs, next to the man. Before his eyes could follow her change in position, she grabbed his head and brought it down on the metal sidings of the bed with a clang of bone striking steel. The guards raised their guns, but I-330 appeared between them, slammed their heads together, and they went down. She picked up one of their rifles, and tried to open the door. It was locked, but that wasn’t any obstacle for her. She warped to the other side, and found herself in a large, concrete hallway. An alarm sounded overhead, and a voice came from speakers: “Attention, we have a containment breach. Repeat, we have a containment breach.”
More soldiers came running down the hallway. Before they could react, I-330 warped up to them. She slammed the butt of her rifle into one’s nose, then balled her left hand into a fist and punched another in the gut. She spun around and roundhouse kicked a third in the side of the head, then warped away before the others could catch up. She resumed running down the hall, until she came to an intersection. A direction was picked at random, and she went right. Several unarmed people in lab coats were in her way, but she threw them aside and kept running.
An elevator was ahead, but the doors were closing. Soldiers moved to intercept I-330 before she could reach the elevator. She fired first, shooting with perfect precision through each soldier’s legs. But by the time all were down, the elevator doors had closed. Not that this presented much difficulty for I-330. She quickly read the floor number: Basement 6. Then she looked up at the ceiling, and warped seven floors up.
The soldiers on the ground floor were unprepared for I-330’s appearance, and she easily took advantage of the situation. Her arm split into several tentacles that struck the soldiers around her, knocking them all unconscious in a single moment. With them down, the way ahead seemed clear. I-330 ran forward, but a massive steel door slammed shut in front of her. She warped past it and kept running; another door shut, and she warped past it as well. A third closed, and I-330 prepared to warp, when lights in the shape of various sigils turned on across the hallway walls. The timelines that I-330 had been reaching for suddenly seemed too far away to reach, no matter how hard she tried.
Time for an alternative way through. I-330 pulled her shadow arm back, and punched the door hard enough to dent the solid steel. She struck it again, and again, causing the door to buckle. Gas started to fill the hallway, but I-330 continued to attack the door. She started to feel dizzy, but she was close to breaking through, it just needed another good strike….
She pulled back her fist, punched forward, and collapsed to the ground, blackness fogging her vision.
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