Lyra walked down the hallway, her steps echoing softly in the otherwise empty space. The air felt thick with a strange energy; the dorm corridors were always grand and bright, but today, the usual vibrancy felt unsettling. Tears pricked at Lyra's eyes, a wave of fear threatening to overwhelm her. She did her best to mask her panic, but it was a thin veneer, cracking under the weight of her secret. She needed to breathe, needed to keep moving.
Taking a deep breath, Lyra thought, "I can do this. I have to do this."
She turned left, heading toward the door leading to the parking lot.
"Did you hear that?" a voice startled her from behind.
Lyra jumped, spinning around to face the speaker. It was Ken.
"Hey, you okay?" Ken asked, his face creased with concern at the sight of Lyra's shaken face, her lips still trembling.
"Uh… yeah…" Lyra managed to stammer, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Okay…" Ken sounded unconvinced. "You heard that loud crash, right? Like, the glass shattering?"
"What? Oh, yeah…"
"Yeah, it's from out there, right? I saw someone lying on the ground for a second too-"
Panic surged through Lyra. Ken might have seen Rose, not knowing she was beyond all help.
"I swear I gotta check it out," Ken started, heading toward the door.
Lyra grabbed his arm quickly. "Let me go first…" she pleaded, pulling him back. They walked slowly towards the door, side by side.
"Uh…sure…" Ken mumbled, glancing at Lyra with a worried look.
Lyra stepped outside, Ken trailing close behind.
"Are you okay? Did you get cold or something?" Ken asked, concern lacing his voice. Lyra's fear was a tangible thing, radiating off of her in waves.
Lyra's mind raced. Stay calm, stay calm, she chanted silently. The harder she fought it, the worse she seemed to look. It was a cruel paradox.
"I mean, I was just listening to a podcast in my room…" she stammered, forcing her voice steady. "What were you doing in yours? Wait, you were in your room? Right?"
"Yeah…" Lyra's throat tightened.
"Lyra, seriously, not gonna lie, you look like shit. Come on, tell me what's going on—" Ken's voice trailed off as his gaze landed on Rose's crumpled form in the dim parking lot light. "Is she...?"
Lyra's heart lurched.
"Wait, Lyra, don't get too close—" Ken started, worry etching lines on his face, but Lyra kept walking, her footsteps echoing in the silence.
The streetlamp cast an eerie glow on Rose's body, revealing the horrific extent of her injuries.
Lyra stopped just feet from Rose's head.
The sight sent a fresh wave of nausea crashing over her. Rose's back, mangled and broken, exposed her skull. Brain matter, grey and pulsing, oozed onto the asphalt.
Dead. Rose was really, truly dead.
Lyra couldn't hold back anymore. A strangled sob escaped her lips, morphing into a heart-wrenching scream. Her tears flowed freely, a torrent unleashed.
Ken jolted, startled. "Lyra—" He rushed towards her, his eyes widening in horror at the sight before them.
Other students, drawn by Lyra's scream, converged on the scene. Their faces mirrored Ken's shock.
"Is she? Is she dead?!" one girl gasped.
Ken, voice trembling, stared at Rose's mangled skull. "Jesus..."
The parking lot erupted in panicked whispers, confused shouts, and hurried movements.
"Call the guards!" Ken yelled, desperation lacing her voice.
A boy beside him looked up, bewildered.
"I said CALL THE GUARDS!"
Two Vectorn boys, super speed surging through their veins, bolted off towards the building, their voices shouting for help.
Lyra stood frozen, eyes glued to Rose's lifeless head. The horrifying truth sunk into her. This was her fault. Her doing.
Ken slowly turned, her eyes widening as they landed on Griffin standing by the shattered window of his room. Glass crunched under his feet.
"Stay back—" Ken whispered, taking a step back.
The other students, still buzzing from the shock of Rose's death, turned towards Griffin, mirroring Ken's fear.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Griffin cried, his voice laced with panic. "I didn't—"
His words died in his throat as everyone's eyes fixed on his partially disfigured face. Fear twisted their expressions. They saw a monster, both inside and out.
"Where's the guards? Where are the guards?" Ken looked around frantically, her voice cracking.
Griffin's brow furrowed. "I swear, I swear guys, it wasn't me! I was just sleeping!"
"STAY BACK!"
Griffin's eyes darted around, confusion battling with fear. He'd just woken up, startled by the sound of a laser blast near his room. He'd turned on his light, wanting to see what was happening, and then suddenly… someone else had shot his window.
What in the world was going on?
Lyra, however, didn't move. She stood frozen, her eyes brimming with tears as she stared at Griffin.
Griffin looked at Lyra, his heart sinking. Was she seeing him as a monster too? Was she judging him just like everyone else?
Lyra's gaze held a flicker of guilt, a look Griffin couldn't decipher. She hadn't expected Griffin to be a suspect, to be seen as a potential killer. And she couldn't tell anyone the truth.
It should have been her.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Two Vectorn students from earlier reappeared in the crowd, followed by a brisk walk by a bald, sixty-something-year-old Vectorn guard in a crisp white uniform. He scanned Rose's body, then his gaze flicked to Griffin. His face crinkled in disgust.
"No, no, no, sir! I can explain! I was just sleeping, and then someone shot my window!" Griffin stammered, backing away.
"Put your hands in the air, and turn around." The old guard kept walking towards Griffin, gracefully leaping over the shattered window and entering Griffin's room.
"NO, NO! I REALLY DIDN'T DO IT! WHY WOULD YOU THINK I WOULD—" Griffin took another step back, fear swirling in his eyes, not obeying the guard's command.
The guard wasted no time. He used his superspeed to swiftly position himself behind Griffin, pulling out a futuristic-looking, bright yellow rope device. He quickly fastened the rope around Griffin's one hand, then with a swift motion, grabbed Griffin's other hand and connected it to the first, the rope automatically tying both hands together. The guard shoved Griffin onto his bed.
Griffin, despite his physical strength, didn't resist. Tears streamed down his face. "No! NO! PLEASE! I DON'T WANNA GO TO JAIL! I DON'T WANNA—"
The guard pulled out a futuristic walkie-talkie, "Jason, Kai, get down here NOW. Call the council!"
Ken and the other students watched in horror. In their eyes, the down syndrome guy was a monster.
Lyra could only stare silently, her heart a lead weight in her chest.
----------------------------------------
Clay and Belle dashed through the garden, stopping abruptly behind a bush. Twinkling lights illuminated the lush greenery, crickets chirping in the warm night air. They peered towards a security guard post, sleek and modern even in the midst of the ornate garden.
The door swung open invitingly, revealing an empty space.
"Uh, where's the guard…?" Belle whispered.
"Heading to Rose probably-" Clay checked his bag of gadgets, then quickly wore a pair of black gloves, glancing back at Belle. "Stay here. Don't do anything."
Belle nodded nervously. "Is… is there anything I can do…?"
"Nah, you've done enough mess already," Clay muttered, about to move.
Belle grabbed his hand. "I… I can destroy the computer where they got the footage or something."
Clay yanked his hand back. "You want to help me after you tried to kill me and shot your own sister?!"
"I didn't try to kill you- I'm sorry! Please… we're in this together, right?"
"Yeah, and the best thing you can do right now is shut the fuck up and stay put!"
Belle fell silent. Clay sighed, letting go of her hand, and sprinted towards the guard post, his head bowed low.
Belle peeked over the bush, scanning the empty garden. No one else was around.
"Guess it's just us then," she murmured to herself.
Clay yanked a strangely grey roll of duct tape from his gadget bag. He ripped off a chunk and slapped it onto his forehead, looking like a walking zebra crossing. He bursted into the empty guard post.
Up above the door, a giant CCTV camera blinked at him. This wasn't just any camera, oh no. This was a fancy facial recognition system. The moment the camera's lens caught a glimpse of Clay's duct tape, the whole thing sputtered and choked. Like he was showing it a blurry selfie taken underwater, the camera glitched and hiccuped, temporarily confused.
Clay snuck closer, feeling a bit like a cocky spy in a bad 80s movie. Three monitors flickered before him, displaying live feeds of the whole campus. One screen, however, caught his eye. It was Griffin's room, and the old bald guard was still holding him down on the bed.
They all believed Griffin was a murderer? This whole charade was working a little too well.
Clay rushed to the keyboard, eager to dive into the digital world and rewrite the script. A wave of hope crashed down as he clicked the mouse to open the file explorer… only to be met with a smug, digital wall. "Password Required."
Clay cursed, scrambling through his gadget bag like a raccoon lost in a treasure chest. "Where is it? Where is the damn password breaker!?" He ripped wires out, tossed tools aside, his mind racing. Then, the horrifying truth dawned on him: he'd left it on his desk. He didn't have the key to this digital fortress.
His eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for a clue. Maybe, just maybe, the guards would have a scribbled backup password on a napkin or something. But as a wave of panic washed over him, he realized high-trained security guards didn’t leave such blunders online.
Clay's brain malfunctioned, throwing a tantrum of epic proportions.
He was screwed.
His eyes frantically darted around the room, searching for an escape route, a loophole, a magical escape pod hidden in the plain white walls.
Then, a ray of hope pierced through the darkness. A blue door, brazenly labeled "data storage room," stood at the edge of his vision. A lonely green cup, perched precariously on a pile of books, cradled the key in a careless display of security laxity.
Clay’s inner monologue was a frantic chorus of "no, no, no" quickly evolving into “yes! Yes! YES!”
He snatched the key, unlocking the door with a sense of urgency bordering on manic. Down a narrow staircase, he plunged, each step a desperate prayer that there was a way out of this mess.
The so-called "data storage room" looked more like a villain’s lair than a place for valuable information. Grey concrete walls and floors stared back at him, devoid of anything but two imposing black cabinets filled with hard drives.
Clay rummaged through his gadget bag with newfound urgency, unearthing a mini circular saw. Like a tiny chainsaw angel, he activated it, its electric hum a clean, almost therapeutic sound against the backdrop of his mounting panic.
He aimed the saw at one of those black cabinets, a determined laser focus set on his prize.
----------------------------------------
Clara Belle whistled, a nervous little ditty that sounded more like a strangled bird than music. Her eyes darted around the garden, searching for any sign of life beyond the rustling leaves and flitting butterflies. Empty.
This place was about as deserted as a ghost town after a really good exorcism.
A shiver raced down her spine. Maybe she'd picked the wrong hiding spot? What if someone popped out from behind that rosebush with a pair of handcuffs? A menacing detective? A swarm of outraged rose bushes?
"No, no, no…" she muttered to herself, her words a jazzy beat of self-denial.
Her mantra was repeated like a desperate chant, a shield against the icy fingers of fear: "No one knows," "No one knows," "No one knows."
The garden, once a haven of fragrant blooms and chirping cricket serenades, had suddenly transformed into a stage for her personal Hitchcock masterpiece.
Clara Belle's phone erupted in a symphony of soulful melodies courtesy of SZA, startling her like a rogue squirrel leaping from a tree. Her eyes widened, darting around the garden like a startled rabbit. No one, thankfully, seemed to notice the sudden burst of music.
"Damn it, I should've put my phone on silent," she muttered, her voice a mix of annoyance and relief. Kendall's name flashed across the screen, a beacon of impending doom. She answered, quickly lowering the volume to a whisper.
"K-Kendall, not now-"
"YOUR SISTER! SHE'S DEAD!" Kendall shrieked, her voice echoing through the garden like a banshee on a caffeine bender.
Belle's jaw dropped. This wasn't part of the script.
She'd completely forgotten about the whole "pretending to be oblivious" thing.
"That fucking autistic guy – Griffin – he shot Rose while she's sleeping with his fucking eye lasers –" Kendall continued, her voice a frantic waterfall of words. "You gotta come here – Belle – NOW!"
"Wh-what-" Belle stammered, her mind scrambling for a believable lie.
"YOUR SISTER JUST GOT KILLED! COME HERE NOW!"
"Wh-where – where-"
"Parking lot near Clay's room!!"
"Oh- i-i'm on my way- just a moment-"
"JUST A MOMENT?! WHAT THE FUCK BELLE?!"
"I just- I just need to finish-" Belle stopped.
There was no escaping reality. If Rose was actually dead, she wouldn't be wasting precious seconds finishing whatever ridiculous task she'd gotten herself tangled in.
"WHAT THE F- DO I NEED TO RETELL YOU THAT ROSE IS LITERALLY-"
"OKAY OKAY!! I'M COMING NOW!"
Belle slammed the phone shut.
"No no no no no no…"
Her carefully constructed facade crumbled faster than a stale cookie.
She was officially screwed. She can't stay there any longer.
…and it just got worse.
A rumble, like a grumpy hippopotamus clearing its throat, announced the arrival of a vehicle. Belle whipped around, her eyes widening like startled goldfish. A black jeep, defying gravity with an impressive swagger, hovered towards the guard post, its headlights cutting through the twilight like a pair of laser-eyed disco balls.
Two guards, sporting matching shades of melanin and matching expressions of utter displeasure, argued inside. Their voices, thick with frustration, echoed across the garden.
"What the fuck-" Belle blurted out, her voice cracking like a poorly tuned kazoo.
Those guards weren't supposed to be there! This wasn't part of the plan! Were they looking for her? Was this some elaborate, poorly-written reality TV stunt?
Belle watched, paralyzed by fear, as the jeep landed with a thud, sending a tremor through the ground. The guards hopped out, continuing their heated debate, oblivious to Belle's existential crisis.
Belle whipped out her phone, fingers flying across the screen.
'GET OUT'
'GET OUT NOW'
Wait, she knew Clay wouldn't just sit there, glued to his phone, reading her texts.
She hit speed dial, ignoring the frantic buzz of anxiety buzzing in her stomach.
Belle's phone rang. She tapped her foot impatiently, eyes darting between the approaching guards and her phone.
"Come on, come on, come on..." she muttered under her breath.
Belle's phone continued to ring.
A wave of irritation washed over Belle. What the freakin' heck?
"It's over," Belle sighed, slumping against the rosebush like a wilting flower.
Clay was toast. He didn't know about the guards. His escape was now blocked.
Unless…