Poxitarium Invade

Hypercube

Blaring sounds

The faint hum of the sleeping pod was the only sound—an eerie mechanical lullaby that managed to lull her into a sleep that could generously be described as "nap adjacent." The day had been exhausting, with a capital E, and she was hanging by a thread—an emotionally frayed, caffeine-deprived thread. The pod's soft, synthetic embrace was the closest thing to comfort this side of Poxitarium had to offer, so she clung to it like a koala to a tree during a windstorm. She tried her best to forget about the existential horrors outside. Just five minutes of peace, that's all she asked for. But this was Poxitarium, and peace here was like a rumor—heard of, but never actually seen.

Of course, that fleeting comfort didn't last long. Because, why would it? The universe seemed to operate on a strict policy of zero chill. A few hours later, the pod betrayed her with a blaring alarm so shrill it could wake the dead—or at least her, which at this point was basically the same thing. She shot up, heart pounding like someone had strapped a drumline to her chest, eyes wide and hair sticking up like she had just been electrocuted (which, given her luck, was always a possibility). Reality came back at her fast and unforgiving, like a hangover but without the fun part that led up to it. The pod that had once felt so cozy? Yeah, it now felt like the world's smallest, sweatiest coffin.

Panicked, she flailed out of the pod with the grace of a cat being startled by a cucumber, her senses now on overdrive. The hallway outside was pure chaos, filled with urgent shouts, boots pounding against the floor, and that infernal alarm wailing like it had something personal against her. There was no time for second-guessing, or even first-guessing for that matter. React. React now. Why are you still standing there? React faster!

Her eyes scanned the room in a desperate search for a place to hide. Her gaze landed on the library shelves in the corner, towering like ancient sentinels judging her every life decision that led to this moment. There was a slim gap between them—hardly a luxurious refuge, but beggars can't be choosers. Without hesitation, she bolted toward them, bare feet slapping against the cold floor like some feral creature trying to escape bath time.

Once wedged between the shelves, she folded herself up into a human pretzel, hugging her knees to her chest and willing herself to become as small as possible—preferably invisible, or even better, someone else entirely. The cold metal of her weapon pressed against her side, a sharp reminder that things were about to get worse before they got better. Her breath came in rapid, shallow gasps as the shouts outside grew louder. Guards barked orders as they tried to secure the facility, but from her vantage point, it sounded more like they were herding cats. The alarm blared on, a relentless soundtrack to her imminent doom. Just another day in paradise.

"Sir... help," she whispered into the darkness, her voice trembling with fear. The General's face flashed in her mind, his stern but reassuring presence a beacon of hope. But he wasn't here. She was alone, hidden away in the shadows, with only her terror to keep her company.

The world outside her small hiding spot was a blur of noise and confusion. The walls of the library, once lined with knowledge and history, now seemed to close in on her, the familiar comfort of the books replaced by the suffocating weight of fear. Every creak of the shelves, every distant shout sent a fresh wave of panic through her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the noise, trying to will herself away from this nightmare. But the sounds kept coming, relentless and terrifying. The guards' boots pounded like a drumbeat of doom, the clattering of weapons like a symphony of dread. It was all too much—too loud, too close, too real.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she huddled deeper into the shadows, her breath hitching in her throat. She wasn't ready for this, was not meant to fight, as finishing the "Faculty of the military school of Poxitarium" happened a few months ago, uncooked for situations like this.