Clockwork Minds

Chapter 1: The Mask

"Oh, I forgot to turn off my alarm, but ...whatever."

I'm smiling. A small, contented smile as I pedal through the sleepy streets. The morning air is crisp, and the houses I pass look blissfully unaware of the storm that lurks beneath my skin. My fingers grip the handlebars of my bike, and I can feel my pulse steady and calm. Normal. The school bell would still be ringing by the time I rolled up, just late enough for a few wandering eyes. Just enough time to catch their attention without drawing suspicion. And that's the game, isn't it? Every day, it's the same: putting on a mask for them all, so they think I'm just like them.

My mask is perfect. Nobody ever sees what's really there, right beneath the surface—a mind that calculates, that judges, that craves something far darker than this quiet suburban life. I coast into the school lot, chaining my bike as the warning bell echoes through the halls. I slip into the building, gliding past the others like a ghost, my mask firmly in place. Just another teenage girl on her way to homeroom. But inside, my mind is whirring, restless, hungry for something... more.

The intercom crackles suddenly, and the school falls silent. The secretary's voice quivers as she makes an announcement, something that immediately piques my interest.

"Attention, students. There... there's been an attack. A nuclear bomb has been set off. Several, actually. We are now under... national emergency protocols."

A wave of stunned silence follows, the air heavy with disbelief. I look around, watching as panic begins to ripple through the crowd. The whispers, the gasps, the terrified glances exchanged like electric shocks. Nuclear attack? The implications barely register in their minds before the fear overwhelms them. A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. This is going to be interesting.

My heart picks up its pace—not with fear, but with anticipation. Chaos is a flavor I've always wanted to taste, and now, here it is, falling right into my lap, draped in terror and desperation. Around me, students start to tremble, some clinging to each other, some on the verge of tears. But me? I'm savoring the edges of it. The cracks forming in their neatly kept worlds, in all their little illusions of safety. Because, in the end, none of them could have predicted this. And, truthfully, neither could I.

I slide along the lockers, keeping to the edges as I make my way down the hall, observing the unraveling. Teachers are attempting order, raising their voices in shaky commands. But the kids—they're moving with the mob now, a rising tide of frightened glances and desperate whispers. Survival instincts are starting to kick in, and the quiet, predictable lives we all led a minute ago now feel like a distant memory.