Shattered (Completed)

Chapter 19 - Reality

Truth is a game. Truth is a lie. Truth is a joke. Truth is an unsolvable puzzle. I'm a piece in the game. I'm a false factor in the lie. The joke is on me, I'm the idiot that got lied to. I'm the idiot trying to solve the puzzle. 

I was played. I was an idiot in general. 

As I ponder all this, my thumb runs over my forearm, a habit I acquired ever since I got scars from the glass in the Cylinder.

Wait.

My eyes dart down to my arm. Yes! There are lines everywhere, scars, and I have never been so happy to see them. This means all of the 'not real' stuff from after the Cylinder wasn't a lie. Daniel. . . well, he wasn't the one that told me what had happened. It had been some weird lady with short black hair. 

The liar, I think, standing up.

What she had told me was that everything, from the shattering of the Cylinder to the bullet through my chest, was a lie. Which was why I didn't die when I was shot. So. . . how does that explain how I'm alive now?

I feel for the scar that should be on my chest from the bullet but find nothing. So did that actually ever happen? My mind goes back to when Jason shot me. He said it would hurt but. . . it hadn't. I hadn't felt anything. It had just been a beat and then blank. Come to think of it. . . I hadn't even heard the bullet shot.

So what happened?

For a moment, I feel like a detective, piecing everything together. It makes me almost grin, but then I remember why I feel like a detective, and my smile melts. I slowly sink back to my sitting position against the wall, gaze absent as my mind whirs with questions.

A woman walks in, breaking my thoughts. "Subject Moonhit?" she asks flatly, looking bored with her job. "Please reply with 'yes' or 'no,' whichever is true." She looks up at me. Her eyes express just pure boredom.  

"Nah," I reply, shaking my head.

She narrows her eyes. "You think I'm stupid?"

"Stupid enough to ask who I am then let me decide if I want to be her? Yeah,"

"Listen here, kid," She crouches in front of me, her face inches from mine. "You may have been treated like a princess in your dream world, but here, you're just another test subject that no one has respect for. So - "

"Oh, yes!" says a voice from behind her. She turns around to face a tall man with a long blond beard. "The respected one. Jordie, you can leave, thank you so much for this." He winks to her. 

She looks at me with narrowed eyes. I simply wink at her, grinning. "Oops." She scowls at me, then leaves. I still hear her shoes click a minute after the man shuts the door. He doesn't lock it, so there's still some hope.

"Hello, A- " the man begins to speak, his voice a blend between Irish and English, something I can't piece together, but before he can finish I cut him off.

"Tell me the truth, or I'm going to kill you." My voice is dangerously low - never have I ever spoken like this to anyone ever. It's a little scary even for myself, to hear myself sound intimidating for once, but the man with the yellow beard just chuckles and looks at me as if I'm a new artifact and he's just now got his hands on me.

Come to think of it, I might be that to him. An artifact he can now get his hands on and tear apart.

"And how are you going to kill me, Alexandria?" He sits down, his chubby legs crossed. He looks a little uncomfortable sitting down, as if his weight isn't evenly balanced. Maybe he has an injury on his left knee, as he's leaning on his right. 

I lift my head a little and look him square in his pure blue eyes. "I'll find a way, I promise you." My glare pierces through him, dangerous and threatening. Still, he doesn't seem scared. Just annoyingly amused.

"I'd love to see you try - " In an instant, I've begun to lunge at him, but he holds up a hand. As his hand is placed on my shoulder, warm and oddly. . . relaxing, I sit back. "Ah, ah, ah. Not right now." He smiles. "My name is Mr. King. I run this entire facility." His eyes skim me, then he lets out a soft sigh, still looking happy and easy-going, but the sigh tells he's tired and stressed. He reminds me of Florence. "I'll give you the truth, Alexandria. . . But if I do, you have to stay here, in the building, and undergo multiple tests. If I don't give you the truth, then you may as well just go on your merry way." His smile is now arrogant and condescending. "Pick one."

"Tests?" I croak out, looking at him through heavy eyes. Just now I realize how tired I am and. . . how long it's been since I've eaten. In truth, I don't exactly know how long it's been, being that I don't know what's real or what's fake. But it feels like a while, and the thought of food makes my stomach grumble. 

Mr. King studies me. He seems like he might have some pity for me as he reaches out and touches my thin, pale arm. "You haven't been fed in a few months." He leans away, shrugging. "Not real food, at least. We fed you through tubes as you slept for. . . I-I don't know how long."

Aggravation boils in me as I look at him through narrowed eyes. "Tests. Will they be painful? Why, anyway? Why do I need tests? Is this not enough for you?"

"Tests." he repeats absently, nodding. He suddenly went from happy to sad. What's up with these people? "They won't hurt. Just trust me, okay? I know you don't have a reason to but. . . I was the only person you trusted in the Fake Room." He shakes his head as if to clear the thought from his head. "But that's too much information. If you agree, then I can give you the full story."

Fake Room? Fake, as in not real. So something was fake. Something in my life was fake. But I've only been through one reality, right? The one where I got cuts along my arm. So what's been fake?

My thoughts continue to run as I gnaw on my nails, knees drawn up to my chest. Eventually I look back up at Mr. King, who was sitting patiently, smiling at me creepily. Numbly, I nod. "Okay. I'll go through your tests. Tell me everything."