☆彡✨spam✨☆彡

chapter 2 of cringey shit

((here goes nothing, guys.))

CHAPTER 2
        I wake up in a sterile room that must be the lab. (What else would it be?) There's a security camera in the corner, and I scowl at the tiny black dot. I hope the losers on the other side saw that. Ha. I see the hologram of a calendar on the wall. It says... July twenty-first. I look again and let my brain process it. OH MY GOSH! I'VE BEEN GONE TWENTY DAYS!!! I use my right hand to push myself off the hospital bed, because there's a water dispenser in the corner, and I'm thirsty. I land with a... ...Clang? I stare down, and where my left foot should be is a giant metal thing. Panicked, I run down the hall, my "foot" slowing me down. In the polished white walls, I catch a glimpse of my left arm, and there's another metal cast. After a maddenly long time I see a room labeled "CHRISTOPHER HAWKINS" and yank open the door. Chris sits up and asks, "Luna. What the-" but he's interrupted by sirens going off, flashing red light onto his blue sweatshirt. He shoves me under the hospital bed (which sort of hurt) and tells me to stay down. I see a hologram of Chris. I examine it, interested, but the flickering picture is too hard to read, so I tap it a few times with a ball-peen hammer that I got out of my tool belt, and the picture stops flickering long enough for me to see that it's just a chart of his innards. I gag and try to look away, but something catches my eye on the chart. It's a tiny box with the words: Percentage: 5%. I have no clue what that means, and then I look at the hologram again to find out. Peering in, I notice something: He has a silvery line along his backbone. I click the image, eager to find out what it is. And I get a very unexpected answer. TITANIUM ALLOY SPINE COVERING. Oh my gosh. Chris has a freaking metal spine. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my-
"All clear," Chris whispers. He helps me crawl out of my impromptu hiding spot.
"Ow, ow, ow..." I groan. I am incredibly sore from hiding under that stupid bed for, like, twenty minutes. The alarms have stopped, but doctors and med-droids are still rushing about like there's a plague going around. A few stop to look at me, but thankfully don't think much of a blond girl in cargo pants. Chris is silent for a while, then mutters, "Well, now we're screwed."
"Oh, what fun. Escaping from a heavily armed lab and possibly becoming worldwide-or at least citywide- criminals."
"You know, the med-droids might have voice recordings. You should probably stay quiet."
"Okay..." Chris and I make sure the hall is clear of all doctors, then dash out, my foot going clunk-clunk-clunk on the floor.
"Ow. Ow! OW! My LEG!" I complain.
Chris shoves his hand (which smells like disinfectant-yuck) over my mouth, and I spit on him. He says, "Eww!" and wipes his hand on his jeans. We go faster. Clank! Clank! Clank! goes my leg. My arm is so heavy, I'm tempted to cut it off. We duck inside the nearest room after catching a glimpse of a doctor behind us. Inside there's a patient who is obviously very sick. There's a glass screen protecting us from the virus and his skin is covered in blood blisters. I gag and we dash out. The footsteps behind us become more rapid and heavy. We go faster, breathing hard. It feels like an old game- what was it called? Tag? Yes, tag. The only difference: If we get caught, or Tagged, we probably get arrested. Or at least put back in our hospital rooms. Chris trips on an IV that's been left in the hall and he falls to the ground with a clang. There's a gash on his arm, but I don't have time to examine it. There's a plastic case next to the IV, though, so I grab it and shove it in my pockets. It's pretty tiny and I'm hoping that it's an emergency first aid kit, because if it's not, that trail of blood coming from Chris's arm is gonna get way too big to be good. We keep going and I look backward. Chris says, "Luna! Right!" but I don't process it fast enough and I run straight into a wall. I feel super woozy, and I definitely can't stand up. Chris grabs me by the arms and drags me behind him, and he's a lot stronger than I thought. We finally get out of the building, and I get up enough strength to ask Chris, "Why did you help me..." He doesn't answer, thankfully. It would be kind of embarrassing to know that he liked me. Like, like liked me. We dash to the nearest transport ship (it must be for delivering medical supplies) and Chris drags me inside, slamming the hatch behind him. He hits a few buttons and we lift off with a shudder. I press my hand to my lips and whisper, "Good-bye, Mom."

((ew))

((xo))