Nate DuFort

She had no autonomy, no agency in her life.

Still, I wanted to live.

313 was in my dreams.

She showed me the deaths of the other scientists.

Isaac fell down the stairs of his apartment building, breaking his spine.

So he lay there, unable to move his arms and legs, waiting for help.

But she altered the perception of every person who walked by him, making him invisible.

He died of dehydration, watching people who would help if they could see him.

Another, Dr. Alex, carved her wrists open trying to dig spiders out of her skin and bled out in her bathroom.

Dr. Wes walked into a field and lay down in front of a lawnmower.

I sat up.

The sound of the blades hitting bone and flesh was still audible, and it shifted to the sound of the box fan in my room.

My skin was clammy, and my heart felt like it was beating against my ribcage.

When I looked down at my feet, a snake had coiled up and rattled its tail.

Already shaky, I jumped as it struck, and I fell off the other side of my bed, hitting my head on the nightstand.

I can't do this, I grunted, holding the back of my head.

I can't live like this.

It has to end.

There was only one way for me to make it out alive.

I would have to kill 313.