Distortion

The sea again. The boat again. Lauren turned at the rustle of the waves, then flinched as if from a gunshot. Memories flared in her head, robbing her of hearing for a moment. She had been here before. Not with her mind, but with her body. “Have we been here before?” her words escaped as a hot cloud of steam. Barnes looked up at her and saw the rifle gripped tightly in her hands. “Yes.” “That’s why she decided to wipe me again?” He shook his head, watching as the water slowly receded from the complex door. The only sound around was the rustle of Lauren’s jacket as she fidgeted. “She made you an imitation of a Dark Aether Shard host,” he said slowly, trying not to give it weight. “Just a projection to observe.” “That must be so hard…” the girl whispered, staring into the distance. “To know I don’t remember you. From our first meeting, I had a feeling we’d known each other for so long…” “Don’t dwell on it,” Barnes cut her off as they approached the concrete shore. “Why?” she pressed cold fingers to her hot forehead, trying to fight the rising nausea. “We’ll figure it out later,” he tossed the backpacks onto the wet stone, climbing out of the boat. “And if there is no 'later'?” Lauren trailed after Barnes toward the door, the rifle hanging at her side. “Huh, Bucky?” He slowly turned. His cold gaze burned right through her. She froze, thinking she’d done something wrong. *Bucky*. That was what was wrong. She had never allowed herself to call him that. Never crossed that boundary in their personal relationship. “Are you going to open the door today?” Winter asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Her tactic—to retreat into her shell, pull herself together, save face. Attack first, before anyone could sense her vulnerability. “Let’s go,” James threw her a backpack, entering the already familiar corridor. Trying not to choke on the stale, damp air, he thought he’d already broken through Lauren’s barrier, but one look—and it was back to square one. Her vulnerability, her distraction the past few days—had been the right path to the truth. The moment she was back in the old environment of readiness, the signal was lost. Lauren caught up to him almost immediately, overcoming the sudden nausea. The sight of black mold on the walls and the damp, peeling plaster brought her back to her senses. Barnes moved ahead, toward the stairs, peered around the corner. The turret *he* had shot out. “Are there turrets here?” Lauren asked, the corners of her mouth twitching nervously. “You have a scar to the right of it,” James pointed to the girl’s stomach. “I fell off a horse, running into a fence,” she corrected, then paused for a moment. “Really?” Lowering his flashlight, the man illuminated the burgundy, almost black bloodstains on the damp concrete. Lauren crouched, nudging a stain with the muzzle of her weapon as if testing its reality. “Anything else I should know?” she straightened up, pushing open the stairwell door. “We might not be alone here,” he moved the girl aside with his shoulder and went first.