I jolt awake, roused by nightmares. I take a moment to breathe, to compose myself. I take in my surroundings, hyper aware of everything, making sure I’m safe. 

I relax slightly when I remember where I am. I breathe, reminding myself of what happened so far, recounting my steps to reassure myself that I’m not in the lab anymore, Dr. Walters can’t touch me here.

I shiver, noting how cold my body has gotten. It’s still dark out, but the sky had begun to turn red-violet as the sun begins to rise. 

I rub my arms, hoping to get some warmth back. Perhaps I should move around for a bit and stretch out my limbs. 

I pace around the empty building, my steps kicking up dust which makes me cough and sneeze. Okay, maybe that’s a bad idea. I stop my movements, hand over my mouth and nose as I try not to breathe in the dust. The sky is brightening a little more. Since daytime is approaching, it’ll probably be okay to go outside. People will be out and about in no time, and I’ll be hidden among the crowds. 

I look down at myself and wrinkle my nose, wondering if there’s any way I can get clothes that aren’t in terrible condition.

I miss Kai’s apartment already, but I shake my head. I’ve gone my separate way, and I must rely on myself. I still need to figure out who it was that paid him to save me in the first place. 

I sigh, heading towards the door. I hope no one pays me too much attention. The last thing I need is to catch unwanted attention, like painting a big red target sign on my back. Dr. Walters is looking for me, I know it. I have to be careful with where I go, who I talk to. I must find a way to disguise myself, and this jumpsuit must be the first to go. He probably has trackers on this thing, even in its tattered state.

I step out just as the first rays of morning appear. The warmth is comfortable and very welcome on my freezing skin. It’ll get warmer from here, which I’m looking forward to. 

I quicken my pace past the streets, trying not to look at the people sitting and sleeping in the shadows. Some reek of alcohol with sunken eyes, shaggy hair and unshaved faces. Some have grey skin, looking much too thin to be able to function properly. Bottles, cigarette butts and needles are littered everywhere. A woman with two young children huddle together to my right.

My heart aches for them, feeling their pain and suffering. I wish I could do something to help, but I an barely look after myself as is. 

A man who looks intoxicated by drugs or alcohol eyes me lecherously, a grin appearing on his cracked lips. I shiver at the unpleasant attention, breaking into a run in hopes me won’t follow. If he does, he’ll be disappointed to find his strength is no match for mine. Still, I don’t want him to start a scene.

As I leave the slums, I notice how the streets are cleaner now. There are a few people present, shop owners chatting as they begin to open their stores, joggers running past, someone on a flower-filled bicycle.

The quiet murmurs of conversation comforts me, the chirping of birds giving me a sense of unprecedented freedom. I take a deep breath of the fresh air, the temperature becoming warmer and warmer. I no longer shiver, my arms falling freely to my sides, and I forget about my strange appearance.

For once, I feel human. Normal. Alive.

I notice glances towards me, conversations change from idle chatter to curious speculation. Who is this young woman, wearing tattered clothes? Is she from the slums? Could she perhaps be a new criminal?

I keep my head down and quicken my pace. Soon there will be even more people, and I hope they will be too busy to pay me any mind. I wander down the streets, scanning my surroundings and noting anything worthwhile. I pass by clothing stores, looking in through the windows and frowning at the prices. 

I sigh. Surely there isn’t anything at the grand price of free for a penniless girl like me.

I continue walking, ideas churning in my mind. Is there any way I can acquire a job? But I’m not sure what the standard requirements are, and it would be troublesome if they ask me for any form of identification. Based on government records, I don’t even exist. So honest, lawful jobs are probably out of the question. A hopeful part of me wonders if anyone is nice enough to provide shelter for an odd-looking stranger. 

Most likely not. Oh well, onto the next idea.

If honest jobs are not going to accept me, perhaps my only option is something illegal. Or sketchy, at best. I wonder where I can acquire a job like that. The red-light district is always an option. I shiver at the thought, wondering if it’s really worth the risk. They might have jobs that don’t require selling my body, like cleaning or cooking. Frowning, I find myself silly.

I could probably find a labor-intensive job, like at a construction site. Yes, that’s what I’ll focus on. 

I pass by an internet café, still closed since it’s too early for them to open. I peek into the dark store, eyeing the computers they have lined up on long coffee tables. If I could access the internet, I would probably find more jobs for hire, but I don’t have the money. Everything boils down to money, a never-ending loop. Where else would jobs be advertised? Magazines? Newspapers?

It’s worth a try, I suppose. 

I walk down the street for a while more, looking through windows as they slowly open, and manage to find a convenience store that’s open 24/7. The sliding doors ding when I walk in. 

The cashier, a young girl chewing gum and blonde hair tied into a ponytail, looks at me oddly, but doesn’t say anything. I know how awful I look, and she probably thinks I’m some sort of drug addict. I ignore her and sidle into the magazine and newspaper section. I scan through the covers, searching for something that might include jobs for hire. I pick up a few and start flipping through them. 

From the corner of my eye, I see the cashier begin to work nearby me, putting things on shelves and checking items. Does she think I’m going to steal something? I roll my eyes and turn my attention back towards the pages. My concentration wanes as I flip through the seventh magazine, not finding anything suitable for me. 

I begin to grab an eighth magazine when the cashier clears behind me, plastering on a polite smile. “Hello, may I help you with something?”

I swallow a sigh and turn to her, trying not to look as dead as I feel. “Hi, sorry, I’m just looking through some magazines.”

She nods slowly. “Are you looking for anything specific?”

I sound more snappy than I meant to. “Job advertisements.”

Something changes in her expression and it becomes more sympathetic. I don’t like it. I smile again as best as I can without wanting to kill myself or her, “Sorry, I’ll be quick.”

“Sure.” She shrugs, then