A group of rabbits flee from their warren in a hurry. Among them is a single hare. Something erupts from the ground behind them, but not a single one looks back. Even as the winds whip against them, their paws pad against the tundra, they each leave behind steaming marks of crimson, painting a trail behind them.
A honey-eyed hare looks back, slowing down in the face of instinct.
The creature chasing them is painted against the ground and sky, standing even taller than the distant trees. A shifting mass, gibbering with the snarls of a wolf, yet shrieking like a hawk. It runs faster than the group, there would be no escape.
The creature's maw opens, and it lunges forward.
The hare looking back was the first to die. A splash of sizzling blood paints the snow. The death was quick, and the corpse was thrown aside. The beast uncaring of the hare's now draining heat. Its eyes focused on living prey, as it lunged forth.
The hare watched with beady eyes.
In its glassy reflection, the warren is torn apart. Massacred like the pitiful prey they were born to be. One of the rabbits kicked back, only for its hind leg to be torn from its body with a sickening crack. Another charged the predatorial mass, giving the others time to escape. Yet its fate was the same, torn into a bloody pulp.
The hare looked upon its own pool of blood.
It's… A bloody stamp-press of an image, pressed into the snow. A feminine, human, form lay within the darkness of a box. Its outline mirrored that of a coffin, sealing the figure within. Unknowing, the hare stared deeply at the image, its limited intellect unable to understand. The cold embrace of the darkness behind the eyes gripped upon its brain, the last thing it heard was the squealing of the eldest rabbit.
A sharp gasp. A figure wreathed in pitch black pressed their fingers against the cell that confined them. Desperately searching for something against the walls, the sound of water sloshing was the only thing that could be heard. All other senses were treated to complete white noise.
A distinct click, overwhelming the inhabitant's senses.
A circle now glowed where the figure's pale fingers could be vaguely seen bathed in pale purple light. The electronic beeps were now becoming able to be heard, and a hissing noise all but tore a hole into the figure's senses. Wincing in barely seen pain, the figure manages to mutter out, "Dim the lights, twenty-five percent."
Nothing responded. Yet, as the top of the tank popped open, indeed, the lights began to dim. Blinking one amber eye after the other, the figure tries to acclimate their sight to the low light. Their heart raced, as their wet hand patted against the side of the metal tank, searching for something familiar.
"Your session lasted for [TWO] [HOURS]," The synthetic voice with no origin chimed out, as the figure finally found a towel at the tank's side, "It is currently [DATE], [TIME]. I hope you had a pleasant meditation, [SHEBA]."
A low groan escaped the lips of the black-haired figure, as they ran the towel across their chest, before moving to the face. Sheba glances towards the upper right corner of the room, as they lean back against the tank's metal surface. Squinting at the camera that was ringed with neon green, they let out a slow sigh, shifting their amber gaze downwards.
The metal room was always kept cold. Sheba never really understood why, but as their eyes travel across the room, the familiar sight of the other tanks imprinted upon their vision. Each and every one was empty and open. It seemed like the rest of the occupants went out for lunch, or so they came to the conclusion of, silently.
"[SHEBA]," The voice begins again, as the towel is brought down to Sheba's hips and wrapped around it, "You have one new message from [NOITA]."
Sheba pinched the bridge of their nose and sighed once the towel was secure, "Mark as read, remind me in an hour."