I cannot sleep. My mind is too busy, my need for more answers too powerful. I toss and turn on the pile of old blankets and burlap Poppy guided me to. She's been quiet and reserved since we returned from the hoarder's warehouse. I suppose I can't blame her.
When I do doze off at last, I'm plagued by nightmares, snippets of memories, the ache of longing tinged with the terror of the unknown. I am back in the lab, I know it is the place I'm from. But it is damaged, broken, aged as the world I've found myself is aged, left to rot and fall apart. I search halls along endless corridors for those I love, only to find them dead-Poppy, the strange version of me in colorful ink and metal, the man, even the dog. But the worst is the woman, she who has my heart, my soul. Is she my mother? I do not k
