X-23 had lost hope a while ago. Of course, the prolonged drugging had helped with that. In this dissociative state, the white walls and the cold white tile floor...well, they felt like home. After all, it was all she had really known aside from her brief stint in the outside world. And the outside world had been too loud, too bright, too active for her. The people and their words wanted to burst her eardrums; the bright lights burned her eyes, but those were a mere distraction from the scars she had gained- the ones that would never show. Here she knew everyone's intentions. Sure, she was not a person to the men in white. But she was not a person to many outside either and that had been before they even knew about the claws.

But those memories from years ago felt like a dream now: almost warm and fuzzy. She could not remember Rictor nor Bobby nor Charlotte.

In the past few weeks her mind had managed to produce dreams. They were of a terrible reality, one with open-faced monsters and a black nothingness and despite the lack of anything of real value to see, the dreams became more and more vivid as days passed. While it did not scare her, she found the dreams to be rather odd. They felt more real than her reality. But her clouded brain did not allow her to dwell for long on such a thing. It would let her space out for hours at a time, though. Not that she would know; there were no clocks in sight.

It was during one of these space outs that X-23's ears registered a faint alarm sound off in the distance. She didn't think much of it, but that was when the walls had started to bleed and crack around her.

Her mind does not register the falling ceiling above her in time, but it registers the pain almost immediately. In between her grunts and the snapping crackles of broken yet live wires she can hear wet footsteps echoing and splattering across the white tiles.

It takes a moment for X-23 to get enough debris off to be able to stand up. Her legs shake with each uneasy step she takes over the plaster that now litters the floor. Something had ruptured a support beam near her room, she concludes as she looks around the room. Her eyes frantically search for the source of the footsteps. They do the best they can before she takes a dive and eats old ceiling tile. She coughs, supporting herself on her hands as dust clings to the inside of her windpipes.

Her ears are too overwhelmed with the sound of her labored breathing and coughing to hear that the footsteps have stopped. She feels a gentle hand on her shoulder before everything goes dark.