A sharp knock rattled the metal door.
Hope stirred, groggy, his brain still sluggish from sleep.
Then—
He felt it.
His face twisted in horror as he registered the very obvious morning wood beneath the sheets.
Shit.
Panic flickered through him.
He hadn't even fully woken up yet, and now this?
His mind raced.
Who the hell was at the door?
The female janitor?
Clara?
The dead god's forbid.
The last thing he needed was for her to see him in this state.
Another knock, sharper this time.
"Get up."
A familiar, commanding voice.
Hope winced.
Clara.
Of course, it had to be her.
"Coming!" he shouted hastily, his voice hoarse from sleep.
He stalled, buying himself a few extra seconds.
He turned onto his side, willing his body to calm the hell down.
This was not how he wanted to start the day.
After a minute of mental discipline, he finally stood up, stretching his arms overhead.
His muscles were sore from yesterday's events, but nothing unbearable.
With a deep sigh, he made his way to the door and unlocked it.
As expected, Clara stood there, clad in her ascended combat suit, her expression unreadable.
She didn't even wait for him to say anything.
"Wash up. We're leaving in ten minutes."
Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.
Hope watched her retreating back, scowling internally.
_"C'mon, I'm not a military personnel. Give me time to boot." _
But of course, Clara didn't care.
She wasn't the type to give him the luxury of laziness.
With a resigned sigh, he dragged himself to the washroom.
The Morning After – Part 2
After yesterday's near-scalding incident, Hope was extra careful.
He cautiously turned on the cold water, letting the refreshing chill soak into his skin.
His body relaxed almost instantly, tension bleeding out of his muscles.
As he stood under the water, letting it wash away the remnants of sleep, his thoughts wandered.
Everything that had happened since he got pulled into The Ashlands—
Kelvin.
Walker.
His near-death experiences.
The Veil's voice in his head.
His newfound abilities.
And of course—
The mirror.
His jaw tightened at the memory.
That grinning reflection…
What the hell was that?
He had tried to rationalize it, but no matter how he spun it—
It wasn't normal.
Something was off.
And he had a feeling that whatever it was, he hadn't seen the last of it.
He shook off the thought, forcing himself to focus on the present.
Once he was done, he dried off and dressed in the same combat suit from yesterday.
The material was tough yet flexible, the intricate patterns giving it an almost mechanized look.
The sleeves were long, buttoned at the neck, and the overall design was practical—built for durability, not style.
Hope didn't care either way.
It was comfortable enough, and that was all that mattered.
Now, for the next problem—
Food.
The Morning After – Part 3
Breakfast was… underwhelming.
A small packet of synthpaste was placed in front of him.
Hope stared at it, his face blank.
Artificially mass-produced food.
It was meant to be nutritionally balanced, easy to store, and efficient for feeding large populations—
But it tasted like nothing.
Just a bland, textureless mush.
Hope didn't complain, though.
Food was food.
At least it would fill his stomach.
He ate quickly, shoving spoonfuls into his mouth without a second thought.
All the while, his mind drifted back to Clara's words.
"We're leaving in ten minutes."
Leaving where?
And for what?
Whatever she had planned for him…
It wasn't going to be fun.