Cold, disembodied hands dig like points of pure pressure against her skin through the flimsy undersuit, painful in the way that only unwanted touch ever can be. The illusory agony of the show's climax has faded to a dull, almost-ignorable thrum but those *hands*—

CT winces, hisses, but struggles to find the strength to pull herself out of their grip. Scrambles, clumsily, to get her feet under her as they pull her up from the ground to take her away.

Her head lifts at the sound of the anger in Carolina's voice. Wet eyes and blood-stained upper lip and brow furrowed as much in confusion as in pain.

Present bleeds into the past.

Get the—

—hell—

—are you doing?!