Selene wakes to a loud, blaring, and intrusive alarm.
One she's fairly sure she didn't set.
Her left hand lazily hits the alarm button, unknowingly silencing the racket.
Then—another godforsaken chime blares.
Neon signs flash, pointing toward a large chart with two words she doesn't understand.
Beneath them: a jumble of bizarre symbols.
As soon as she registers the chart, a soft voice comes through a speaker in the ceiling.
"Ay. Bee. See. Dee."
Selene jumps out of bed in shock.
"What in the—"
She freezes.
That voice… it sounds like hers.
"Is that… my voice?" she whispers, stunned.
The voice doesn't react. It just continues, calm and prerecorded:
"Look at the chart outlined, me. I'm explaining the alphabet to you. Here, I'll start over. Ay. Bee. See…"
Selene's eyes drift back to the chart.
She studies each symbol. Hears the sounds.
Tries to remember.
The voice runs through the alphabet once more.
Then, it ends with a simple statement:
"The arrows in this house are your best friend. Good luck, me."
Silence.
Deafening silence.
Selene stares into the emptiness, breath caught in her throat.
"I… am that person speaking?"
"So… who am I exactly?"
She takes a deep breath, but finds she can't pull the necessary wind into her lungs. She begins to take quick, labored breaths as her panic rises and rises, her body slumping further and further to the floor.
Hands land on her knees in a desperate attempt to hold herself up.
She lifts her arms, eyes wide and frantic.
"Who… am I? Am I even an I?"
Her gaze darts over her skin, searching for anything to ground her.
There.
On her right wrist, dark black ink.
Words she just learned how to read.
"DON'T FREAK OUT."
A small weight lifts from her chest.
Still heavy, but manageable.
She keeps reading.
"You are Selene Amina—"
Her legs stop shaking.
"I am… Selene Amina."
The name settles deep in her bones.
She keeps going, reading the rest of the markings down her arm —date of birth, address, allergies, where she works, her typical schedule, and decides to read the rest of the many other bits of info down the rest of her arm. At the very top of her bicep, it says "CHECK TODAY'S DATE" along with a short description of where she might see it. Sure enough, she locks eyes with a board full of numerous dates, one with an X through it. It reads:
May 18, 2003. Sunday.
She mentally notes that down, just in case. She lifts back up, takes a deep breath, and flexes her arms back only for two sharp stings on her left shoulder and upper arm. "Ow! What just—" She looks over at the visibly irritated skin with fresher black ink than the other markings.
She squints to read it.
A few words stand out:
"Rue Hired."
"Funny, charmingly stupid."
And a string of 10 digits she doesn't recognize.
Numbers. A name.
Selene stumbles forward, still dazed, following the arrows.
They guide her like breadcrumbs.
Some point out crucial things:
This is your home.
This is a note.
The arrows lead her to the bathroom.
She stops right in front of a mirror.
A figure in the mirror stares back.
Selene flinches, and the reflection flinches too.
Her hand rises, and so does the other's.
Her eyes soften from hostility to curiosity.
Fear swapped to intrigue.
She studies the reflection—really admiring the beauty of the figure.
The unfamiliar familiarity of the figure digs a deep crack into her already fragile mental.
She looks above the mirror at another note.
"This is a mirror. That person? That's you!"
She continues with the routine laid out on the notes, brushing her teeth for two minutes as outlined by the clock she was instructed to push.
While idly brushing, she looks back over at the reddened skin, and sees it in full context.
It states that Selene should get to know Rue—again. It also mentions that the group of digits is Rue's number.
With the raw question finally answered, her thoughts get interrupted—by her own voice above her.
"Spit out the rest of the paste and then go get dressed you hooligan. What you need is in the big brown box of the room you came from."
Yet again, she follows instructions.
Opening the closet, she is dumbfounded by the amount of cloth, but one piece with a giant tag—THIS ONE—catches her eye.
So, she struggles and pulls with each and every piece of clothing, figuring it out step by step how to get the damned thing on.
Eventually, she figures it out, her hair looking like a caveman got farted on by unicorn dust.
Once satisfied with sufficiently following the notes' instructions, she follows the maze of arrows all the way to the living room, where there is MORE notes on the couch.
She sits in the only spot that looks well-used, and then clicks a button on something called a remote, according to the wise notes left behind by her previous selves.
The video shows her how to do her makeup routine and brush her hair, which includes putting it in a bun. She does it pretty flawlessly even though she didn't entirely know what doo-dads she was messing with.
Selene, pretty in control of who she is at this point, gets ready to leave. But before she does, she notices a couple of notes on the door that look fresher than the others. Most of them are about her workplace and what she does, but there's one that's filled to the brim about this "Rue" character once again.
Finally on her way out, the door freezes after opening just a mere couple of inches. She looks at what could possibly be blocking it—and sees it.
A dull, brown and thick rope.
One end is looped around a sturdy metal hook at the top of the door frame, and the other is looped over and over on a sturdy cabinet. She follows the trail of rope from the hook to the cabinet, and sees a part of it taped to an elongated rectangular device. The final note next to the device states for her in very simplified terms:
"THIS IS YOUR PHONE. DON'T LEAVE WITHOUT. REMOVE THE TAPE AND UNTIE ROPE AT TOP."
Selene pulls the device—her phone—off the tape and undoes the rope, immediately making it go slack.
She tugged on the rope a bit more, and smirked.
"Genius," she proudly stated.
Her hand tightly grips the doorknob, and she takes a deep and strong breath, stepping out...
As Selene walks into TTC, quietly observing the surroundings, she treks into the kitchen looking for the Head Chef.
Walking into a wall, she stops—and looks up.
Wait a minute.That's a HUGE man.
"Ummmm, head chef?"
The chunk of wall turns around, looking somewhat confused, but an innate aura of boldness bursts out.
"Head Chef Josh Hart at your service. What do you need ma'am?Wait, you're in the kitchen. You shouldn't be in here."
Waving her tiny arms in comparison to Josh, Selene says
"No sir, I'm an employee! Look here."
Her hand rolls up the uniform's cuff, revealing on her wrist the statement:
"You work at Toe Ticklin' Good Chicken under the Head Chef, Josh."
Josh immediately stops waving his arm around for her to leave the kitchen and instead accepts it.
"Very well. I'll be in the office, like I supposedly always am."
Rolling up both of her sleeves, Selene gets ready for her first day of work—for the eighth month in a row.
As soon as she begins washing her hands, the doorbell chimes and she gets a peek at the next customer. But this person doesn't look like any customer.
She's in uniform—same as Selene—but that's not what stops her.
It's the hair: rich auburn pulled into a tight bun. And the eyes—coal black, piercing, like they know her. Selene feels a strange flutter in her chest. Recognition? Longing? Nervousness? Then:
"Selene!"
The voice pulls her back. Selene recognizes her distinct visuals from her notes. That must be Rue.