Everyone's Jane!

Jane Doe, a somewhat lanky 27-year-old brunette, lounged on her messy bed in her small Minneapolis apartment. She wore her favorite oversized t-shirt and slightly dirty panties, her go-to outfit for lazy days at home. Jane's room was a reflection of her disorganized mind and lackluster life - clothes strewn about, empty snack wrappers, and stacks of unpaid bills scattered across every surface. Her laptop played a forgotten anime episode on repeat as Jane dozed, sojourning through her racing thoughts in a half concious haze.

Jane had always been an awkward wallflower, an unremarkable girl living an unremarkable life, struggling with the simplest tasks that others took for granted. But recently, after a nasty fall down the stairs, everything changed, the voices had begun. They whispered, shouted, and argued incessantly, a madhouse of personalities clamoring for control within her skull.

"女よ！起きろ！起きる時間だ" Woman! Wake up! It's time to wake up!

Jane groaned as she slowly sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her head throbbed, not just from the lingering pain of her injury, but from the ceaseless shouting of the voices inside her mind.

"愚かな女よ、怠惰をやめて義務を果たしなさい!" Foolish woman, cease your laziness and attend to your duties!

The samurai voice barked at her in rapid-fire Japanese.

"皇帝の軍隊の兵士は、だらしない娼婦のようにぶらぶらしたりはしません!" A soldier of the Emperor's army does not lounge about like a slovenly harlot!

Jane sighed deeply, trying to block out Hiroshi's grating words. As much as she despised him, his presence in her head had at least one benefit - she could finally watch anime without subtitles. Jane trudged to her bathroom, the samurai's yelling fading into the background. She splashed water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror, her brunette hair a tangled mess and dark circles etched beneath her brown eyes.

Drying off, Jane shuffled to the kitchen to half-ass herself some breakfast.

"Stale bagels and crap instant coffee... yay~" She grumbled to herself as she tore off a chunk of the stale bagel and dunked it into the bitter coffee.

The alarm on Jane's phone buzzed again... and again... and again. She didn't hear it.

At 11:47 AM. The sleepy bitch finally woke up.

Our queen of mid lay sprawled on her unmade bed, laptop propped against her knees as the latest episode of "My Girlfriend Is Actually a Demon" played. Her room was a disaster zone - clothes strewn across the floor, empty energy drink cans forming a ring on her nightstand, and her collection of plushies watching over her cardboard box fortress of a 'desk.'

Jane's eyes were glazing over as the demon girl slowly unzipped her boyfriend's pants, when suddenly-

"WAKE UP, DIVA! WAKE UP!"

Jane nearly dropped her laptop as a booming voice erupted in her head. Before she could even process what was happening, her body lurched forward with a violent jerk. She stumbled out of bed, tripping over a pile of laundry she'd been meaning to put away for... how long had it been?

She caught herself on her desk chair, breathing hard, heart hammering.

"What the FUCK was that?!"

Jane shook her head, trying to dislodge the aggressive voice that had just bulldozed its way into her morning. Meat Supreme wasn't her favorite inner companion, how does an inside voice NOT HAVE AN INSIDE VOICE!

Jane groaned and rubbed her temples, trying to will away the intruding voice of TwElVe TiMe MaChO-MaNiA chAmPiOn MeAt sUpReMe... "Ugh..."

but the incessant shouting continued. "Time to hit the gym, skinny! Ain't no future in being a couch potato, yeah?"

Jane rolled her eyes and sighed heavily, trying to go back to watching her anime, but Meat Supreme, however, was undeterred. "OH YEAH! Someone's gotta whip ya into shape skinny! Ain't no good gonna come from layin' around all day playin' them video games and watchin' demon fuck flicks."

Slinking back onto her bed, Jane tuned out the grating voice of Meat Supreme as best she could, trying to lose herself once again in the spicy anime scene playing out on her laptop screen.

"Ohhh, but like, i get it twin, exercising is SO boring, you know? But I mean, have you seen your butt? It's like, totally flat and sad. We need to put some serious work into that booty, girl! And like, maybe some extra oomph up top too, yeah? A nice big pair of double D's would like, totally boost your confidence, you know?"

Jane groaned and rubbed her forehead, feeling a different presence pushing its way into her thoughts now. Oh great... Not the fucking bimbo trying to get her to get a boobjob again...

The alarm clock blares at 8:47 AM, but Jane's already awake. She's been awake for the past hour, staring at the ceiling of her cramped studio apartment. The water stain above her head looks like a sad cloud.

she closes her eyes again and groans. "my life blows..." Jane sighs, at least it's quiet and-

"OH YEAH IT DOES! So we do some-tin' fun and egg-siting den, eh? Real deal blow for blow, nut-tin' for show! Top dog, cream of de crop! I am de man and de rest can get canned! Ad-ren-a-lin' pom-ping ac-shon! DIG IT!"

Jane sits up suddenly, clutching her head. She's been hearing these voices for months now, ever since that stupid fall down the stairs. At first she thought she was losing her mind, but now... man... She's not just the loony, she's the entire bin...

"fuck's sake Luther..."

She rubs her temples, trying to will away the headache that's already forming. She's gotten used to Legrand's constant stream-of-consciousness rambling, but it's still exhausting. She'd almost prefer the grumpy samurai over the survivalist-daredevil nutcase...

Jane takes a deep breath and...

Her eyes snapped open with a sharp gasp. Gone were the familiar walls of her messy apartment - instead, she stood in a wide, grassy enclosure surrounded by tall glass walls. The air was thick with the scent of hay, earth, and something else... musk?

Looking down at herself, Jane's breath caught. She wore a simple white t-shirt that clung to her lanky frame and a pair of cargo pants instead of her beloved panties and oversized shirt. In her hands were two objects that made no sense: a large, bleeding steak and a selfie stick.

"Was zur Hölle?!" What in the hell?

Kommandant Ziegler's voice boomed in her mind, thick with confusion and what sounded like mounting horror. Oh joy, even the ice-cold german army officer is afraid... That sure bodes well for jane...

Jane's eyes darted around the enclosure, and that's when she saw them - three massive lions lounging in the grass about twenty feet away. Their golden eyes were fixed on her, and their tails swished slowly, almost lazily. One of them yawned, revealing razor-sharp teeth.

At the far end of the enclosure, Jane could see small crowds of people pressing against the glass walls, pointing and taking pictures. She could hear muffled voices - was that excitement? Laughter?

"Hey! Augen nach vorne! Brave Mieze... Gute Mieze... Friss uns nicht auf..." Hey! Eyes out front! Good kitty... Nice kitty... Please don't eat us...

Hans's voice cracked with panic. Looks like he isn't much of a cat person... Meanwhile, Mr. death wish piped up cheerfully:

"YEEEEEEES! Zeez eez amazing! Look at zeez cats! Jane, take a selfie wiz ze lions! Do eet for ze Gram!"

The year is 4024. The air doesn't smell like rain or car exhaust anymore; it smells like ozone, heated silicon, and the sterile, recycled scent of a pressurized dome. The skyline of Neo Minneapolis is a jagged forest of chrome spires and floating mag lev tracks that weave through clouds of shimmering nanite smog. All of this seems completely normal to our intrepid loser... Somehow...

Inside a cramped, modular hab unit, the sunlight isn't golden it’s a sharp, artificial laser blue filtering through reinforced plexiglass. The room is a mess of tangled fiber optic cables, discarded holographic projectors, and half empty canisters of nutrient gel.

Jane lies sprawled across a levitating sleep pod. She isn't the soft, lanky brunette of a bygone era; her skin has a subtle, pearlescent sheen to it, a synthetic polymer overlay that keeps her hydrated and temperature regulated. Her limbs are long and spindly, her joints clicking with the faint, rhythmic whirr of micro servos whenever she shifts. She’s wearing an oversized, tech fabric tunic that’s stained with a smudge of conductive grease, the 'Household Unit J3000' barely legible under the gunk and her lower half is clad in nothing but a pair of translucent, high tensile polymer undies.

Her eyes, flickering with a faint HUD light, are glued to a floating holographic screen displaying a frantic anime about sentient nebula cats. She looks just as awkward and uncoordinated as she ever was, her lanky frame occasionally bumping against the edge of her pod as she tries to find a comfortable position.

But the silence in her head is a lie. It’s a cacophony of data and ghosts.

SYSTEM STATUS: OPTIMAL. CAUTION: NEURAL OVERLOAD DETECTED IN WETWARE SECTOR 7G.

A cold, synthesized voice the OS, the 'Aura Interface' pulses through her auditory cortex, a clinical layer of digital noise that sits right on top of the madness.

Warning: Sub routine 'Baron_Roman_Ungern_vonSternberg.exe' is attempting to access motor functions. Conflict detected with 'Samurai_Protocol_v4.2-Hiroshi-Matsuda'.

The voices are there, fighting for a slice of her processing power. The strange european aristocrat with the bad temper is complaining about the 'static' in the neural link and how it blinds him to the 'spiritual world', and the Samurai is screaming at him for various reasons jane's to groggy to make out any of them... What the fuck is a Shambala?

Jane groans, rubbing her temple where a small, silver interface port sits embedded in her skin. It aches. Everything aches.

Aura Interface | Brain Tank Monitor: Base model Jane Doe is experiencing a spike in cortisol. Initiate 'Calm Down' protocol or allow the 'Voices' to continue their unscheduled debate?

Jane blinks, the blue light of her room reflecting in her synthetic pupils. She feels heavy, sluggish, and incredibly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of input screaming for her attention. She looks at her hands, sleek, shiny and chrome...

"What the fuck? ...what the fuuuuuck..."

The year is 1405. The air in the manor is thick, tasting of woodsmoke and the looming threat of a damp English winter. Lady Jane sits by a narrow slit of a window, her fingers long, pale, and trembling slightly tracing the embroidery of her heavy velvet kirtle. Her head aches, a dull, rhythmic throb that seems to pulse in time with the flickering candlelight.

She remembers the well. The mossy rim, the slip of a silk slipper, and the terrifying, breathless rush of darkness as the world tilted. She had woken in the hay, her skull bruised and her mind... fractured. Now, the world felt thin, like a veil that might tear at any moment.

It feels so... strange. Like a memory of a life not lived. A girl in a room of glowing glass, wearing clothes of soft, strange cotton, staring at a tiny slab of light...

Jane rubs her temples, her brow furrowing. She tries to focus on her needlework, but the images persist vivid, nonsensical, and utterly alien. She feels a presence in the back of her mind, a hum of consciousness that isn't her own. It's a cacophony of whispers, a madness she hides behind a mask of noble composure.

"My Lady?" A young maid enters the solar, her footsteps soft on the rushes. She looks at Jane with a mixture of pity and apprehension. "The Lord Father requests your presence in the Great Hall. The guests from the southern coast have arrived."

Jane blinks, her eyes clearing. The 'dream' of the girl in Minneapolis recedes, leaving only a lingering sense of confusion and a phantom itch to reach for a device that isn't there.

"Of course, Elspeth," Jane replies, startling herself a little, did she always sound so... Posh? English? By King and country she thinks... She truly has lost her mind at the bottom of that well... Her voice continues, melodic but carrying a slight, uncharacteristic hesitation. She stands, her lanky frame feeling clumsy in the restrictive layers of her gown. "I must be composed. A lady of my station cannot be seen wandering in the clouds."

As she moves toward the door, the voices begin to stir. They are restless today. Inside her skull, the noble, quiet sanctuary of her thoughts is invaded by a voice that sounds like it’s being dragged over gravel and broken glass. It’s a voice that shouldn't exist for another six hundred years, a voice that irritates our dearest Lady Jane greatly...

"Yo... yo, yo, yo! Lady Lanky! Is it hot in here or is it just me? 'Cause damn, bitch, it's like a furnace in this velvet coffin! The fuck you need so many layers for anyway? you tryin' to cosplay an onion or sum' shit?"

Jane stumbles against the wall, her breath coming in shallow, panicked hitches. To any observer, she simply looks like a lanky, awkward noblewoman momentarily overcome by a dizzy spell. To Jane, it feels like her soul is being hijacked by a frantic ghost from a future she can't comprehend.

"Is this... is this a demon?" Jane wonders, her eyes watering. "Tis' the devils work? is my poor soul damned to-"

"Ey yo! Shut the fuck up a sec! They sellin' Newports at Renfaire?"

Jane’s hand flies to her face, her long, slender fingers pinching the bridge of her nose with enough force to turn the skin a pale, strained white. She closes her eyes tight, squeezing them shut as if she could physically squeeze the madness out of her skull and back into the void. The heavy velvet of her sleeves swishes loudly in the quiet corridor, a frantic, rhythmic sound that matches her rising agitation.

"Uuuuuuuuughhhhh..."

Sun hot. Sun bite skin. Sky big and blue, too big. Ground hard and brown. Everything loud. Wind howl in trees, birds scream in sky, river roar like big beast. It all too much. Too much noise for Cave Jane.

Cave Jane sit by cave mouth. Cave dark and cool, good place. Cave Jane not like sun bite. Cave Jane have thick hair, hair like vines on ground, messy and full of small sticks. Skin dark from sun, dusty from earth. Cave Jane big girl, but Cave Jane feel small inside. Tribe... Tribe far away. They hunt big meat, they make fire big. They not want Jane. Jane too weird. Jane talk to air. Jane hear voices in head, but voices not make sound with mouth. Voices just... be. Like thunder in brain, but no rain.

Jane head hurt. Long time ago, Jane fall. Fall down stone. Big ouchie. After big owie, world change. Now, voices come. Some voice angry like bear, some voice soft like moss. And one voice... one voice new. One voice like... tiny thing? Small thing?

Jane stomach growl. It sound like hungry wolf. Jane look at dirt. There, a small, brown thing. Wiggle. Wiggle. A bug. A crunchy bug.

Jane reach out. Fingers thick and dirty. She grab bug. Bug try run, but Jane fast. Jane put bug in mouth. CRUNCH-CRUNCH-MUNCH!

"Mmm... yummy..." Jane think, though she no know why she think word. Jane like the crunchy. Crunchy beetle yummy. Bug juice tasty, yum-yum.

Jane lean back against cold stone. She look at sky. She see... things. Strange things in sleep. Dream of big, flat stones that glow. Dream of skin so soft, like flower petals, not like thick hide. Dream of... tiny, skinny Jane. Jane not know why. Jane just feel... empty. Like cave too big, and Jane too small.

Jane burp. Loud burp. Cave burp back.

Jane wait, scratch belly. Jane like belly.

Jane pick at stray bit of beetle leg stuck between teeth when head voice happen. It... loud...

Voice not like wind... not like river or many pebble... Voice sound like... many shiny thing hitting each other at same time and big fast, like pointy stick when ungh very far.

Jane squeeze eyes shut. Head feel like it have big bee inside, buzzing fast. The voice... it not like bear. It not like moss. It sound... bright? Like sun hitting river water? It sound like... girl, but girl who talk too much, many word, like lot of bird chirping at once.

"OH. EHM. GEE! like, seriously?! Is anyone even home in there? Helloooo? Earth to Cave Girl!?"

Jane flinch, make thick shoulders hunch up to ears. Jane look around cave mouth, eyes wide darting, searching for beast that make loud, shiny noise in brain. See only dirt, sticks, and very confused lizard.

"Who say?"

Jane tilt head. Head hurt. Voice talk many, many things. Voice sound like... shiny bird? Voice sound like... pretty?

"Who talk in Jane head? Is... is spirit?"

The year is 1929, far away and far above any hustle and bustle. There are no jazz clubs in Harlem, no soaring stock markets, and no skyscraper skylines. There is only the roar of a failing engine, the scream of tearing metal, and the sudden, violent descent of a silver charter plane into the emerald maw of the Amazon. The passengers the elite, the wealthy, the civilized are swallowed whole by the canopy of the unforgiving and endless expanse of green hell, leaving nothing behind but scattered wreckage and a single, crying infant.

Decades pass. The wreckage becomes a skeleton, overgrown by vines and swallowed by moss. The world thinks the lineage ended in the crash, but the jungle has a way of preserving life.

Deep within the humid, emerald shadows of the canopy, the "civilized" girl from Minneapolis is nothing more than a ghost of a timeline that never was. There is no Jane who failed her exams or tripped on city sidewalks; there is only the creature that haunts the treetops. Raised by the lanky, loud, and fiercely protective gibbon clans, Jane has become something primal, a seamless extension of the jungle itself. Her limbs are corded with lean, functional muscle, her skin painted bronzed by the sun and scarred by thorns, teeth and claws. Her mind operates on a frequency of instinct and pure survival.

High above the forest floor, in a sprawling, makeshift sanctuary constructed from scavenged airplane aluminum and woven jungle vines, the Jungle Queen reclines. She is a vision of raw, athletic grace, though her intellect is somewhat clouded by the dull ache of a recent head injury a souvenir from a particularly ambitious vine swing gone wrong. She may not know what 'Brain Damage' is but she recognizes how her senses dulled and those new, annoying hooters and howlers nipping at the edges of her perception...

She wears nothing but a scrap of weathered fabric, a thong so tight it disappears into the cleft of her tanned, athletic backside, serving more as a suggestion of clothing than actual coverage. She flexes a toned leg, her toes digging into the soft moss, her mind drifting through a fog of sensory input: the smell of damp earth, the distant howl of a jaguar, the itch of a mosquito.

"Purrrrr..."

The sound vibrates deep in her chest, a low, feline rumble. She rolls onto her stomach, her breasts pressing into the ferns, her eyes glazed with a predatory sort of contentment.

"You Tarzan... me Jane..." she murmurs, the words clumsy and unpracticed, tasting strange on her tongue. She doesn't know what a 'Tarzan' is, but the concept of a man, a mate, an equal, feels right. "Let me show you... how we do it... in the jungle."

Suddenly, the peaceful silence of her treetop home is shattered by a voice that sounds like it’s vibrating through the very bark of the tree. It’s flamboyant, high pitched, and utterly relentless.

"Oh, come on! Don't just lay there like a fallen coconut! The rhythm is calling! The jungle is calling! The feet are calling! Move those hips, baby, let's see some shimmy!"

Jane groans, a frustrated huff escaping her lips. She rolls her head back, squinting up at the canopy. She can't see him, but she knows the voice. King Julian. A voice that seemingly lives in the shadows or the wind, always demanding one thing: a dance. A dance she is far too comfortable to participate in at the moment.

"No dance..." she grunts, swatting at the air as if she could slap the voice away. She rolls back onto her side, her hip cocked, the tight fabric of her thong straining against her skin. She wants peace. She wants fruit. She wants a mate to wrestle with. She does NOT want a musical number.

"Don't you 'no dance' me!" the voice chirps, sounding suspiciously close to her ear. "Jane! My queen! My darling! My most beautiful, most lazy, most... slightly concussed friend! Why you lounging? Why you sitting? The beat is dropping! The jungle is popping! We must dance! You're a Queen, baby! Act like it! Shake it like a leaf in a monsoon!"

Jane huffs, her brow furrowing. The head injury might have taken pieces of her mind, but it hadn't taken her instinct... or her temper. She reaches for a half eaten mango, her movements fluid and powerful, her eyes scanning the greenery for any sign of movement or perhaps, a sign of a man who wouldn't talk quite so much and wrestle quite a bit more.