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I grew up spoiled, flying first class and dreaming of million-dollar handbags. But for once, I wanted a "real American experience," something my elite family would scoff at. So, I booked a Greyhound bus ticket, planning to save a fortune and prove I wasn't just a pampered rich kid. Then the nightmare jolted me awake, cold sweat gripping my back. It wasn't a dream; it was a memory. A grim, horrifying memory of that other life where my simple act of kindness on this very bus led to unspeakable horrors. I saw her again, "Mama" Darlene, with her sickeningly sweet smile and homemade cookies. I remembered the darkness that followed, waking up in a filthy room, my money gone. I remembered Cletus, Darlene' s son, dragging me into the mountains, bringing me to a shack. The things he did to me, the pain, before they left me for dead in a ditch. To be here again, reliving the beginning of that hell, felt like a cruel joke. Why was I given this second chance, only to endure the terror of knowing what was coming? My stomach clenched as I saw Mama Darlene, already beside my seat, her repulsive grandson pawing at my backpack. Was this nightmare destined to repeat, or could I break free? My hands trembled, but my mind was crystal clear. This time, I was awake. And this time, I was ready to turn their game into my personal battlefield. I grabbed my phone, and with a cold resolve, started calling in favors that would turn their Appalachian nightmare into theirs.