[center][h3][color=fff79a]Ayem Moestadja[/color][/h3][/center]

The gunshot echoed into the tavern and left a stark silence in its wake. With a small hole in the back of her head, Ayem went very, very still.

[color=fff79a]"Oh,"[/color] she said, her lips moving under the gaping exit wound.

Simulations are built around the consciousness of their participants. The tavern's servers were well designed to handle barfights- when overclocked. In the quiet of low capacity, the room didn't even notice that Ayem was dead.

She swivelled to Anya a face that was smashed eye and exposed gum planted in alloy. [color=fff79a]"Okay,"[/color] she said.

Then her body was replaced with an error message and was gone.

[center]* * * * *[/center]

Ayem blinked awake. A high-altitude wind rushed mournfully across the skyway. Her roadburn was pressing painfully into her coat, unsealed. There was no VR equipment to be found.

Further down the road, her motorbike lay between frayed shards of impact polymer. Ayem tilted her neck, awkwardly bumping her helmet along the bitumen, watched the octane dragon twist its way over the elevated road, fixing her with mocking headlight eyes.

She stood, lightheaded and slow, pressing a knuckle into her lips. The serpent watched. Ayem unsheathed her free hand as engine-chain tendrils fell from the creature's belly.

Metal scraped. Ayem whistled.

The Kelelawar Q1-2 slammed onto the road, engines screaming.

[center][b]End.[/b][/center]