They only needed five seconds, thanks to some quick shooting from Strix, but the burden on Thrones was still blood-boiling. As soon as the final gunner droid had its head caved in, she dropped her Arts, arms falling limply to the side. Outside, Feral wrestled for control of the VTOL and actually won, while inside, the place looked viable to collapse from how shredded the pillars were. Could she walk?

She tried, but her head felt like it was splitting at the seams now. All stimulation with no true release; she definitely, totally, completely, utterly despised the neural network. She pressed a sweaty hand against her nose. No blood, but she smelled it anyways. Collapsing onto her knees, the Sankta operator took in deep breaths, quelling the nausea that wouldn't be removed just with some virtual retching.

[b]"Some,"[/b] Thrones spat out, [b]"help here?"[/b]