[b]Chen![/b]

"Good afternoon, Princess!" said the thief as the car bounced down the dirt road at a sheep-startling pace. "I'm Elkibrant, gentleman thief, and this is my partner, Vogodoris, Fifth Sentinel of the Malachite Gate." He reached back one-handed to tuck a business card into your gag. "We're probably not going to be together long - you're hot cargo, haha, and I imagine by the end of this you'll end up traded a couple of dozen times. But hey! Today's prisoner is tomorrow's client, so I ask you - do you need a couple of rogues in your corner? Anyone you particularly [i]do[/i] or [i]don't[/i] want to be captured by?"

"Should I -?"

"Oh yeah, ungag her Dory, there's a sport."

For a confusing, relieving, disappointing moment your mouth is yours again. 

[b]Rose![/b]

Oh, you are a Hunter most fierce, Rose from the River. Within the physical realm there is naught that can escape you. But the digital geists who swim the shores of the ethereal sea have ever slipped through your fingers and your ad-free subscriptions have long since expired.

"Are you someone who can keep your head when everyone else is losing theirs?" said an entity as timeless as you. "Are you someone who can keep her eyes on the prize despite anything? Daytrading may be for you, Rose!"

This is Will0 WZP, your own personal awareness organizer - and one of the sub-souls of the Scales of Meaning. It manifests in your vision as a version of yourself as you could be: dressed in the latest* fashions, with a swish watch, a modern* hairstyle, and a retro* sidearm. It's currently showcasing what your hair would look like reformatted into a towering beehive shape. It dominates your field of view, your hearing, even your sense of smell is overcome with its advertised perfume ([i]Megasoda Nightclub[/i]). 

"So let's start with the trading!" it buzzed peppily. "The Scales has placed a high stake in your conquest and subordination, but we don't need to deal in absolutes. Perhaps I can interest you in a timeshare arrangement? I could broker an arrangement where you sub for the Scales some of the time in exchange for a trial membership in the ad-lite premium package?"

[b]Yue![/b]

[i]like this[/i]

It's not a coherent thought that runs through you, and it's certainly not your own. It's a trigger of some sort of deep muscle memory - an instinct so deeply ingrained that it would hurt more to not follow it. A basic, wide horizontal slash that catches one of the rusted machines in its centreplate and knocks it over.

[i]then this[/i]

It's almost like falling. Not the glamourous high altitude falling with a view, but the tripped over your own feet and oh no I'm going down in front of everybody kind of falling. Your body barely keeps up with the impulse, stumbling forwards and putting your weight into the reverse sweep that strikes the second decrepit machine.

[i]ending like this[/i]

You're spinning, being spun. Situational awareness is an impossible concept and your feet have never felt more treasonous. [i]They[/i] don't know how to tell the difference between left and right - what use to feet have for language? You figured walking out as a child and didn't particularly need to revisit the concept. And now they're doing this totally unnatural thing and absolutely none of it feels right - other than the fact that by the end of it you're standing and they aren't. Even when you run you never move that quickly.

[i]again.[/i]

Just when you thought it was over. A radiant, platinum glow wraps around the heads of the machines and one by one they stagger back to their feet, held like puppets - just like you. They set their clubs into ready stances far more elegant than the ones they had before and then before you know it you're being shoved through the motions a second time.