Roaki spent the entire trip clutching onto the wheelchair’s armrest with her one hand, stiff and with her eyes wide, too surprised to even speak. People parted the walkways like they were a runaway horse, and she might have cherished their dumb, baffled faces if she didn’t look just like them. The whole way her mind raced for answers and found only more questions, until somehow between blinks she found herself being lowered into one of the sim pods. 

The sensation of her plugs connecting to the seat sent nostalgic shudders down her spine. She hadn’t dared hope she’d feel that again. She hadn’t dared hope for anything—that wasn’t the privilege of worms.

But here she lay. 

Quinnlash was gone before she could ask her what the hell all this was. But…did she want to know? It could have been a trap, or that stupid commander taking pity on her. Maybe once she booted herself in, the system would fry her and that’d be it; no wasting time rotting in a Casobani cell waiting to be paraded around like a trophy, no nonsense trial, no being ripped into however many pieces they wanted to pass her around as. Was that mercy?

[i][color=ec008c]Fine,[/color][/i] she thought. [color=ec008c][i]Kill me, then.[/i][/color]

The pod sealed around her, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. 

She was almost disappointed when she didn’t die. At least then things would have made sense.

Roaki hadn’t done many sims in her brief career as a pilot. Her first duel was also her first day in [i]Blotklau[/i]’s cockpit, and despite House Tormont having access to state-of-the-art equipment, she was obviously not allowed anywhere near it. What she’d run were closer to bootleg VR games than military sims, with low visual fidelity and janky tactile feedback—things which had been described to her, which she didn’t understand, but the thing had looked and felt like shit. [i]This[/i] was much different.

The world unfurled around her like a topographical map of a place she’d never seen. Woodlands stretched out beneath her, miles upon miles of crisp greens and autumn warmth. A wide river cut the land in two, and ran rapid from a high plateau misted by the cascading waterfall at its face. Mountains ringed the distance, a marriage of natural and digital boundaries, but more sprung up along the raised earth, ranges of five and six with flat tops trailing into jagged heads.  

The sun shown above her, so much more real than the dull light that leaked between the blinds of her room. Wind touched her. Roaki had been told that Saviors were dulled to physical sensations, and that the only thing that really reached the pilot was pain. But on her first day and every day after, she swore she could feel the wind kiss her modium skin, and touch the rain inside the lowest clouds, and sweat beneath a high noon sun as sure as she would in her own self.

Some vast distance across from her, [i]Ablaze[/i] took shape. Small but potent panic shot through her, and she stared death at the other Savior.

The [i]other[/i] savior.

She realized then she was in [i]Blotklau[/i]. It wasn’t…exactly right; she could tell certain details were off, but that was how it went with recreations, right? It was still undeniably the same Savior. She closed her fists tight, felt sharp claws dig into her palms. Life hissed through her razor maw. A comms channel was already open, populated by an administrator, herself, and [i]Quinnlash Loughvein[/i]. [i]Blotklau[/i]’s teeth grated together. She was still waiting for the other shoe to come crashing down.

“[color=ec008c]What is this, deadgirl?[/color]”