[color=FFBF00][i]“...57104 you are currently not restricted in mobility or ability. I hope you have a pleasant day.”[/i][/color]

[color=00ff33]"Thank you, Holiday,"[/color] Yevpraksiya replied calmly, with just a trace of accent, as her prosthetic arm and eye ran through their morning diagnostic check.

The eye was the easiest of the two, mostly different colors and the eye focusing in such incredible detail of the poster of old Earth she had hanging over the bed, locking onto the boot-shaped bit that used to be Italy, partially obscured by whisps of white cloud. Venice was still on this picture, if impossibly small to see. 

Her arm, however, was still plugged in - she never took it off to sleep. It wouldn't move by itself either, going into hibernation as she laid on it, curled on her side. It wasn't that it was difficult to remove, it was ridiculously easy to take off. It was the artificial nerves in the prosthetic, currently hard at work as they flexed and twisted artificial muscle while impulses of partially screened pain, cold, heat, and pressure flowed through the arm. Unlike most with their arms, plugging hers in was like a shock to her system, making her scream and pass out for hours.

Her right eye flashed a message straight to her optic nerve - both diagnostics were complete.

With a sigh, she rolled to her right, facing the large wall display - and her orange bioplas coveralls, hanging from the charging hook. She only had the one, but then it could mend and even clean itself, so why would she ever need another? But Holiday had a few of the bioplas suits in giant plastic egg containers, living off a battery until they were needed.

Yev reached out with her prosthetic arm to snag her cup, and held it under the water tap while she pressed the cold button. Some of it splashed onto the floor grate under it, going who knew where? Reluctantly she sat up, planting her feet as a tray extended from the wall, filled with various pills. Mood enhancers, pain and allergy pills, anti-psychotics, dozens she couldn't recognized. If she didn't take something, Holiday would know. So she grabbed a few at random, slipped her water, then poured it out. As she stood up, the bed curled up into a futon couch, giving her some usable space. 

Before leaving her room, Yev glanced behind her at the angled ceiling and its picture of Earth and signed once more. Her only chance at getting back to Earth while she was still young was to be released on good behavior.

The potted plant next to the cafeteria door got its daily dose from her drug drawer. If it was observed, Holiday had never mentioned it.

The last of Yev's apple cider bread was gone, the drones cleaning up the last crumbs. She'll have to make more later in one of the kitchenettes. She nodded at the few people there, then grabbed a bowl of oatmeal, a biodegradable spoon, a tub of grape jelly, and a cup of Yorkshire tea, then sought out a table to sit at while she ate her breakfast.