3   Zain

Zain was aware of two things immediately when she woke up. One was the complete lack of magic in the air around her, and the other was the sound of machines humming softly. As she regained a bit more of her consciousness, she could hear the faint murmur of voices somewhere close by over the noise of the machines. It was a general sort of noise that came from multiple people talking, accompanied by the soft sounds of shoes moving quickly or in a more measured pace across hard floors.

The sound was familiar once she listened a moment. A hospital? She was in a hospital?

Sluggish with the drugs running through her body and dulling her senses, Zain tried to open her eyes. They were blurry, the left one stuck shut, but her right hand was caught in something when she tried to raise it to rub whatever was obstructing her vision away.

An alarm started calling out, gentle for such a mechanical sound. Zain was having trouble putting her thoughts together, but it didn't take too long for her to figure out that it was probably in response to her movement.

It didn't stop her from tugging on her hand again and again, trying to get it free. If she just could get some magic from the atmosphere, she knew she could get it. But the air was too dry here, completely lacking even the smallest mystic particles.

It was wrong. She had … Hadn't she been sleeping? It had been her first thought, that she had been in hibernation, but if she had, why was there no magic? Had she not gone into hibernation? She tried to gather her thoughts, but they slipped away, eluding her and leaving her more confused.

The machine kept shrilling softly, a steady, flat tone that got progressively more annoying. Instinctively, Zain tried to hide herself from it, but only succeeded in setting off yet another of the machines. This one was louder, a demanding clarion call that immediately sparked a response outside.

Footsteps came running from multiple directions, then a door opened, and the noise all intensified by several degrees. It made Zain, who had been unconsciously heightening her hearing in order to hear it at all, dizzy, and so she missed the quick exchange of commands and movements of those who swiftly surrounded her bed.

Her right eye was becoming a little less fuzzy, allowing her to make out indistinct shapes above her. The commotion had died down a little and the smooth arch of a Regeneration shield came into slightly distorted but recognizable form above her. As she focused on it, she could sense some of the people who'd rushed in leaving.

Her left eye was still refusing to open, but now that she saw the regeneration arch above her, she had the feeling she knew why. What sort of implants had been put in her this time to replace flesh that wouldn't heal? She'd already had so many … it was quite funny considering she was supposed to be the most magical creature on this world. What was she, some sort of meta-magical cyborg? And how many cursed days would it take to reroute her magical circuits around whatever new piece of anti-magic they'd put in her this time? Was there any chance of ripping it out and healing the old-fashioned way after getting free of this technological prison?

Why was she still in the technological age? Something must have interrupted her intention to hibernate, but what had it been? There was nothing in her memory that she could find, and she was almost sure she had lain down to hibernate. But if she had, then did that mean that she was prematurely awakened?

Impossible.

Someone spoke in a soft, respectful way to someone near the door, which Zain's brain belatedly translated into something along the lines of: "She's fine; there's no abnormalities. The machines just triggered when she tried to move. She's coming conscious now."

Zain's eyelashes fluttered as her brow furrowed in yet more confusion. They weren't speaking the Free State's Eveklan. What language was that? Hiengayati? Jionvian? Trubian? Where was she? And how did she get out of the Free States? Her last memory had been near the Old Place, in the center of the western continent.

Memory kept failing her, although her brain was able to narrow the language down to what seemed to be a southern dialect of Jionvian. It sounded a bit more southern to her than northern, given the jays were a bit more of a "zon" than a "san" sound, and entirely unlike that of Eveklan's "jie".

Hmm. They might even be able to pronounce her name correctly. That would be … a nice change for once.

The people at the door had exchanged some more conversation and switched positions while she'd been distracted by the language. Currently, someone who sounded on the younger side of middle age was asking questions in a soft tone about how long she would be expected to stay. He was answered by a brisker female, who said it would depend on how well she responded to the regeneration therapy. Then she went on to assure him that he didn't need to worry; his ward was fine.

Zain's brow smoothed, then furrowed again. His ward—so, it wasn't her they were talking about? Then why were they in her room? Normally, it wasn't polite to discuss another patient's affairs in an unrelated person's room, was it? Or … was she not in a private room? Was she in a sort of general regeneration bay, where a whole bunch of lower-class patients were stored while in regeneration therapy? She'd seen those before, and that would make sense. Especially if she'd been picked up without any identification. That was more than likely. She often went without identification, since more than two-thirds of her regular identities were persons of interest or wanted by more than just a handful of governments or organizations. It had only been a week or so since she'd had to retire one of her favorite names, Zain Kayve, after the identity had gotten too dangerous to use.

Closing her right eye, she let out a soft breath, preparing to go back to sleep until her body had recovered a bit more. A moment later, she realized that the two people who had been talking were now standing beside her regeneration bed. Was the ward they had been talking about in the next bed over? It was annoying, like an itch on her skin, that they were standing so close. Opening her eye, she blinked to bring her vision into focus so that she could assess their risk level better than just by her other senses.

The face of a young man, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, met her gaze. He was looking down at her with a somewhat concerned wrinkle between his brows. His eyes were dark, a shade of brown that was almost black except for small reddish tints to it, and his hair was a light brown. His skin was pale though, making his eyes all the darker for it, and his face was the sort that most people would find was vaguely attractive and yet completely forgettable, with no real discerning characteristic.

Her own brow wrinkled as irritation sparkled in her eye. Why was he frowning down at her, when he should be projecting that concern to whomever his ward was? Besides, she had the feeling that the concern he was feeling wasn't towards anyone's well-being, but rather over something completely removed from that.

"You're finally awake," he said. "Are you feeling any pain?"

Zain stared at him, belatedly realizing that something was wrong with her assumptions. If he was talking to her …, was she supposed to be his ward? What ward? There was something seriously wrong with the situation.

Behind him and to the side stood the other person she had sensed—a tall woman dressed in the medical profession's seemingly universal scrubs. They were slightly different than what Zain was used to, but still unmistakable. "Sir, she only just awoke, and a traumatic experience like that can …," the woman said, one of her hands reaching out to almost, but not quite, touch the man's arm. Her tone was respectful, but full of warning at the same time.

Zain's eyes went to her, searching her face. The woman was blond and dark skinned, her face more oval than round with light green eyes. More importantly, there was no trace of a lie anywhere in her expression or body language.

Zain's lips were dry and her throat hoarse when she finally managed to part her lips and speak. "What experience?"

There was a definite reaction after that. The man and the nurse spoke as the nurse checked readouts, then summoned two more medical technicians and forced the man out of the room. More medical technicians came, and by this, Zain realized that there was some importance placed on her being here and being able to recover. A very professional trio of doctors came to examine the machines and their data, while asking her questions like what day or year it was, what was her birthdate, and what country it was, as well as her name.

She answered some, but not others. She had no clue what day it was, and just to be on the safe side, she didn't give a year either. If she had been sleeping for a while, that wouldn't be good to give out. Her birthdate … heh. Her name she gave as Zain, with no last name.

They took more readings, then wheeled her off to other rooms with more and larger machines to do even more exams. She saw some of her own scans as they looked them over and frowned slightly at the reminder of how much internal tech she had gotten over the years. There were some she didn't recognize, and those she assumed were what had been added this time.

They were certainly not stinting on her care, and she wondered again what the situation was. Normally, if she was being cared for like this, it was as one of her more prominent identities and Varden James, the head of the Watchers, was involved. But if he was involved, then he would have been one of the first people she would have seen after waking up, and there would be none of these bothersome questions. If she really didn't have an identity here, then why were they spending so much money on her care? They should have housed her in the common levels, and they wouldn't be treating her so carefully.

Watching carefully and letting her other senses read the medical technicians and doctors around her, she understood a few things by the time she was being wheeled back to her room. One, they were all either genuinely and greatly upset and concerned over her situation, or somewhat confused themselves. The degree of that varied according to rank, with the doctors and the three nurses that had been the first to respond being the most upset and the individual technicians responsible for this or that exam machine being the least upset. A question posed to one of the nurses got a look of heartbreak and sympathy before the woman shook her head and told her that it was a question best posed to "Mr. Aden". That, she found out, was the man she had first seen over her bed.

Now that she was considering it in this light, it seemed like he was suspiciously close to being a law-enforcement officer, and she the person of interest in a large-scale crime or calamity. Was that why she was referred to as his "ward"? If they took her as underage and she was presumed a survivor or victim, that would make sense.

The thing that didn't fit that theory was that this was not an ordinary health-care facility. According to her experience, this was a high-class facility—which meant expensive. You didn't get expensive on a government law-enforcement budget, no matter what nation or continent it was. Perhaps on a private law-enforcement budget, but she didn't like the idea of being in the care of a private organization other than that of the Watchers. Neither government nor private was good, but governments were more likely to be bound by money. Private organizations could be honest, thus harder to manipulate.

Those concerns were put temporarily to the back of her mind as they rounded a corner and approached the room she'd woken up in. The man she'd first seen, Mr. Aden, was standing outside the door talking to one of the nurses and a doctor that seemed to be higher in rank than the three who had come in to check her first. There were also two other men standing a little distance away observing things, something in their stances telling her they were connected to Mr. Aden rather than the hospital.

They were both dangerous according to Zain's senses. The first was a tall man, a bit older than Mr. Aden, with a muscled build and broad shoulders clearly outlined by the clothes he was wearing. The clothes were casual, and he was leaning up against the wall with his hands tucked lightly into his pockets, but his boots were military grade, and his eyes were those of someone who knew the scent of bloodshed. There were tints of red in his dark hair, and his eyes gleamed like obsidian in his stern face. Like most of the people she'd seen, his skin was darker than her own tanned umber.

The second man was smaller, four or five inches shorter than the 5'8" that seemed to be the average here. It made him look petite, and the neater and somewhat sedentary looking clothes he wore didn't toughen his image any, as did his cleanly fine-featured face. Wire-rimmed glasses shielded his eyes from view, and his black hair was combed neatly off his forehead. Everything about him should have said that he was less dangerous than the muscled man, but Zain's senses were telling her that there was a thread of savagery running through his core that made him unpredictable even for her. The faint-lineage were always so unpredictable.

Zain's lashes drooped a little as she sized them up warily. She didn't like them being close when she was in such a weak state. There still wasn't any magic in the air, and her soul felt tight and trapped because of it.

Where was Varden James? He should have known immediately once something happened involving her, and if he knew, then what on this world would stop him? Unless something had happened, something drastic, while she had been unavailable?

Her heart itched to find out what the Watchers' situation was, but she restrained it with some effort as the doctor and Mr. Aden set aside their conversation at the approach of the bevy of medical personnel directing her. The young man stepped forwards. "What is the status?"

Air shifted behind Zain as someone moved, probably shaking their head since the words that followed were: "There's no physical damage. It is most likely due to the psychological shock and trauma of what she went through that her memories are blocked."

Zain's eyelashes fluttered slightly as she shuttered her one working eye. Psychological shock blocking memories? She doubted that but couldn't help but admit that she couldn't remember all that she should be able to. It was probably just a side effect of her being damaged and not having magic to restore her core with. Once she got out of the hospital and could access some of the more intact wild spaces where magic still lingered, she would be all right.

It wasn't that unusual for some side-effects to be felt even in her body. After all, she was tied to a season she was no longer in, dependent on the magic that was even now fading to sleep. Like a flower stubbornly growing past the frost, she should have been asleep long before this. The age of mystical power was changing to that of steam, electronics, and gas—all the other means that were easier for the untutored to use and didn't require a bloodline.

Hatred and contempt rose in her throat, and she had to shutter her eyes to hide the emotions that were burning there. It took more strength than she'd expected, drawing more of her attention than it should have. When something brushed against her arm, she reacted without thinking. Her eyes flew open, blazing with savagery and threat, as her arm and body moved in seconds. Pain tore through her as her hand slapped the offending presence away and her body twisted to throw itself aside, leaping for distance. The movement was halted prematurely as she came up against the regeneration arch, rocking the bed dangerously and causing cries of surprise and alarm to sound as the people around her jumped to prevent it from toppling.

A moment later, she regained control of herself under the tearing pain, closing her eyes to draw a breath. When she opened them again, the man who had touched her arm had also regained control of himself, but his collected expression now couldn't erase the expression that had been on his face in the instant she'd reacted.

"Don—Don't touch me," Zain said, her voice stuttering as her emotions threatened to break free once again. She wouldn't apologize.

The man, Aden, would, bringing his hands up in a way that said he was not going to touch her again. "I apologize," he said shortly, but with a genuine tint to the words that said he meant it. "I didn't mean to startle you, and I should have realized it would."

She didn't say anything, only watched him for a moment before being somewhat distracted by a nurse's low murmurs and proffered hand, as the woman tried to adjust her position to something more secure on the bed without scaring her. Zain realized she was more anxious than she'd thought previously, because it took a moment before she could force herself to accept the words and motions and move herself back to the center of the bed. Doing so revealed blood seeping beneath a torn bandage on her shoulder, and that sparked another round of checks and doctor's careful sheathed wands as the used bandages were eaten away, skin was reattached, and fresh bandages were formed by a disposable cloud of nanites. She was wheeled quickly into her room for most of that, the man Aden and his two companions left outside.

It was only after the medical staff were completely convinced that she was back to her former state that the man was allowed back in. This time, one of the medical staff—the woman who had been there when she'd first woken up, with the green eyes—remained right by Zain's shoulder, her bearing saying that if anything like that was to happen again, the man might find himself barred from the room entirely.

The man, Aden, remained a careful distance away. This time, it was Zain who spoke first. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice a bit rougher and lower in pitch than she remembered it being.

"I am Specialist Satori Aden," he replied, watching her for any reaction. "Of the Jionvian Cadrea'."

Jionvian? She was in Jionvian? That was on the other side of the world, practically, from the Free States. A little patch of nothing along the cold coastline, a tiny remainder of a once glorious empire now reduced to a handful of fishing towns and a crumbling relic of a city.

"Ji … onvian?" she asked slowly.

He nodded, still watching her. "Yes."

"Why am I in Jionvian?" she asked, watching for his reaction just as he was watching for hers.

He shook his head though. "We were hoping that you could tell us that." Looking straight at her, he asked, "What do you last remember? Where were you?"

Her gaze fell as she looked at her body under the hospital blanket, forehead unconsciously tightening. Where she'd been last ….

Images of fire and darkness abruptly invaded her mind, making her flinch backwards despite herself. She could see hardwood, polished and now gleaming wetly with the scent of blood, and blacktop with scattered, burning pieces of twisted metal. A shape, screaming into her mind as it burned, as she struggled to rise and save it.

A voice called her out of the fire, repeating her name, and she blinked to find she was still in the well-lit room under the regeneration arch. The taste of blood was still in her mouth, and she could still smell the smoke and burning blood, but the fire was gone from her sight.

"Zaine," Aden called, his accent giving her name a bit of a softer trail than normal. "I know it's probably not something that you want to tell me about, but I need to know. What did you remember?"

Zain looked at him, debating for a long moment before opening her mouth to answer. Maybe, she could use his investigation. Just until Varden James found her. "There was fire. Fire in the darkness. I think … I think it might have been a crash … or a bomb."

It wasn't what he expected, but he hid it well. "Do you know where?" he probed cautiously.

She thought, then shook her head. "It was on a road. I could see the blacktop. The metal was scattered on top of it, as they burned. But I couldn't see anything else." Just the shape, screaming into her mind as it burned.

He seemed to catch the fact that she wasn't telling him everything, but for some reason, didn't press further. There were a few more questions, but Zain was beginning to feel the wear on her body and depleted reserves. The nurse standing by her put her hand out to draw the conversation to a close, and Aden nodded. But before he left, he pulled something out of his pocket and extended it to Zain.

"One last thing before I go," he told her. "Do you recognize this?"

Zain didn't need to take it from him to recognize it, and her brow furrowed in unconscious distaste. There really wasn't any way to mistake the red and gold card, and it was like one more sign that she was in the technological age rather than the mystical. The card and the game it represented was invasive, found in both the wealthiest of nations and the poorest. If there was a halfway stable connection, there also would be the cards, the VR helmets, and the pods. There was talk that the FIVR game and system—said to be like going to another world in physical form—was a way to equalize the classes and nations, to reinvent society in a place where there was no true death, but she didn't see it that way.

Satori Aden extended the card, but she didn't reach out her hand to take it. "That's a Boundaries card. I don't play."

He withdrew the card and turned it over in his hand contemplatively as he watched her. The silence lasted a moment, then he seemed to conclude his thoughts and tucked the card back into his pocket. "Rest well, Zaine. I'll come back to check in on you later. And be assured, you are safe here."

The look in his eyes when he said that was serious, making Zain's eyes darken a little in thought. It seemed he really was treating her as a survivor or victim of something horrendous. She needed to figure out what happened.

The nurse left soon after Satori Aden did and without anyone there to disturb her, Zain let herself drift off to sleep. She didn't sleep deeply, rousing almost to full wakefulness a handful of times as medical staff came in to adjust something or check the machines. Most of the time it was the same green-eyed nurse that she'd met before, and the slight familiarity made it so that Zain's senses didn't go on high alert each time.

Then she woke to silence, a complete and utter silence that she knew was unnatural. Her eyes opened to darkness, lit just enough for her to make out the forms of the regeneration arch above her and the lines of the ceiling. As a test, she raised her free hand and snapped her fingers, but heard no sound resulting. Dream-walking, then? But why here?

Moving, she found herself outside the room in the hallway. Her feet were bare, and she could feel the coolness of the floor tiles on her soles. Looking down, she checked what she was wearing. Good, a pair of comfortable and familiar cargo pants and sleeveless top, not a breezy hospital gown. Sometimes, dream-walking could take things quite literal, and it was a pain to force it to change.

There wasn't any sign of what had called her out here. Since it was the location of her physical body, it was probably in the same general time, but it could also be something from the past. Listening with her senses, she got the sense of noise from down the hall to the right, so she followed it until she found a waiting or sitting area, complete with a small kitchen and drink area. Two men occupied it, both in plain clothes with weapons discretely carried in the small of their backs or under their arms below their jackets. More specialists from the Jionvian Cadrea'? Placed there to watch over her or protect her from something? Or some other reason?

One of them was getting coffee, the drink that never seemed to go out of favor no matter if it was a mystical age or a technological one. The other sat in a chair, one that overlooked a good portion of the hall including the door to her room. It probably wasn't a coincidence.

Zain hesitated, then walked over to the seated man. He probably didn't have enough lineage to hear her, but … "Why are you waiting here?"

He didn't move or show any sign that he had heard her in any way. Annoyed, she blew out a breath and went over to the other man, who was just turning around with his cup of caffeinated beverage. "Why are you waiting here?"

The man twitched, glancing around with narrowed eyes, but saw nothing. His companion saw it and arched an eyebrow, to which the man shook his head. "Just listening to the quiet for too long. Starting to think I heard something that's not there."

His companion frowned, then pressed two fingers to his temple to bring up a faintly glowing haze over one eye. Implanted cranial communication? Zain's eyes narrowed. If these men were as disciplined as they seemed to be, and if things were as she thought they were, he was probably in communication with another team located somewhere else in the facility.

Her guess seemed to be proven when he lowered his hand a moment or two later and said, "The others say it's all clear on their ends. Drink your coffee and stop falling asleep standing up."

"I'm not falling asleep," the other complained, taking a sip of his beverage.

Zain turned away, not interested in their banter or bickering. Where was Satori Aden?

The surroundings flowed in response, bringing her to a small coffee-shop where the twenty-something man was sitting at a small table, a cup of cold coffee sitting ignored as he turned a Boundaries card over in his fingers. Now that it was closer to her, she could see it more clearly, and her eyes narrowed as she saw the number embossed on the bottom left corner. 0026?

As she watched, a small golden-haired, fair-skinned man in a neat, plain apron came over to the table, annoyance not quite covering concern on his face. "Why is that card bothering you so much?" he asked, his words not coming to Zain as sound so much as a knowing of what was being said.

"I just can't figure out why it is important," Satori responded, letting the card fall and sitting back. "Maybe it's not. Maybe I'm just overthinking it."

With an arched eyebrow, the server gestured at the card, and Satori nodded with a feel-free gesture of his own. The server picked it up and turned it over once as his eyebrows raised in surprise. "This … this isn't an actual first-gen card, is it? I can't imagine you having it out in public if it was. Counterfeit?"

Satori nodded, raking a hand back through his already tousled hair. "That's what we're thinking. Look at the number. There were only ever 25 single or double-digit cards ever made. The next numbers started in the hundreds. We checked with the company. Apparently, the first numbers were issued to the alpha testers during development, and Visual Inc. has regained ownership of all but a handful of first-gen cards. The rest are in private or public collections due to being worth hundreds of billions standardized and are all legitimized by the company. There was no 0026 card ever issued."

The blond laughed at that, and Satori gave him an irritated look. In response, the blond shook his head and smiled wryly. "That's because there was a 26th Alpha tester off the record. Or at least, there was if you believe gamers' legends. Even if that card is counterfeit, there are plenty of gamers out there willing to shell out plenty of cash for a chance to own it."

Seeing Satori looked interested, the server continued. "There are a couple different versions. Basically, it boils down to a story that Visual collected 25 people for the Alpha tests. But when they got into the game, they found there was an extra person, somebody who was inhuman in their gaming abilities. Some people say it was a developer, some a hacker, and some an internet specter. You know how confidential Visual keeps the Alpha-test records even now, so there's a lot of conspiracies floating around about it. A lot of the stories even say that whomever—or whatever—Alpha tester 26 was, they stayed in the game, and some say that they even became the World Emperor. So that's how the legend of 0026 goes in basic form."

Satori looked skeptical at that. "I thought that the World Emperor was an AI. Now it's a hacker or internet specter? Not even mentioning the time problem there."

The server shrugged. "I'm not saying it's true. I'm just saying that's the legend. Have you tried it out, by any chance?"

Satori shook his head, pushed his chair back and stood, then took the card back from the server. The blond followed him as he headed towards the door. "Hey, I'm not saying you have to, but you really should try it out if you haven't already got one."

Satori shook his head again. "I don't play games. But thanks," he said, lifting the card in a little wave as he opened the door with the other hand.

"Try it out!" the server called after him before the door closed and Satori walked away, tucking the card into a pocket. Across from the coffee shop was a gaming store featuring a broad banner advertising Boundaries, prominent among posters advertising other games. Satori looked at it for a moment, then shook his head and muttered something before walking away, almost colliding with a young red-headed teen in his distraction.

The boy gave him a rude gesture, but Zain wasn't paying attention to Satori anymore. Instead, she was staring at the banner. It showed an ageless man with features so perfect they almost weren't human anymore, but since his frosted-gold eyes were barely human anyway, it didn't really matter. His skin was pale, a creamy white, and his hair and even eyebrows were the color of frost, lending even more mystical inhumanity to his appearance. Over his forehead was a crown that looked like it was made of frost, snow crystals, and stars, intricate and regal. He lounged on a throne made of black marble, garbed in rich robes that accented his own appearance, and his chin was propped on one hand as he stared out of the picture with a faint trace of amusement on his lips and at the corner of his eyes.

The World Emperor, Visual Inc.'s old virtual poster boy. Zain stared at him for a while, then turned away. In the way of dream-walking, she found herself inside the gaming shop anyway. A bit irritated, she nonetheless looked around. The front was a small shop selling supplies and game hardware. There was also a small café-like area with a few tables and some dispensers with both drinks and snacks. Behind that was a much longer and wider space filled with gaming stations. A corridor reaching farther into the building hinted at even more space or rooms, but Zain turned her attention to the desk in its central location and the lone woman who manned it.

It would probably be more appropriate to call her a girl. She had dark brown hair and a face that could be called pretty if not for the coldly hostile aura around her, the sort deliberately cultivated to drive people away. Her eyes were dark, mostly empty save the occasional glimmer of contempt at something or sharp irritation tinged with anger. She wasn't someone whom people probably liked or got along with very much, but Zain could feel the shriveled bud of Savagery inside her and knew her to be one of her own. It wasn't surprising that she would feel detached and angry at the world for not conforming to what she expected it to be. She, like Zain herself, was something built for a different era, meant for something that lived by different rules than orderly civilization. It was hard being among strangers when everything else said they should be friends or family.

Stepping over, Zain looked over the girl's shoulders and found she was browsing a site devoted to Boundaries lore. Moreover, the background she'd selected was the same banner photo as was hanging outside. "Why do you like that photo so much?" she asked, a bit angry at one of her kind doing such.

"Because I do, that's why," the girl snapped, looking at the picture in question and getting a slightly wistful tinge to her eyes. "He's cool, and strong, and does what he wants." "And I want people who like me for it so I'm not alone, just like they did him," her heart's voice whispered to Zain.

Zain paused. It was a lie to her, but to the girl, it was truth. At one point, she would have crushed the lie to force the girl to see the truth, but now, she hesitated. Having something to believe in … was nice. What if it was the only thing the girl had to believe in? "Is that why you like Boundaries?" she asked, probing for more information.

"Of course. There, I can be alive, and it feels like I can be who I was supposed to be," the girl answered readily.

"You can't be that anywhere else?"

The girl suddenly went sharp with anger. "So what if it is the only place!" she snapped.

It was probably louder than it should have been, and it caught the attention of two people passing by. No, they had already noticed the girl's seemingly one-sided conversation, Zain realized. This outburst just gave them the proof that the girl had been talking to herself.

The two gave the girl looks that said there was something wrong with her, and she went sharp and still at the same time because of it, her eyes hostile enough that the flush rising to her ears probably went unnoticed.

Zain was angry too. "Bugger off," she hissed at them, letting her own savagery and the malice that tainted it seep out into her voice and cause them to shiver. Even those who didn't have any savagery would be able to sense that and their orderly hearts would be suddenly stricken by the need to flee or fight. The shadows around where she was standing darkened, stealing the illumination and depth from the artificial lights above, and the two people almost bolted from the corridor into the main gaming rooms.

The girl at the front desk turned away, bending once again to the papers she'd been organizing, but Zain could almost feel her humming with her repressed emotions. Opening her mouth, she was about to say something to ease the tangle within her, but before the words could even form in her mind, a sense of danger drew her attention back to her physical form.

Eyes that had been closed cracked open, a silver gleam showing beneath them. The hospital room was dark, but not enough to hide the figure standing by the medical station to her sight. The man was garbed like a medical technician, the same as any other, but her senses wouldn't be sending a chill over her skin for no reason. Then she realized that there was a chill inside her skin and veins that wasn't just her senses. There was something in her veins that shouldn't be there, and he was the obvious culprit. Thought of the guards farther down the corridor crossed her mind; was this why they had been posted?

The bed was still restraining her movements as she tried to quietly draw herself to a position she could attack from. Being tied down by it sparked rage in such a situation, and a faint snarl escaped her. The man turned towards her, surprise on his face that she was awake. Before he could do anything more, she smashed at the bed and regen-arch to force herself free. The last bit of power in her mixed with adrenaline, and metal screeched as it was forced apart.

The man's eyes flickered, but his lack of concern towards her or towards the now screaming machines, and his lack of a cry for assistance, proved that he was not what he had been pretending to be. There was noise from down the hall as Zain smashed at her restraints again, feeling metal bite deep into her flesh and draw the wet warmth of blood as she did so. The man took a step back, then resolve steeled in his eyes and he moved for her, one hand dipping into a pocket. The exact shape didn't register as he swung an object at her; she only reacted to the threat his action represented. Dodging sent blood flying from where her flesh had been torn by her efforts to get loose, and her body reacted sluggishly and slow. It was enough, and his extended arm was caught as she reflexively turned into the man's body with an elbow. It struck into his torso—breath huffed out of him in pain as he grabbed at her, but his action brought his arm too close to her mouth. She bit instinctively, eyes shining ferally as she went for blood and bone, and the first sound escaped the man in surprised pain at her ferocity.

He grabbed for her face, trying to tear her away. Then light flooded the room as the door flew open. Shouts filled the air in indistinct command and fierceness; the man tore her teeth free from his arm and she fell, tumbling from the bed as her last sparks of power were used up, her core going empty. Immediately, the sharp puffs of air that one part of her brain tagged as either tranquilizer darts or some sort of silencing mechanism sounded, and the body of the man fell to the floor beside her.

Zain stared at him for a moment before realizing that her body felt too cold. That foreign chill in her veins had only spread during the struggle, joined by the too-familiar numbness of blood loss. She only had a moment to look towards the others in the room, searching for something, before darkness flooded in and she was lost.