18

You throw off your helmet, panting. Sweat beads on your forehead as you feel your right arm with your left, expecting to find there only ruined flesh, your fingers wet with blood. But there's nothing. Of course there's nothing.

You turn to Doug. "Wait, what happened to the feeder?" you ask. "Why did the connection end?"

Doug shrugs. "It's business, darling," he says. "You have to plug in for the next round to find out." Doug pauses. "Also, this is live, so this kind of experience is time sensitive, as I'm sure you understand. So you have to decide quickly."

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