By now, death was starting to feel like an old friend. She welcomed it, almost, though not quite like how she'd welcomed it that last time, in the prisons. Then, it had felt right — a choice she had made similar to the one she'd made before, when she'd been much, much younger.

It's either her or me.

Tsukumo, Shiemi... Those wardens in the prison.

(She's quick to remind herself — then, even then, it was not sacrificial, for sacrifices were reserved for heroes and noble people. It was selfish, born from her festering guilt and aversion to debt. She would not have those people's lives in her hands.)

But this time was different. This time was too much like the first — pathetic and useless, weak and miserable. No battle, no purpose, just a sickness that no one saw coming, and an end that only made sense. It was punishment, perhaps, or another experiment gone wrong — these days, it was getting harder and harder to tell.

She had heard about the medicine. Everyone had, of course; but she had been one of the handful that were too weak to get one of her own. Even then, she would have refused. Medicine? From them? What good could it do, anyway. If the Yao Corporation wanted to keep them alive, then it seemed like the only sensible thing to do was die.

She tried to be happy with this one. She tried to convince herself that it was right. She owed these people nothing, certainly not her life, certainly not if it were for the purpose of furthering their depraved experiments. Or whatever this entire experience is supposed to be. She tried to remind herself that this is not where her goal lies, that her responsibilities are elsewhere, to another world, another set of scientists...

It hits her harder than it should have. Later than it should have.

Science. Science. People in lab coats, people in hospitals and exam tables and — experiments.

But they have her, they have her already — they wouldn't need... surely they wouldn't...

"Yao—"

Her voice is a mere croak in the silence of her empty room. She stares up at the ceiling overheard, close enough that she need only reach up to touch it, and she wishes now, now, that she had the strength to sit up and move.

She never cared before. She thought she had nothing to do with it. But perhaps it is in the delirium of her illness or in the haze of near-death — but now it was all starting to make sense, wasn't it? Why keep her here, for so long?

"Yao, answer me..!"

She had to know. She had to—