Vyss wakes to the feeling of not knowing what time it is. What year? It feels like she's been gone multiple lifetimes, living slightly different versions of her real life. Whichever of them is her real life. She's not sure at the moment. She walks past Ashra in the reception and thanks her before going out the door and up the stairs to the still-busy street now illuminated by gas lamps.

She doesn't remember the walk and tram ride from Hypnagogia to her apartment in the Second Circle. It feels like she just woke up from another dream. Dreams within dreams within dreams. She gets her threadbare stuffed cat she's had since childhood. She hugs it to help her get a grip on reality. The cat is one of the few things she bothered getting from her parent's house after being kicked out.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Hi, Vyss,” says Inara. "I saw that the lights were on. How long since you got back from your travels?"

"I got back today. I was planning on coming by tomorrow after I've been paid. I want to treat you all to a nice dinner at Embers. I would really like you to stay for a cup of tea, but I haven't slept since yesterday and I'll make the biggest deal of my life tomorrow. I need to be sharp."

"I'll come back tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

"Oh, before I forget," says Inara, "I know you don't like surprises, so I'll tell you something. When Aldarin finds out you're back home, he'll organize a surprise homecoming party. He started planning it not long after you left. Just a heads up. But you'll have to act as if it's a surprise and you didn't know. He'd kill me if he'd find out I told you."

"I won't tell anyone. And you know I'm a great actress. I'm a natural at it."

"Sure. Just at least try to."

"I will try my best. I can't tell you everything, of course, but I have a shitload of stories from my journey to tell you tomorrow."

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Nice. See you tomorrow."

"Bye."

Vyss closes the door and gets the injector from her satchel and brings it with her to the bed. She sits cross-legged and looks for a usable vein in her arm. They are too damaged. She gets up from the bed and goes to the mirror and injects herself into a vein in her neck.

Tossing and turning, trying to sleep. Behind closed eyelids, blood pulsates from opened arteries. Severed limbs. The sounds echo in her mind. The sound of skulls being cracked, bones snapping like twigs. The crying of children with dead parents. Everyone couldn't have been evil. Some had only made the wrong decisions regarding the wrong people. Now, they were dead at her hands. All for the credits, the drug. The things she has done.

In the morning, she goes down the narrow street leading to the Main Street. There's a large puddle of blood. She hears groans and looks up and sees a man hanging in one leg from a street light. All his skin flayed off. His eyes gouged. Leaving open flesh and empty holes for the flies to feast and lay their eggs. His skinless yaw moves. The words hiss between his lipless teeth:

"Help, me."

This isn't the first time some gang has caught a rival and posed them as an example. It doesn't happen as often in the Second Circle as in the first, but it happens. She's led a life of violence, but these things still get to her. Death is one thing when quick and clean as when she's the one dealing it. But this is an expression of raw sadism. She no longer thinks about the breakfast she didn't have.

"Take me, to the House of Healing," the man whimpers. "I have the, credits, to pay you. Please help."

There's nothing the House of Healing can do for him but prolong his suffering for a short while. She won't say it to him. Those are not the last words she wants him to hear.

"Yes, I'll take you to the House of Healing," she says, "Just hang in there."

The ethical choice would be to shoot him immediately. But that would be considered murder despite being a mercy killing of an inevitably soon-to-be dead man. Not that the authorities would care much. But murder is one of the very few transgressions in City of Slaves' lackluster jurisdiction and is punishable with years in the Abyss. The gang that did this to him wouldn't like that either. They want him to suffer as much as possible. More problems for her to deal with regardless.

"Help me."

"I will, I will. I just need to get you down."

There are only two choices: kill him or leave him to suffer. She promised herself not to add any more senseless deaths to the list that never seems to end.

This death isn't senseless.

She draws her gun and shoots him in the head. The gunshot reverberates between the walls of the buildings. The man's brain matter splatters onto the two closest apartment windows. His thoughts and memories. All he ever was slowly slides down the glass panes. The hole in his forehead is big enough for her to put her thumb in it.