I breathe out, letting gray smoke drift out beyond the railing, letting my pain leave my body with it. I take another drag, letting the roll burn down until it singes my fingers. The remnants vanish, flicked into the water below. You know, that's going to make that water just a little less drinkable, Mara's whole trench just a little less habitable. That deserves a celebration.

I grab another from my pocket, light it, and take another long drag.

People give me a disgusted side eye as they pass, and to be fair I am covered in mostly someone else's blood. That, mixed with what I just did? Of course they're angry and scared. I let out another breath, and the smoke takes that line of thinking with it.

I let my vice burn down before flicking it into the void again.

That deserves another, but I need to clean myself before I give Vince his food.

I push myself away from the railing and hobble towards my room. I've developed a limp. Whether that's from my hip getting worse, or from the hits I took during my execution, I'm not sure. All I know is that it's bad enough to start to overwhelm my pain limiter. I need to put everything in a splint, but I can't risk being seen as weak.

I strip off my clothes and put on a clean set, ignoring the darkening bruises across my body. I don't have time to get the blood out of my hair or off my face, and there's no point in trying to hide it. Vince will know.

I step back outside, brushing my matted hair out of my eye, and head towards the canteen.

Most people scurry out of my way, and it's trivial to figure out which of the remaining people are thinking about fighting. I stare them down as I pass. They know what happened, and if they want to join him, they're more than welcome to.

Outside the canteen is a large courtyard, and in the center lies a horrifying sight nobody has even attempted to clean up yet. I keep my eyes off it, I already know every detail, I don't need to remind myself of it.

The canteen is surprisingly empty, probably on account of the gore spread about just outside.

The chef lays out two trays of slop, and spits into both.

Fucking great, not Vince's too. I grab a spoon, move the impact site from Vince's tray to my own, and replace it with an equally sized clean portion. Neither of us can waste the calories, but he shouldn't have to deal with my problems.

I carry both trays down a far too familiar route. I even walk it in my nightmares, and I'm sure I will for years. Assuming we live that long.

The door to the prison opens, and I step inside. A small section of Vince's door slides open, and I place his food inside.

"Ivy." He's… Fuck. We'll meld soon, that will help.

Ok. Not mine. I signal to him as the door slides shut.

I slide down the door, drops of water landing on the cold ground. Is that me? I reach up to my organic eye, and my finger comes away wet. Huh, I didn't even know I could still cry. Thought it was just another part of my body I ruined.

I flip over into a sitting position, grab my legs, and bury my face in my knees. I hate this. I hate all of this. I- I need another puff, I need to relax, to let the world melt away. I reach with a shaking hand for my pocket.

No, no fuck these things! I'm better than that. Take a deep breath. Focus. Your food. Take a bite. Ignore everything, just chew. Swallow. There, now do that again, another bite. I make an order, and watch my body follow through. I don't taste it, I don't smell it, I don't do anything. I don't even have to think. I just make the orders. I can do that.

The food on my plate slowly disappears. Good, that's a few calories. Stand up, I need to be anywhere else. Take a step, that's it. Move.

I watch it take steps, watch the door to this room open. I watch the body move up the stairs, someone else's body. Not mine. Not my pain.

The door to my room opens, and I stare at the ceiling. Don't forget to breathe. Just lay. Don't move.

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Someone knocks on the door.

Don't answer. It's not Mara. I don't care. Take another breath.

A few seconds pass before they try knocking again.

Surprise, I still don't care.

Whoever's on the other side doesn't bother trying a third time.

I need to think. I can't stay here all day. What do I need to be doing? I need to take care of myself. If I die, or I'm useless to Mara, things get so much worse for Vince. Turn off the pain dampener, and take stock of this body's injuries.

Chipped hip bone, is that quickly fixable? No. Lots of pain in my left leg from hits and a bandaged, shallow knife slash. I should get that disinfected at least. My left knee got hit hard, causing me to limp. Focus, what's wrong with it? Just a hyperextension? Dislocation? Or is something more serious wrong? I'm not sure. I just need to splint the entire left half of my body, with some kind of quick release mechanism so I can still fight. That's doable. That will help.

Four ribs are injured, but I've already taken care of them the best I can. Fabric has been tightly wrapped around my chest, keeping pressure on everything, and keeping it from shifting. It's the best I can do.

Spine still hurts, but it's just a bruise. Nothing to do.

More bruises and cuts are spread across my body. My arms took the worst of it, desperate clawing shredded my sleeves, and left my arms bloody. It looks worse than it is, but I should disinfect and replace the bandages.

I should take care of my skin and hair too. I need a bath, but the closest I can get here is a cold shower.

Medical supplies first, then shower, finish at the workshop to make a brace. That's a plan. How much money do I have? Check. Not a ton after buying my relief, but enough. Don't forget a towel.

Re-enable the pain dampener. Stand up. Open the door. Whoever was out here is gone. I order myself to go to the nearest nearest shop, and try to keep my mind blank as I stay along for the ride.

Step inside, walk through the isles. Grab what I need, let my eye do that math as I pick things up.

"You're not welcome here." The man behind the counter growels.

I don't care, keep shopping. Bandages, disinfectant, sewing supplies are a good choice too.

"You deaf as well? Get the fuck out!"

Fine. I can't fight right now. Pull out wallet, flash the money at the man, and leave it where I am. No need to go near him. No need to take that risk.

Supplies in pocket, leave. The nearest bathroom isn't far, head there.

Claim a stall. Strip. Turn on the water. Step in. The freezing water runs red and burns the wounds. Not my problem, not my pain.

I wait, letting my body take the lead. She's done this enough, there's no need to make orders. Just wait while my bloody arms turn to raw skin with burning red lines crossing it. Wait for my hair to turn from a rusty brown to its wonderful black, only interrupted by gray strands I can't hide.

Turn off the water once all the blood is gone, or at least all that isn't mine. Dry yourself off, completely.

I need to do this myself. I can't just order myself to heal myself, there's too high a risk one of us makes a mistake.

Focus. I start by inspecting every single injury, letting my visual co-processors churn through the data. A few pieces of detritus have gotten lodged in the wounds, but it's possible, if painful, to remove them with my nails.

Once clean, I slather a thin layer of disinfectant over everything, quickly sew up the deeper wounds, and tightly wrap clean bandages over every injury. The majority of my arms end up wrapped, and a fair few spots on my legs and torso do too.

That's good. The canister in my chest does have a section of it dedicated to antibiotics that I've been dripping into my bloodstream to make sure my hip doesn't get infected, but it's far from unlimited. I'll need to use more to ensure nothing else gets infected.

I clothe myself and step out of the stall, only to stop when my eye catches myself in the mirror. I step forward and rest my hands on the sink, taking a deep look.

I look awful. I didn't even realize I took a hit to my face. When I touch it, I barely even feel anything. Nothing to be done about that, I push myself off and limp out of the bathroom.

It's finally time for the workshop. On the way over I start working on a design, displaying the blueprints on my eye.

I'm not great at this kind of thing, but it just has to work until Cassie, Blue, and Corax get here, not forever.

My idea is a metal bar running down my side, with hinges built in at my knee and hip. From there, I install some kind of lever to lock the hinges straight, allowing me to switch between a brace and free movement with a single flick of a lever. That should be doable. Or rather, the plans seem doable. If I actually have the skill to make it still remains to be seen. I don't have a great track record of working on Cassie's legs.

Only one way to figure that out.

Being clean has done nothing to stop from getting glares from everyone I pass. It's not my fault what happened, I didn't make the order. I'm not the one they should be mad at. But no, can't get angry at the boss and risk making her angry. I've shown pretty clearly what happens if they do.

I let myself into the workshop. It's packed, thirty people fighting for space across twelve tables.

I'm not actually sure how this place works. I'm sure I have to pay somehow to use this place, but who cares?

I collect a small collection of tools and scrap, and claim a corner of one of the tables.

Now, where do I even start?

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