“Well, aren’t I lucky,” Misery drawls.

Dr. Sower laughs. “Don’t be surprised when you step outside.”

“Something I should be looking out for?”

“Information,” says the doctor. “Just information everywhere you look. It’s normal for us, but it might take you a while to get used to. Don’t worry. You’ll adapt. Most late adopters do.”

“Most,” Misery says.

“There are outliers. But I don’t think you’re one of them. After all, you’re supposedly chosen, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, but knows from the pull of her muscles that it looks more like a grimace. Of course she’s chosen; blessed by the Larex Forge and all, she’s not on the verge of descending into voidmadness or anything.

“Good luck out there,” says Dr. Sower. She means it sincerely, Misery can see that on her face, but under the circumstances it comes across as a threat. She thanks the doctor anyway. It’s the least she can do.

At least she gets her mother’s amulet back.

The moment Misery steps out of the medical center, the doctor’s words hit like an avalanche. The ground tilts as Misery’s senses are overwhelmed, and by instinct her palm finds a bulkhead, as though that one point of contact might save her from being swept away.

The doctor was right. Data sprawls everywhere in wild constellations. Hitherto-blank walls are revealed to be mats of text and graphics, populated by marching lines of newsfeed, wave clips, and monitored views of the station exterior. Stat boxes pop up over passing soldiers: name, pronouns, serving, origin, allergies—a glut of facts no human brain can process in the flash of seconds they are in view. Misery clutches at her mother’s amulet, attention bouncing from shiny thing to shiny thing, unable to absorb any of it. “Void fuck me,” she whispers, dazed. So this is how city folk see the world from birth. This is what life is like for people who aren’t moonrats. Her mind, its grip on reality already tenuous, is struggling to stay upon that sharp and gritty edge. If she wasn’t born circling voidmadness, this would surely yeet her into its orbit. Is that why they’re so obsessed with voidmadness in the seats of power? Because its threat is so ever-present in their lives, a looming cenotaph casting its shadow over them at all times?

Ruin snorts. The delusion flits through the forest of light like it’s hir native habitat. “This is what military life is like. Civilians don’t get this much access to private data. Your princess, of course, would be able to pry into the lives of every registered citizen. But that’s a perk of being royalty, isn’t it?”