After such peaceful visions, to be honest, even the nauseating green door wasn't such a sore sight. It was an inevitability, one that Taysia on some level had always known would happen--not in its specifics, but in its manner of doom. Survival had never been the game; hell, she had never known what the rules were. From one stumble to the next, she had merely been scraping by the skin of her teeth--from Day Zero to escape from her neighborhood to the fortunate find that had been Clearview. She had spent so many days either alone or just with one or two people...The review of her memories was a poor one, but Taysia felt only a dull ache as she considered them. It all seemed so insignificant in comparison to the door.

She touched the knob and moved forward, bleakly ready to accept the fate she had never been able to change.

Perhaps she had never been Fantasia Moore either, then. Perhaps her entire life had been a construct of the virus, of this legacy they were mere puppets to. If so, it would have been something of a relief; she didn't feel as though she had ever taken good use of her life, regardless of what others had said. (She had been useless, useless, useless. Booted out, digitized, infected, beaten, controlled.) And now it was her turn to consume everything, for the world was hers to assimilate now. The vision had been more than that: it had been a premonition of what she could and would do once she realized her true self.

But...was this it, then? Was it to be a constant hunger for something? No, there had to be something beyond even that. The world was not merely a goblet of information to be drained dry.

She stretched the confines of her being from the mass once. Twice. Tore away when she felt she had wiggled away. Being alone was frightening in so far as her form was tight and confined, compact to remind herself that she could be separated without being alone. Perhaps she could acquire a different body.

But the one she found she remembered. Long, stern faced, strange green hair...The coat gave her shudders from the memory (so so many images, now all things she could process with relative ease thankfully). But despite the attitude, he had saved her while she had been unconscious. And so carefully she plucked the lanky beanstalk of a man up and carried him away until it strained her to move any further. In the darkness lied allies--she would have to trust that they knew what to do with him.

Perhaps in this, she might be a little less useless than before.