After twenty minutes of searching, Gumi hadn't found a single soul. She feared at times she might be the only person on board the ship. She halted her search topside at the ship's railing, staring over the gunwale at the dock and pier below. It was a good twelve meters down to the ground from where she stood, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out how to get to the gangplank. Many doors below decks were locked, so she figured the way to shore must be through one of them.

That bastard T.O.P. is probably down there as well.

Exhausted, tired, hungry and sore, Gumi leaned with both elbows on the railing, placing her fists on her cheeks.

How do I get off this tub?

It was hopeless. Although Gumi had been up all night, she found comfort in watching the breaking dawn. The sunrise brought familiarity, as it was the time of day she liked being outdoors. She listened to waves lapping over the breakwater and gulls squawking while searching for food.

She returned to the ship's common area, figuring anyone embarking or already on board would have to pass through there eventually, perhaps on their way to breakfast. She strolled about these areas at a more leisure pace, still finding no people. The accomodations were sparse, in contrast to the attractive staterooms. Yet everything was tastefully furnished, with areas designed for group activitiy and socializing.

One such area was an unused discotheque, and Gumi found a plump chaise lounge to rest on. While doing do, she continued thinking about how to get off the ship.

But what for? Where would I go? Back to Club Kocchi Muite, to wait for VioLinja to show up and obliterate me?

Gumi reminded herself that at the club last night, she revealed herself to be the Masked Bitch. Besides VioLinja, who was dangerous enough as it is, countless evil souls sent to Hell by Gumi's own hand now freely roamed the Earth, wanting to do God-knows-what should they get their hands on her.

Gumi again became more angry at herself than she was with T.O.P. She felt everything wrong with the world was her fault. And now, it was also her fault that she was trapped on a deserted ship, all for being stupid enough to trust a stranger in the first place.

And for what? It wasn't trust that made me sing to him. That made me bow down and honor him.

It was fear. It was loneliness. A feeling of worthlessness. A heart too hurt to go on.

Gumi grew sick of self-pity. I'm the lead singer of The VocaLords, dammit! I've sent bastard souls to Hell a thousand at a time!

Gumi sighed, sinking further into the lounge. I used to send bastards to Hell. Now I dance for money.

After ten more minutes of self-loathing, Gumi popped to her feet. Had she sat in repose much longer, she would have fallen asleep. She found a bottle of cream liquor in the refrigerator behind the bar, and carried it around while swigging at it gently. She wandered about the disco, checking out the dance floor and the deejay booth. In a cupboard below the mixing board, she made a startling discovery.

A virtual reality training helmet sat on a dusty shelf. Gumi turned it around in her hands, amazed at finding such a thing in a place as strange as a disco. She peered into its opening, examining the VR screen inside. She poked a bit at its interfaces, where the helmet would hook into the cybernetic enhancements tattooed on her shoulders. Finding its power button, she discovered it carried a charge.

The screen inside glowed bright—along with the controls that ran the mixing board and the spotlights on the dance floor. Apparently everything in the room was hooked up to the helmet.

What the heck is this thing?

Gumi stuck her nose a bit further into the helmet. It seemed no different than the ones she had used while learning how to peek into peoples' souls to determine if they were Good or Evil. After another moment, something else caught her eye. The computer controlling the deejay booth had booted up as well, and a monitor displayed the list of songs it had in its queue.

Gumi read through the list, emitting a sound of disgust upon concluding.

Not a single song by The VocaLords!

She sighed sadly, feeling old. VioLinja had destroyed the band years ago, obliterating first Gumi, and then Miku, the band's bassist.

Gumi wondered about what happened to Len and Rin, the twin brother and sister duo who both played acoustic guitar. They constantly conspired, thinking up crazy things to dare the others members of the band to do. Gumi afforded herself a giggle, thinking about pretty Luka, the band's freewheeling keyboardist. She was always the one most likely to go along with the twin's ideas.

Gumi sighed while fiddling with the mixing board, missing her old friends more than ever. Life as a Winnower had been harder on her than she thought it would be. She had delivered more souls to eternal justice than any other Winnower before. Probably more than all others combined.

The price for her success at being the greatest Winnower ever was about to drool on the keyboard for the deejay booth's computer. She straightened her posture and sucked in her spit, to keep it in what was left of her mouth.

With a few keystrokes, Gumi highlighted several songs on the list she liked. After hesitating while turning the VR helmet over in her hands a final time, she hit the Enter key. An image of the dance floor appeared on the VR screen inside the helmet. Gumi held the helmet before her face, using it to pan the room while peering in at the screen. It successfully reproduced the disco, adding a crowd of onlookers who lined the edges of the dance floor. If Gumi cared to train with the helmet, it would help her pick out from the crowd who was bad and who was good.

As it was, however, while the first song played through its introduction, Gumi carried the helmet at arm's length onto the dance floor, still peering at its screen. Two of the discotheque's walls were floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and when she pointed the helmet at them, a reproduction of her reflection appeared inside.

Almost as if possessed, she slid the helmet on. It felt good to use her interfaces, as she hadn't done so since having escaped from Hell all those years ago. The helmet probed the tattoos on her skin as she felt the artificial nerves in her body reaching out to it. Breathing deep and proper, she waited for them to connect. Once the training helmet had interfaced with her body, Gumi enjoyed the familiar sight of watching the helmet melt away from the image of her on its screen. She swayed to the music, moving about while admiring her VR reflection.

A sudden impulse came over her. She grabbed the helmet with both hands, as if putting them on her face. The nerve implants in her fingers gave her the impression that she was actually touching real skin. She used them to examine the simulated features of her eyes and cheeks and chin.

And her lips and her nose and her mouth. In her image, she was whole. More than that, in her mind, she felt whole. It was like her necrosis didn't exist.

It was a miracle! How long has it been since I've seen my own face?

It must not have been long enough to forget. The helmet, utilizing her memory, reconstructed her features. She reveled in the sensation of playing with her undamaged face before sloughing off her jacket, revealing the bikini she wore underneath.

My tattoo interfaces don't show up either! She was indeed truly whole again, untouched by cybernetic implants.

She maintained a placid look, lest smiling make her weep. Her lack of tear ducts would prevail if she cried, destroying the virtual image, as the helmet had no way of simulating tears. She stared at the hazel of her eyes, watching the color change to green as emotions got the better of her.

She realized a fact she had forgotten a long long time ago.

I'm beautiful.

And under the lights of the discotheque, Gumi danced.