My decision to go to the surface to get food served a second purpose that I didn’t mention to Vaozey, and that was to ensure that it wasn’t being patrolled by guards. As I reached the grate I was to ascend through, I realized I was still covered in blood and took a look at the water behind me. No, I thought, it’s not sludge, but that doesn’t smell clean enough. I’ll have to find something up at street level to wash myself off with. I took one more moment to spit out some more blood and glass into the water channel, then climbed up and pushed the grate aside.

I recognize this area, I thought, I just need to go two blocks north to get to that eatery. Oddly, there were no guards on the street, and even more oddly nobody seemed to be paying attention to me. I guess being covered in blood isn’t that unusual here? I supposed, That or everyone is just trying not to get involved. Checking my money pouch, which I was pleased to see was still attached to my body, I took out a ngoywngeyt coin and approached a person standing outside a nearby house.

“Do you have water, for washing?” I asked. The person, an average Luwahriy man dressed in rags, refused to look at me.

“Don’t get me involved,” he muttered. “Whatever you did, I won’t turn you in, but I want no part of it and neither does anyone else here.”

“I have money,” I replied.

“Don’t care,” he snapped, meeting my gaze for a second before looking away again. Fine, I thought, I know that restaurant has water, I’ll just get some from them.

I came upon the eatery after the predicted two blocks with no further trouble and approached with little subtlety. Only two people were sitting at the serving window, a man and a woman, side by side at the far end. I took a spot as far from them as possible and tapped the wooden frame to get the cook’s attention. Glancing at the man and woman, I saw them staring at me with worried looks on their faces, and tried to look non-threatening in response. Only the male chef was inside, and he was busy at the grill.

Excuse me,” I said, trying to get the chef to turn around.

“In a minute,” he replied grumpily.

“Do you have a bucket of water that I could use?” I asked. The chef growled and turned around, then flinched back when he saw me. “I need some food as well,” I said, “but I’d like to wash myself off first.”

“Are you... alright?” the chef asked, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, wait, you’re that guy.”

“I’m fine,” I assured him, and my eyes spotted a bucket near the foot of his stove. “Could I use that?” I asked, pointing to the bucket. The cook looked down, then back to me.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied. “Just let me dump it and refill it. You have money?” I flashed the ngoywngeyt coin as a reply. “Yeah, just toss me that and I’ll get you a clean bucket and some food.” I was going to give you another one for the food, I thought, but I’ll take it.

After rinsing my hands and washing off a surprising amount of blood from my own face, I returned to the side of the eatery to find a wooden platter of chopped meat dressed with some kind of grass, as well as a mug of water. The smell only made me hungrier, and before I knew it I had eaten the entire platter and gulped down the cup of water. The couple at the front of the eatery watched me with a look of morbid fascination, thinking I wasn’t watching them back out of the corner of my eye.

“One platter, please,” said a voice to my right, and I turned to see a familiar form sitting down. Koyl, looking positively skeletal with gaunt eye sockets and slumped shoulders, placed money on the counter. “I thought I’d find you here,” he said, turning to me, keeping his voice low enough to not be overheard.

“I left your valuables back with Vaozey,” I told him, turning to face him. I also pulled out a coin and placed it on the counter. “One more platter for me, and more water,” I called to the chef.

“That seytoydh ngoyth,” Koyl sighed, sounding more tired than angry. He stared off into the distance, past me and upward at a slight incline, taking a few deep breaths. “Was I wrong?” he asked.

“That depends on what you’re asking about,” I replied.

“I went up the first grate I found,” Koyl explained quietly. “Then, I walked around a bit. Damned near everyone in the slums has a brand on their face, and I doubt any of them were willing participants in it. What I mean is: the Rehvites, that temple, they did that. Even the ones that didn’t, they knew it was happening. Was I wrong, thinking of them like innocent people?” I tightened my lips, then thought about what Koyl was actually trying to ask for a moment. Legal and ethical standards here are too subjective to be truly meaningful, I thought, guilt doesn’t really matter, what matters is if they were your enemies, and they were.

“Statistically speaking, it is likely that the attack killed at least some perpetrators of the brandings,” I replied. “Depending on how you ascribe innocence or guilt, most in that temple could be considered guilty, though many might have qualified as innocent. Does knowing a guilty party but not reporting them cause guilt? Does aiding a guilty party when you suspect that they are guilty cause guilt? You can change the definition to suit what you would prefer, for the benefit of your state of mind.”

“You really don’t get it,” Koyl sighed. “I knew you didn’t down in the sewers, but I just had to be sure.” Our food was placed in front of us, along with mugs of water, and Koyl and I began to eat. Now that I was partially full, I ate slower than before, matching Koyl’s speed.

“You are concerning yourself with something inconsequential,” I told Koyl. “None of those people were allies of yours in any way. Most of them, in fact, likely would consider you an enemy because of your beliefs. Being upset at their deaths is a waste of mental energy.”

“How many did you kill?” Koyl asked, his voice very low.

“Eleven,” I replied, counting up the people from the hallway in my head.

“How many fought back?” he asked.

“Seven,” I answered. “Assuming that attacking me first also qualifies.”

“Why did you kill them?” Koyl asked, now looking directly at me.

“Mostly because they saw my face,” I answered honestly. “After my fight with the yihzhae my mask was destroyed-”

“Yihzhae?” Koyl blurted, more loudly than he probably intended. “There was a yihzhae there?” I guess he must have gotten to the second level before the fight, I realized.

“Vaozey referred to the highly-trained warrior I fought in the worship hall as a yihzhae,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I assume that term means something to you?” Koyl exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead.

“Yihzhae is a class of naval magic specialist soldier,” he explained. “They’re the people our military sends over to board the vessels of enemy nations and kill everyone inside when arrows and ballistae don’t do the job. Even the weakest of them are supposed to be able to kill five normal soldiers without being scratched.”

“Seems like an exaggeration,” I commented, though as I thought about it I wasn’t quite sure.

“What was he wearing?” Koyl asked. I described the man’s attire as best as I could remember, and Koyl’s brow furrowed. “That’s not official soldier attire, so he wasn’t there representing Uwriy, at least,” he sighed. “Anyway, my point is this: Did you hate those people you killed?”

“I don’t understand the question,” I replied.

“When you killed them, what did you feel about it?” Koyl asked, suddenly much more intense. I took a moment before replying to double-check my memories.

“Nothing,” I replied. “Relief when I killed the yihzhae I suppose, but aside from that, I don’t really understand what you’re trying to ask me. Was I supposed to feel something?” Koyl suddenly smiled, though he looked sad, and he shook his head.

“That’s the difference between you and her,” he said. “You don’t hate people. I’m not even sure you’re capable of hate, I’ve rarely even seen you get angry. When you hurt somebody, it’s because you have to or because it serves a purpose. It’s shocking sometimes, but there’s always some reason for it that’s rational even if it’s not always a good reason. You don't kill for the pleasure of it. Her though…”

“I hated Yaavtey,” I interjected, finally realizing what Koyl meant. “I took great satisfaction in killing him. I didn’t even have to, rationally, but I didn’t think about it rationally.”

“Yeah well, he was an evil piece of shit and had it coming, so I can give you a pass for that,” Koyl snorted. “Vaozey, on the other hand, turned that temple into a slaughterhouse and loved every second of it. Worse than a slaughterhouse. Slaughtering animals is done efficiently, butchers decapitate them in a single blow to prevent them from feeling fear or pain. That was… she was torturing them to death, killing them like that. Even if they deserved to die, it's just not right.” I glanced over to see the couple at the eatery trying to eavesdrop, and I gave them a look that told them everything they needed to know about the consequences of doing so.

“Seeing it caused another episode,” I guessed. “Even remembering it did, that’s why you stopped in the sewer.” Koyl sighed, then took a drink of his water.

“You don’t have to pretend like you aren’t frustrated with me,” he said. “I’m frustrated with me, but I can’t help it. Not everyone is as tough as you are, as much as sometimes we wish we could be. Honestly, I’m shocked at how well you handled burning that building in Vehrehr.”

“Those weren’t the first people I had killed,” I replied.

“Yes, but it’s not like you went in intending to kill them all, as I remember it,” Koyl said, glancing over at me and taking another drink. “I think if I remembered the inside of that place I would have nightmares for life. It was probably worse than the temple…”

“You said yourself, they deserved it,” I reminded him.

“Yes, but-” Koyl stuttered. “I don’t think I could do it regardless. There’s a difference, you know, between killing someone in a sword fight and killing them like that. There’s honor in one of them.”

“There is no honor in combat,” I replied. Koyl looked over at me with an eyebrow raised quizzically. “Combat is simple, effective destruction of life. Honor only factors in when considering the reasons the combat began, and in how things are conducted when it finishes.”

“Sounds like a quote,” Koyl joked.

“It is,” I replied. A quote that I don’t even agree with, since honor is too subjective to be meaningful, I added mentally.

“So you are a soldier, back where you’re from,” Koyl said, looking back to his food. It wasn’t a question.

“Something similar,” I replied, being honest for a reason I didn’t quite grasp.

“And you never had issues like this?” Koyl asked. “You never had nightmares? Guilt? Fear?”

“No,” I replied. “Where I am from, the acceptable time to process and overcome battle trauma is fourteen days, and I have never experienced it personally. To be completely honest, I find your reaction to torture to be excessive.”

“Fourteen…” Koyl breathed. “Gods, that's…”

“The torture is over, you survived,” I continued. “Further anxiety about it happening again or negative indulgence in the memories of it is unnecessary. Furthermore, aside from scarring the torture left no lasting injury. To be completely honest, I don’t understand why this has affected you in the way it has.” Koyl winced, then closed his eyes. Maybe honesty could help, I thought, perhaps he’s simply been coddled his entire life.

“Where you’re from, everyone is like you?” he asked quietly.

“More or less,” I replied, opting not to try to analogize the mental differences between myself and a warbreed. That would just raise more questions, I thought.

“It must be a horrible place,” Koyl muttered, barely audible. “I can't imagine what it would be like to require your people to be like that. I don't even want to know.”

“Surely, most people here must be more like me than you,” I said. “Injury is common, combat is frequent, violence is near-ubiquitous. If everyone could be affected this badly by their experiences society would-”

“You’re wrong,” Koyl interrupted, looking over at me with red eyes. “Most people aren’t like you at all. Most people take a long time to get over things like war, torture, or even killing people. I didn’t really understand it before it happened to me, I always thought people were just being dramatic, but they’re not. It’s like it sticks you into that moment forever and you can’t get out. Even when I’m sitting here eating, it feels like I’m going to turn my head and be back in that room again. When I go to sleep, it feels like I’ll wake up in the morning and be back in that room again. It feels like, every time someone comes out from behind a corner, it’s going to be Yaavtey and he’ll grab me and put me back in. The floorboards creak above me, and I’m back in before I realize I’m not. I smell blood and stone, and the room comes in around me, just for a moment.”

The couple hadn’t stopped trying to eavesdrop, I saw them out of the corner of my eye watching the conversation intently. Even the cook was looking on, though he was trying to pretend he wasn’t. Koyl’s voice quavered, and it took him a few moments of nervous laughter to collect himself. I watched him, seeing his emotions through his body language, and tried to find some kind of common point of reference to understand him. Like a full sensory replay, I realized, just like when I would be put through analysis by my operator.

“Like you can’t tell what’s real, and what isn’t,” I said, thinking aloud. “All your memories of where you were, all the context, shifts into the background, and you’re in a different reality. One that feels perfectly real even if it’s just a simulation.” As I finished my sentence, I felt that I finally understood why Koyl was having such a strong reaction, and I could see understanding in his expression.

After-mission analysis was sometimes very confusing to experience, as the processes used to determine and correct my thought processes necessitated perfect replay of recorded sections of the mission inside my own mind, followed by interrogation about the contents. While the mission recording was playing, I would re-experience it with no memory of the present, but then it would stop and I would be back in the present with memories of the re-experience, being asked about it. Sometimes the process repeated hundreds of times for a single event. Then, I would be put through simulations of it repeatedly with my conscious memory overlaid onto the recalled one until I could perform as desired.

Also, the human mind isn’t designed to experience perfect simulations, I thought, it’s designed to trust its own sensory data implicitly to create reality. That's why it deletes dreams. My own mind wasn’t entirely dissimilar in that regard, though I had much more experience with determining simulation from reality. Still, the first few times I was let out into the real world to perform tasks, I had no idea if what I was experiencing was real or not until I was informed after the fact. Had I been lied to at the time, I would have had no way of knowing. The fact that his mind is forcing this on him is concerning, I thought, I doubt I would be able to function under similar circumstances. It's a wonder he's so stable, in retrospect.

Rhythmic thumping coming from down the street broke my train of thought. Everyone at the eatery, chef and couple included, turned to look in the direction of the noise. A formation of guards, five wide and three deep, marched down the street, shoving slum dwellers out of the way and stomping them if they couldn’t move fast enough. That’s not good, I thought, glancing at Koyl. He also looked at me, and we both began slowly backing away from the eatery and moving into the alley to get out of sight.

“By order of Soyveyn Dawpveyyihl this district of Owsahlk is to be searched for the criminal Vaozey Svaaloyweyl,” someone announced loudly, presumably a guard. “All residents will return to their homes with due haste, and will not impede the Owsahlk city guard during the search. Failing to comply will result in severe consequences, up to and including removal of the left arm, imprisonment, or death depending on severity. Anyone found sheltering Vaozey Svaaloyweyl will be held for questioning, then executed unless she is given up freely.”

“Go seyt a jhawdhtao!” someone yelled, causing a small rumble of laughter across the street. There was silence for a moment, then the same voice began yelling out. “Hey! Hey! Let go of me! What, you seytoydh niyzaob can’t take a joke?”

“Looks like we found a collaborator,” the same speaker from before said, quieter than before.

“Woah, woah!” the other man said nervously. “There’s no need to-” The sound of metal swinging through the air cut him off, followed by a wet smack and a thump. The lack of pained screaming indicated that whatever was severed likely wasn’t an arm.

“It seems like the operation was bigger than we thought,” the guard announced, causing some laughter accompanied by the sound of clinking metal.

“I guess all we can do is burn it out,” a different guard laughed, jubilance clear in his voice.

“I guess so,” another voice replied. I grabbed Koyl and we began running, but we didn’t get far before we heard glass breaking, then the familiar roar of open flames.