Murphy slouches back in his corner chair. Empty coffee mug dangles from his fingers. Wrinkles line his hands. Salted, rusted old beard. The pep in his eyes is gone.

“It’s a long story, mate,” he sighs. “You sure you got energy for it today?”

Fluorescent light clogs Alex’s eyes. He closes them shut. “Yes,” Alex mumbles. “I’m okay. Please tell me.”

“Well,” Murphy clears his throat. “We managed to load some of your memories back into your identity core and—”

Alex sinks deeper into her bed. Ears tune out.

“. . . so if you think about what was happening before you got here a wee bit, you may be able to—”

Alex sinks deeper into her bed. Arms turn off. Neck turns off. Eyes turn off.

“. . . now we’re in Hudson. New city they’re building. The War—”

Brain turns off.