"C'mon, Stray! Keep up!" Simon was running down a dusty, battered street. He could feel the warmth of his arms inside his tattered overcoat--both of them, each as whole and organic as the other. His worn-out shoes pounded against the dusty ground, tormenting his aching soles with each step forward. A bayonet-tipped assault rifle was in his hands. "Stray, keep up!" "You're gonna get left behind!" He saw her now, towards the back of the group. Emily grinned at him through her dirty bangs, her own assault rifle slung over her shoulder. She waved at him, gesturing for him to catch up. "Simon!" * *