Dragonroost Isle rose out of the sea as a living volcano, sleeping, but with a fire in it's belly that warmed the rock-hewn nesting caverns of the Rito no matter the weather. A true island paradise for an airborne people, all spires, stone and strong prevailing winds, hot thermals rising off the deep-heated rock that made flying a pleasure. Palm trees and coconuts, crabs and sand-flowers that bore enormous blue-black fruits...a beautiful and serene life.

And, in this simulation, empty. Not a living thing except plants, seagulls and little skitter red crabs in the sand. Somewhere far off a bird calls, a mournful, mooing caw. Another answers, then falls silent, leaving nothing but the wind and the faint sound of a small child crying.

Komali sat on the bed that was a sensorium recreation of his own, in a room that was the same, curled arms around his knees and cried.

Samus needed a distraction. There had been a lot of talk about the Nightmare King lately, but no action as far as she could see. Even she was at a loss for what could be done. Nightmares were a inevitable part of her life, but they had become noticeably more striking recently. She wasn't exactly in a position to act, though. She had no magical powers, no mystical abilities. In her nightmares, she was, ultimately, helpless, a feeling which she did not like. She'd bring it up to the command crew, but she was sure they had already discussed it. Plus, she wasn't sure many of them could do more than she could.

She needed a distraction from it. She had headed down to Engineering and set her station up. Anyone who walked in would find the large chest chassis of her armor set out in front of her with an assortment of tools in place and a container of turtle wax waiting for use. An empty glass (which was probably filled before with some of Lex's "stash" in the crew lounge) sat next to the Hunter as she worked diligently.

As his mecha's gatling gun cools, Sima Yi finds himself trying, once again, to recall just how long he's been here.

The home he's still infuriated at the thought of having lost seems so near; and yet, he's here amongst innovations that make those of the first seventeen centuries after his death seem like child's play. Up until the first half of the 20th century, the technological advances were based on concepts he could grasp comparatively easily - but the implications of the introduction of the vacuum tube, the foetal stages of the computer era, are a little more than he can take in. He's still trying to wrap his head around the technology he's trying out now.

He'd ended up studying the evolution of war machines over those seventeen centuries - not just that of his own world, but of some similar ones as well. The machine he was trying out now would never exist in his own world, but it had been used in another one's World War II; its design had more in common with the tanks of that era than with his crewmates' mecha - and there were two or three just like it sitting in Weapons and Possessions.

It hadn't taken him long to decide he wanted one, even if the idea had frightened him at first; it had taken him a while to reassure himself that it really was safe to ride in something powered by explosions, but evidently where the machine came from, internal combustion engines were ubiquitous and no one really though twice about them. And even though the cockpit is sitting directly over a massive diesel engine, it's armored well enough to keep the pilot alive if that engine should suddenly become shrapnel.

Before he made a final decision, he was getting a feel for the machine's performance, and gauging whether he could stand being stuck inside it for hours, if necessary, during a mission. So far, the cockpit is more comfortable than he had expected, despite the cramped quarters and lack of ventilation, and the exhaust system designed well enough that the smell of diesel fumes wasn't a problem - and after seeing what the gatling gun could do to the broken-down car he's using as a target, he can definitely see himself getting to like this thing despite its flaws.

Another flaw was the fact that he'd have to get out to disconnect the spent ammo belt from the gun and feed in a new one - he's blown through one already because he was trying to get a sense of how to time his bursts of fire so that they were as short and efficient as possible, he told himself, not because of how enthralling the sight of what had once been a seemingly invulnerable metal vehicle being shredded into scrap by gunfire was. As he shuts off the engine and kicks at the bar securing the hatch until it opens, he reflects again on how many hundreds of moving parts this machine has - and he's going to need to learn how to maintain them all himself. Here, he couldn't expect to be able to enlist anyone to help him, and if the mecha developed problems on a mission, it would be a liability at best and an outright hazard at worst if he couldn't fix it.

He didn't realize how hot it had gotten inside the mecha until he climbs out - it almost seems chilly by comparison outside. As he ducks under the machine's tank gun - mounted on the cockpit - and makes his way over to the gatling gun - mounted on one of the machine's arms - to disconnect the empty ammo belt and feed in the new one, he's too absorbed in the task to notice that he's no longer alone in the sensorium.