Presea was normally quite good in a crisis. She was the person who remembered where her backup weapon was, and where the exit would be, and that people needed regular meals when on the run. But in this case, she found herself rather overwhelmed. She'd just been... expelled from her pod, feeling gross and slimy all over. She was naked, her long blonde hair loose and streaked with something sticky she didn't really want to think about. This wasn't like any ship she'd ever seen. Where was the ocean? Where was the sky?

Why was she here? She was no chosen one. She was a weaponmaker, a supporter of people who did great things. She was a sidelines type of person, and someone needed to do those jobs and be those people. There had been a mistake.

And she wasn't the only person here. She took in the scene around her, wide-eyed, her gaze finally focusing on the muscular blonde woman nearby. The woman looked like she knew she was doing, which was mentally reassuring. How anyone could seem so calm after this ordeal was completely amazing.

Presea opened her mouth to speak, coughed, and then tried again. "Do you know what's going on?" she asked. Her voice was reasonable, not nervous. She was already finding her equilibrium.