Consciousness is slow to return. She hasn't been dreaming, just floating in void, a heavier sleep than she's had in a long, long time, and it leaves her disoriented and lost when she comes back, first blinks into the sun. She doesn't remember - where is she? Something terrible happened, something really fucking terrible, something-

She can't move her arm. Someone's put it in a sling. This is - it's Greta's scarf.

No. No, no.

It comes back in fragments - Rush's face as he promises her it'll be okay and rips her circuits out, Greta's hand on her cheek - she wishes she was asleep again. This is too much to bear.

She curls onto her side with a little whimper, resting on her arm. She can't feel it, just the dully throbbing ache of her shoulder, it's just this thing under her. It's broken, it's gone. It's gone.