She was glad for the gag to bite down on, as well as the baffling of her paws, as she shrieked at remembered agony. Tears coursed down her cheeks and her breathing came in shallow little sips as the memories of that hot-wire pain piecing her from stem to stem became her entire world. Anguish filled her mind as the memories of terror, of what it might feel like to never again see ma, to destroy Bee so thoroughly, to never grow up clattered raucously against her memories of whispering comforting words and exhortations to quit. Despair at memories of seeing the life drain from her own eyes slammed against memories of vision fading.
She sat there for nearly an hour, just processing and thinking, just wondering curiously as she explored these dichotomies, just sobbing off and on and struggling against imagined pain as she struggled with the new intensity of the fear of death — titillating and alluring as it remained — here in the Rift.
Then, slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, liked up to the sodium fogged night, and forked herself presentable. She had a drink awaiting her. A meal. A bar — quiet but for Ace or the gruff moose, neither of whom would hopefully ask too many questions when a seven year old ordered a tequila shot. Kitsch on the walls, the clack of balls from the pool table, the scent of so much beer and so much love and so much loneliness.
-She continued the journey of her scientist, her subject, in a slow trudge down the street.
+She continued the journey her scientist, her subject, her victim had begun in a slow trudge down the street.