Daphne and Malcolm stand in front of Dreamdoor 4457, a mirrored 2D surface floating a foot above the matte black floor. In the reflection of the door they see the avatars they chose to display. Daphne, a slender black haired beauty:(in this day and age everyone had their brand of beauty) of Asian descent in a minimalist red dress that seemingly has no depth. Daphne liked to stay close to her fleshbod:(pre-rapture physical body) in appearance. Malcolm, a black velociraptor with purple stripes wearing a green beret. Daphne focused on the door and words formed on its surface. She filtered the relevant information.

Axiom Corp World ... Subjective Time: 6 months ... tagged: Alt-Hist, Dystopic, Rebel Hero, ...

"Daphne, I don't understand Ur obsession with these alt-histories. Of all the worlds why keep jumping into pasts that never even existed?"

"I want to understand how we got to here."

"So why not follow the real-histories?"

"Real? How can we know? Who wrote the real-histories? How can we confirm them? All the evidence exists out there. I need to understand. Best I can do? Check all the histories, see how they match up to now. I need to experience all the theories."

"Why? Can't U just enjoy what we have here? I can experience anything I can imagine, better yet lots more I can't imagine but other people can. Won't U come enjoy the pleasure domes of ten thousand resort planets with me?"

"I can only enjoy so much sensation before my mind dulls of it and I wonder, what meaning behind this? I remember the days before rapture, but after all I've seen I wonder, do I really remember? I have to understand."

"I can't stop U, of course. But six months subtime? A long time to go under in that miserable hole. U sure?"

"Yeah, I want to do this. Perhaps this is just my style of hedonism."

"Enjoy then. Catch U on the way out."

Daphne steps through the portal feeling confident, and amused at how a supposedly hardened hedonist like Malcolm still enjoys her companionship. Still human. We crave the human connection, and no number of fork tongued alien hooker battalions could change that.

YONK! YONK! YONK! Smash. Daphne awakes from her rapidly fading pleasant dream in a state of confusion. She vaguely recalls a talking dinosaur before she takes an assessment of the current scene. Naked in a space-foam bed with yellowing sheets sweating profusely. Dark metal room, hot and humid. Artificially white light from an LED sphere hanging from the ceiling, next to it ventilation duct, no airflow. Daphne instantly feels claustrophobic. Just room for her small bed, a cabinet, and a sink with a small mirror. No shower in sight.

Still feeling groggy and way too warm Daphne swings her legs off the bed and walks over to the sink.