Dormé found that something warm was running down her nose and causing her face to itch. She tried to wipe it away but her body did not respond to her wishes. That was strange. She opened her eyes and blinked twice. Nothing. Her brain worked sluggishly, trying to understand why she was unable to see. It was dark. That answer came slowly and was followed by two more questions. Where was she, and why was she lying down? She coughed and the pain that shot through her ribs made her hands move of their own volition to cover her sides. The next revelation was that her hands were bound together, and she wasn't sure why.

Years of survival training kicked into action as Dormé slowed her breathing and concentrated. The first thing to do was to assess her injuries. It was knowledge she wished she did not have, for when her confusion and panic disappeared she became aware that her whole body throbbed with pain. She gasped and squeezed shut her eyes, focusing, focusing. She needed to know the location of every injury, and to do that she had to be calm. Taking a deep breath she squeezed her toes and released them, then rolled her ankles. They did not seem to be bound and as far as she could tell they were uninjured. "Well that's something," she murmured through dry, seemingly swollen lips. Next were her legs. She found that her shins ached with a dull pain. Bruises, she decided. No sharp stinging pains meant no cuts or scrapes, and she couldn't feel any blood. She moved her left leg experimentally. No trouble. Next she lifted her right leg a few inches and nearly bit her lip in half as she stifled a scream. Her femur must be broken to send that kind of intense shooting pain through her body. Dormé allowed herself a whimper as she a few tears escaped her eyes. She took deep, calming breaths, ignoring the pain that caused in her ribs. When the spasms stopped she continued the investigation. She was more careful with the rest of her body as she experimentally squeezed, flexed, and rolled. When she was through she knew that besides her broken leg and bruised or possibly broken ribs she had a nasty cut running from her left eyebrow over the bridge of her nose and quite likely two black eyes. A stiff, bruised feeling in her right bicep, she decided, was a puncture wound. Her attackers must have injected her with a sleep-inducing drug before putting her here - wherever here was.

She knew she had to explore her surroundings, but it wouldn't be easy with a broken leg. First she focused on what she could find out without moving. Her eyes were not adjusting to the light, even though she had had them open for several minutes now. This meant that either she was in a room with no windows or that it was night outside. What time was it? How long had she been unconscious? She pushed aside these frantic questions and focused again on the room. The ground underneath her was cold and hard, and did not throb or move at all. This ruled out a moving spacecraft as her prison. She wondered how large this room was, whether she was in a prison cell or… She decided to try making some noise. Her throat felt thick, a side effect of the drug no doubt, but at last she succeeded in rasping out a little "Hello?" Her weak yell continued for a long time, bouncing off of smooth walls far away and coming back to her without being absorbed by anything. Dormé decided that she was in a warehouse of some kind, one that was not totally deserted, for the air was comfortably warm.

Her surroundings partially known she focused all her strength on remembering how she came to be in this place. She had left the dingy apartment to buy a little food. She was careful walking down the crowded street. She was given a respectful distance after she effectively broke the arm of a ruffian who had come too close. She hadn't wanted trouble, but it was clear he did. She spoke quietly, warning him away, but he had only laughed. Then with a minimum of expanded energy she had taken his left arm in her hands and turned it just so. The sound of bones crackling had startled the grimy attacker and his eyes went wide as he stared at his arm. Then his face whitened as the pain started. He scuttled off into an alley and the nearby watchers went back to their business, seemingly unconcerned. Had the petty thief come back with friends and roughed her up? If so why couldn't she remember it? And why would she be in this warehouse and not dead in a pile of refuse? If someone had been able to overpower her they surely could have killed her. After she had dealt with the troublemaker she had continued on to a vendor whose stall seemed the least filthy. She had purchased some vegetables and a small side of meat. She handed her money to the vendor who smiled strangely.

"Will you been wanting anything else?" he asked, moving his hand under a counter and bringing it back up, concealing it behind a crate. Why hadn't she paid more attention?

"No that will do, thank you," she said starting to move away. He grabbed her neck and she felt the world slipping away. Then something pricked her arm… Everything grew very foggy… And then fighting… and then nothing.

The vendor had done something to her and she had received injuries while fighting – him? No. She seemed to remember fighting more than one person. She had fought hard until the drug took complete effect, leaving her cold and unresponsive. Voices murmured just before the darkness took her. "She's not supposed to be injured!" "Did you see the way she fought? It couldn't be helped." "We'll have a hard time explaining this to – " Then she had been unconscious. Explaining this to whom? Dormé lay for a long time in the darkness working to unravel the riddle.