"After what happened with the first prototype three days ago, we've made sure to properly reinforce this model's joints and flexibility." A man in white, apparently an engineer in this real world hospital, tightened a few screws on her metal wrist and nodded approvingly, "But keep in mind, Miss Violet, these prototypes are barely a week old, so please try to be careful while we continue developing your prostheses."

Violet hardly heard the doctor's advice, as her mind still spun from the hasty explanations of the past two years and the nearly fatal malfunction that only recently destroyed her limbs. Despite the whirlwind of information, her thoughts were stuck in one place.

"Where?" she croaked. Her voice was scratchy from two years of silence and she couldn't finish the sentence, but she needed the information now and if she couldn't ask in writing with the delicate, metal monstrosities she had for hands, she was willing to risk her voice.

The engineer put away his tools as he gave her an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but your dad had to be escorted out—"

Violet shook her head fervently, "Major."

He paused to look at her quizzically, "Pardon?"

She cleared her throat and spoke slowly, "Gilbert."

"I'm not sure what you're asking, Miss Hodgins, but I ask that you please rest. Your nurse should be in shortly with lunch. I'll be back again tomorrow."

"But—" She coughed feebly, trying to get more words out while her muscles fought against the proper syllables, but he was out the door before she could continue.

"It has been two weeks since hospitals across the area reported the players held captive in the deadly VRMMORPG, Sword Art Online, regaining consciousness. The few patients who have been cleared for immediate interviews have confirmed the completion of the death game at about 15:00 hours on Thursday, November 7th."

Violet watched the news ticker make its way across the lower half of the screen, its blocky, white font reporting the names of her fellow survivors.

Momoko Akatsutsumi. Tsuboi Ryotaro. Chiaki Nanami. Yuichiro Hyakyu.

Just how many were left?

"With approximately six thousand recoveries currently in progress, hospitals and other facilities hosting SAO players will continue to be closed to the general public. All families with surviving players will be contacted about visiting hours and/or regularly updated on player conditions by phone or email based on their location."

Six thousand out of the original ten. It was a miracle.

Tamaki Yotsuba. Ryota Watari. Koharu Honda. Eiji Nochizawa.

But thousands or not, all that mattered to Violet was one.

"Until all surviving players are completely accounted for and investigation units release an official statement, we ask that you please remain patient. For the sake of our survivors, we must put everything we have toward ensuring their full recovery."

Miki Takekasa. Kazuto Kirigaya. Hatsuhara Sohma. Maou Sadao.

"Violet?"

No Major. No Major. No Major. No Major.

"Violet."

She startled and turned, meeting the gentle gaze of her father. They had been reunited just the week before, but Claudia still looked at her as if she had awoken mere minutes ago and would fall unconscious again if prompted. She took a moment to quietly hum her acknowledgement, being mindful of the doctor's plea not to strain her voice so quickly.

"Is something bothering you?" he asked, eyes too soft and smile too kind.

She glanced at the TV, then back to Claudia and pointed at her throat. May I?

"Go ahead. Slowly now."

"Friend." She cleared her throat and pointed at the names, "Missing."

"A friend?" He looked over the news ticker and shifted in his seat, "From the game, you mean?"

She nodded. A volley of unsaid questions passed between them, the silence punctuated by their measuring stares. There was so much she was unable to explain, what with her voice and prostheses still in development, and it was clearly frustrating on both ends.

She swallowed heavily before starting again, "Cared … for me."

Claudia's eyes brightened further in surprise. Violet usually had a very limited sense of expression, especially when it came to talking about those close to her, but as she watched the names scroll across the screen … Claudia thought he saw a hint of worry in her eyes.

That had never happened before.

Slipping his phone out of his jacket pocket and swiping through a couple notifications before opening a blank note page, he asked, "What was your friend's username?"

"A new development in the SAO recovery status reveals a strange set of cases regarding a system glitch that affects a player's nerve tissue. Although it's been nearly a month since all players have been released, doctors have been hesitant to release their findings on these special cases due to lack of communication between facilities. After proper research, they are referring to these cases as 'downloaded ailments' and have speculated it was most likely designed to terminate more players upon release. These players, instead of losing all brain functionality, have merely been paralyzed to varying degrees … "

Violet was unlucky enough to be one of those special cases.

"Reach forward please, Miss Violet." The head-engineer of developing her prostheses sat at her bedside, adjusting her glasses, "It's just fine-tuning your grip strength from here and if all goes well today, you should be able to use eating utensils on your own and eventually start writing."

Violet complied, extending her metal appendages forward on the table as she took in the good news. The engineer worked on her right elbow joint with a swift grace, occasionally mentioning which instrument she used and for what. (Violet would eventually have to learn and provide the basic maintenance for her prostheses, so it wouldn't hurt to start now.)

But Violet's fingers itched to write again knowing that Claudia was now clued in on the search for The_Major. Speech therapy the previous day was a struggle, as it had been even before her two years of silence, and writing was always her preferred means of communication. It could be as concise and to the point as she needed it to be without all the trivialities of verbal conversation.

"Can you flex your fingers for me?"

She nodded and carefully unfurled her weighty digits, the motion perfectly smooth and natural, unlike that first day.

"Looks like that should do for the right side." The engineer snapped shut the panel hiding her elbow joint and gave it a quick buff with the sleeve of her lab coat. The chrome surface winked back at her in the light. She pulled a pen from her breast pocket and gave it a twirl, "Would you mind a quick test?"

Violet vividly recalled the last time she was given a pen. How it cracked into three pieces from the inhuman clamp of her new fingers and ink sprayed across the room. Even now, faint traces of ink still trailed through her fingers and a black stain was smudged on the cream-colored tiles beside her bed.

Still, she reached out, "Please."

The engineer smiled, "Atta girl."

For a moment, Violet measured the weight of the pen in her palm, hesitant to try and maneuver it into a writing position. She wondered how the pen would've felt in her normal hand—how her sweaty palms used to slick her pencils before an exam or how a dull ache in her wrist would tell her to take breaks from studying—but she could no longer feel that familiar sensation of plastic meeting flesh.

Instead, she concentrated on the movement, tilting her hand to the right and pinching the pen closer to the tip with her thumb and index finger, exhaling when no cracks crept across the clear plastic body. The engineer, her smile growing wider, nodded eagerly for her to continue.

Violet twisted the pen body away from the center of her palm, resting the grip on the tip of her middle finger while keeping the rest of her fingers lightly curled beneath. She rolled the pen across the side of her middle finger to truly test her grip strength and the pen remained in one, solid piece.

"Perfect!" The engineer gave Violet a small round of applause and beamed from ear to ear, "Now let's fix that left arm to match."

She wasted no time in rounding the bed to the other side and popping open the opposing joint compartment, chatting eagerly about how her colleagues would be glad to know Violet's prostheses were finally working to her advantage.

Violet shifted the pen in her right hand to different positions, from writing, to clicking, to pretending to erase, and occasionally attempting a twirl. She didn't hear the engineer's excited chatter, as she was too busy mentally outlining what information would be most useful in her father's search for The_Major.

"It has been two months since Akihiko Kayaba, the creator of Sword Art Online, and his fellow developers went missing. Although the search is still on, government officials have worked tirelessly to decode the heavy encryptions on the SAO game server regarding the changes made upon its lockdown. The information we are about to disclose is graphic and is not recommended for sensitive audiences, but the world must know."

The nurse shut off the TV. The hospitals knew about SAO's "lockdown changes", but they had kept it out of the eyes of the public. They had thought it best for everyone to hear it from the survivors themselves.

Violet had experienced more than the average player, being a key fighter in one of the top ten guilds, but she didn't have much to say.

"There was blood and you could feel it," she told her therapist. "And the monsters were more vivid in game than on the box."

"That must have been scary, Violet. Were you scared?" Her voice was nice.

Go, EverGarden.

I'm not leaving you!

She didn't answer.

"Today's the day, Miss Violet! Aren't you excited to finally go home?"

Her nurse had enough excitement for the both of them, but Violet nodded anyway, "Yes. I think it will be nice."

She had only spent about four months in the hospital, a much shorter time than what her doctors expected, yet it felt like a lifetime. Any news of The_Major had yet to be found. It seemed her pages and pages of detailed notes paired with her father's vast connections weren't enough to find him.

The nurse wheeled her down to the hospital's entrance (even though she insisted she could walk) and they saw Claudia's silver car pull up in the drive. The snow was bright against his red hair and Violet thought he looked like spaghetti sauce with parmesan. When he stepped inside, she told him so.

Claudia laughed, shaking the snow from his hair, "I take it someone's hungry."

Violet nodded. Eagerly. (She never liked the hospital food and after four months of it, anything sounded better.)

"We'll get something on the way home, promise." He fixed the top buttons on her coat and smiled, "Are you ready to go?"

She nodded again and Claudia helped her up, her nurse returning the wheelchair and quietly waving them off. Her knees were still a little wobbly and she leaned on her father more than she wanted to admit.

Together, they left the hospital.