She is unaware of the real world, now: semi-opaque wrap-arounds divert her vision to the electronic and magitech world that is Star City's infonet, to the files that she very carefully, very cleverly moves from one company to her current 'clients'. This particular task would have been easy, had she not had to worry about avoiding the company's guard dogs... vicious things, them.

She reaches a crucial moment. No turning back now, just one more step forward--

Bright light spills over the room, admitting with it the ear-shreddingly high pitch of one of the 'popular' songs that's been sweeping the station. Susan doesn't notice at first, doesn't hear the noise or see the light, or feel the presence of a person approaching her from behind. Then...

"Susie! Whatcha doin', hun?" The person literally glomps her from behind--wraparounds fly from her orange eyes, knuckles clench too white as the holographic keys flicker with her distraction. She flutters her eyes closed, teeth grinding together. She doesn't want to see the sweep of nearly luminscent orange hair that she can feel tickling her upper arms, as her sister, Marie Kiwirana, gives her a warm, friendly hug. "Why'd you lock yourself all alone in here, Susie?" Marie asks, letting up and giving Susan's stubbly head a rub, "you're missing all of the fun! I've got the whole gang over, it's a real party! Come out for a bit, at least?" She leans over and gives her sister an innocent, pleading smile.

Filigree pinches the bony girl's arms as she strains not to beat her idiot sister into a bloody pulp. "Fuck off, Marie, I'm busy." Rag-doll arm sweeps the ground, pickin the wrap-arounds up again and sliding them over her eyes in one gesture. "Shit." Susan says, spitting the word out like hot espresso.

"Whatever is the matter, Susie dear?" Marie asks, still clinging to her twin. The quietly variegated glow of the holographic panel illuminates her pale face, her dark eyes, casts a sick colour against her face--which after a moment, shimmers, and becomes beautiful against the faint light. Her face is a mask, but underneath lies nothing but a vapid, empty soul. It's what Susan believes, at least. "I'm sorry," she apologizes with feigned sincerity, "did I interrupt you?" Susan ignores her for a moment, her skinny arms shaking off Marie's perfectly formed hands as they fly into motion again, tapping and dragging keys almost ferociously. "Really," Marie continues, putting her hands on her curvaceous hips, and canting her delicately pointed chin at an angle, "tell me what's the matter, Susie! Are you playing one of your games again?" She continues on, but her sister doesn't appear to be paying attention to her any more.

With a motion so sudden that it startles the orange-haired sibling, Susan throws off her wrap-arounds and scrabbles to disconnect the plugs at ear and temple-level, the swears vehemently as she feels a shock arc across the wires, over her neural lace--

The plugs are out, her brain is fuzzed over as if with a layer of cotton. She stares dully at the holographic panel the little gems of lights flicker, go out. She's done for. Ruined. And in the background, that voice, that horrible, annoying voice. "What's the matter, Susie? Are you okay? Come out and have a drink, or a hit or something! You're not looking to good!"

"'Said fughoff," Susan stumbles to her feet, crunching her wraparounds under one heavy-booted foot. Her brain is slowing things down--the dark room moves around her, Marie too, but everything is so slow... and the ground comes up to meet her face.

----------------------------------

The lights are piercing, even through tightly squeezed eyelids. Susan groans and lifts a hand to her forehead, feels the pain behind her skull shooting back and forth like peronalized lightning strikes. Rubs her hand over her scalp, fingers the plug at her temple--it stings, like it's had an allergic reaction to something. Which it has... in a sense. Fucking guard-dogs did a good job.

She no longer feels so slow-witted, though she still feels like she's got the worst hangover she's ever felt.

"They said you should have died," a familiar voice wobbles from the bedside. Bedside. She opens her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, regrets it immediately.

"Where th'ell am I?"

"Medics," Marie answers, taking her sisters hand as it falls to her side again. "We took you over, they thought you overdosed at first, why does everyone always think that, that just because we're having a party, we can't be responsible about getting drunk or high?" a groan from the prone form, but Marie continues on. "They found out that you were attacked by some kind of security virus, it's lethal to most people. You got off lucky, they think."

"Thanks, dad," Susan mumbles, eyes held tightly shut as she endures the rubbing that her sister gives to her cold hands. Being a child or a god--demigod, really, had it's upsides along with it's downs. More upsides, she'd always supposed, but she never had wanted to rely on them.

"Anyways," the orange-haired girl continues, "You can come home now. They wanted to keep you overnight to see how you were doing, but everything seems to be miraculously well--"

"Then why'd'I feel like shit?" Susan tries to retort, though the words come out slurred together.

"Oh you, silly!" Marie says, gives the skeletal fingers a squeeze. "Guess what!" A statement, not a question. "I even managed to set up a welcome back party!"

"Y'didn't."

"I did! So you have to come home tonight and we can celebrate that you're still alive!" Celebrate by getting stoned to hell, drunk at the very least. More of Marie's friends--culture obsessed snobs, lazy buggers who drifted on parents' money, just like Marie does. Hell no.

"Sure." Susan lies.

Marie claps her hands together, leans over and gives her half-dead looking sister a kiss on the cheek. "Perfect! I'll check you out of the room while you get dressed, and then we'll take you home for a little bit of rest before tonight!"

"Uh huh."

Marie bounces out of the room, while Susan attempts to open her eyes again. Less pain. More coherence behind her thoughts, now. No way in hell is she going to go home again. Not with her sister being such a moron, not with the likelihood that that particular apartment is probably being scoured now. Stupid retarded Marie. She looks pretty, but has a Class-C brain.

Susan carefully trails her legs over the side of the bed, puts one huge, flat foot on the cold metal floor. You'd think that they'd attempt to make a room of healing more hospitable: the jolt of cold from the floor travels up Susan's foot, causes her to swear as it sets off shooting pains in the back of her head. She stays perfectly frozen for a moment, at least until the pain subsides to a bearable level. Puts some weight on those big feet, waits for more pain. Nothing more then what she's getting already comes. Step forward, to the dresser. Paper-thin gown that rubs over her skin, clings to her metal filigree as if vaguely magnetized. Susan pulls it off with one gesture and flings it to the ground.

Her entire body looks like it's held together with only metal stitches--decoration--but it gives her a ragdoll skeleton appearance. She doesn't let others see it. She doesn't look at herself as she pulls on undergarments, then the heavy layers of neon pink and green, black and bands of white. Heavy, comforting boots. Thick buckles, thick soles. She straightens her worn out, patched over jacket, and finally gives herself a glance in the mirror that's been beside her all this time. She walks out of the room, out of the hospital suites, and doesn't look back.