Machiko is a while persuading her eyes to open. The level of pain she felt in the wake of the explosion outside clan headquarters, little more than twenty-four hours ago, was nothing compared to what she feels now, like she has been pummeled by several shots from a rail gun. Her skull feels as fragile as the shell of an egg, her ribs like frail sticks. Sitting up takes an immense act of will. Medtechs speak of bruised bones, micro-fractures, concussion effects, but she ignores them. She pulls sensors from her temples, her chest, her wrist, and adjusts her clothes. Fortunately, the medtechs have made no attempts at treatment other than basic first aid. Any form of invasive treatment would likely do more harm than good.