The acrid smell of rusted iron and the stinging stench of acid rain. The first thing felt upon regaining consciousness was the cold air piercing the lungs.

Amuro tries to push herself up but freezes at a strange sense of dissonance. The hands that entered her field of vision were not the rugged hands of the soldier she once was. They were white, slender fingers, like those of a young girl. Panicked, she touches her throat, but instead of a protruding Adam's apple, she feels a smooth neckline. Even her voice had turned thin and high-pitched.