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CHAPTER FORTY-SIX,
how is one

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༇ HOW is one supposed to tell whether or not that person is real, when they're so devastated that they can barely see past their teary eyes?

How is one supposed to tell what's real or fake when we live in the year 2036, with advanced technology?

How is one supposed to go along with the fact that the screen couldn't be provided because it wasn't 'waterproof'?

How is one supposed to know how many players are in the game if there is no screen?

How is one supposed to believe it's smart to give a random man a gun in the Borderlands?

How is one supposed to know that while her hands ran over his body, she might've taken genetic, manipulative pieces?

How is one supposed to expect that each time a loved one dies, they magically come back to life?

Isn't it all disappointing?

You've spent all those hours wasting your tears.

Or is it... better?

At least they're alive.

Or are they?

Last time, you couldn't tell whether or not it was real.

Haircuts may be copied.

Moles may be tattooed.

Most body types are not that unique.

Clothes are easy to peel off.

Headsets are not.

And yet, you'd expect the smartest in the room to be able to take it off.

If they did, then it must've been fake, right?

But if it was waterproof, and it bled, and it had real flesh, and real chemical burns— it must've been real.

How far would one go to help their boss out?

How far would your boss go to defeat their enemies?

They'd definitely try to stab you in the back.

Three.

Delicate.

Times.

Why?

Revenge or pure evil?

Either way, history shall repeat and the dealers will do anything to keep the linchpin from leaving the Borderlands.