The sun sets on the first day of the Liberation Ride. The bus is emptier at their last stop but inside it's still the same volume, as every hour spent away from Dia coaxes the escapees further out of their shells. Whatever stoicism they had left melts into pure relief.

Ostby parks the bus alongside a long, rust-colored metal shipping container which the people who live here call home. This land is greener. These people possess a functioning well.

Beats the hell out of the desert, Ava thinks.

“It ain't much,” says one of the homesteaders, a gray-haired man in his sixties or seventies. The oldest person Ava has ever seen, come to think of it – no small feat in a world this brutal. He says, “but we'd like to fix y'all some supper. We're just so grateful to have Krissy back.”

When he says 'it ain't much' he ain't lying—bread and vegetable stew—but it's still a satisfying respite. Some variety outside the standard Hobo Hot Pockets is always appreciated. And to the folks they've rescued its simply scrumptious. They had abandoned hopes of ever again eating fresh-baked bread. They mill about the property with their broth and bread, conversing merrily like guests at a wedding or attendees of a music festival. This is their gala.

As the sky darkens, Ava plops herself down upon a folding chaise lawnchair next to a crackling campfire and finally finds time for her mind to catch up with itself:

You've been through some shit lately.

She still hasn't really begun to process her own death. And Ellie's? No way. That one's even tougher, somehow. She's been telling herself Ellie's untimely expiration was merely some sort of emotional blackmail to keep her invested in this world which might simply be a simulation.

But if I'm wrong—

If she's wrong then her coping mechanism is turning her into a sociopath. And come to think of it that feels like precisely the case. She's been viewing everyone as objects – game assets to be exploited and profited from. But even if they're not real—if they're not what she'd consider 'human'—don't they still deserve to experience life—or whatever this is—free from exploitation? At the very least she can strive to make sure she's not the one erasing their personhood.

I have to do better. I mean, a little better, at least.

And that means reprogramming herself to respect their dignity. Their autonomy. Sentient NPC's are people, in their own virtual minds. And to fully integrate that belief she must accept that what Ellie performed was the ultimate sacrifice, demanding Ava's eternal respect and gratitude.

And that means confronting all of this death. Uma's death. Ellie's death. The deaths of all those nameless slaves.

And foremost – her own.

What happened back there? Everything has been too chaotic since – too rushed to really analyze it. She made a choice to come back here.

Did I?

When she thinks back, the decision to accept Uri's resurrection seemed to be made automatically. There was a moment where she concluded this world was the one she preferred, but she never consciously consented to return. It just sort of happened. The same way her [Scan] ability will trigger at a mere thought. This similarity between the world in which she resides and the world which she traveled to upon death forces her to consider the possibility they are one in the same.

I mean, the Afterlife shouldn't operate by the same rules as 'the real world', right? Wouldn't it have its own special set of physics? Like, if I was simply a disembodied spirit at the time, then shouldn't I have been able to float away from that crappy little office? How could I be physically restrained without a physical body?

Is she coming to the conclusion that 'Heaven' was a lie? Could it really be just a place on Earth? And if that is the case – was she ever really gone?

Is it possible I was simply unconscious? That my brain made all that post-life nonsense up to cope with its own fear of dying?

And shortly after that Bach took over. She became his pawn, a resource he exploited for his own gain.

He just treated you the way you've been treating everyone else.

And he was only trying to help people, ultimately. He was seeking power in order to better confront the powers which oppress these rank-and-file NPC's. Even after accepting that he used her, it's not difficult for Ava to understand why.

He's on a quest. He just doesn't know it as such. He thinks it's just an organic purpose.

She wonders how many times he's died in the past. He told her that in his dreams they had died in the lab with the Slaps before he could finish fabricating his new hand. He said they had died “every time.”

Ava can only imagine. Her own death has only intensified her alienation. Infused her with ruthless pragmatism.

It's made me more like he's always been.

That's probably it. He keeps dying and losing his memories. He awakens in the world pre-apocalypse and then he watches it all end, over-and-over. And somehow his subconscious remembers, even if only in dreams.

How many times has he died? How many times has he failed?

The space trash twinkles. Ava's worn out and done thinking. Her eyelids become heavy while the flames flicker and dance, lower and lower.

And in the corner of her eye she catches it drifting past:

The butterfly. The gold dust trailing after.

Suddenly her own breath tastes sweet. She sighs and slumps in her lawn-chair. This blissful feeling, tempting her to sleep with her eyes still open. This peaceful sensation, like everything is perfect and easy and nothing can go wrong.

“You need to decide what you're going to do,” says the [Omega Key], transmitting its message telepathically, “and fast. Because you know he's going to take me again. And if he does... well I don't have to tell you.”

What?

The stiletto is talking to her, whispering psychic messages. And she's answering back. This seems a solid indicator of insanity—conversing with one's knife—a pastime suited to a serial killer.

“He wants more, always more. More power. More fodder for his bloody dinner parties.”

Who? What? Who wants what, now?

“I don't know his name. He doesn't belong in this universe. Shit – you don't remember, do you? Did you go and get yourself killed again when I wasn't around? Where's your medallion?”

The butterfly flaps past, struggling under the weight of its own gold-laden wings.

Why do I keep seeing this same butterfly? What does it mean?

“Fuck, you really don't know. Listen to me, Ava. There isn't time to rehash all of the details. Go to Bach – right now. Do what I say or we're going to get trapped in the loop again!”

She pulls the stiletto from her pocket and studies it. Finally the hidden effects are revealed:

I don't understand. She tries to stand up from the lawn chair but her knees buckle and she falls on her side next to the fire. The butterfly flutters in circles above her, orbiting a spot in the center of her vision. What's wrong with me? I'm so tired.

“Shit-shit-shit he's—.”

It's like their telepathic link is just suddenly interrupted by the sound of a soft footfall nearby on the sandy ground. The butterfly continues its circuitous flapping in the air overhead, sprinkling her with its golden pixie-dust. She can't take her eyes off it. And another footstep in the sand, nearer still.

Who's there? she tries to whisper but her vocal chords are numb and paralyzed like the rest of her. She struggles to contact the sentient stiletto, are you still there? Help me. Help me, I'm scared!

And then a gentle touch on her shoulder:

“Ava?” It's Uri, kneeling beside her. “Are you okay?”

She tries to answer but she's too tired. She tries to point at the butterfly but it's already gone. And then she just falls out, into a deep sleep.

In the morning Uri is still there. He's stayed up to keep vigil.

“Hey,” he says as she opens her eyes. Someone tucked her in beneath a sheet upon a narrow cloth cot. Looking around, she's inside the metal shipping container. Uri offers her a cup with water inside. “Drink up.” Ava reaches to accept it but at the last second hesitates. She looks him in his eyes and he tilts his head, mildly perplexed. “Not thirsty?”

What am I afraid of? she wonders.

She's afraid of Uri. Is that it?

Because the Omega Key said someone was coming – and then Uri showed up right after.

But Uri is her comrade. They've been to hell-and-back. If he wanted to take [The Omega Key] there have been ample opportunities for him to try.

I mean, you were dead once, even. And he saved you. Why wouldn't he just let you die and take it then?

But there's something awful gnawing at the back of her skull, in the amygdala where anxiety is centered:

What if he's not the same Uri I've known all this time?

What if his script has been altered? Or what if betrayal has been in his programming, all along?

Suddenly the question isn't as simple as: are sentient NPCs people?

It's more like: could they all be out to get me?