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When they’d taken off with him still on board, Ata had yelled for an hour straight. He had then paced his ‘protective’ cell for a day, growling at the scientists who had told him he was ‘affected’. That night he’d not slept. By morning his limbs were leaden and he had collapsed. That is when time has become indistinct, sinking beneath the weight of loss for his shantai. Now, even breathing was difficult. They’d tried to help: medicines; machines; nothing stopped the pain. With every cell, Ata needed K.