Of course she's an Orange and nothing at all like she looks. She's not even an Orange, Victra reminds herself, but a noColor, someone who's free to make her own decisions and probably has interests outside of the insides of a motor. But it's hard to tell that from looking at her, from looking at the proud gleam in her eyes and smile as she talks about the cycle. Victra wishes she had something like that, something to feel so passionate about beyond war and combat. That would probably make this whole transition easier. To have something to hold onto that transcends dimensions.

Victra's mouth twists a little, tugging downwards at the corners in a discontented frown, at the mention of her boss. She runs her hand along the motorcycle, careful of its balance but wanting to touch it, wanting to imagine what it would feel like to have her own hands on the grips.

"That hasn't happened to me yet, but I don't know how I'd feel," she says. "Jealous that they get out or selfishly angry that it's not me escaping. But I guess getting a nice little gift out of the deal softens the blow."