Molotov huffs out a humorless laugh, takes another sip from her bottle of gin. "Not everyone agrees," she shrugs, drawing her knees up to rest her elbows on them. "People in my world work very hard for results that are barely a fraction as good. At least here, it's like never dying at all. You don't wake up with someone else's arm stitched on where yours fell off. We can still function."

Her head leans back and rests against the shelf behind her. "If we had technology this good, I can think of people I would want back."