The Operator was invited to a party a very, very, very long time ago. They think it went quite well. The Orokin would have probably disagreed.

They’re anticipating significantly less bloodshed this time around, though aside from that, they're not sure what to expect. Those in attendance are mostly humans, drinking, chatting, dancing, and occasionally sparring. The Operator wishes they could join in with that last activity, though they don’t trust this flimsy body not to fall to pieces at the first blow. Instead they stand on the sidelines, sipping cautiously at a drink they look way too young for. How did they get that anyway?

Overhearing a nearby attendee refuse a drink of his own, they look over curiously.

“Is it supposed to do something to you?”