Maybe it was the first stage of grief - denial - talking, but Penelope still could not wrap her brain around the idea that she was actually dead. How was it possible that the virtual reality helmet she wore caused her to die? Or did the GM mean that the players of the game were as good as dead, since there was apparently no way out of the game and evidently no way to log out or force a shut down. She was forced to wonder about her body, alone in her apartment, sitting at her computer desk and playing this very game. Who would find her, when she eventually starved to death, if in fact she wasn’t literally dead?<br/><br/>The thoughts only caused her to become even more upset, and it was then that she was so grateful to have the almost perfect stranger beside her, wrapping his arms around her protectively and supportively, enveloping her in his warmth. It was so realistic, she felt him there, heard his heart beating against his chest while her ear pressed to his chest, his heat resonating against her. They were both shuddering together. Weakly, Penelope leaned against him. The shock was not wearing away any time soon. All she could do was cry, letting the reality of their horrific circumstance wash over them.<br/><br/>Acros, or at least, the man who had been controlling the avatar of Acros, released her for a brief moment to check on something. He walked to the edge of the Capitol’s property, Penelope watching him. His real life visage faded away, replaced with pixels instead. She sniffled, her brows furrowing as she watched him walk back toward the Capitol, turning back into his real life self once he crossed a certain, invisible threshold. He returned to her, wrapping her up in his arms and comforting her, wordlessly. Penelope eventually wiped her eyes and cheeks, wiping away the tears that stained her face.<br/><br/>There was no real way to keep track of time, or how much of it had gone by. But, after what felt like a long while, she looked up at him again, this time releasing a shaky sigh. “What should we do?” She asked, hoping that maybe he knew something she didn’t. Or that maybe he had some sort of plan for what they should do next. “I guess… well, this is me.” She referenced herself with a vague wave of her hand angled at herself. “My name is Penelope.” She confessed, her voice still quiet. At the very least, if she was doomed to die with him, she figured they should exchange names.