<div style="text-indent:1em;">Farril had been in the cruise ship’s gym when the boat sank.  She didn’t care where she was you don’t skip leg day.  She had just gotten off a leg press when the ship started tilting.  She had walked to the door when it crashed open in a wave of water, carrying her with it.  She felt a sharp strike at the back off her head, and everything went black.</div><br/><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;">Then, everything went white.  “Holy Fuck!” Farril yelled, grabbing at the back of her head, trying to find where she had been hit.  She couldn’t find any mark, but she swore she had felt something give.  And that dream, what was up with that?  It was then she noticed she wasn’t on the ship anymore.</div><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;">She was standing on a hill in an endless field of grass, with an overcast sky and a small village off in the distance.  She started jog-running towards the town, checking herself to see if anything besides scenery had changed.  She was still wearing her workout clothes, a black tank top with a matching pair of sweatpants and jacket. Her hair was also the same, undercut, dyed scarlet, and brushed to one side at chin length.  The only thing different was what she found in her pocket, her custom made brass knuckles.  They were designed to fit her hands perfectly and came with a detailed engravings.  One of her likeness but her hair had been longer then, and the other had a boy with spiked hair.  Both where sans clothing.  They had been a gift from Neville, one of her many exes, who had made them himself.  He was the boy on the second.</div><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;">“Worst, leg day, ever.”  Farril said as she stumbled into town, her legs now rubber after intense workout and a couple mile run.</div>