In the next seventy milliseconds, dozens of intricate mechanisms click and whir in your head. You have a quick read of the situation. All your combat faculties appear to be present. But you can't forget for a moment you're in someone else's virtual reality. Honestly, it's probably futile no matter what you do, but you know what? This is what you are. So fuck it. You're going to turn as much as you can of this false environment into false rubble and screaming. You process 8,503,056 iterations of your regular battle mantra and all your targeting wetware comes online, wreathing the girl in lovely floral patterns. 38 milligrams of n-methyl amphetamine slides smoothly into your bloodstream out of that one implanted gland in your neck. Ephedra sinica DNA on a backdrop of frog. You make your fists.