Saturday groans and puts her head in her hands. "Jesus fucking christ - sorry. Listen. They won't let us out til we do the stupid game, okay? They're a hard fight and I've already done a lot that, can we please just do it?"

Her appearance bears out her story: she's disheveled and bruised, suffering not so much from one big wound as from dozens of minor ones. Her jumpsuit is torn, and there's a thin line of crusted blood across her right eyebrow. Even her metal right arm looks dinged.

"Anyway, how is it lying if everyone knows you're doing it? I'll go first. I'm technically the priestess of a bronze age fire goddess, I was raised in a slum, and my father is the King of the Elves."

She does have pointed ears.