The transit is supposed to be painless. Having never transferred off-world, you expected that the margin of perceived time might be slimmer, but the seconds it takes to transmit the data to make you a person has nothing to do with the dawning awareness that you cannot see, hear, smell, or taste. You cry in agony as you are reconstructed.The process seems to take eons to formulate into anything you can identify. Your nerves come into being before your brain is developed enough to parse meaning from cacophony, the sense of touch disorienting as your skin forms. Your eyes discern light before you can identify images. After what seems like an eternity, although in reality has been a shift of only 2 minutes standard Earth rotation, you discover you are you again through fresh eyes.. You step from the transit pod, formed and dressed, and go about trying to find the librarian.
Word 1: ATTACK