Six stitches and a prescription of antibiotics, like Ami had predicted, was it took to treat her wound. She had had all her time to work on her computer and come to her conclusions in the waiting room, and there was many things Usagi would want to know.
She would show her everything the next day, for tonight it was late. At school probably, such a small attack didn't justify closing it. Information about the enemy… and about their own group.
First, the enemies were made of pure energy. Sent as an attack by some entity, they took shape when entering the real world, and judging by the roughly designed creatures, their master probably wasn't very experienced, or it was under-skilled. It was logical to think he was aiming at the warriors, but without recognising them given the blind aggression of the beasts. They were all male, the entity must have been of Yin nature, in theory these ones shouldn't be evil, but in practice the one who invented this rule was an utter idiot.
The frequency of the attacks had no logic, but it was in proportion with the quantity of enemies. The more it happened late, the more there was. That proportion was weakening lately, the entity was tiring. Was it stupid enough to exhaust itself and be defeated without the Sailors' action?
Then there was Makoto. She had watered it down in front of her, but the state of her energy was alarming. Not only was its level excessively low, it came directly from Sailor Moon, she had no reserve at all, at each of her movements she borrowed strength from Usagi. It would not harm her, or if yes very little, but would Makoto be dependant forever? In a way, it was like she wasn't really resurrected.

Makoto got undressed in front of the mirror. Though since a little while she didn't feel pain, she sensed the flesh rip when she gave or received a strong enough blow. Her body was horrible to see. Most of her skin had lost its greyish colour for a sinister white. The wound between her ribs had widened, the desiccating flesh shrinking. It was hard and dry all around it. A yellow liquid, with an occasional red tint, constantly seeped out.
Despite the make up, her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes were clearly visible, she had lost much weight as her body lost water. Her forehead was marked with a large star shaped wound, a blow she had received, who didn't bleed despite its depth. The skin on her knuckles was slit in the same manner. The scratches from the last fight hadn't begun to heal, they dried like the other, and emitted a repulsive smell. Small white dots were embedded in the one on her arm.
She always kept a water bottle with her, because her mouth was so dry if she didn't moisten her tongue and throat from times to times she had trouble speaking clearly, and having a persisting bad taste in the mouth. That hadn't prevented her lips to completely dry and break until all the skin was ripped off. She also needed eyes drop often, otherwise it dried too and she didn't see well, plus it gave her a disagreeable rubbing feeling… like right now on the right side.
She looked closer in the mirror and moved back with disgust. What was annoying her was a piece of conjunctive probably torn by a particle of sand and the movements of her eye, and slowly peeled off by friction. She carefully cut it between two nails and threw in down the drain with a disgusted shiver.
She knew, deep inside her, what was happening to her body, but she didn't want to know. That's why she didn't want to see a doctor, she was afraid the truth would be worse than ignorance. She washed, applied alcohol on the lesions and went to bed, not expecting to either sleep or really be awake, just to wait for the morning. She would go to school, maybe Monday too, Tuesday who knows, Wednesday? If it was what she feared, her masquerade wouldn't last so long.

Chapter 6