Five rounds.
Serena hit the ground on her hands and knees for the fifth time and stayed there for three seconds because three seconds was what her body was demanding as payment for five consecutive shifts and five consecutive de-shifts and the payment was non-negotiable.
Her nose was bleeding. A thin line of red running from her left nostril to her upper lip, the signature receipt of a body that was processing shifts as trauma rather than function. She wiped it with the back of her hand. Looked at the blood. Accepted it.
Bleeding from the nose meant the shift was still too hard on her system. Bleeding from the nose also meant she was shifting, repeatedly, in succession, which was more than her body had been able to do a week ago. Progress was bleeding and bleeding was progress and the math was ugly but the math was hers.
