She doesn't breathe, but her chest is heaving anyway because of the simulation. Evy's not supposed to look like what she is, because people don't want to entrust their feelings to a robot, even if it's capable of empathizing with them. That's why her feet are aching with the stress of running in heels and she's terrified.

She wouldn't have it any other way of course, except she's hiding in her supervisor and good friend's bathroom, which is odd in itself because it's so small she has to sit down on the seat. She's not familiar with toilets anyway, seeing as she doesn't do that, thank goodness. She can taste and she enjoys eating, mind you. She uses food for fuel but her waste management process is much more sanitary, of course. That’s another improvement that Jones, the man whose toilet she's currently huddled on, did for her.

The other being the very reason she is being hunted down now, so Evy's feelings (the ones that he technically gave her) on Jones are dwindling from affection to irritation. The footsteps in the office outside are coming closer, and in her trepidation, Evy shrinks back and braces herself with a hand on the wall. And now she feels funny. The walls are definitely turning purple. No, that's red. Right, correction, now they look the way asparagus smells -- oh great, her sensory systems are being overloaded again. The last time that happened, she ended up speaking in deer and walking backwards everywhere.

Only -- well, this is not her sensory systems because now her internal GPS unit's disabling itself and the pressure in her head keeps building until there's only black, like she's been stuffed into a pillow case and then locked away in a shoebox. And then there's nothing.