As the rocket explodes, Stace stays calm in low gravity, munching on a potato pellet while she gradually descends to the greyscale surface of the moon. The world really is as beautiful as it seems: a whole glassy spectacle, endlessly detailed, cloudy and watery and electric-lighty and warm and cold and dry and firing a vast array of missiles and then the fucking moon explodes. Stace is killed instantly, and all her chips are burnt to a crisp.