IC Inbox

[retested]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, AMANDA. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 102.92.004.06 *** gameover has joined 102.92.004.06 <gameover> This is Amanda. <gameover> If you need to contact me, do so here. <gameover> DO NOT waste my time with stupid shit.

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<gameover>

[retested]

I'm always happy to sacrifice in Her name.

Want me to meet you now?

[marcato]

I'd be overjoyed.

[The warehouse is unremarkable. Boring. When Amanda steps inside, however, she'll find that the floors are free from dust and the walls are free from spiderwebs. It's old, but pristine. Anyone who knows Aunamee would recognize his handiwork.

He doesn't greet her at the door. Instead, he waits for her in a nearby hallway, standing over a man who's been bound to a chair. Muffled cries emanate underneath the bag over his head.]

It's good to see you, Amanda. It's been some time.

[retested]

[Aunamee would have hated working in John and Amanda's workshops: tools and materials scattered everywhere, rust and chipped paint, the occasional spill of gear grease on work tables. Amanda can almost see him angrily cleaning and organizing it all, even though she and her chosen father knew where each and every little thing rested within the mess. A method to the madness.

Amanda stalks in with two of her hands inside her coat pockets; three others are free, and the last carries her hunting knife. She doesn't expect Aunamee to attack her, but who knows what might go wrong while they're working? Constant vigilance is her way of life.]

Yeah. [She's not going to broach the topic of that length of time, because she's doing her absolute fucking best to repress the space whale trauma.] You look well.

[marcato]

Thank you.

[He says it with a smile. In his mind, he always looks well, even when he doesn't. Dwelling on the alternative for too long makes his thoughts turn into static. ]

I'm better now that you're here, of course. I'm eager to get started.

[He gestures to the human in the chair. His muffled pleas have increased in pitch. ]

But first, I have a confession. Do you remember that death arena two years ago? When you killed all those heathens so spectacularly?

[retested]

How could I forget? I had the time of my fuckin' life.

[She'd stayed for the entire battle royale, making four kills when she only needed one in order to escape. It's safe to say she had fun.]

You were behind it, weren't you? I mean, I've speculated as much. You did end up buying that bone gun.

[marcato]

[I had the time of my fuckin' life. I've speculated as much. None of her words surprise him, but they all thrill him, this acknowledgment of a job well done.]

Yes. Along with AM.

[He knows she won't like that part of his confession, but there's no guilt in his voice, feigned or otherwise. And it's because of what he's going to say next:]

Next time, I'd like to throw him among the dogs.

[His choice of words is deliberate. Next time.]

[retested]

[Noa had once confided in Amanda that he suspected AM's involvement with the event, and she'd responded as if he were intentionally trying to ruin it for her. She's not surprised when Aunamee admits it himself, but it sucks to acknowledge that someone she hates was involved in the creation of something she enjoyed so thoroughly.]

Lovers' quarrel?

[Her use of "lovers" is very deliberate, but it's the only shot she takes, because...]

But tell me more about this "next time."