Post by Squee on Jan 19, 2014 22:58:53 GMT -5
“Cunning signifies, especially, a habit or gift of overreaching, accompanied with enjoyment and a sense of superiority. – It is associated with small and dull conceit, and with an absolute want of sympathy or affection. – It is the intensest rendering of vulgarity, absolute and utter.”
- Ruskin
Name: Nezda Alouette
Age: 29
Race: Vahla
Birth place: Bakura
Height: 5’10’’
Weight: 138
Eye Color: Lavender
Hair Color: Black
Appearance:
Her skin tone is a shade of thick smoke. From her scalp to her toes, Nezda is a deep gray blur. Her only contrasting features are lavender eyes, meticulously cleaned white teeth, and the sleek shine of her well groomed black and gray hair. She is a very clean person, often occupying a long time in the shower that have resulted in others banging on her door. For her efforts, she receives the results she wants with clipped, polished, grime-free nails (fingers and toes), pearly teeth, and skin smoothed to her desires.
Lithe in body frame, Nezda has a well defined musculature and, as a Vahla, possesses an extreme flexibility than has been honed in addition to her body’s natural cartilage structure. This aspect has proven incredibly useful in prior training and previous line of work, as well as present situations.
In some places, her body is marked with an ashen coloring due to scars. Blast-like scars can be found on arms, legs, and torso all – evidence of suffering from multiple shots from a weapon or something similar. On her hands, she is missing both of her smallest fingers. As such, the healed tips are of a lighter color than the majority of her body.
She accessorizes with black or smoky gray matted leather. Her choice in pants is tight and made of stretchy, comfy material, often dark in color. Though there’s a little more diversity in what cuts of tops she wears, they also tend to be form fitting and of the same material. Leather gloves, leather jacket, leather boots, belt, necklaces, bracers, bracelets may make up everything else. On assignment, she switches out for a one-piece suit with a hood.
Personality:
Nezda behaves more like a child. She is selfish and easily irritable when made fun of and retaliates with insults with the intention of escalating the issue. She has a tendency of holding grudges for long periods of time, and will sulk when things do not go her way. She disrespects people’s privacy and personal belongings. Nezda will pick pocket for the heck of it and dangle her skills (and trinket, wallet, picture, datapad, whatever) in her victim’s face. She’s amazingly confident, perhaps over-confident, of her skills and abilities and has no problem being a show-off.
Without something to occupy her attention, Nezda is quick to bore. It is the reason she starting thieving after she was discharged from the Sith military. A normal life simply doesn’t suite the woman – she needs excitement or she’ll cause a stir, ignoring consequences. Her lines of morality are all but nonexistent; Nezda doesn’t care if what she does benefits a greater good or a greater evil as long as her boredom is cured.
Her flippant behavior and dispassionate disposition toward others and their well beings distances her from people. Those who tolerate her presence for long periods of time may find themselves subject to both her random good nature and dark sense of humor. However, they are also prone to seeing the twisted nightmare that resides in the depths of her skull. The woman suffers from long-term PTSD, though she’s been through medicine and therapy to help her cope better than her initial months. Occasionally, she resorts to old, bad habits of abusing alcohol after a truly horrifying nightmare or if a situation displays itself similarly to her experiences.
Nezda’s blood runs hot at the mention of a Jedi, or a Sith nowadays. Her disgust for the Force is deep-seated and firmly rooted; she would do just about anything to inconvenience a Force user.
Profession:
Thief
Previous Faction/Rank:
Sith Intelligence - Cipher
Equipment:
1 lock-picking kit
1 standard blaster pistol
1 practical knife
1 datapad
Fake identity kit
Starship: n/a
Skills:
Pick pocket
Hacking and security
Pilotting
Force Sensitive
Sharp memory
Fluency in common languages – Huttese, boche, basic
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 5
Intelligence: 8
Speed: 4
Leadership: 5
Unarmed: 6
Melee Weapons: 2
Ranged Weapons: 6
Bio:
Birth – 9
By her associates and those who knew the woman, Yarna Alouette would never be picked out to be a mother. A woman of many scars, including a missing eye, she was a killer, not a mother. A suckling babe could unravel her bounty hunter reputation and image, not to include provide her enemies with an opportunity to use against her. Yarna, by herself, wouldn’t normally have considered motherhood either. But there was a strange understanding and awareness of the possibility of a child developing inside her, the product of a one night stand of a Vahla man whom Yarna didn’t even know the name of.
So she kept the baby, moved to the nicer planet of Bakura, and used her blood money to buy a decent home. When the baby was born, Yarna used her small fortune to ensure the child was healthy – subjected the small infant to tests to make absolutely sure the babe was not suffering from any genetically carried condition.
And Yarna realized… she didn’t know the first bloody thing about being a mother. She did her best, though.
Nezda was a well cared for baby – food, diapers, toys. Yarna hired a house servant, a mother of three, to help her with Nezda. As a toddler, Nezda prattled at her mother’s heels, who learned how to play with the baby. When Yarna was gone, Nezda was cared for by the house servant, mingling with the woman’s children.
As she got older, Nezda grew to understand her mother came and went, sometimes weeks at a time. She saw the armor. She saw the guns. She didn’t know what her mom did, but she did understand that it was probably violent because guns could hurt people. But it didn’t hurt people to sneak sweets from the kitchen, did it? At a young age, Nezda snatched cookies and wrapped goodies late at night. She thought she was so sneaky creeping across the hall, past mommy’s open door.
When the house servant suggested to Yarna to enroll Nezda in school, the Vahla woman instead went through several home stay instructors and tutors before selecting a couple who would educate Nezda. Yarna paid them well to keep quiet about her comings and goings, and about what they saw.
Nezda’s instructors taught her very well. Yarna only fired one once, when the man lost his temper at Nezda’s inability to understand mathematics and called the Vahla girl stupid. He was gone the next day, his back chased by a child’s smile. Overall, Nezda’s teachers said the child was bright, but easily bored. Because of this, the instructors turned several lessons into games to appeal to the child’s boredom. They also encouraged the child’s learning by using a system of awards, which succeeded for a small time until the rewards became repetitive.
And she still stole candies and cookies from the kitchen late at night. Though Yarna caught and punished her daughter several times for such adventures, Nezda wanted those extra sweets and it was always thrilling to see if she would be caught.
On her ninth birthday, her mother was home to celebrate it on time. Though Nezda received several toys and an excellent cake, she clung true to a stuffed animal, a cartoon bunny from one of her favorite holoshows. That night the doorbell rang while Nezda sat watching said cartoon. It was the police, arrived to pin charges onto her mother. Yarna, not one for rolling over for anyone, instinctively fought back. It grew loud and violent, very quickly, with cries of defiance and hate, shouts of compliance, and the hum of something hot. Nezda ducked under the dinner table, hidden by the tablecloth, clutching her newest favorite toy.
Yarna’s curses were silenced and before long, the table skirt lifted from the ground. A pale woman with brilliant emerald eyes and a black shock of hair beckoned with a wave, telling her to come out. Crawling out, she sat with the tall, quiet woman, one “Jedi Rellarye”, while they waited for children’s services while the police and detectives searched through the house.
Nezda was taken into a temporary hostile and then put into emergency foster after a couple of nights. While the girl didn’t know it, her life was being decided for her. And after some number of weeks, Nezda was introduced to a tall, ashen colored Vahla with lavender eyes, who claimed to be her uncle. Haydroth signed paperwork and conversed sufficiently with Nezda’s present caretakers. And when they brought her to the spaceport for her final departure, her uncle picked up Nezda and her bag and carried her away.
9-18
Haydroth had his own ship, which Nezda found herself sharing with her red-headed aunt Farhe and her red-headed cousin, Juri. Juri was only four at the time, though Nezda found out the boy was a menace. Farhe was incredibly protective of her little red-headed boy, often spouting how blessed Juri was by the goddess Vahl. The one time Nezda hit Juri was the last, finding Farhe’s wrath and punishment severe and not worth undertaking anymore.
Peace was difficult to find. The whole transition was hard. From an airy home to a cramped ship. From all pennies devoted to her to wearing dresses so long they became three sizes too short. Haydroth and Farhe weren’t swimming in money, making a living by thievery and the occasional smuggling.
Nezda spent most of her time with her uncle, who had a tendency of rolling his eyes at both his wife and his son. Farhe, devout to Vahl (by the scars on her arms), always put Juri first, spoiled the boy, always said he couldn’t be punished because he was so blessed, etc. Haydroth and Farhe snarled a lot at each other. When she was twelve, Nezda got the courage to ask Haydroth why he’d married his witch of a wife. The Vahla man shrugged, said she’d been beautiful once, and then Juri changed things. Farhe thought Juri could one day become a Chosen of Vahl, and therefore used it as an excuse and, for some reason, thought that entitled the boy.
While Farhe had her head stuck in the clouds and in her stupid son’s business, Uncle Haydroth had taken over ensuring Nezda’s education. He would question her about her online courses and classes, often learning or helping her himself. Uncle Haydroth was the only reason Nezda felt she belonged with her extended family.
Therefore, he was the only one she filched from. Just as when she was younger, her habits of thieving an article of favorite clothing or a new trinket from Juri provided the teenager with boundless entertainment. While Juri would whine and whimper, Nezda would twirl in a chair with an ear to ear grin. While Farhe would come to Juri’s aid, Haydroth came to Nezda’s.
Nezda was sixteen when she started taking more interest in Haydroth’s lifestyle. He stole and smuggled for clients, but he always had plans. It took a while before Haydroth comfortably conversed with Nezda about his work, but the young lady proved to be a pest if her questions went unanswered.
She helped her uncle stay organized, since the man’s workspace was a disheveled mess. She began reading his mail, once she’d figured out the password (easy to find on his datapad). Getting the idea, she broke into Juri’s encrypted datapad, reading his diary, which was mostly about all the “horrible” stuff she did to him.
However, her uncle caught her one night when she was reading through the mail. Though he gave her a stern talking to about respecting privacy, afterward he filled her head with stories of what he’d stolen before, issues he’d had, close encounters, and of the like. At first it was interesting, but it soon bored Nezda, who then expressed an interest in helping her uncle or even stealing something. So he started showing her how to decrypt codes in his mail. Then the content of his mail started making more sense. And she would sit with hand in her palms while she watched him collect maps, blueprints, create plans, mark out routes, listed, planned, planned, planned for his next steal.
When she was eighteen, they landed on Yaga Minor for Haydroth to complete a technology hijack job. For the past couple of years, Nezda had taken to wandering away from the ship to escape her suffocating aunt and fool of a cousin. She always pocketed some money from Fahre’s room, using it to hole up in a motel room and gamble unsuccessfully. That was okay, though, drunkards were relatively easy to pick pocket.
It was returning to her motel that a sly man with slicked back hair and a sharp nose approached her, questioning her Vahla heritage. He bored her, trying to chitchat about what she liked and what she didn’t like, but when he reached his point… Political strife, the reformation of the Sith Empire, the need for persons to join the cause… Nezda barked laughter in his face and went to her room.
18 - 25
She spent two more, increasingly painful years with her aunt and Juri. When she was twenty, Nezda had enough fights with Fahre calling her a useless vagabond. No matter how she tried to explain she helped Haydroth, Nezda started to believe Fahre, and Juri, just wanted her gone. So Nezda asked to be returned to Yaga Minor.
Since the man on Yaga Minor, Nezda had actually been paying attention to political tensions. Uncle Haydroth tried to explain that he could find her something else, that she could do something other than the supposed Sith Empire this man told her about. Nezda on shrugged, and said she was too smart for grunt work, and maybe she could work for the intelligence agency. If there was such an Empire.
Haydroth waited until Nezda found the recruiters on Yaga Minor before he said a final farewell to the girl he’d adopted into his family. Nezda fondly hugged her uncle, gave her aunt and cousin one last snarl, and departed with her recruiter.
She found herself in a ship with mostly other humans, though a red-skinned face and a horned head could be seen here and there with her travelers. They were on the ship for quite a while, and stopped at other planets to pick up other recruiters and their interested persons. Before long, Nezda felt she was suffocating with the number of people on the ship, and was disgusted that she had to share a room with three other women.
Upon their destination, they were assigned temporary rooms and went through a rigid screening process. Nezda took placement tests and had her education verified. The further she went into her screening, the less people she saw. They asked her of her individual skills and had those tested. Nezda was able to show her decrypting and coding skills, as well as those she’d acquired here and there by helping her uncle with his business. On her final day, she reported to a specific room with her things, only to find four other people in that room.
She was given an orientation that she was one of five to be selected to serve the intelligence force. They could choose to turn down the opportunity, but were instructed that if they enjoyed causing trouble, they should remain in their seats. The one other woman left at that point. They were further instructed what training would entail.
From then on, Nezda found herself in problem solving situations, and having to learn a new way of thinking. Besides standard military fitness training, she was thrown into more courses about bugging, manipulation, seduction, and scenarios that required improvisation. Anything and all things pertaining to information gathering and spying were crammed in her mind and into her cartilage frame, developing thought and muscle memory.
In all her history books, the Sith were portrayed as ugly, couth people. Nezda actually found her peers tolerable and just… normal people. A sense of extremes were instilled into them during training, to do what it took to succeed, but Nezda found it more effective encouragement. They were expected to be prepared to cheat or kill, trained to be desensitized to violence, and the lines of morality were blurred… but that was what they did as spies. They were a front line, like soldiers, except what they did helped designate where the Empire forged forward next. It was all incredibly exciting.
So exciting that Nezda would get scolded for nearly sabotaging the missions. She managed to be successful, but by too close margins than her Watcher wanted. She was ran through simulations and scenarios while on break before launching her out into the real deal. She got better with her experience, after managing her excitement. Her superiors had assured her everything ran smoother with time and learning.
She spent a couple of years being deployed in the field, mostly to ensure some positions or verify some information from informers. Occasionally her assignments turned up important data and/or a hidden body, which made it ultimately more interesting. Gradually, as she proved herself a stable agent and showed improvement in her training records, she was trusted with under cover assignments. When she was twenty-four, she was deployed as a sleeper agent with a partner.
Nezda didn’t mind Jerrod, a very pale human man with orange hair. She’d run into him a couple of times walking around base, and he had a very clean reputation, hell-bent against the Galactic Republic. He wasn’t as racist as some, and was pleasant enough to her in the beginning. The man was a fantastic actor though, playing the part of a newlywed quite well whenever they were in public.
Nezda spent the better part the year with this man. While each kept to themselves for a time, they opened up over morning cups of caf and complained about their “fake” jobs, mostly about the people they had to tolerate. They picked furniture, bought news beds, decorated their apartment, and decided upon other homely goods. Once or twice, they were separated for a number of weeks to complete a minimal task for the agency. They became good friends without sharing their darkest secrets. Upon hearing of Nezda’s rather secluded childhood, Jerrod convinced her they had to see movies and go to amusement parks and museums and places where she could paint anything she wanted for a price.
After eight months, on the cusp of turning twenty-five, a investigatory division of the military police and a Jedi turned up outside Nezda’s workplace. She was swiftly detained and taken in for interrogation. They presented evidence of her working for the enemy as well as told her the investigation team had been tipped off about her and her partner’s position within an intelligence network. They couldn’t get a word out of Nezda.
The Jedi, a kaleesh, spent more time with Nezda in the interrogation room. He spoke of her Force sensitivity, asked her of previous training with the Force, and whether she understood how tainted she was by the dark side. He got a “Good” out of Nezda, much to the Jedi’s dismay.
Then came in more concrete evidence of their involvement within the Sith Intelligence Agency from the weasel that had ratted out her and Jerrod. Fully detained, the two spent time in some holding cells, transferred over to the Republic military, transported from their sleeper station. There were more questions on their actions and what their present assignment had been, but Nezda and Jerrod knew better than to talk and kept their lips tight.
At some point, the Jedi counterpart departed and Nezda no longer had to suffer his company. However, they were escorted onto a Mid-Rim planet and placed into separate cells in an underground bunker. Every day, an interrogator would come in, ask questions, and leave without answers from Nezda. This process continued for some days, before they began to take more troubling actions to determine their assignment.
They electrocuted her. They threatened her with more violence. They would deny her clothes, as if her nakedness to them would bare them the information they desired. They paper cut the insides of her thighs, and threatened her eyes, ears, teeth, nails, fingers, toes…
They chilled her room, then made it sweltering, starved her, and then kept her awake for three days… Then bound her to a chair in the same room with her partner, who looked no better than her, and finally started to come through with their threats. Binding their mouths shut, because they hadn’t wanted to speak, they cleaved off two of Jerrod’s fingers and toes. By that time, when they pulled off Nezda’s mouth gag, she was angry and spat at them, cursed their Republic military.
They weren’t military, but they were the government.
They cut out Jerrod’s tongue. Forcing the situation completely on Nezda. She either talked, or they continued cutting. Looking to Jerrod, her bloodied partner shook his head, and Nezda kept her teeth clamped. Put into separate cells, a couple of days passed, she didn’t answer, and they woke her up by dumping the rest of her partner’s severed fingers on her.
Things escalated from there. They recorded Jerrod’s horrifying screams and played them through the speakers of her room, made her watch as they made him bleed, his bright red blood contrasting starkly with his ever growing pale skin. She didn’t sleep, not with images of Jerrod’s further maiming flashing through her mind. At one point, they kept her tied to her chair, Jerrod’s fingerless hand in her lap, screams played through her speakers of a dimmed room.
Every time they put Jerrod’s maimed, tired body in front of her, somehow his bloodshot eyes kept a spark of defiant. There were times when the information sat at the tip of her tongue, so they would just stop… and let Jerrod die. Just so they would stop finding ways to horrify her, let her sleep, or give her a drink of water.
They eventually got bored of torturing Jerrod, and instead took to heavily interrogating her. She lost one finger in conclusion to that day. She lost the another on her other hand the following day. But the next day, before they came for her, Nezda could hear a commotion echoing beyond her door. Screaming from her soul, she managed to collapse beside and beat on her door until it opened, revealing an imperial soldier in charred armor. As she grasped at his knee, she babbled her imperial identification before succumbing to sobs of adrenaline and relief.
25-29
She was transferred between hands more times than she could count. When she finally made it on board a ship, an emergency medical team tended to her, keeping fluids running and treating her burns, cracked skin, and the severed ends of her fingers. Nezda cried quietly until the sedative took effect. She woke up some indeterminable time later, asked about Jerrod, and was told he had died. It was good he had died. The man deserved a better afterlife after the hell he’d been put through.
This, however, was the start of a long recovery. Nezda suffered awful nightmares, and her thoughts consistently returned to her time in the cells. One of her attendants looked far too similar to one of her torturers, and so she threw things at him until he left, screaming she’d kill him if he came near him again. Often enough, the team would sedate her throughout the trip. Otherwise, she would sleep fitfully, pull off her ECG stickers, pull out her IV, and cry uncontrollably.
Returning her to a primary station, Nezda was placed into a full functioning hospital room. She was able to check in with her Watcher, and then allowed bed rest. They sent her a therapist, who Nezda allowed to sit in the room and talk to her. Nezda first avoided the recent topic by instead talking about her past, and tried prompting the therapist to do the same. Like she was going to talk to someone who had no interest in her life.
So that therapist left and was replaced by another, a man this time, who tried to sound interested in her. Nezda eventually discontinued talking. So another took on her challenge. He was a dorky looking thing, but his eyes were kind, his smile quirky, and he would talk to Nezda as if he were truly interested in her history. Whether he truly did or not was not of Nezda’s concern; as long as he didn’t sound bored.
He stayed her therapist even after she left the medical facility. But Nezda could almost never sleep – insomnia took hold, making her more hysterical and more prone to violent flashbacks that would cripple her cognitive abilities. She abused her medication in her fiercer fits, which got her admitted into a clinic once her therapist understood her actions.
Her therapy continued, even though she never felt like she was getting better. She was assured she was, and just needed to keep broaching the subject. Though Nezda still continued to struggle with sharp memories, still found herself crawling into a ball, still found visual similarities heart-startling enough to arrest her movement, and still could hear Jerrod’s screams, trapped and echoing in the chambers of her ears.
She got angry at her therapist at one point, stopped seeing him, and instead found a certain solace in alcohol. It would numb her mind enough for her to cope with her memories. It made her tongue looser about the event, too, though she was sure those people thought she made at least some of it up.
After some time, and after it had been proved Nezda was incapable of returning to her duties, she was dismissed as an agent. With nothing to remotely occupy her mind, she drowned herself in alcohol and medications, took too many pills mixed with alcohol, and her neighbor got her to the hospital. Nezda underwent more psychological interrogation while admitted into rehabilitation for her substance abuse.
Hateful and reserved, Nezda tested the patience of all her fellows and the therapists. As time went on, she got used to being sober again and she succumbed to the rules and regulations of her lifestyle. She did better, once again, with one on one therapy, though by now Nezda had to lie about her which military she had been apart of.
Finishing out her program, Nezda started her life again sober and more in control. Normal life, however, proved efficient at being dull. Though Nezda was able to get a job, without education and no way to prove her position in the acceptable Republic military, it was boring.
So… at twenty-seven, she started stealing stuff again. Delving back into her mind, Nezda pulled together her experience as an agent and her uncle’s tips and tricks to pull off some small heists. She sold off jewels and personal devices, never keeping the stolen goods in her possession for long. Unwittingly, Nezda started making a name for herself around a specific district as she began hitting larger targets in a crime sect’s territory. Unknown to her, the instructions given to keep track of her and predict her movements, capture, and report back to the boss.
Not long after that, she had a close encounter with the criminal group. Nezda avoided capture, snarled at the attempters, triggered the alarm system, and left empty handed that heist. After proving that approach would end in disaster, they instead merely tried talking or swapping messages with this thief. Eventually, after some more run ins and some convincing, Nezda was introduced to the boss of the gang – a Kiffar by the name of Imogen. She was impressed with Nezda’s work and offered her a position with more money than Nezda had ever heard of.
Nezda began to flipflop between working in teams and going on solitary missions. She helped liberate more than a few precious jewels, priceless artifacts, stunning artwork, and black market weapons and ammo. By the time she was twenty-eight, Nezda had graduated to heisting ships, high-tech equipment, and was beginning to go after innovative plans. She worked best alone, and it was dreaded anytime she was told to select a team. Almost always, someone got left behind whenever working with the vahla woman.
After having a falling out with Imogen, Nezda snuck off, leaving the planet for good in a high-jacked ship. Ditching it on another planet, Nezda planet hopped by public transportation. She lifted and pawned items to keep her from getting bored, and more than once offered her services as a freelance thief or an advisor. Usually, though, because of her “someone is a decoy” pattern, Nezda never remained within a group for long.
Very talented and still so easily bored, Nezda still freelances her services while continuously thieving for the hell of it. It keeps sharp memories at bay.
RP Sample:
“Why do all the sad, sorry sots choose to have underground dungeons as the center of their operations?” Nezda eyeballed the damp corridor walls with caution. “The least you could do is spruce it up a bit.”
Her two escorts, a tall, heavily muscled woman with a rather petite, scrawny, rat-face of a man, were less than boring. They were downright blah. “You aren’t any fun. Hey, Ratty, how do you deal with all the women of your species being bigger than you, hm?”
“You’re fracking annoying,” said Ratty.
“A gift. But, home décor… think about it. Or choose a better place to live. Where do you sleep? With the rats? I bet they think you’re a brother.”
“Ignore her, Bertrum.”
Nezda made a sizzling sound. “Sss… putting out the fire there, Muscle Woman. Such a bore. Fire is fun and playful.” Nezda resigned to follow Rat Man without further scathing comments, her hand pressed to her hip, where her pistol resided. Surprisingly, they had let her keep it. From what Nezda could understand, intentions were to not to kill her, but to earn some trust.
Rat Man stopped and opened a crude door, one that had obviously been installed after drilling through the wall. It was a small space with a table and two chairs. The blood rushed in Nezda’s ears as she gently sucked in a breath. “You may wait in here. The boss would like to talk to you one on one.”
“No.” Nezda said automatically. “No. I will not here.” She felt the hair raise on the back of her neck. “Take me somewhere else. Take me to where he is now.”
“That is not how-“
“Then you will explain to your boss how you let the prodigy thief leave. I am not,” she snarled, “going in that room.”
A hand wrapped around her upper arm and Nezda shoved herself sideways into the tall woman, using the surprise to press her into the wall. Yanking her pistol free, she drove the mouth of the blaster just beneath the woman’s unprotected sternum. “I would sooner kill you.”
The woman released her arm and Nezda whisked by. Getting away from the door, Nezda glanced down at the wallet she’d filched out of the woman’s back pocket before facing her escorts again. “Thanks… but no thanks. If this is the way you want to treat guests, I will just leave.” Nezda plucked a hundred credit chip from the wallet and riffled around for maybe a picture to tease the woman one last time. Finding none, she tossed the wallet back at their feet.
“Consider these four pieces of advice. Keep wallet in front pocket. Or one with a button. Learn about informed consent. Work up your saliva. You’re going to need all you can get to like your boss’s boots clean. And stay here. Because if you follow me, I will kill you. Four times twenty-five.” Nezda help up the credit chit. “A hundred.”
Turning on her heel, Nezda wound back through the corridors, increasing the distance from her nightmare’s ghost.
