!em3oEn8LAg 05/11/10(Tue)01:05 No.9744584|
(your attacker was not one of the Arkham escapees.)
"I'm...number 82," you say, looking at your calloused feet in the passenger seat. You never did get new shoes, you're still wearing the ill-fitting mugger's shoes.
"Do things ever talk to you? Like objects, or body parts?" you ask innocently.
"Shit, not unless you mean a little piece of every cell phone conversation, radio broadcast, and Ventrillo chat in a hundred miles. I read your file, girly," he stratches his head, "Too much blood? A girl who can't stop bleeding? You're just like a regular girl, only four times as often, you got off easy."