Test Drive Meme #29

[hadrielmods]

Welcome to Hadriel's test drive, and thank you again for your interest in the game! As always, our reserves page is here, and our applications page is here! Reserves open February 21st, and apps are open March 1st. Please remember that there is an app cap of 20 apps.

Two quick points here as well:

1. Any thread made in Hadriel's test drive will be accepted as the sole Action Log sample in the application.
2. All threads made in the test drive can be considered game canon, either through handwaving or through a shared mental experience while coming through the Door!

Test drives will be broken up into specific god mini-events, during which your characters can see how well they fare under the watchful eye of one of the gods. Choose wisely or just simply pick 'em all, and have fun!

F E A R

SCENARIO ONE: FRACTURED FUTURE?
[The Door brings in all that is chaotic and evil in the world. This may include you, may include the person next to you... and may include the monster behind you.

This time, the Door has decided to bring in some monsters who already have a taste of what it's like to win their war. Welcome to the Risen, from the Fire Emblem franchise!

Risen are reanimated corpses, dedicated to obeying their master's will. While they have some form of sentience, they cannot be dissuaded from their goal and attack all who oppose them with a singleminded desire to execute their purpose, which unfortunately for you is "killing indiscriminately". Still, they're not all bad and some of them may even be relieved to finally be put to death. Have fun!]

T R A N Q U I L I T Y

SCENARIO TWO: ONLY THE GOOD STUFF
[Tranquility has decided to take over Hope's food supply regimen and- well, if anyone thought he was a self righteous hipster before, this is probably what's going to seal the deal. All the food provided in the shops is now extremely vegan-only, from basic lettuce to the most bland fruit you can stand to look at.

None of it even tastes like anything, either- it's all like you're eating water. Maybe to Tranquility, this is a feast, but for you, it's difficult to register that you're even full. Better start prepping those salt mines- it's gonna be a long month.]

R A G E

SCENARIO THREE: YANDERE LIFE
[Unfortunately for you, you came at a time when Rage was very unhappy with everyone- and now you get to suffer for it. Is there anyone who catches your eye? Anyone who you might want to get to know a little better? Well, you're about to get to know them a lot better, because now you're obsessed with them.

It's not the innocent kind of obsession, either- this is a full speed ahead, breakdown, pull out the knives and rope kind of obsession, where your desire to be near someone is synonymous with stalking, being a creep, and overall just not really anything remotely approaching healthy.

Better look out and hope that nobody gets a crush on you either.

This is a mini version of our Kiss me Kill me event this month.]

Comments

agent york | red vs. blue

[decryptify]

fear; thankfully these all appear to be medieval zombies with no guns that's cool

[ That. Sure was something.

There's a gunshot, loud and ringing through the colosseum, and York's standing over the body of someone in armor, apparently dead and decaying even as the last of the life leaves it's body, twitching slightly, chest heaving with some dying breaths. York's holding his pistol in his hand, staring down at the creature kind of incredulously, mostly in disbelief -- his other hand holding that brand new smartphone that he found himself waking up here with, that he'd been reading through before he was so rudely interrupted. By. A zombie?

A long moment of silence, and York slowly stows his pistol away again, crouching down next to the Risen he'd just shot in the damn chest. It says something that he can't quite make out with one last, raspy breath -- sounding almost like a thank you? Well that's fucking creepy, and all of this is sure fucking weird, and York just keeps staring as the last of the un-life finally bleeds away from that body.

And he immediately moves to check out the dagger the guy was holding. Huh. Not bad. He'd rather have his own knife, but that's kind of a pretty good piece of work, if you were into like, antiques, or something. Collector's pieces. Something that he might just pick up and stow away juuuust in case, except ah, there's someone looking right at him, isn't there. York glances up, looking friendly enough, or as friendly as he can be when his face is hidden by his armor, lifting one hand in a mixture of both a wave and a kind of helpless, surrendering gesture. ]

-- Swear I didn't do it. [ A beat. ] I mean, I did shoot the guy, but. He was kinda dead before that, anyway.

[ Kind of? A shrug. He doesn't know, okay, he's apparently in a fucking cheezy zombie movie or something now, go figure. ]

rage; uhhhhhhhhh oh boy.

[ Either you're someone York knows, someone a little familiar from home -- or he has no idea who the hell you are but he has no idea what's going on, anyway, and anyone he runs into is bound to catch his eye. York may be a space marine supersoldier in bulky conspicuous armor, but he's always been an infiltration specialist and forget what anyone might tell you, he's actually pretty fucking good at it. He follows at a good distance, enough to keep an eye on things, not enough to cause alarm even if he's noticed.

Until you're alone. Some dark corner, somewhere in the city, somewhere in that arena. That's when York finally steps out into the open, sliding up right behind you, one armored hand on your waist and his other arm thrown lazily over your shoulder -- not exactly trapping you against him, but that's probably much too close for comfort -- not to mention what he's holding in that hand, an absolutely vicious-looking combat knife, an 8-inch long blade of dark carbon steel. Just for you, too. just to make sure you can really get to know each other, York's apparently taken his helmet off at some point. He looks entirely calm, with a bit of a lopsided smile hovering on his lips, his gaze entirely trained on you -- with his good eye, at least, the other one blank and scarred over. An old injury that never healed over that well. ]

Hey. [ A slight tip of his head to the side, his arm shifting slightly over your shoulder. Don't mind him, he's just getting comfy. ] Got a minute?

wildcard;

[ Choose your own adventure!! Want help from the nearby highly armed space marine from the weird zombies? Need someone to make dry comments about your wet cardboard food? Want to stalk him? It's all good.

dragonpunch & valonqar#1048 @ discord, hit me up for whatever. <3 ]

fear option!

[proselytise]

[ Well, at least one of them seems to have been prepared for this situation.

...is not exactly what Charles Eyler is thinking as he watches the zombie die. Er, die again?

In any case, he's looking a bit pale. Seems like someone's a bit squeamish. ]

...so, that thing was real?

[decryptify]

[ He's sort of prepared in that he's always armed but he's not sure one can be entirely prepared for being teleported and then also there are zombies, or something. He's. Still kind of getting his head around the situation. York nods, looking back towards the, ah, re-dead guy, nudging him in the thigh with his hand. No response, of course. ]

Real as you and me. [ Though right now, he honestly isn't sure how real any of this is. York looks back up at him, his helmeted head tipping slightly to the side. ] -- You feelin' okay?

[ You're looking kind of faint there, kid. ]

[proselytise]

[ Maybe schools need more life skills classes on the subject; probably more useful than trigonometry. Not that Charles has ever had any desire to learn how to shoot a guy (alive or undead), as is probably evident. ]

Y-yeah.

[ No-- well, better when he's not looking at the undead guy. Which he is now making sure to look away from. Looking at York is a lot easier, especially because he can't see a face underneath the helmet. ]

There's probably more of them where that came from, right...?

[ At least, that's how it usually seems to be in fiction. Kill one monster, and more show up. ]

[decryptify]

[ Charles' discomfort around this is very, very evident, and York is more than sympathetic. He doesn't look much older than a teenager, and clearly not the sort that's grown up around any of this kind of thing, but well. Here he is now. ]

I've seen a few more around already. [ There's something about the way he says that that might imply he's already taken care of a few of them before now. ] So we probably shouldn't stick around, eh?

[ We. He ain't leaving some defenceless kid out here on his own. ]

[proselytise]

[ He's definitely seen some shit, but it's all been well outside of his comfort zone-- much like this is. (It also helped that they weren't trying to kill him.) Though "defenseless" is...definitely accurate.

He turns away from the doubly-dead Risen, and hesitates. ]

No, probably not... though I'm not exactly sure where I should be going.

[ A bit nervous; he's been more or less taking care of everything himself since the age of ten, but this is completely unfamiliar. Out of his element, he already feels like he's floundering. ]

[decryptify]

Guess you aren't one of the locals, are ya?

[ Though York could've guessed that already. Having other people around in a similar situation is good, other people that've apparently just been throw through this door or whatever the hell they call it, he still hasn't exactly had the time to read everything on that weird little piece of ancient clunky tech they'd dropped into his hand. More reasons to stick together for a while, but York is already inclined to help keep an eye on this kid for now.

He shrugs slightly. ]

I don't really know where I should be going either, so let's just say -- uh, thattaway. [ Just literally starting to move in a seemingly random direction. It isn't really, he's looked around the place enough to have a decent idea of where is going to be out of this weird arena place, but still. They're both pretty new here. He waves Charles over, friendly enough. ] Got a name, kid?

[proselytise]

[ With an obviously forced laugh: ]

Not that I know of.

[ Since he hasn't exactly had the time to do much reading either.

As unfamiliar, unusual, as someone like York is, following him seems like the best option for now; he's already died a slow death once, a long time ago, and staying back here seems like it'd just lead to another. (And if this is some kind of trap, being shot would probably be quick.)

(He hates that he's even considering this, especially when the guy's been nothing but kind to him so far.) ]

Oh. Sorry. It's Charles.

[ Probably doesn't need to add a last name there. ]

And you...?

[decryptify]

[ York doesn't quite know how to read this kid, he mostly seems kind of uneasy and nervous, which is entirely reasonable given everything that's happening. If he had any real inkling about Charles' considering that York might be looking to trap him, well, he'd mostly think that the distrust is smart. He might chide him for the going along with it. He has no such intention, though, he has no reason to think of Charles as a threat, and it's clear that he could do with a little help just to make sure he doesn't run afoul of any of these. Zombie. Things. York will be happy to provide it. ]

Charles. [ He echoes, friendly. Giving him a brief nod. No last name provided, no last name needed. He'll take it. ] The name's York.

[ Kinda. It'll do. He looks briefly around the arena -- there aren't any of those things in their immediate area, at least, but as they move they might run into more. York's ready for them, he hopes that Charles will be, too. Much as he can be. ]

I guess you just turned up here, too?

[ Tell him something useful, he could use it. He's seen a few other people around, instinctively he's trying to get a sense of how many of them there are. Of what this Door does, if it really is what they say it is in that little phone-thing. ]

fear

[uptightness]

[This time, Carolina's entered of her own accord. There's no surprise, welcome to some strange place and oh? You're still feeling like shit? Well, have fun with the nurses who are there to kill you, not help. It's her luck, really, or maybe karma- what she deserves. She's had time here though to get back on her feet, or at least as much on her feet as she can be. The nightmares still remain, although that's nothing new. It's easier to heal the body than to heal the mind. And maybe, just maybe, Carolina thinks its a penance for everything that she's done.

There have been some shocks since her arrival, finding not only the Blues, but Church as well, and not the AI that helped her, a little 'ghost' on her shoulder calling her sis, but flesh and blood- and yes, that's more than a little strange to her. At the same time, as much as she wants to hug him on a daily basis, she wants to punch him for the shit that he pulled. Lose no one else. That was a motto that she tried to live up to, but even in that, she's failed.

Her armour is different, although his is exactly as she remembers it all those years ago. Enough so that Carolina freezes where she is, hearing that voice that still comes to her in her dreams and haunts her in her nightmares. Everything about him.... To the most minute details of his posture, his reaction at being found, his words. It's all there, flooding back, and for a moment, she can't say anything. Carolina knows that whatever this place is, it plays by its own rules. Had it been when she had arrived, she likely would have thought that she was hallucinating, seeing him there. She probably makes an odd sight, standing there in armour of her own, staring him down with her gun at her side, but there is a thickness to her voice when she does finally find the words.]

I think that they're some sort of reanimated corpse.

[A pause, before she's securing her weapon, and given that the area is clear for the time being, she goes to remove her helmet.]

York.

[decryptify]

[ York gets the words out, starts to look up -- and just catching a glimpse of the color of her armor is enough to have his breath catching slightly, the green seafoam turquoise blue, they never really did settle on what the hell to call it. It's just a color, right, it's nothing, and he's forcing himself over that instinctive hump when he hears her voice, and that's. Everything goes out the window.

He'd know that voice anywhere.

He doesn't keep looking up. He doesn't need to, to know what's there, and he's not sure he's entirely ready to see that -- just another dream, maybe, just another figment of his imagination, another flickering image of her that'll melt away like all the others. But what if this one stays? What then? All this time searching, and not just that. All this time starting to slowly, slowly accept that maybe, just maybe. There really was just nothing to be found.

Finally, he looks up, and any words he has to say just die in his throat. Because there she is, as she pulls off her helmet. Everything he remembers. Different, too, there's definitely different, but right now all he sees is everything familiar, everything he remembers, everything that hits him right in his chest. The familiar way her hair falls around her face when she pulls off the helmet -- those eyes. Bright and brilliant as ever. He stares at her for what feels like far too long before he gathers himself up enough to even try to say something, but he ends up. Not managing it.

Instead he's just pushing himself up to his feet. Silently, wordlessly, lifting his hands up to the latches of his own helmet to pull it off, tucking it under his arm. York just looks back at her with that one good eye, kind of looks like he half-expects her to be swept away by a gust of wind. Like he's just waiting for the moment to come where he just has to shake his head and laugh and tell himself of course, of course, what the hell were you expecting, and move right on.

God. It's just been so long. Not even since he last saw her -- but since he stopped trying. ]

[uptightness]

[There's so many things that she'd say to them, to all of them, if she had the chance, but it's not like her own circumstances. Her death had been faked, allowing everyone to think that the fall had killed her. Looking back, there are so many things that she would have done differently with what she now knows. It eats at her, daily, all those actions and reactions that had happened because of her. So much time lost, and it's not something that she can get back.

Or at least she shouldn't be able to.

Carolina thinks to that lighter that she carries, will always carry, that keepsake that she had thought that she would need to get rid of, until Wash had set her straight. He had a way of doing that, from calling her on her bullshit in the beginning, to being an ear that would simply just listen if and when she needs someone to talk to. He's still an idiot, at times, but they are all, herself included. One big idiotic family. What they should have been, before Carolina let it all get to her head.

Yet for everything that she has thought she would say, there's nothing there today. It's just the hammering of her heart as she's confronted with him, watching as his helmet rises to catch her face, and is seemingly as lost as she is. When is the question, and while maybe once she might have been more callous with her questions, seeking only to obtain the answers to the questions that she's asking, time has tempered her temper. Wash. Epsilon. The Blues. The Reds. Her second chance at a family that she still doesn't feel that she deserves, but York's the same as she last saw him, too many years ago now.]

Shit.

[Because shit indeed. After her fall, is what she would guess given his reaction, so he doesn't know of her survival. Never would, meeting his own end. They're a dying race, the Freelancers, the sins of the past (and not even just their own sins) catching up with them. Illinois had gotten his dream, until reality had come crashing back in in the form of Temple. Her eyes might break free from his, scanning, aware that just because some of the creatures are dead at his feet doesn't mean that more will not appear, but they always return, as if looking at a ghost. Maybe he is. Maybe he's vanish before her eyes. It wouldn't be the first time.]

It's not entirely safe here. There's an exit, south of here.

[The words you'll come? left unspoken, at least verbally, although it's written across her face. Outside of here, outside of this strange place, somewhere where she can guarantee it's not some screwed up trick.]

[decryptify]

[ Except York keeps staring and the vision doesn't fade. She doesn't disapppear. She doesn't melt away. York doesn't wake up to Delta calmly telling him the time and informing him that he's actually already ignored two of his alarms, and he'd told him the night before to make sure the third one would count. There's still just silence and an emptiness in his head, still a desperate ache in his chest -- and still Carolina. Standing right in front of him.

Real. God. Dare he even think it? Actually her. It's been -- it's been years. Actual years. The more he stares at her the more solid and real she seems, the more he thinks he notices things that are different about her. Older? Something different in her eyes, not the color, not how bright, just -- what's behind them. Something slightly changed about that fire he always remembers. And when he tries to keep looking, to keep staring -- shit, his eye starts to give him trouble. This is easier when he has Delta around to make the corrections for him.

He starts to say something, but then Carolina breaks the quiet first. And the first thing she says, after all these years? Shit. That's kind of ridiculous enough that he almost feels a little better, actually has a bit of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, the start of his familiar, lopsided grin. He doesn't really know exactly what she's cursing at, but for some reason. That kind of seems exactly like her.

And before he gathers himself up to say something again, Carolina is already moving on. Matter-of-fact in her words, but he can see that question written so plainly across her face. Instinctively York still kind of feels like it's a trick, an illusion, a test, like saying yes and going along with her will be what fails him at it. Like this is some fucked up version of his own mind trying to prove to himself whether or not he's really learned to move on. How could she still be alive? So many of them are gone, now. Everything had just started to fall apart. She'd just been one of the first, and without her of course the cracks had only started to spread.

That smile doesn't fade. He just tips his head back as he looks at her, ticking two fingers to his forehead. A simple, casual kind of salute. ]

Boss. [ Sitrep acknowledged. Maybe York has no idea quite how to handle this right now, if it's real. Maybe neither of them do. But he sure does remember how to work, and they always worked well together. He finally pulls his gaze away from her, forcing himself to briefly check their surroundings -- pulling his magnum from its holster again, just briefly checking it over. A shot on this one, maybe another shot earlier . . . He moves to put his helmet back on. Quiet the whole time, and it's only when the latches are back in place that he looks back up at her, with a slight cock of his head to the side. ] Lead the way.

[ He's got you covered. Always does. ]

[uptightness]

[She would have preferred it if he had done something, anything, even taken a swing at her, but that wasn't York, and still isn't, is it? He'd always been friendly, laid-back, cool. Socializing had come easy to him, drinking and joking, and it's still not that easy for her. Those walls she put up have come down, but it's learning still how to be at ease with herself, and with others, and letting them in. She's come a long way, but hell if she knows what the right thing to say right now it. A punch would have been easier, because she deserves it, and a whole lot more.

And yes, shit it is. A part of her is already kicking herself, because an apology should have been the first thing- or maybe the third thing to leave her mouth. It aches though, that dull pain that's never left, a void that's never quite been filled. And that grin of his... It exists only in her memories now. She knows now that it doesn't need to be, that she's going to have to accept it and that it will have its own place in her. Yet it's not exactly the best place to have any sort of a meaningful conversation, although how the hell to even get that started... Where is Caboose and his malarkey, or even Tucker and his lewd comments. Something, anything, to break the ice.

Boss. She doesn't deserve that honour either. A real boss would have done better, would have listened, would have- She can chew herself up all day and night over that, and has. Her eyes flicked closed for a moment, that tenseness in her jaw, before she exhales. Maybe like these creatures, he'll fade when the fog dissipates, when she reaches that exit that leaves this place behind. Do you want to risk it, a part of her whispers, but she's already slipping her own helmet back in to place. Slight changes, perhaps noticeable, waiting until she knows that he's ready before she moves out, instead of just moving out and expecting him to follow. Yet this part comes easily, slipping back to those early days, before Texas, before her own insecurities chewed at her, before all the bullshit. This is second nature, having him there at her side, as she tips her own head, before moving out.

And yes, shit. Because she should have been better back then, she should have done more, and they had deserved so much better...

It's only a handful of the beings that they run across. It does seem to be true. They're more numerous further in, and in better shape than before, they don't prove much of a challenge to them. This part flows so naturally, like it was only yesterday that they'd been out on a mission. A bullet when needed, but hand to hand other times. Checking though, always checking, as if York is going to vanish as well, that fear gnawing at her guts until there it is, and she hesitates for a moment, before stepping free and in to the area beyond.

Home. Not really, of course, but home isn't a place for her anymore, but the people who are there. Yet Carolina's turning as they're out, and he's still there. If her whole world had come crashing down before, it's exploding now, and she's waiting for it, for something, for anything, for him to not truly be here. And screw it all, because York still hasn't disappeared, and maybe he thinks she's crazy, and maybe she is, but whatever it is, she's hugging him.]

You're real- I didn't- I never thought I'd see you again.

fear!

[igniting]

[Aloy watches, sure, but she's not exactly suspicious of him. After one of those things tried to take a bite out of her earlier, she's all for putting them down with extreme prejudice. In fact, she's still got a weird, glowing spear in one hand, the tip of which is now coated in dark, congealed blood. Gross. She waves back, though.]

I know. The smell was a giveaway.

[decryptify]

[ York makes a bit of a face. Not that Aloy would be able to see it through his helmet, but his body does noticeably cringe a little, enough for her to understand what he's conveying. Yeurgh. ]

You'd think I couldn't smell much in here, but. [ A shake of his head. Unfortunately, they have the technology to make that happen. Do you know how bad it smells in space armor sometimes, Aloy, you're lucky you only use bits of it. ] It's pretty damn bad.

[ He straightens himself up slowly, just kind of. Eyeing that spear a little. Fancy. Not anything he's familiar with, but a definite step up from what these damn things are using against him. ]

[igniting]

[Aloy smiles a little, head tilting. At least he's got the helmet, although honestly, she doesn't know how these guys deal with a full suit of armor. It must be so bulky and awkward, and she can't imagine managing any sort of stealth in it. Then his gaze shifts to her spear, and she lifts it just slightly.]

Hey, my eyes are up here, you know.

[Okay, okay, joking.]

[decryptify]

[ He's an infiltration expert. Talk to him about his extremely clunky space armor and how that works. Their outfit also chose to dress up their armor in bright colors for no real reason, too, that's how it goes, okay. York laughs a little. lifting his hands in another surrendering kind of motion as he looks back up to her face. ]

Yes m'am. [ A slight cock of his head. It's almost easy to see that lopsided grin even through the helmet. ] Forgive a poor soul for checkin' out the merchandise.

[ He gestures vaguely towards the end of the spear -- the blood on it, specifically. Gross and congealed, but of the gross and congealed that looks like it might be fresh from a zombie rather than actual days old. ]

Run into trouble out here yourself?

[igniting]

[She nods, making a face as she tries to shake some of the blood off. A few chunks fly free, but that's about it. Cute.]

This happens every month. There are... creatures that wander outside of the city, but whenever the Door brings in more people, it usually brings other things along with them.

[decryptify]

[ Ah? That immediately catches his interest -- under the helmet his eyes narrow ever so slightly. York's run into a few other people here, caught a few more from afar. Most of them had been just as confused as he was. This one, though. This one knows what she's talking about. ]

Every month. [ He vaguely glances back down, towards where he's stowed away that. Smartphone-thing. Whatever they call it. Thankfully it seems to work fine with their magnetic holsters, unwieldy as it might be -- he's read through some of it, but not the full breakdown. And frankly he still. Kind of thinks it's all bullshit. ] So I guess you're from around here, huh?

[igniting]

[She shakes her head.]

No. The Door brought me through like everyone else. I'm from Earth.

[Which is still a little bit weird for her to say. None of the tribes call their world "Earth", but that's what the old ones called it, and it's the name everyone here recognizes.]

[decryptify]

[ Earth, huh. It's clear from the way he reacts to that he does, indeed, recognize that name for her world -- but it's the way she says it that interests him. She says it like it's unfamiliar. Not untrue, exactly, just unfamiliar, at least to his ear. He can't be sure. There's something interesting there for sure, though, something for him to pick at later, maybe. Not now. ]

But you've adjusted real quick if you just got dumped here like I did.

I'm guessin' you must be from one of the Door's previous Monthly Dumps, then?

[ He totally says Monthly Dumps as if it's capitalized. ]

fear

[dazzlings]

[ Zombies and their ilk aren't new to Jin, even if the ones she's acquainted with are generally politer and have never tried to take her head off. Someone tromping about in a full suit of.. armour, though? That's new. That's the reason for her curiosity as she approaches, although she feigns interest in the corpse well enough, poking at its remains with a rusty metal rod as it dissipates into black dust.

...that crumbling into dust thing is new, too. So that guide on her new smartphone gains a little more credibility; this is indeed a plane removed from Jin's home. At least she can't be the only one dragged into this world, not if there have been enough like her for someone to prepare a newcomer's guide. Perhaps this armoured fellow is a visitor like her, too. ]

Nicely done. At least these things clean up after themselves. [ Jin shrugs, and she's the very picture of calm, palm resting atop her metal rod and lightly grinding it against the dirt, while her free hand hangs loosely by her side. ] And... that's a nice dagger. You should keep it.

Rage

[requiemshark]

[Ephemera goes still. And then he smiles. It's almost friendly. There's an arm over his shoulder - his unarmored shoulder - and a knife out in the open air. Somebody's decided to make the night interesting.]

Since you asked so nice.

[It's been a while since anyone's gotten the drop on him so completely. He was out fighting earlier, then took his armor off because why the fuck not, they're supposed to be civilized around here.

He might recognize the armor. Might. It's dark. But the moment he's got an opening, he's going for the motherfucker's throat. Ephemera's got a knife up his sleeve, a pistol tucked into the small of his back. Not worth much against a full suit of armor. But he's patient, all right. He can wait.]

I know you, motherfucker?

rage

[tuskenlancer]

[ She doesn't know why he's following her. York had been...Well, he'd always been friendly. Not a friend, maybe, because CT hadn't really had friends even at the best of times, but she'd always liked him. Trusted him, and not just out in the field, where trust had been more a necessity than a choice.

Of course, all that had been before she'd deserted, and betrayed the entire Project.

So York following her now - never close enough to be an immediate threat, never far enough away for her to lose him...well, it could go either way. Maybe he just wants to talk. Maybe there's something worse here, someone who wouldn't be so understanding, and he's following her for her own protection. Or maybe he's just as angry with her as she fears, and looking for revenge.

Maybe the Director had sent him.

She stays in the open, around other people, for as long as she can, until she thinks she gets an opening - dodging down an alley and hoping it's quick enough that she can lose him, until she finds out what his intentions are. Only, of course, it doesn't work that way.

She goes completely still, hardly breathing, all too aware of his arm tight around her shoulders, that knife making it impossible to slip away. Her own knife is in her boot, and it might as well be a million miles away.

Somehow, she manages to keep her voice steady when she answers him. ]

York.