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Clack, click, clack, clack.
Fingers flew across the keyboard that was no more than a flash of movement. After nearly fourty years of hacking, it was something she could do without paying much attention. Fourty years....yet she looked no older than twenty-eight. It felt like she hadn't aged at all since she'd been thrown into Cold Harbor. Possibly because she hadn't. For some reason, the years spent in Cold Harbor hadn't had much effect on her....at least not on the outside.
Subtle things had changed. Her eyes were colder than before. She rarely smiled. She was a bit more paranoid, and a whole lot more than just a hacker. She was a murderer, a killer. She'd learned the skills of survival in the harshest environment she could ever imagine, and not just from the landscape or weather. The people, the monsters, the demons that were scattered around, seeking out a bit of 'long pig'.
She looked the same otherwise. Sure, some things had changed in Cold Harbor. Her hair had grown longer, she'd taken out the piercings, all for tactical reasons. But when it was trigger-time to kill the man that had ruined her life, she'd made sure she looked the same as when he'd thrown her through that mirror portal. She wanted to make sure he would remember her.
Now....now she didn't know what to do. Twenty years of planning and plotting was a long time to focus on one sole thing. Now that she'd finished the job' She was still lost. She didn't know why she was still in Rhy'Din. She didn't know why she didn't leave and go back to Earth. What was left' Her family was dead, her identity was ruined. She'd have to start all over anyways. She had Wednesday....but things were still a bit off.
In a dingy, efficiency apartment. The only room that wasn't connected to the kitchen and living room/bedroom was the bathroom. She had enough room for a bed, a desk, a few kitchen appliances. She didn't even have a television, though she did obtain a stereo. That was all she needed. That....and her laptop. Just like before.
And that's precisely where she was sitting. At that desk, with her bangs a wavy mess of black tuft, unkept from when she'd woken up sometime in the afternoon. Her plain black t-shirt was crumpled, covered by a thin zip-up hoodie. Sitting there in boxers, she hadn't even bothered to put on a pair of pants.
But when she'd woken, sprawled across the bed and tangled in her sheet, she knew what she had to do. She wasn't that person she'd been twenty years ago, he'd taken that from her. She'd changed in those years in Cold Harbor. Everything had changed. Everyone she knew was dead, the only friend she really had now was Wednesday, who was a fucking cannibal. There was only one thing that she could think of to do.
Sitting there at that desk, fingers tapping rapidly at those worn down keys, a cigarette tucked between her teeth. A cold cup of coffee sitting on the desk beside her. She'd managed to hack into the government database, hunting down her federal file. When she managed to get to into the file of Kitra Voronov...she changed only one thing about it.
Deceased.
Clack, click, clack, clack.
Fingers flew across the keyboard that was no more than a flash of movement. After nearly fourty years of hacking, it was something she could do without paying much attention. Fourty years....yet she looked no older than twenty-eight. It felt like she hadn't aged at all since she'd been thrown into Cold Harbor. Possibly because she hadn't. For some reason, the years spent in Cold Harbor hadn't had much effect on her....at least not on the outside.
Subtle things had changed. Her eyes were colder than before. She rarely smiled. She was a bit more paranoid, and a whole lot more than just a hacker. She was a murderer, a killer. She'd learned the skills of survival in the harshest environment she could ever imagine, and not just from the landscape or weather. The people, the monsters, the demons that were scattered around, seeking out a bit of 'long pig'.
She looked the same otherwise. Sure, some things had changed in Cold Harbor. Her hair had grown longer, she'd taken out the piercings, all for tactical reasons. But when it was trigger-time to kill the man that had ruined her life, she'd made sure she looked the same as when he'd thrown her through that mirror portal. She wanted to make sure he would remember her.
Now....now she didn't know what to do. Twenty years of planning and plotting was a long time to focus on one sole thing. Now that she'd finished the job' She was still lost. She didn't know why she was still in Rhy'Din. She didn't know why she didn't leave and go back to Earth. What was left' Her family was dead, her identity was ruined. She'd have to start all over anyways. She had Wednesday....but things were still a bit off.
In a dingy, efficiency apartment. The only room that wasn't connected to the kitchen and living room/bedroom was the bathroom. She had enough room for a bed, a desk, a few kitchen appliances. She didn't even have a television, though she did obtain a stereo. That was all she needed. That....and her laptop. Just like before.
And that's precisely where she was sitting. At that desk, with her bangs a wavy mess of black tuft, unkept from when she'd woken up sometime in the afternoon. Her plain black t-shirt was crumpled, covered by a thin zip-up hoodie. Sitting there in boxers, she hadn't even bothered to put on a pair of pants.
But when she'd woken, sprawled across the bed and tangled in her sheet, she knew what she had to do. She wasn't that person she'd been twenty years ago, he'd taken that from her. She'd changed in those years in Cold Harbor. Everything had changed. Everyone she knew was dead, the only friend she really had now was Wednesday, who was a fucking cannibal. There was only one thing that she could think of to do.
Sitting there at that desk, fingers tapping rapidly at those worn down keys, a cigarette tucked between her teeth. A cold cup of coffee sitting on the desk beside her. She'd managed to hack into the government database, hunting down her federal file. When she managed to get to into the file of Kitra Voronov...she changed only one thing about it.
Deceased.