Standard Disclaimer:
Inspired by Hitsuji No Uta, MPD-Psycho and Ranma Nibunnoichi. All characters are copyright their
respective owners. No profit is being made from this work of fan fiction by the author or otherwise.
Original Characters are subject to use without permission providing there is no profit to be made and
that OC are not claimed ownership by said party. All original characters are copyright S_Cubed 2004.
--
Prologue
--
Pressure, feather-light in the beginning, ever increasing until the inevitable happened. A single reflection
was replaced, refracted and multiplied tenfold in but an instant.
Droplets of deepest crimson fell one by
one. A slight shift of weight coupled with bare skin slapping harshly against the cold tile floor signaled
the passing of another attack.
The reflections in the mirror cast by the flickering light overhead vanished
as swiftly as they had appeared leaving only faint afterimages to drift across the cold broken surface.
The soft plink of dripping water came from the porcelain sink, a vain attempt to mask the harsher sound
of dry heaves that issued forth in staccato bursts.
Finally, like the eye of a hurricane passing over, the acrid retching ceased. For a time, the world swam
back into focus for one individual. Alternately blessing the lull, and cursing the sudden attack, the
figured used the sink as a support to stand.
Looking around the small apartment bathroom, there seemed to be nothing untouched by the
suddenness. There were streaks across the floor, the mirror, and even across parts of the wall. It
would all have to be cleaned. But first...
Assorted prescription drugs and over-the-counter pill bottles littered the medicine cabinet's shelves.
Reaching in only upset the delicate balance and caused most of the stash to topple forward into the
sink. The rest skittered across the floor, or fell into the open toilet.
"Damn it," the broken mirrored door chose that moment to swing halfway closed. Futilely, it was
pushed back open, where it rebounded off the wall, spilling the remains of the shattered glass. Adding
to the mess, the bathroom light finally gave out, raining shadow down into the small room.
"...why can't you just let me be," the voice echoed into the darkness, equal parts exhaustion and rage
coloring the words. The air grew still, broken only by the sound of labored breathing, and the
monotonous drip of the faucet.
Standing there, barely an outline against the shower's curtain, the figure stood stock still, listening to the
faint sound of a heart beat. A sound that continued to grow, pushing everything else aside.
The blood tide had come in, and the world would drown.
--
The Lost
a fanfiction by S_Cubed
--
Chapter One
--
"Just this morning, the police have uncovered yet another body, making for a total of three
unidentified bodies found over the past month. No word yet on whether or not the deaths are
connected. The chief investigator into these killings, Inspector Takada, has declined to comment
on the matter. However, here at station 3, we've managed to uncover what may be a linking
factor. All three bodies, it is reported, are female ranging from eighteen to twenty five years of
age. While exact ages are unconfirmed at this point, we are sure to have more information
regarding the situation...," The middle-aged report's voice cut off mid-sentence as the channel was
changed, prompting several protests from those intent on watching the disturbing news cast.
Shrugging off the various annoyed voices, Ranma tossed the remote control over to Kasumi who had
just finished wiping her hands from preparing dinner.
"Here ya go Kasumi, we don't need to watch this kinda stuff while we eat," he pointed out once the
remote was safely in her hands. He'd been hearing about the whole thing nonstop at Furinkan, and
wasn't about to go on listening to it all night. Besides, the mess was across the other side of Tokyo,
nowhere near Nerima. While it was an unfortunate occurrence, it had nothing to do with either himself,
or anyone else he knew.
For their part, everyone else was a little relieved to have a change in subject. As engrossing as the
report had been, they had only watched out of a morbid curiosity. At least, that was true of Soun and
Akane. Nabiki was still looking in the direction of the television set, brow arched and seemingly lost in
thought.
Seeing this, Akane reached out and prodded her sister on the shoulder, "Nabiki, if you don't hurry,
Ranma's going to eat your share of the food." If that didn't work, Akane mused, not much was going
to. Although her sister had professed to be dieting of late, Akane had yet to see any real effort. If
anything, Nabiki was eating more than usual. Not much more, but enough that family would probably
notice.
Breaking away from the television, Nabiki joined everyone at the table just as they were getting started.
Even she had to admit that she'd gotten engrossed in the newscast. Murders like the ones the reported
had talked about weren't common in Japan, and to have three in such a short time was somewhat
shocking. In fact, she'd have preferred the killings to have happened a little farther away, if anything.
Knowing that certain pig-tailed martial artists were proven to attract all kinds of trouble made the recent
events all the more worrisome. She wondered if anyone else was thinking along the same lines, but
feared the results of confirming her suspicions aloud.
Around the table, Nabiki could feel the underlying tension. Ranma's action hadn't lowered it much.
The stuffy atmosphere was going to seriously get on her nerves if something wasn't done soon. Across
the table, she could see that Akane was feeling the same. Only Ranma seemed oblivious to the whole
situation, as usual. Sometimes, Nabiki wondered if hitting Ranma was as cathartic as Akane made it
out to be. Giving him a solid knock upside the head was beginning to appeal to her, especially when his
nonchalance showed no signs of fading.
Ranma sighed inwardly, he'd thought that if he appeared to be unconcerned with the murders, everyone
would take his example and just relax. Somewhere along the way his plan had run askew and had
achieved the opposite effect. Or rather, everyone was focused on him in a way that promised pain in
his near future. Somehow, even Kasumi, his inspiration for the 'convince-everyone-all-is-right-with-
the-world' technique was possibly upset with him. He couldn't really scrutinize her vague expression
and maintain his air of indifference at the same time. That could well be a serious flaw in his technique,
he mused even as the air crackled with Akane and Nabiki's intention to maim him.
Once the first plate hit him over the head, he knew he was in for a long night.
--
Blinking her eyes, Akane stared across her room at the glowing face of her alarm clock. The numbers
read 1:32 a.m. Groaning, she wiped cold sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her pajamas.
She'd gone to sleep easily enough at first, but her dreams had been slowly invaded with thoughts of
those poor dead girls. Even now, she could hear their cold voices calling her name. Pleading with her
for help.
The worst part was, since she didn't know what the girls looked like, her mind had supplanted the
faces of her sisters along with various friends from school. If she had to endure anymore nights like this
one, Akane was afraid she was going to crack. The past week had been all right, but with the news of
a third murder, her imagination had kicked into overdrive. She already felt uneasy, but now, if the
murders were connected like the reporter had suggested, that meant there might be a serial killer on the
loose in Tokyo.
To her, one focused individual was scarier that three independent random killer. More so in the
thought that the girls had all been close to her own age. Until more information was to be had, Akane
wanted to make sure everyone was extra careful at night. That was when these kinds of things
happened she was sure. The killer caught young girls that were careless and walking alone after
nightfall.
Akane decided to tell her sisters what she thought when she saw them in the morning. For now, she sat
up against her pillow, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping the blanket around her in an effort to
ward away the fears of the night.
--
Stretching out sore muscles, the youngest Tendou began the kata she'd been working on for the past
hour one last time. Akane decided that it was about time to seriously get back into practice that had
been all but ignored the last month or two. She knew that she had been letting her self get out of shape
recently. Since this was her third and final year at Furinkan, studying for university entrance exams had
become top priority. Not just for herself, nearly everyone at school had made similar sacrifices for their
future.
Well, she knew of one definite exception off the top of her head, one Saotome Ranma. Why, the idiot
hadn't even picked a university to apply to yet. She frowned, and wrinkled her forehead in frustration
as her stray thoughts began showing through in the kata. Pulling her straying arm back on course, she
completed the knife-edge block and subsequent strike to her imaginary opponent's throat with more
tension that she usually employed during what she considered one of her softer kata.
Finishing the form, Akane grabbed a towel from the corner to mop up her sweat from the floor. As she
cleaned the dojo, she realized that she hadn't even been in the place in over a week. Well, that was
going to change, she resolved. There had to be a decent way to divide her time between martial arts
practice and exam studies.
Once she restored the dojo to order, she went to go take a long soak in the furo.
"Hey, Akane, its really good to see you finally practicin the Art again," Ranma remarked as he passed
her on the path that led between the Tendou household and the dojo. He was dressed in his usual
loose workout pants and a white tank top.
"Yeah, you know with the stuff on tv, I just thought maybe," Akane trailed off, wondering why she felt
she had to explain her actions to Ranma of all people. Although his remark had been offhand, she'd
taken it as an affront almost immediately. Something which she now realized had been a problem of
hers for a long time. This bore a more in depth consideration on her part.
"I'm gonna be in the dojo for a while," Ranma shrugged and continued on his way, now unsure of being
around Akane, who was suddenly more interested in the ground than in him. She couldn't be mad at
him, because he'd taken care to make sure of his words before they went flying out of his mouth. He'd
even thrown in a praise for good measure. Taking one last look at his fiancee before he entered the
dojo, he lamented the fact that he would never be able to understand her, or any other woman for that
matter.
When Akane finally looked back up, Ranma was long gone, and the wind was picking up too. She
shivered in spite of herself, as the sweat that clung to her briefly chilled. All of the sudden a warm bath
sounded even better than it had before.
Through the wall, Nabiki could hear the trickle of water tapering off as someone, probably Akane,
finished filling the furo. Twirling a pen idly in her hand, she turned her attention back to the stack of bills
piled on her desk. Admittedly, the past few months had seen a decrease in the amount of damage done
around the house, so this month's stack was smaller by comparison. But, she was looking forward to
the day when things were back to normal, pre-Ranma normal that was.
Even so, it was almost hard to imagine a time before the pig-tailed one. The last two and a half years
were defiantly memorable, to say the least. He'd made a definite impact on their lives in many ways.
Most of which, Nabiki had trouble deciding wether to file into bad or worse. Honestly, she was hard
pressed to find anything good about the young man's presence.
The margin of profit she gained off his exploits was minimal at best. Barely able to cover the majority
of the expenses he left in his wake. That reflection gave her pause. Was she really being fair to him,
when she knew full well that most of the damages weren't caused by him directly? If she really thought
that deep down, then perhaps she was no better off than her little sister.
"Not likely," she huffed to herself as she got down to business. There was far too much work to be
done, and she didn't have the time to get all introspective. Running a hand through her hair, Nabiki
skimmed through the utility bills, mentally tallying the dues.
"There goes the slack from the damages, shit."
She just hoped they could get by until her next payday. Maybe it would be a good idea to get together
with her sisters and make sure they knew where things stood, she mused. Otherwise, next month
would be hard on everyone.
Sighing softly, she alternately chewed on her pen, and wrote down a few budget figures. Judging from
the way the numbers kept coming up short, it was going to be a long afternoon.
Back in the dojo, Ranma landed in a crouch after executing a short hurricane kick. He'd been
developing a new combination over the past two days, and was beginning to wonder if he had
misjudged the effectiveness of the technique. After practicing the hurricane for a few hours, he still
couldn't pull off a fourth rotation. When he'd been hit with the kick last week, Ranma was sure the guy
had hit him with four kicks down the length of his body.
In the air, Ranma found he could perform the third kick just prior to landing. He'd have to pivot on the
ground to make the final kick effective, but that would just be an iron broom sweep tacked onto the
end of the hurricane. Sure he could just jump higher before initiating the move, but then the first two
kicks would hit nothing but empty space, rendering them useless.
Not only that, but logically, if he landed the first kick, the second kick would kill his momentum and he
wouldn't be able to spin again for the third strike.
He was just about to give it another shot, when the door slid open, and Akane stuck her head into the
dojo.
"Hurry up and finish, Kasumi said lunch would be ready soon," she informed him before shutting the
door and heading back inside the house.
"Alright, I'm hurryin up ya tomboy, jeez," Ranma muttered too late for Akane to hear. He figured that
was just as well, and left it at that. His stomach had been gurgling for the past twenty minutes anyway.
--
The soft glow from the neon signs across the street penetrated in between the slits of the window blinds,
shrouding the room in sickly shades of green. Even in the apparent chaos, signs of order reared here
and there, two sides of the same coin. The yellowed wallpaper on the walls appeared peeled in places,
or in some parts it simply hung down in tattered shreds.
A pungent aroma of sick-sweat hung in the air, where the oscillating ceiling fan only served to cram it
into every pore of the apartment. From the unmade bed in the corner, faint mewling sounds issued
forth where a limp figure lay tangled amidst the musty sheets. Every now and then, the person weakly
moved, hampered by the bed sheets, further and further into a fetal position.
Over in the cramped dining kitchen a small refrigerator bearing the name "My Little Helper," hummed
to life as the cooling cycle started up.
Back on the bed, the figure lurched into a sitting position, on it's lips a faint smile played, made
unpleasant by the light of the neon sign.
--
Inspired by Hitsuji No Uta, MPD-Psycho and Ranma Nibunnoichi. All characters are copyright their
respective owners. No profit is being made from this work of fan fiction by the author or otherwise.
Original Characters are subject to use without permission providing there is no profit to be made and
that OC are not claimed ownership by said party. All original characters are copyright S_Cubed 2004.
--
Prologue
--
Pressure, feather-light in the beginning, ever increasing until the inevitable happened. A single reflection
was replaced, refracted and multiplied tenfold in but an instant.
Droplets of deepest crimson fell one by
one. A slight shift of weight coupled with bare skin slapping harshly against the cold tile floor signaled
the passing of another attack.
The reflections in the mirror cast by the flickering light overhead vanished
as swiftly as they had appeared leaving only faint afterimages to drift across the cold broken surface.
The soft plink of dripping water came from the porcelain sink, a vain attempt to mask the harsher sound
of dry heaves that issued forth in staccato bursts.
Finally, like the eye of a hurricane passing over, the acrid retching ceased. For a time, the world swam
back into focus for one individual. Alternately blessing the lull, and cursing the sudden attack, the
figured used the sink as a support to stand.
Looking around the small apartment bathroom, there seemed to be nothing untouched by the
suddenness. There were streaks across the floor, the mirror, and even across parts of the wall. It
would all have to be cleaned. But first...
Assorted prescription drugs and over-the-counter pill bottles littered the medicine cabinet's shelves.
Reaching in only upset the delicate balance and caused most of the stash to topple forward into the
sink. The rest skittered across the floor, or fell into the open toilet.
"Damn it," the broken mirrored door chose that moment to swing halfway closed. Futilely, it was
pushed back open, where it rebounded off the wall, spilling the remains of the shattered glass. Adding
to the mess, the bathroom light finally gave out, raining shadow down into the small room.
"...why can't you just let me be," the voice echoed into the darkness, equal parts exhaustion and rage
coloring the words. The air grew still, broken only by the sound of labored breathing, and the
monotonous drip of the faucet.
Standing there, barely an outline against the shower's curtain, the figure stood stock still, listening to the
faint sound of a heart beat. A sound that continued to grow, pushing everything else aside.
The blood tide had come in, and the world would drown.
--
The Lost
a fanfiction by S_Cubed
--
Chapter One
--
"Just this morning, the police have uncovered yet another body, making for a total of three
unidentified bodies found over the past month. No word yet on whether or not the deaths are
connected. The chief investigator into these killings, Inspector Takada, has declined to comment
on the matter. However, here at station 3, we've managed to uncover what may be a linking
factor. All three bodies, it is reported, are female ranging from eighteen to twenty five years of
age. While exact ages are unconfirmed at this point, we are sure to have more information
regarding the situation...," The middle-aged report's voice cut off mid-sentence as the channel was
changed, prompting several protests from those intent on watching the disturbing news cast.
Shrugging off the various annoyed voices, Ranma tossed the remote control over to Kasumi who had
just finished wiping her hands from preparing dinner.
"Here ya go Kasumi, we don't need to watch this kinda stuff while we eat," he pointed out once the
remote was safely in her hands. He'd been hearing about the whole thing nonstop at Furinkan, and
wasn't about to go on listening to it all night. Besides, the mess was across the other side of Tokyo,
nowhere near Nerima. While it was an unfortunate occurrence, it had nothing to do with either himself,
or anyone else he knew.
For their part, everyone else was a little relieved to have a change in subject. As engrossing as the
report had been, they had only watched out of a morbid curiosity. At least, that was true of Soun and
Akane. Nabiki was still looking in the direction of the television set, brow arched and seemingly lost in
thought.
Seeing this, Akane reached out and prodded her sister on the shoulder, "Nabiki, if you don't hurry,
Ranma's going to eat your share of the food." If that didn't work, Akane mused, not much was going
to. Although her sister had professed to be dieting of late, Akane had yet to see any real effort. If
anything, Nabiki was eating more than usual. Not much more, but enough that family would probably
notice.
Breaking away from the television, Nabiki joined everyone at the table just as they were getting started.
Even she had to admit that she'd gotten engrossed in the newscast. Murders like the ones the reported
had talked about weren't common in Japan, and to have three in such a short time was somewhat
shocking. In fact, she'd have preferred the killings to have happened a little farther away, if anything.
Knowing that certain pig-tailed martial artists were proven to attract all kinds of trouble made the recent
events all the more worrisome. She wondered if anyone else was thinking along the same lines, but
feared the results of confirming her suspicions aloud.
Around the table, Nabiki could feel the underlying tension. Ranma's action hadn't lowered it much.
The stuffy atmosphere was going to seriously get on her nerves if something wasn't done soon. Across
the table, she could see that Akane was feeling the same. Only Ranma seemed oblivious to the whole
situation, as usual. Sometimes, Nabiki wondered if hitting Ranma was as cathartic as Akane made it
out to be. Giving him a solid knock upside the head was beginning to appeal to her, especially when his
nonchalance showed no signs of fading.
Ranma sighed inwardly, he'd thought that if he appeared to be unconcerned with the murders, everyone
would take his example and just relax. Somewhere along the way his plan had run askew and had
achieved the opposite effect. Or rather, everyone was focused on him in a way that promised pain in
his near future. Somehow, even Kasumi, his inspiration for the 'convince-everyone-all-is-right-with-
the-world' technique was possibly upset with him. He couldn't really scrutinize her vague expression
and maintain his air of indifference at the same time. That could well be a serious flaw in his technique,
he mused even as the air crackled with Akane and Nabiki's intention to maim him.
Once the first plate hit him over the head, he knew he was in for a long night.
--
Blinking her eyes, Akane stared across her room at the glowing face of her alarm clock. The numbers
read 1:32 a.m. Groaning, she wiped cold sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her pajamas.
She'd gone to sleep easily enough at first, but her dreams had been slowly invaded with thoughts of
those poor dead girls. Even now, she could hear their cold voices calling her name. Pleading with her
for help.
The worst part was, since she didn't know what the girls looked like, her mind had supplanted the
faces of her sisters along with various friends from school. If she had to endure anymore nights like this
one, Akane was afraid she was going to crack. The past week had been all right, but with the news of
a third murder, her imagination had kicked into overdrive. She already felt uneasy, but now, if the
murders were connected like the reporter had suggested, that meant there might be a serial killer on the
loose in Tokyo.
To her, one focused individual was scarier that three independent random killer. More so in the
thought that the girls had all been close to her own age. Until more information was to be had, Akane
wanted to make sure everyone was extra careful at night. That was when these kinds of things
happened she was sure. The killer caught young girls that were careless and walking alone after
nightfall.
Akane decided to tell her sisters what she thought when she saw them in the morning. For now, she sat
up against her pillow, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping the blanket around her in an effort to
ward away the fears of the night.
--
Stretching out sore muscles, the youngest Tendou began the kata she'd been working on for the past
hour one last time. Akane decided that it was about time to seriously get back into practice that had
been all but ignored the last month or two. She knew that she had been letting her self get out of shape
recently. Since this was her third and final year at Furinkan, studying for university entrance exams had
become top priority. Not just for herself, nearly everyone at school had made similar sacrifices for their
future.
Well, she knew of one definite exception off the top of her head, one Saotome Ranma. Why, the idiot
hadn't even picked a university to apply to yet. She frowned, and wrinkled her forehead in frustration
as her stray thoughts began showing through in the kata. Pulling her straying arm back on course, she
completed the knife-edge block and subsequent strike to her imaginary opponent's throat with more
tension that she usually employed during what she considered one of her softer kata.
Finishing the form, Akane grabbed a towel from the corner to mop up her sweat from the floor. As she
cleaned the dojo, she realized that she hadn't even been in the place in over a week. Well, that was
going to change, she resolved. There had to be a decent way to divide her time between martial arts
practice and exam studies.
Once she restored the dojo to order, she went to go take a long soak in the furo.
"Hey, Akane, its really good to see you finally practicin the Art again," Ranma remarked as he passed
her on the path that led between the Tendou household and the dojo. He was dressed in his usual
loose workout pants and a white tank top.
"Yeah, you know with the stuff on tv, I just thought maybe," Akane trailed off, wondering why she felt
she had to explain her actions to Ranma of all people. Although his remark had been offhand, she'd
taken it as an affront almost immediately. Something which she now realized had been a problem of
hers for a long time. This bore a more in depth consideration on her part.
"I'm gonna be in the dojo for a while," Ranma shrugged and continued on his way, now unsure of being
around Akane, who was suddenly more interested in the ground than in him. She couldn't be mad at
him, because he'd taken care to make sure of his words before they went flying out of his mouth. He'd
even thrown in a praise for good measure. Taking one last look at his fiancee before he entered the
dojo, he lamented the fact that he would never be able to understand her, or any other woman for that
matter.
When Akane finally looked back up, Ranma was long gone, and the wind was picking up too. She
shivered in spite of herself, as the sweat that clung to her briefly chilled. All of the sudden a warm bath
sounded even better than it had before.
Through the wall, Nabiki could hear the trickle of water tapering off as someone, probably Akane,
finished filling the furo. Twirling a pen idly in her hand, she turned her attention back to the stack of bills
piled on her desk. Admittedly, the past few months had seen a decrease in the amount of damage done
around the house, so this month's stack was smaller by comparison. But, she was looking forward to
the day when things were back to normal, pre-Ranma normal that was.
Even so, it was almost hard to imagine a time before the pig-tailed one. The last two and a half years
were defiantly memorable, to say the least. He'd made a definite impact on their lives in many ways.
Most of which, Nabiki had trouble deciding wether to file into bad or worse. Honestly, she was hard
pressed to find anything good about the young man's presence.
The margin of profit she gained off his exploits was minimal at best. Barely able to cover the majority
of the expenses he left in his wake. That reflection gave her pause. Was she really being fair to him,
when she knew full well that most of the damages weren't caused by him directly? If she really thought
that deep down, then perhaps she was no better off than her little sister.
"Not likely," she huffed to herself as she got down to business. There was far too much work to be
done, and she didn't have the time to get all introspective. Running a hand through her hair, Nabiki
skimmed through the utility bills, mentally tallying the dues.
"There goes the slack from the damages, shit."
She just hoped they could get by until her next payday. Maybe it would be a good idea to get together
with her sisters and make sure they knew where things stood, she mused. Otherwise, next month
would be hard on everyone.
Sighing softly, she alternately chewed on her pen, and wrote down a few budget figures. Judging from
the way the numbers kept coming up short, it was going to be a long afternoon.
Back in the dojo, Ranma landed in a crouch after executing a short hurricane kick. He'd been
developing a new combination over the past two days, and was beginning to wonder if he had
misjudged the effectiveness of the technique. After practicing the hurricane for a few hours, he still
couldn't pull off a fourth rotation. When he'd been hit with the kick last week, Ranma was sure the guy
had hit him with four kicks down the length of his body.
In the air, Ranma found he could perform the third kick just prior to landing. He'd have to pivot on the
ground to make the final kick effective, but that would just be an iron broom sweep tacked onto the
end of the hurricane. Sure he could just jump higher before initiating the move, but then the first two
kicks would hit nothing but empty space, rendering them useless.
Not only that, but logically, if he landed the first kick, the second kick would kill his momentum and he
wouldn't be able to spin again for the third strike.
He was just about to give it another shot, when the door slid open, and Akane stuck her head into the
dojo.
"Hurry up and finish, Kasumi said lunch would be ready soon," she informed him before shutting the
door and heading back inside the house.
"Alright, I'm hurryin up ya tomboy, jeez," Ranma muttered too late for Akane to hear. He figured that
was just as well, and left it at that. His stomach had been gurgling for the past twenty minutes anyway.
--
The soft glow from the neon signs across the street penetrated in between the slits of the window blinds,
shrouding the room in sickly shades of green. Even in the apparent chaos, signs of order reared here
and there, two sides of the same coin. The yellowed wallpaper on the walls appeared peeled in places,
or in some parts it simply hung down in tattered shreds.
A pungent aroma of sick-sweat hung in the air, where the oscillating ceiling fan only served to cram it
into every pore of the apartment. From the unmade bed in the corner, faint mewling sounds issued
forth where a limp figure lay tangled amidst the musty sheets. Every now and then, the person weakly
moved, hampered by the bed sheets, further and further into a fetal position.
Over in the cramped dining kitchen a small refrigerator bearing the name "My Little Helper," hummed
to life as the cooling cycle started up.
Back on the bed, the figure lurched into a sitting position, on it's lips a faint smile played, made
unpleasant by the light of the neon sign.
--