Author's Preamble: I was doing some research on my coming interlude where I stumbled upon a fanfiction, namely Love can Bloom (you can try googling it). If you haven't read it, it's a tale set in the Kronus campaign from the Dark Crusade, DOW. A Vindicare Assassin, on a mission to assassinate a certain Eldar Farseer Taldeer, took a turn and ended up falling in love with her instead. And thus began their adventure of love against the odds of the entire planet.
You can probably guess I'd start flaming it or something. I won't, because such premise even crossed my idea when I was conceptualizing The Assassin. Alas, I abandoned it because I don't really do romance.
But of course, I digress. Rather than the whole storyline, I was more fascinated by how the writer detailed and shaped his/her version of the Assassin. Instead of picking young adults, the author shot for the path of training children. It was believed that children at a younger age are easier to condition and be molded to become efficient, undistracted killing machines.
Suffice to say, I ended up arguing with myself, trying to convince myself, both ways, which is the more plausible/realistic versions of Vindicare Assassins. Which training regime would reap the results the Assassinorum wanted?
Food for thought. [/thought process]
As per usual, Read, Review & Enjoy.
XXII – Points
Her eyes bore into the depth of the ceramic potty, seeing swirls of green, undigested meat, and saliva grueling en masse with days-old urine and feces. The taste of vomit was fresh in her mouth, her nostrils catching a fresh scent of rotting fecal matter that stimulated her bowels to make her blanch again. The remnants of the morning's breakfast stained the side of the toilet.
She always made it a point to steer clear of the any other lavatory but her own, but it was in this instance, that choice was a luxury. The lavatory was the closest to Calsus' chamber, far from her own down in the apothecary.
She felt thoroughly disgusted.
She clutched her head dizzyingly as she tried to get up, her coordination wobbly as she made it to the stained water basin. She was at least thinking straight enough to not put the pipe water into her mouth, not even for a gargle. For now, she had to live with the stench of her own puke… and her haggard outset. She stared herself in the mirror, her eyes swollen from too much crying, sagged from sleepless nights, lips cracking from dehydration, disarrayed, oil-coated hair from skipped showers and the fucking humidity…at the very least, the humidity still preserved the condition her skin.
Her ritualized grooming was forsaken, as she had just realized. Being presentable was a boon and favor to honor the God-Emperor.
What a load, she chuckled to herself, looking around the toilet.
Her eyes were bleary, wizened pupils dilated as her mind wandered off.
What in the Emperor's name is the Temple doing?
The apothecary was operating only at 50%, at best. As she had just realized, the late Doctor Mohmar has taken everything he knew about running the Apothecary to the grave. Nothing that she had done before could have prepared her for this. Now she is struggling to remember what was it Doctor Mohmar had done to keep the Apostles in line. Have them submit their reports on time, follow their timeliness schedules, respond to ad-hoc duties to the minute, have them assist in plotting Charts, assisting administrative works.
She requested Doctor Julian to petition the Temple's Administrator for more staff –capable ones, but she has yet to hear anything back. Valaruz was a stringent red-taped filled bureacracy.
Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz.
By Commisarriat standards, she was comparably a reasonable person to deal with. But lately, she can sense the Commissar's patience waning. The doctor had been pressed continually for the candidates' Health Stats in an REV format - something that she was hardly familiar with, she needed to pull out references and find out how to generate the format.
Calsus's battered body.
Her tear ducts flushed, she could not breathe.
Brother Kisex's massive bolt pistol held to the Calsus static body.
She held her hands to her mouth, feeling what remains of her belly contents surging up her tract.
Four days remaining.
She vomited fluids into the rusted sink, her system worked to throw up whatever remains of her already empty belly.
When she was finally done, she looked up to the mirror again...
A sudden wail caught her ear, in a daze she spun and quickly exited the lavatory. Stepping into the hallway where Code 35 was distinct.
Valaruz 17th was in critical condition.
***
"He's having a seizure!" a male Apostle smashed through the gates of the Intensive Care Sanctum, Valaruz 17th was carried in a stretcher by three other members of the Securitum, "GET DOCTOR DAMIEN!"
"One, two, HEAVE," the Assassin's was lifted onto an Apotheservitor - a conscious, semi-sentient cybernetic fashioned by the Assassinorum's Scholarum. They were flesh and blood, of stocks acquired from heretics, servicemen and volunteers who sought for repentance or a pledge for eternal devotion to the God-Emperor. Their heads were separated from the torso with the brain and spine intact, surgically mended to machines outfitted with beds, intravenous equipments, vital sensors and defibrillator. They were intended as a mobile apothecary, with mechanical spider-like legs, standing almost 7 feet tall and 15 feet in length. They were precise and highly accurate, machines that responded intelligibly without the limitations of a one.
Doctor Damien arrived wheezing only to freeze on her legs, mouth gaping watching Apostles rushing to strap sensors onto Valaruz 17th's body.
"Doctor Damien!" the male Apostle yelled.
She was never Valaruz 17th's attendee.
"Doctor Damien!!" the male Apostle yelled again.
She snapped out of her dazed state, "Administer 100ml Lorazepam, stat!" she barked as she pushed through to the Assassin's left side. She held down his arms, looking at his torn suit, wounds barely holding by Adem clots.
"Run the diagnotus," her temple ebbed with sweat as she looked up to the Apotheservitor.
"Running Diagotus," the lip-sewn, female Apotheservitor responded flatly through the voice box.
The Diagnotus was a string of peripheral protocols coded into the Apothecary secondary circuitry, written to synchronize with the Camo suit's secondary Medica protocols. The Diagnotus framework was designed to acquire a myriad of medical statistics histories from the suit's Medica archive – heart rate, blood pressure, white counts and the likes. The stats would then be run over a matrix of symptoms and causes, generating a diagnosis of the patient's condition at over 93.3 percent accuracy,
Doctor Damien tilted her body a little sideway, holding the Assassin down as steady as she could when the Apostle returned with a syringe, letting him plug the needle into the arm.
"Failed response echo," the Apotheservitor turned her head slowly, announcing a failed attempt to sync the Diagnotus with the Camo suit, "…attempt second response?"
"What the hell…" Doctor Damien baffled, caught by her own panic as her hands lifted off Valaruz 17th's when the Apostle was done. "Try again!" she screamed.
She waited anxiously... "Epilepsy stabilizing. Tachycardia, persistent. " The apotheservitor multitasked.
"Second failed response echo."
"Fuck," she cursed, she can feel a terrible migraine stinging the back of her head, a painful strech in her eyes, "Is the Camo suit damaged?" She bit her bottom lips with eyes scanning the Assassin's suit inanely, "What the hell's going on?!" she turned and searched for some answers from her Apostles, but all that she received were puzzled shrugs and head-shakings.
"Search the Interneus and find something useful!" she shouted to the Doctors-in-training, one of them quickly nodded and sped off, "Get the Commissar on the hologram!" the Assassin's vital stats were crashing; his heart rate elevating, limbs stiffened. She couldn't initiate any treatments until a diagnosis in confirmed.
"Tachycardia level 2," the Apotheservitor announced.
"Doctor," one of the Apostles returned, "This was just in, a Directoris is in effect, all primary functions of the Camo suit has been suspended until…
"Fantastic…" she sighed, "I NEED THE FUCKING COMMISSAR NOW!"
"Doctor, the Commissar is up," another Apostle brought up a hologram from the middle of the chamber.
"Commissar? You better damn well have an explanation ready if Valaruz 17th dies because of a FUCKING Directoris!"
"Before we proceed any further Doctor, you will address me appropriately…"
"Did you hear me?!" she screamed, "I SAID, Valaruz 17th is going to die!"
"Respect for discipline and hierarchy still exist regardless of deaths, notwithstanding to those you care about…DOCTOR, just so you know. But I will let it slide this time, so consider yourself warned."
"Commissar," The Doctor slowed down, scowling, "All functions of Valaruz 17th's have been suspended, if I can't get the Diagnotus to work, he'll be dead."
The Commissar raised an eyebrow through the hologram, "In case you haven't heard, Valaruz 17th had himself involved with the Inquisition. The Directoris was declared on the Hereticus' Command Level, I don't have the authority to circumvent, recede or even make an exception to the edict."
Doctor Damien brushed her hair back impatiently.
"…You'd have to find a different way to diagnose his condition."
"What?!" Doctor Damien was stumped, "That's it?"
"It's that simple. You're the doctor. Get to it." The Commissar vanished from the hologram.
"FUCK!" She smashed her datapad on the floor, shattering the device into pieces.
"Doctor," a sympathizing Apostle said, "We should be starting him on Nitroglycerine."
"Y…yes…10 ml…" she was trying hard to catch her breath, shutting her eyes to try to calm down while the Apostle went to administer a dose.
"Nitroglycerine's effect is only temporary in bringing down his heart rate. We need a diagnosis." Another Apostle said.
"The Commissar made it pretty damn clear, didn't she?" she snapped with bitter sarcasm, her fingers visibly trembling, "N…nit…nitroglycerine will sustain his heart rate for 3 hours" she began looked towards Valaruz 17th, "I will submit a petition the Father Ozmattix to lift the Directoris."
"The commissar said…"
"The Commissar didn't anything about the High Priest, did she? Father Ozmattix's rank is equivalent to an Inquisitor…he'll be able to do something…"
"What about a differential…?"
"…HE…would make an emergency relay to the Inquisition with a request for an overturn." Doctor Damien asserted, "It's the best…safest…way to get an accurate diagnosis."
Everyone in the room fell silent; the Apostles wore skepticism on their expression, "I think its best if we run a differential…"
"You know what?" the doctor raised her voice, "I don't see any of you so keen when it comes to comes to submitting your reports. Now you're questioning my judgments? Look around, the apothecary is in a fucking mess right now because all of you skipping on your duties and tasks.
Seriously, do any of you aspiring doctors even think you're qualified enough to give me an accurate diagnosis? Hmm?" She said with her jaws tightened.
She jabbed her hands to her hips, waiting for a reply from now, a rather discontented group.
"Doctor Damien," another female Apostle who just came through the door interrupted her.
"What!?" she barked as she turned to meet the startled Apostle.
"Uh…uh…I know this is a bad time…there's a candidate, Koch Dessler I believe, who wants to see you."
"You're right," she said, "It IS a bad time…you fucking know that," she took a deep breath, "What does he want?"
"He has a broken nose," the female Apostle stammered slightly.
"Then fix it for him!" the doctor's arm flung annoyingly to get rid of the Apostle.
"He insisted in seeing only you, he's waiting right outside the corridor…"
"Is it that hard to tell him that I'M BUSY?!"
"Uh, uh…"
"Ughhhhhhh…." She groaned in deep frustration, shoving her subordinate aside to make way towards the exit, "You're all fucking useless," she muttered under her shaky breath.
She slammed through the gates of the Intensive Sanctum to step out from the corridor, before she stopped. Tears were drenching her face with little to her knowing. She sobbed painfully. Heaviness weighed down her heart.
She was losing it. She knew. And now the painful cycle of self-doubt dawned upon her again. She begins to tremble at the thought of losing Valaruz 17th, under her watch, with her own hands.
She was incapable.
She felt like throwing up again.
***
Koch held his head up as steadily as possible, a single hand holding a piece of towel up to absorb the bleed.
A little wasteful, he recalculated the consequences of his actions with Assir and his future plans. He should have been a little more diplomatic with the Tallarnese, not resorting to such manipulative, destructive extent. But it was necessary. He had to ascertain Doctor Damien's relationship with Valaruz 17th. And the Assassin's arrival would make the doctor's emotions and body language expose certain truths.
It was necessary, he convinced himself. There was little time left.
"I'm sorry Koch," Doctor Damien approached from behind, "…this is a really bad time," she held her head down, hiding her puffy eyes.
"So I've heard," his voice a little muffled by the large towel, his words came out a little forced.
He studied the doctor. Stress, he assumed. He head held up to conceal all interrogative traces that might offset her emotional state further, his eyes darted down to study her reactions further…"Valaruz 17th I presume?" he took a gamble.
Her right arm hugged over her belly, with the other arm clutching to her cheeks, sobbing slightly, "Yes…emergency…look, I'll get an Apostle to fix you up and provide you with a Writ of Pardon for the Commissar, I need to go…" she wrapped everything up and turned away.
His next words were spoken nonchalantly, "Is he okay?".
Her head still hanged low, eyes glanced up to Koch briefly, her mind processing her thoughts, "Yes…yes"
A lie.
Koch waited.
"Sorry," she softened, continuing, "No….in fact, he's not. Koch, I'm needed…"
"What's the diagnosis?"
"D…dia…" she scratched her head, stammering, "He…he's under a Directoris, and all primary functions of the Camo suit have been suspended," her expression was hinted with shame, "I can't get a diagnosis yet."
"What are the symptoms?"
Doctor Damien paused for a moment, her eyes looking fully at Koch.
"Uh…uh…he had an epileptic seizure, administered 100ml of Lorazepam; Nitroglycerine to manage his Tachycardia…"
"Does he have any history of epilepsy?
"No…not to his records," she said curtly, "Look…I can handle…"
"What about the injuries?" Koch cut her off.
She took a moment, with her mouth slightly agape, "Ummm…multiple laceration, cuts, bruises, concussions."
"What's his mission profile?"
She scratched her temples anxiously, "Uh…mmm…a death world, Xesxes, he was operating in a climate of -13 Celsius, the targets was a concentration of Tyranid lictors."
Koch paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, "Check his head for any injuries, chances of his seizure and tachycardia might be caused by brain trauma, drug overdose, poison or a combination of all. Run a tox-screen and an inventory check, determine what drugs he's used," The doctor's was absolutely stunned. Her arms crossed over her chest. She was at a loss for words, and could not begin to comprehend what was going on.
"You would have to run a PET scan and MRI as well. My prognosis is that he has been poisoned by a variant of Tyranid neurotoxin, possibly reacting with any kind of drugs that he might be using."
She did not have to digest what he said, "Right," was all she could say, clenching her fist tightly. She knew that was the best course of a procedure. Koch was right. She was so reliant on the Diagnotus, she failed to remember basic procedures.
Her heart burned, biting her bottom lip, turned and walked away with a little sprint.
"Doctor Damien?" Koch called out.
"What!?" her voice risen to a near shout, every decibel ebbed with annoyance.
In that moment, Koch processed the implications of her emotions, for all the advice that he had given, it was probable that he had stepped on her pride and enabled her inferiority, along with all the frustrations that tailgated. She was not in an adjusted frame of mind, and her reactions from hereon would be unpredictable and highly erratic.
But he had to try.
"Do…" Koch started, "Do you have…"
Doctor Damien scowled impatiently.
Koch's head swam with doubt, but he had to ask, "Do you have an emotional attachment to Valaruz 17th?"
Her eyes fluttered, her mouth opened, and body shifted, "Ex…excuse me?"
She was completely taken by surprise.
"Valaruz 17th? Is he someone…important… to you?"
Doctor Ally shifted around some more; the scowl of annoyance has been reduced to bafflement, "Ko…Koch… I don't understand… "She shook her head incomprehensibly, "…what is this about?" her eyes searched for hints within Koch's stoic features.
"Emotions," Koch picked his words carefully, he would deliver it monotonously and matter-of-factly manner to set the tone, and shift her away from her emotional state. He desired nothing less than an objective answer, "Emotions can cloud one's judgments under high-stress situations. Decisions-making abilities can be affected to yield less-than-optimum results…"
The doctor's emotions transformed again, this time, it turned to anger. Koch immediately sensed that this would not go well.
But he pressed on, situations can be controlled, "…and judging from our previous conversation, I hypothesize that you have an emotional attachment to…"
"Huh," her hands jabbed to her sides and ignored Koch's further explanations, a flair of disbelief flushed through the Doctor, "I don't believe this, is this what this is about?"
Koch silenced.
She began nodding her head cynically and scornfully, as if she understood completely, "Yes," she said sarcastically, "Yes, you've managed to recite the basic procedures of a manual diagnostic, bravo…and that you're not even a doctor.
What…? I'm too emotional? I've allowed it too much to affect my work?" Her voice risen, "...that I'm just a mediocre doctor that can't get anything right?
Fair enough….THIS SHITHOLE, is fucking falling apart. You think I'm blind?! Deadlines are due, work is stacking up… my Apostles are slacking off and my patients are dying. Of course, blame me!" She threw her limbs around, "I'm stupid! And all this started right after I took charge after Doctor Mohmar's death. He's brilliant, impartial, cold and heartless…he gets the job done.
But fuck, you listen to me, and the God-Emperor help me…that I will not take shit from anyone just because I give a damn about people. You hear?"
She stared into Koch's eyes for a brief moment, before she turned away and entered the Intensive Care Sanctum wordlessly.
***
The jumpsuit was zipped only halfway through to reveal her deep cleavage. Her golden skinned, petite and voluptuous bodyleaned against the wall next to the register, nonchalantly whistling an unfamiliar tune. Behind her stood an aroused Guard-Administrator constantly stealing nervous glances at the smoldering vixen, his attention completely crushed, devoted in fueling his fantasies by eyeing her bountiful, full globes. His nose flared, trying to whiff all traces of her feminine sexual scent. Her perky nipples hardened, poking out visibly through the fabric that made him imagine a thousand ways what he wanted to do to her.
"Tis' before you… is the entrance to the Temple's Munitorum," the nubile seductress gave a relaxed, sultry smile, arms crossing over her chest while announcing to the candidates that stood before her, "…and I am your weapons and munitions instructor – 2nd-Class Lieutenant Lynn Lurista, Arms Master of Vostroya.
Unlike the uptight Commissar, you can dispense with all the tedious salutation bullshit and just call me Lynn. I don't fancy punishments…no hard prodding, or get-down-and-give-me-twenties. I don't get to decide which one of you gets to pass the test. I don't give a shit. You already have your lovely Commissar to do that and I'd like to keep all of you under affectionate terms. But until further developments, your affairs with me are strictly oral." She laughed boisterously, amused by the level of curiosity and surprise she struck with the candidates.
"Don't get too attached and comfortable yet of course," her laughter quieted down, "Especially the men…your blood only flows in one of two directions, and I'm quite familiar with the effects of my sexuality. So here's a free tip… since we are going to deal with a lot of lectures and classes, and you have SO little time in a day…I'd tell you now that if you so much spend most of the time fantasizing about fucking me than paying attention to the curriculum, you're just as good as the thousand other corpses that is now nothing but ashes," she gave a huge grin.
"So we've gotten acquainted? Fantastic, let us then begin this pointless endeavor of EDUCATION."
She turned around, her cheeky, laid-back demeanor changed immediately, her smile vanished, her eyes turned cold and stern. She motioned the Guard-Administrator to open the gates, leading the candidates into the Munitorum.
"You're now in the Temple's Munitorum. We have here enough munitions and weapons to outfit a twenty-platoon strong army. You'll see Bolters, Auto-Cannons, Missile Launchers, munitions, Xeno weaponry, blades, power-fists…a collection of over three thousand weapons of different models and make dating back three millenniums back. You'll find fully functional weaponry and live ammunitions, maintained and checked by the Valaruz Securitum. Every firing pin and lock polished, every melee arms whetted and shined. The Munitorum is an Arsenal, and it will be the chamber where you'll spend most of your time in.
But there are two Holy Weapons that you will never set your eyes on here in the munitorum…the Exitus, and the Exeter. None of you are worthy enough.
The Assassinorum's Codex canonical scripture reads 'Thy Vindicare Assassin carryth with the God-Emperor's wrath upon the heretic, and may the Holy Exitus grant His glory, takenth sins and taint. Be Glorious, Child, bring Glory to his Name.
The Exitus epitomizes the Assassin's Holy Duty, an embellished, subtle symbol that serves as a reminder to the trillions of Men, that corruption is sinful, anemic and contagious. The Exitus was fashioned and designed by the most skillful Magos of the Cult Mechanicus, every bolt measured to the millimeter, every part hand assembled. The Exitus is ritualized, every inscription bestowed by blessing of the Ecclesiarchy and Rune-Priests to honor the tenets and philosophy of the Vindicare. It has a maximum effective range of 12.50 kilometers, weighing 20.3 kilos at a length of 1690mm, equipped with Auto-assist, threat recognition and a dozen of other peripheral tools. It packs enough recoil to dislocate an untrained shoulder, its caliber classified the heaviest in the Imperial Munitorum…carrying rounds that could penetrate Terminator hulls and even the thickest and foulest of Daemon hides.
The Exeter, the side-arm of the Vindicare Assassin employed in close-quarter combat. Its strength and power categorizes in equivalence to Class-I bolt pistols. Its power - devastating, a compact technological marvel weighing at 60.3 ounces with the capacity to arm twenty six different ammunitions to counter a variety of situations.
The Vindicare Assassin is trained to operate with guile and stealth, moving in shadows towards the vantage point. Positioning for hours to weeks before the shot is taken.
But situations can change, the target might move - a change of location, a change in unforeseen circumstances…no…the Assassin won't be called off for a vacation, he will adapt and carry on the hunt until the target is obliterated. There will be swarms of unpredictable odds, and different weapons might be needed to accomplish the mission.
And here is where I come in, you will learn ALL of the weapons that are logged and stored in the Munitorum. You will learn to use Storm Bolters, how to perform a triangulation for Whirlwind Missile strike, or to use a mere lasrifle to maximum, devastating effect. The Assassinorum's agents, by any standards, are weaponry savants, and will be trained to kill Daemons, Hive Tyrants, and even defective Space Marine where Assassination with the Exitus is no longer feasible.
You will be given theoretical lessons; case studies and books to study to…." She paused suddenly, her eyes stretched to the back of the group. "…oh…oh…oh…look what just came through the door…"
Lynn raised her hips, "Just because I'm a woman does not mean I can be kept waiting," her outset instantaneously turned bitter, the glint she had when she was giving her lectures disappeared from her eyes, "Lieutenant Koch Dessler, I'd thought the group seemed smaller."
Koch walked forward where he could be seen more visibly, flashing a piece of letter, "I needed the apothecary's attention, and I have Doctor Damien's Writ of Apothecary Pardon."
"Oooh, Ally…" she emphasized her name, and her face soured further as if she held a personal grudge against the doctor, "Well, I'm a little jealous, I'm thinking that you'd rather see the cute doctor than to watch my performance in lecture."
Koch was hardly amused, "If you'd read the letter, it states that I required attention for a broken nose."
"And I'd trust the nose is broken for good reason," she spat, "MEN like you…" she emphasized, "...always have excuses."
"But if you were to show up here 5 minutes ago, you would know that I don't really give a shit for regulations and I'm a real sweetheart that might give you a blowjob. But no, you chose to walk in oh-so-ceremoniously instead with that smug look on your face," she moved towards Koch slowly while wearing a scowl, "…and that'll be your biggest mistake. You see, I happen to be very sensitive girl and I'm what they call, an attention whore."
Koch remained stoic and aloof as she stepped directly in front, standing about a head shorter than the Jopalli.
"'To ire a woman, burn with scorn,'" she looked at him from head to toe, "'…she'll be your worst nightmare.' For a dominant male with balls of steel, I'd expect that such proximity with a bitch queen with a pair of suckable tits would uncomfortably stiffen you with thrill and excitement. Yet, there's nothing about you that shows a libidinal rush. Tell me, are you a homosexual, or are you merely asexual?"
"Well, you must be disappointed to know that my sexual orientation is irrelevant." Koch replied, "You don't amuse me either way."
He could see the angry twitch in her face, "Being late for Trainings is a violation of the Temple's rules, I could easily have you executed for that."
"Hmm…" Koch suddenly cocked his head to side with interest, analyzing, "You deflected in form of a threat when you fail to retort my reply with a suitable rebuttal. In syntax, there is no need for threats if you had intended to punish me physically. You are merely craving for attention and you were exhausting ways to seize control of my fears."
Koch can sense that instructor was taken aback.
"I think I understand. No matter how sophistcated the human mind works, physical qualities is still very much taken into consideration when a human would display respect to another. Your small stature...is a probable cause for your lacking in ability to command respect," he scanned her body, "But your natural attractive physical traits…it compensates for your confidence to being able to act forwardly to get what you want. And of course, to get to where you are now, you probably have to mix with all sorts of characters to get through a male-dominated Militant Organization. You've learned to use words to defend yourself from being disrespected, and thus making you quite seasoned and hardened when it comes to acting, what they call, a bitch."
Koch moved closer up to her face, his confidence building up, he was revealing her weaknesses.
"So really, where you are now, aside from your accomplishments, the way you garner respect and power is through your sexuality and your headstrong persona. All that you want from me is a victory over my psychology and respect, but unfortunately, this is a victory you cannot achieve until you discover my weakness and use it against me."
Koch smiled slightly as he watched her lips trembled, "The Nerve..." she whispered lowly, before her mouth curved upwards to a weak smile, trying to mask her vulnerability.
"Hahaha," she laughed forcefully,"HAHAHAHAAH!"
She continued laughing loudly and mockingly.
She reached out her hands, gesturing for the letter.
Koch hesitated for a moment, before passing it to her.
"Hahaha," she laughed still, holding up the piece of paper before Koch, "I'd admit...well played, you nearly had me…but you're right, I'm not here without mingling with a multitude of characters - jerks, assholes, pigs and chauvanists..."
With both her hands, she tore the letter in two, before she tore it again…and again, until it became shreds of pulp, scattering it on the floor.
"And ultimately…it made me a bitch."
"You're hereby excluded from the lecture…ALL OF MY LECTURES. Like the piece of letter, I'll enjoy watching you being torn to shreds, a bit at a time."