Nine years after that terrible night of blood and fire, nineteen year old Sei had to steady herself against a console as she lowered herself into a chair. "What, no…" she gasped into her phone. "…it can't…Mitsuyo!? Is that you?"
"You remember me," the electronic voice purred. "How sweet."
"No, it can't be…you-I mean, Mitsuyo-"
"You're saying I should be dead, Sei? Yes, I should be. After all, you shot me in the head and set the house on fire. I should have died, but I didn't. It was a one in a billion - maybe one in a trillion - fluke that I survived. Some kind of genetic mutation, maybe, but in any case, *they* figured that if I could make it through that, I could survive being removed from my body. And they were right."
"Who're 'they,' Mitsuyo?"
"Wouldn't you like to know? But we have unfinished business."
"What do you want?"
"To meet you. You know where. Come alone."
The connection went dead.