[s]Seven[/s] Twelve Days Later

[Ash]

Out of all the strange things that surrounded Primes as a whole, Sophia has seen little as interesting as a couch in the middle of the Nexus. Much less a broken one which has been flipped over on hits front side and the frame snapping under the weight so that it looked just barely like the original furniture to be recognizable. The other thing that was interestingly uncommon in the Nexus was a body that laid across the busted up couch. Crimson puddles formed under the heap of this... Conversation piece in the center of the table.

Sophia, being the secondary as she was, was created with a keen eye for taste. Whoever managed this this had divine taste, in her opinion. It was so brutal and blunt, it excited her. Her face flushed as she wondered what this man had died for. She also wanted deeply to know the reasoning behind the couch. Why was it even a thing? What was the purpose of using a crudely cheap couch with a folded bed inside of it as a weapon?

That was when Jakob's head lifted from the ruined cotton of the inner couch, or was it the mattress this fluff came from, to scream out in frustrated pain. Sophia was so surprised by the sudden movement from someone she thought had bit the dust already.


Jakob rolled over and off the beaten piece of furniture, hitting his shoulder on the Nexus floor and right into puddle of his own blood. The bullet would through his leg had long been healed over the course of his nap. Where the bullet was now he couldn’t tell you, but until it sealed off the flesh he’d been heavily wounded. “Fuck!” He cried out, suddenly a bit sober.

The woman he’d seen shrink back gasps at his harsh language, only to fall back and away. He didn’t notice at any length of her flushed face. But she did call him a cretin before sweeping her full blooming dress across the crisp clean floor and off to another verse. He wasn’t sure if she meant to call him that because of the misinterpretation of the word, or if she meant its literal definition because of the ruby red robotic arm that lifted him.

He rolled over onto the arm, his weight lifted higher and his stomach stretching. He felt a pain in his side from where he’d been shot by Mikeal-

“Vait.. Dat is not right.” He decided. No. It was that blonde haired bombshell. Her image was burned into his mind now, her golden long hair, her fierce eyes. The sweetness in her voice, the softness of her touch. The accuracy of her shots! He growled to himself, rolling onto his knees and standing up. He limped a few feet away before coming to a unsure stop just a few ways. His black shirt was sticky and wet with his own blood, it stained the back of his shoulder like a tattoo.

He considered what he should do. She had called him by name, spoke to him in Russian. She’d spoken Ivone’s name. The woman from before didn’t just lift up a pebble from his past. No, she ripped off his 5 year old scab and scrubbed the insides with salt. She disturbed him on levels no one else has been able to.

She would never be safe again.

Now where did she go?

With very little effort, Jakob glanced about and found her blood trail. He could discern it to be her’s because it continued beyond his. After that, it was just a matter of a ride, and some upgrades to his Rigger Control Console…