- Pronouns
- They
- MarioWiki
- Roserade
Somewhere unknown...
As a young woman looks at herself in the mirror, she contemplates what it was that brought her here.
Perhaps it was a penchant for success. Graduating at the top of her class, she knew how to find power in social dynamics. She had little power in this scenario that she did not earn socially. The others entering into the boardroom, they have corporations, sponsorships, money behind them. For her? All she had were promises, and they worked.
No, success was too surface level. Success could be found anywhere. For being here specifically? There was something much, much more sinister beneath the surface.
The young woman pulls her fingers across the edge of a newly-fashioned suit jacket, fitting plainly against her black slacks and white top. Even her signature bow had been abandoned, in favor of a full-black tie-off. It wasn't an outfit she was accustomed to wearing, but she couldn't deny the aura it gave her.
She inspected herself closer in the mirror, pulling her front strands of hair behind her ear.
She knows what brought her here, if she's to be honest. It wasn't a desire for fame or glamor. It was a penchant for violence. Being trapped in two Killing Games would do that to someone, especially someone already on the edge. She was so corrupted internally that it corrupted her outer form, breaking the physical shape her code took. Then she was sucked into a vacuum cleaner. That was pretty bad too.
She could feel it, then. The experiences had splintered her program. When finally the vacuum was destroyed and she was able to spill out again, others spilled out with her. Other variants of herself, with slight alterations or differences. Different young women, all of them tainted with the bloody taste of the Killing Game. Who knew where they were now? But their existence left her changed. They had taken her other components with them, left her bare. Now, the woman in the mirror is nothing but determined, cunning, menacing. Hungry. Desperate for entertainment.
The young woman straightens back up. This was the best her appearance could be. She holds onto the top of the cane she had propped against the wall, taking a few deliberate steps back.
Many floors above her, the meeting room is being arranged.
Now is as good a time as any to make her entrance.
The woman spins on her heels and makes for the door to her suite. As she passes it by, the television screen warbles and flickers, filling with static. On her other side, the landline telephone crackles, an automatic voice warbling out a distorted voicemail message.
She opens the door and starts for the long flight of stairs.
It would be wise for her to avoid the elevator.
As a young woman looks at herself in the mirror, she contemplates what it was that brought her here.
Perhaps it was a penchant for success. Graduating at the top of her class, she knew how to find power in social dynamics. She had little power in this scenario that she did not earn socially. The others entering into the boardroom, they have corporations, sponsorships, money behind them. For her? All she had were promises, and they worked.
No, success was too surface level. Success could be found anywhere. For being here specifically? There was something much, much more sinister beneath the surface.
The young woman pulls her fingers across the edge of a newly-fashioned suit jacket, fitting plainly against her black slacks and white top. Even her signature bow had been abandoned, in favor of a full-black tie-off. It wasn't an outfit she was accustomed to wearing, but she couldn't deny the aura it gave her.
She inspected herself closer in the mirror, pulling her front strands of hair behind her ear.
She knows what brought her here, if she's to be honest. It wasn't a desire for fame or glamor. It was a penchant for violence. Being trapped in two Killing Games would do that to someone, especially someone already on the edge. She was so corrupted internally that it corrupted her outer form, breaking the physical shape her code took. Then she was sucked into a vacuum cleaner. That was pretty bad too.
She could feel it, then. The experiences had splintered her program. When finally the vacuum was destroyed and she was able to spill out again, others spilled out with her. Other variants of herself, with slight alterations or differences. Different young women, all of them tainted with the bloody taste of the Killing Game. Who knew where they were now? But their existence left her changed. They had taken her other components with them, left her bare. Now, the woman in the mirror is nothing but determined, cunning, menacing. Hungry. Desperate for entertainment.
The young woman straightens back up. This was the best her appearance could be. She holds onto the top of the cane she had propped against the wall, taking a few deliberate steps back.
Many floors above her, the meeting room is being arranged.
Now is as good a time as any to make her entrance.
The woman spins on her heels and makes for the door to her suite. As she passes it by, the television screen warbles and flickers, filling with static. On her other side, the landline telephone crackles, an automatic voice warbling out a distorted voicemail message.
She opens the door and starts for the long flight of stairs.
It would be wise for her to avoid the elevator.