Page 76 of Fatality

She's already proven—to me—that she can fight. That she isn’t weak, she is unpredictable, infuriating and she has a fire capable of burning everything down.

Afraid of nothing, but she will be soon.

I type her physical description into the database, but no one in the Lower Layers looks like her.

Does that little bitch come from the Upper Layers?

That would actually be better.

A rich daddy's girl sneaking into an illegal street race and picking a fight with a gang leader?

The thought is almost funny.

Imagine what that would do to her perfect image, a rich Upper begging the gang leader from the Lower Layers.

That would be the best satisfying thing ever, put back in place some Upper.

I heard the government put the entire Upper Layers under lockdown because of the slaughter.

How thoughtful.

I'm almost flattered. Almost.

I bet she spent the day all alone, maybe thinking about me, about how and when she'll see me again.

I pace around my apartment again, drinking Nitro after Nitro.

I'm restless.

I keep typing on my comm, searching through records, but the tiny screen is starting to piss me off.

“Fuck this.”

I swipe the data over to the Glass Panel by my window--floating screens appear in front of me.

Now that's what I'm talking about.

Stalking on a grand scale.

I crack my knuckles and start typing again, pulling up every database I can access.

If she really is an Upper, she has to be in here somewhere.

A grin spreads across my face.

Things just got a lot more interesting.

I start typing her physical features again—Long, straight black hair, heterochromia plus her approximate height and weight and her piercings.

The search turns up nothing.

No name, no pictures.

Nothing.

I hurl my comm against the wall.

“Fuck!” I shout.