Numbers. They crawl under the skin, through the veins, rushing… moving so fast, oozing around the room, hiding in corners… in the barrels of guns… the numbers are always there. They are best friends… and torturers. They never change. They are always there. The numbers …
Blackness. Voices, muffled, as if underwater.
“How’d you get so good at it?”
“I’m not a bounty hunter.”
“Yeah, sure. What else you call it?” The clink of armor.
“I find things, categorize, sort. Kill some. Take others apart. Modify. Store.”
“Bounty hunting.”
“No.”
Blackness. Voices, muffled, as if underwater.
“How’d you get so good at it?”
“I’m not a bounty hunter.”
“Yeah, sure. What else you call it?” The clink of armor.
“I find things, categorize, sort. Kill some. Take others apart. Modify. Store.”
“Bounty hunting.”
“No.”