the alive

Janice

"They want to see you."

Pete licks his lips. Wears upon his stick figure flesh a pair of black skinny jeans and a thin black tank top. His tattoo of a medieval portrait fork tongue torture device in a chin exposes on his right shoulder. The eyes of the tattoo stare like the dead gravity a coffin descends into.

Holds up a roll of paper pages. Blueprints which he pretends are cylindrical cardboard from empty Christmas wrapping paper. Points it at Janice. Waves it around like a toy sword in the hands of a child orchestra conductor.

"Oh. And then?"

"Then what?"

Pete stops full pretend slice. Has a statues crumbly glaze gaze upon the bright holographic screen in front of both Ghosts. Gives up sword fighting with no one. Holds the blueprint in both hands. Squeezes it like he's giving a forearm a snakebite twist.

"The rest of the information they gave you, Peterick."

"Oh. Something about a favour or a secret city ordinance except that it can't be announced. You have to be in on it, though."

Janice crinkles her forehead. Glares at Pete as if she's watching over a pair of invisible sunglasses sliding down her nose.

"A secret city ordinance that can't be announced? Oh, the logic behind your words. Go figure, Peterick."

Janice turns away from him. Moves her mocking focus from Pete to wondering what the fuck. What the fuck are they going to ask her to do? Janice understands the powers that be are making stuff up in this era to categorize situations they haven't experienced in any lifetime. But a potential secret order coming from her supposed superiors is odd. She's not supposed to have superiors. She does. But her good will to comply depends on who's behind the order. She has the power to ignore it if need be.

The two Ghosts are in the main control room which is hidden in the deepest part of the Factory's structure. The underground underground. It's a room full of no escape and smooth rock walls. A dungeon of sorts. A dungeon that's the brain of the Factory.

The light of the large hologram consul wall dims. Fades. Disappears. Janice exits the surveillance program she's been running specifically to watch Patricia. A Ghost from her past who she doesn't trust but still warrants fair respect for saving the Factory and the city from Muerte. Janice knows Patricia's been through a lot of bad situations. One of them goes by the name of Garret. So the Grand Ghost has sympathy. Wary sympathy. Patricia truly hurt Janice. Maybe more so because they had a moment once. Something beautiful. A longing memory of Patricia to go along with all the other horrible memories dichotomizing her.

Patricia was a terrible leader. Treated Janice and Pete like two drops in a toilet when they were subordinates. Could challenge her to a fight in the cage. The zone at the centre of the crater's running track. If Janice were to be defeated, she'd lose her status and her throne. That's not going to happen. She doesn't hate Patricia enough to lose her status. No, it's best to watch that woman. Make sure she isn't a threat. Whispers underneath her breath like the bell toll of a buried buddhist.

"Bitch. Fucking twat."

No. Patricia's not really those vulgarities. She was. But not always.

Thinks maybe she's just being paranoid. Patricia looks like shit. Worn out. Rode hard and put to bed wet. No real threat at all. Disguises words with long drawn exhales.

"My unmedicated ass isn't Patricia's problem either."

That Candor woman hurt her in the past and Janice isn't usually forgiving. She isn't looking to injure Patricia, though. Just wants to watch. Witness for herself that woman's intentions. And watch that hard backside. Feels some butterflies. Touches her tummy. Shivers. Snaps her loins out of it. Speaks in a language of the thoughts she notices.