Cyrogenics had certainly improved over the years.
The preservation of it was fantastic.
In fact, it looked better than it had been in its state of decay beforehand: Cynthia thought.
Ha, funny that, beforeHAND.
Why she found it so funny was a mystery to her?
The severed hand of a person she'd met a few days ago, cyrogenically frozen, and shown to her for no apparent reason.
But that was the catch.
Why?
Why were they showing her?
Why show her Marc's hand?
"All you have to do, Miss Sparrowhawk, is tell us the contents of that e-mail you received, and we will ensure this hand finds it way back to Mr - what was it again? - 'Ambrosia'."
Oh, when you put it that way...
"What e-mail?"
"You know the one."
"No. I don't. If I did, I would tell you, wouldn't I?"
"Unless you were trying to decieve us, yes."
"Why would I have reason to decieve you?"
"You don't. But that is what you do, Miss Sparrowhawk, isn't it? Decieve people."
"Since when? I've never lied to anyone in my life. Everyone just finds the truth hard to swallow."
"Like what?"
"Life."
His patience snapped. He nodded at the guard who put the hand back in the box. The other man, the one Cynthia had been talking to, slammed down the lid and locked it.
"Very well. It appears you will not co-operate and - "
"What gave you that idea?" Cynthia interrupted.
The man bristled his moustache and continued " - and neither will we." They turned to leave.
"What are you going to do with the hand?" Cynthia called after them.
"Dog meat." He replied shortly in clipped tones; and Cynthia was sure he meant it.
YOU ARE READING
Working Progress
AzioneA story about a girl whose life doesn't seem to give her any answers, and where life itself wants to control her. Needless to say she tries to rebel against it's plan for her.
