[Hunter] Dark Web Chronicle

[SidheLives]

@Vaneheart


The woman turned back to look at the man. "And if I don't you'll what? Shoot me?"


She looked out the window again. "Look. I'll tell you what I know, which isn't much, but I don't want to stick around here to do it." She looked back at the detective. "The real cops will be showing up soon and I don't think you want to explain what you're doing here anymore than I do." She walked back over to the dresser and retrieved a bag that Arthur hadn't spotted before. It looked like a large nondescript purse. "I don't like being played a fool and I'd like to know what the fuck is going on. So I'll parlay." She approached the door and Arthur, but she was just getting along the side of the bed, the mattress of which she carefully lifted, then flipped off it's base (Showing a great deal more strength than Arthur would have suspected given her frame). It broke a lamp as it crashed to the ground effectively completing the room's "roughed up" feel. Then she turned to face him again.


"Sound like a deal?"

 

[Vaneheart]

Arthur didn't like this. It felt all wrong to him. He would probably fare far better with the police than she did, but he doubted his ability to keep her here much longer, short of actually shooting her. He glanced at the mess in the room. It was unfortunate, and would require some explaining, but it was something that could be fixed.


He needed answers, and this situation was rapidly spiraling into complicated territory. Arthur backed further away into the hall, and lowered the gun, although it was still in his hand, and he watched her carefully for any sudden movements or deception. He doubted that he could trust this woman for even a second.


He replied evenly "It's a deal. Where would you suggest we go to discuss this?"

 

[SidheLives]

@Vaneheart


Arthur couldn't see her expression because of the mask but her relief was almost palpable. "I assume you have a car here? My ride appears to have become unavailable." She walked out into the hall and past him towards the stairs. "That being the case I'm not in any position to make demands about the local. Just not here." She stopped and turned around to look at the detective. "And not a police station either, in case you think you're funny." Then she waited at the head of the stairs for Arthur. If her intention was to run she was giving up a mighty big opportunity to do so.

 

[Vaneheart]

Arthur considered the legal implications involved. He needed information, but he could get into some hot water harboring a suspect, unless said suspect was key to something else, or under extreme coercion or duress. He pondered it further. He felt that she would have more legal protection, and more options, as his client. For the time being at least.


He considered his own legal problems as well. He had somewhat illegally entered a crime scene, under now seemingly dubious pretenses. He hadn't left any prints, and he had a good reason for being there. It would cause him some trouble, but nothing he felt that he couldn't get out of.


"We can take my car. I have a place we can go." He paused, before continuing. "I have a proposal. If you agree to be forthcoming with me, I can take you on as a key client in this ongoing case. You would, to an extent, have client confidentiality, provided you haven't murdered anyone, until we can acquire you a lawyer, depending on how events unravel." And boy do I know a lot of lawyers, some of which owe me some big favors. He continued, "Otherwise, you're free to go after our deal here is complete, and take your chances."


Arthur thumbed the safety on his Beretta, thumbed off the laser sight, and slowly holstered the pistol. He kept the pocket flashlight in his left hand.


He grinned. "Ladies first."

 

[SidheLives]

@Vaneheart


Arthur had the sudden thought that the legal repercussions of the situation hinged heavily on the Wests. If they had just left of their own volition it was one thing, but if they were abducted or worse.....


He was positive though that he had left no fingerprints, and the woman was wearing gloves, and the place was such a disaster finding any other evidence of their ingress would be near impossible.


Laughter bubbled up through the woman's nose and cascaded down in pitch (it sounded like a villain's laugh from a children's movie). "Shuah chap. Whatever you say." She went down the stairs quickly and with a practiced light foot. When she reached the living room she turned to look at Arthur again. "We'll be going out the back door. We can cut out behind the neighbor's fence, won't look like we're coming from here when we hit the street." Then she ducked straight into the small kitchen.


[Perception check as you follow - if you follow - sight based]

 

[Vaneheart]

Arthur had a bad feeling about this. He didn't trust the strange woman, but he needed answers. He also wondered about the West's. What had happened to them? Did they make it to the motel safely? Why was the kitchen so clean?


Arthur crept after the British woman, but kept wary. He feared the worst.

 

[SidheLives]

@Vaneheart


As Arthur passed through the living room a shot of white caught his eye. It was a card, a business card sized thing stuck slightly behind the leg of a chair. He wouldn't have seen it coming in as the furniture blocked the way from the other direction, but heading towards the kitchen it was so obvious he could hardly help but notice it.


It seemed drastically out of place in the living room and there was nowhere which it seemed to have fallen from.

 

[Vaneheart]

Huh, that's an odd thing to miss. A business card just lying there? Arthur looked around carefully, then moved over and picked it up. He glanced at it with the pocket flashlight, read it, then quickly put it in his pocket. He quickly continued to follow the burglar.

 

[SidheLives]

@Vaneheart


The card was stark white and glossy and read in a bold script The Organisation with a phone number in small lettering underneath.





As Arthur followed the woman he discovered she was right. Since the Wests didn't have a fence around their property it was easy enough to cut behind the neighbor's fence, out of sight from the street and house, then back to the street on the other side, closer to Arthur's car. As they passed behind the house the woman, in front of him, pulled the balaclava she wore down around her neck so it looked like a simple scarf. Since he was still behind her the detective couldn't see her face (and besides that it was very dark, he wasn't sure how much he would be able to make out anyway) but he could see her hair which was cut in a very distinctive asymmetric cut, one half of her head was completely shaved. She tousled the hair on the other side with one hand and by the time they emerged from behind the fence and into the open she looked not at all like she'd been burgling a house just a few minutes prior.


As they reached the sidewalk the woman unzipped her dark blue jacket and plucked a cigarette from the bag over her arm, lighting it in one smooth movement with the zippo from her back pocket as she looked over her shoulder back at Arthur. "So, where we headed?" She asked nonchalantly before exhaling a plume of smoke from her nose and mouth.

 

[Vaneheart]

The Organisation? That's not vague at all... Better check that later. Arthur had a urge to check the root cellar, but thought against it, as time was pressing. He tried to shut the door behind him.


As they moved, Arthur appraised his odd traveling companion. What a whimsical piece of work here. Like an inner-city stereotype come to life. She looks tough and dangerous though. Best to not let my guard down.


He idly toyed with the idea of dropping her off at the police station after all, but dismissed it.


"We're going to my office in Brooklyn." As they arrived closer to the street, Arthur pointed towards his car. "That blue Chevy Malibu is mine. It has the old-style doors, so I'll have to get in first and unlock it."


Arthur glanced around warily, looking both ways, and for any witnesses, before approaching his car.


"Better finish that one quick, there's no smoking in my car."

 

[Javabee]

@Javabee
Sydney suddenly saw the pale woman in leather and lace who Sydney's attention had unconsciously focused on. The woman, as well as several people with her who were dressed in dark colors similar to the woman but less ostentatiously, was looking right at Sydney. The young woman could almost feel the animosity rolling off of the small group.


She noted that though she wasn't turning to look at them at all she could see them as clearly as if they were directly in front of her, which was an odd feeling.


As Sydney observed the group in this curious way one of the men started to get up, but the pale woman with the dark eyes put a hand on his arm to stop him. She gestured with her head to the door and the man and the female companion got up and headed for the door, leaving the strange woman and one male companion in the large corner booth.


Then Sydney's consciousness slammed back into her own head and she was left with a shrieking pain in her temples looking up at a bartender who looked a little concerned.


"Sydney? Sydney?" he was repeating her name quietly, leaning into her a little. "Are you alright girl, you just kind of zoned out for a second there."

Sydney tried to close her eyes tightly. No, that made it worse. She loosened the muscles in her face to ease the nerves around the temples. That felt a little less painful. She looped up blearily at the bartender.


"I'm good....just a migraine. Must have had too much coffee today." Sydney gave him what she thought was a convincing look of reassurance, then tried focusing on the small group again. She felt it not the best idea to get up and talk to them. If they really did have as much anger as she felt, she was too outnumbered to start anything.

 

[SidheLives]

@Vaneheart


The woman, still in shadow took another, longer drag off the cigarette. The flare of the cherry let Arthur see her eyes for a moment and they looked annoyed. Then she ripped the cherry off the end of the cigarette and tossed it into the street, slipping the half cigarette she had left back into the unseen pack in her bag.


"Done." She said, voice irked, then she sauntered around to the passenger side of the car.


The street was still deserted, but some lights in houses around where the towncar had been parked had turned on. It seemed the vehicle's hasty exit had woken some of the neighbors. Arthur felt sure that they were too far away for anyone inside the houses to see them but if people started heading into the streets the pair and the Malibu would be pretty obvious. The car itself looked as it had when he left it.


"Fancy car," She said disingenuously as she looked it over. "You must make a mint at whatever it is you do."

 

[SidheLives]

@Javabee


"Do you," The bartender spoke quietly, not noticing Syndey's continued attempts to observe the man and woman in the corner, "want a ride home or anywhere?" He looked genuinely concerned "My relief showed up like five minutes ago so I can take you home or wherever." The way he said 'wherever' sounded like he might have had ideas about where she could go, but his concern for her seemed sincere.


For Sydney's part as she tried to focus her attention on the strange pair again her headache redoubled, the pain spreading to right behind her eyes. For a moment though she caught them in that strange focus that felt like she was looking at them from right beside them. The woman was watching her, a wicked smile on her face. The man she had been with was gone, but as Sydney observed he returned from outside the bar and whispered something in the woman's ear, something that made that wicked smile become somehow more sinister. Then Sydney was back in her own head again.

 

[Vaneheart]

Arthur ignored the slight as he checked his watch. It was nearly 2AM in the morning. Wow, it's early. He stifled a yawn, and unlocked his car. Before getting in, he gave his car a quick search, including the trunk, looking for signs of entry, or any bugs. He additionally looked for the telltale signs of an attached transponder underneath. He opened the door, and looked inside as well.


Afterward, getting into the driver's seat, he reached over and unlocked the passenger door, then buckled up. As an afterthought, he checked his phone for any messages, hoping the nice motel clerk would have called him to let him know about the Wests. He also switched it from silent. He waited for his passenger to buckle up, then reached into the center console and pulled out a olive drab thermos. He poured himself a cup from one of the two traveling cups that came with the thermos, then offered the burglar some. "Coffee? It's sadly black." He drank some of the coffee, hoping it would keep the long abyss of sleep away, and was not really bothered by the bitter taste. He had been drinking it black for quite some time.


Eventually, whether she took the coffee or not, Arthur put it all away and drove toward his office in Brooklyn, being mindful of any tails.

 

[SidheLives]

@Vaneheart


Arthur was 100% positive there were no bugs in his car. He felt it in his very bones.


When Arthur unlocked the door the woman opened it and climbed in. After a slight pause as she watched the detective buckle the seat belt she did the same. She was looking out the window when Arthur offered her the coffee and she looked at him, and the cup he offered in a suspicious sort of way. Then her face softened and she smirked. "Yes, thank you." She seemed taken aback by this simple gesture, or at the very least surprised by it. She took the cup and the warm coffee from his hands and inhaled the scent of it before taking a sip. "Black's the way I take it," she said as she settled into her seat with the cup.


They rode in silence for a while, Arthur checking for tails and seeing none, the woman sipping the coffee he had given her and looking out the window. As it was New York the roads were never truly empty, but cars were scarce for the city on the path they took back to the Brooklyn office. When the silence had stretched a few too many minutes past uncomfortable the woman finally spoke again.


"So what do you do?"

 

[Vaneheart]

Arthur paused momentarily, deciding on just how much to tell her. "I'm a private detective. I work the insurance cases mostly, sometimes the divorce cases as well, or the missing property cases if they are big enough." He paused before continuing "I used to work the missing persons, the murder cases, tracking down criminals, and even the odd and weird cases, especially if the police dropped the ball. Like this one." He let the silence go for a bit. He suddenly felt the urge to smoke, and drove it down. He instead continued, "I've slowed down a bit in recent years. Things became too...personal. Too close to home. Normally I don't take cases like these, but this time I made an exception. I have a soft spot for families." He noted he was avoiding going into details about the Wests, and the particulars of the case in general.


He glanced at his traveling companion. "What about you? Do you have a day job, or is this also the day job?"

 

[Antba]

Alberto had that nagging feeling that someone was watching him. Someone who might be a potential threat. The hitman kept himself passive and casual in both pose and face, as he unhurriedly reached into his coat and slowly pulled out a small paperback novel. Outwardly, he appeared interested in the book, and he opened it to his last bookmark, appearing to scan the page.


Meanwhile, he scanned the subway car with his peripheral vision, looking for his observer, as well as taking notes on where the security cameras would be, where each person in the car was, and noted when the next stop would be. He rested his hand in his coat pocket, feeling the handle of a sharp concealed knife as he did so. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, the subway was too public for such a thing. He definitely couldn't use a gun here. He considered leading his observer somewhere a bit more private, if possible, and if the observer would follow him.

 

[Gregam]

The location: Hoboken, NJ


A red light glares from the kitchen countertop. Its ominous illumination fills the tiny space of the apartment. The red digits on its transparent face are:

06:00 A.M.

​

His apartment is freezing from the cold snap outside. The bed is stiff and cold everywhere besides where he lays. The downy sheet feels brittle to the touch on the top.


He is wide awake.


Heart pounding.


And he thinks blood is dripping from his neck.


He had the dream again.


This time, it was worse.


Normally, the shadowy creature chases him through Central Park. He finds a way out and the dream ends with him in safety, although a little shaken.


This time…


The green eyes found him.


And this time…


He saw the jaws.


Gleaming from the street lights. Green liquid dripping off of too sharp teeth.


It was fast as it loped easily over the space between them.


It was on him. Its green eyes staring into his. The liquid from its teeth burned where it hit his skin.


But he was calm.


Strangely, calm.


Like everything would be alright.


Then the bite came around his neck and he awoke to the chilly morning light. Peaking through his small window in his studio apartment.


He jumped out of bed and ran to his bathroom and quickly glanced at the mirror. There was nothing there but sweat. Lots and lots of sweat.


He realized that he had not taken a breath in a while. He gasped for air.


The cold rushed in and he coughed for a solid minute. Sputtering around his bathroom.


“This cannot go on any longer.” He said in his head. “I have to find out what that creature was, and put an end to these dreams.” He paused. “I hope it is nothing like what it is in them.”


He shivered, not just from the cold.


He straightened up and looked in the mirror again. He is a little heavy set for a height of 5’6”, with light bags under his brown eyes. His receding dark brown hair is cut short and has a widows peak that is quite apparent. The scar above his left eye is a divot on his acne scarred face.


“Yup, thath’s still me.” He says out loud. He stops, and chuckles. He takes a deep breath. “Huh, that dream really stressed me out... Damn lisp.”


He looks at the clock on the kitchen counter:

06:30 A.M.

​

“Good. I still have time to clean up and get some breakfast in me before 8.”


He exits his bathroom and goes to the kitchen. It is right outside the bathroom door, conveniently placed in the same space as his bedroom.


He is surprised by how compact the apartment is every day. He isn’t used to it since getting out of college and his prior living arrangement.


He whips up some scrambled eggs with vegetables and gets his cheap toaster to slightly brown the bread he puts in it. He pours himself a glass of water and sets up on the end of the kitchen counter where he has a steel chair that was countoured for his shape, oriented towards the window. He takes everything off the pan, puts the entire breakfast on his plate, and sits himself down to look outside the window. He loves this view. The sun is just about to hit the city of Hoboken and light up the world.


A serenity overtakes him as he looks through the window. After slowly eating his meal, he begins examining his apartment as his mind begins to wander.


At the foot of his twin sized bed is his bookshelf. One of the items he got from his family’s home before they broke apart. It reminds him of some good times: playing in his childhood with plastic dinosaurs and finding the ultimate betrayal between the species. Creating dioramas of green army men and Indians coming to peace talks. That was, of course, before the Transformer nation attacked.


The books that it holds are all from his college years. Textbooks on Material Science, Statics and Dynamics, and the most dreaded subject of all for him: Thermodynamics. He shudders a little at the thought of that class. It was the class he was taking when he got the phone call. His father was monotone, like a volcano on the other side of the line. He informed him that his mother had left with another man earlier that same morning. His father had just got off the phone with a divorce lawyer. They talked for a little bit. And then his father broke down. He hadn’t heard his father cry like that before. He said everything would be alright and they would work it all out. His father stopped after a while and said he loved him. He said he loved him back. Then the conversation ended and they hung up. That was the last phone call he got from either of his parents.


After a while he moves on and looks at his old hiking gear laying next to the bookshelf. His way to relax, his place of calm, was outside enjoying the breeze and the sunlight as it touches his skin. The warmth always takes away any chills he has. He enjoys finding picture opportunities of nature and the human world while on these outdoor excursions. He sends the best to his closest friends, and shares the rest in a file on Facebook.


In the corner of his small apartment is his closet. Closed right now, but he knows what is in there. An amount of clothes he has acquired, an old laptop from his college days that runs Vista, and three pairs of shoes. He looks at the clock again:

7:15 A.M.

​

Time to get dressed for work. He opens the closet and sees his shirts of yellow. 2 short sleeved button downs, 2 long sleeved button downs, 2 T-shirts, and 2 polo shirts. All of them, varying shades of yellow. Among them is 1 well used interview suit and his navy blue, oil-stained coveralls to the far right. The name tag on the coveralls reads: Amos Burton. He quickly gets on underwear, dons the coveralls, gets on his steel toed boots, grabs his full lunch bag and water bottle, and heads out the door.


The clock reads:

7:30 A.M.

​

He is in his 1989 Mercury Colony Park station wagon, keys in the ignition. He has been having problems of late working out a gremlin. Every now and then it won’t start. He has to push it in neutral about 6 inches and then try to start it up again. He hopes it won’t do it this morning.


Through working at the shop he has been fortunate enough to find spare parts for her. He has personally replaced almost every component in the vehicle. Except for the engine block itself. That is where he thinks the current issue is originating from.


He turns the key.


Nothing.


He tries once more.


He hears a cylinder fire, then nothing again.


He sighs, changes the car to neutral, gets out, and pushes it a little ways.


He gets back in, turns the key and the old girl rumbles to life.


He smiles and heads to work.


The clock in the apartment shows:

04:00 P.M.

​

It had been a long day. There were lots of old beaters coming in for repairs. And with those beaters came people that tried to tell the senior mechanic on shift, him, and the other senior mechanic, Buck, how to do their jobs.


They smiled and entertained them before they got back to work.


Their little shop is known for getting to the bottom of the issue of almost any mechanical problem in a car. And that was before Amos came. With him there, the shop got organized, and cars started getting done even faster than before after his initiation phase. That phase took one full year before the senior mechanic started to trust his judgement.


The day had gone well. He always loved to see the customers smile as they left with a working, safe vehicle.


But he felt empty. Like the job wasn’t truly fulfilling. He wanted to get back into the thick of it, making the world a safer and easier place to live in for everyone.


And this job, even though it had some good moments, was not that job. He had something at home he had been waiting to receive that might change all that.


The clock on the counter proclaimed that it was:

4:30 P.M.

​

He had gotten home about 10 minutes ago and was sitting on his bed with his old laptop.


Tears were streaming down his face.


On the screen was an email.


The title of it:


Honda: Entry Level Mechanical Design Engineer


They were in Battlecreek, Michigan.


He had been waiting an entire month since the interview. He had sent two emails: once immediately after the interview, thanking them for it and answering any other questions he didn’t get to in the interview. And again, two weeks later, asking how the decision process was going.


He got a response to the first one that was positive. He hadn’t heard back on the second.


The email was an automated message stating that the position had been filled. They would keep his resume on record for a year before deleting it from their system. They wished him the best of luck in his job search.


All the exhaustion from the day, all the pain of rejection, and all the sore muscles hit him at once. He didn’t know what to do. He had had over fifty interviews in the past year and a half with various automotive companies. It had been two years since he graduated. In the first six months after he graduated he sent a resume to his current job. He had fought tooth and nail for it. Now the only prospect he had had in the past 3 months for a design position was gone in an instant from an automated response.


This was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Maybe it was that dream in morning, the duration of his search, or all of the pent up feelings from his family falling apart.


Whatever the reason, he couldn’t take it today.


So he cries. And he gets angry. And he yells and screams into a pillow.


Then just like that, he is done. He wipes up his tears and gets himself some dinner. And after dinner, he feels embarrassed.


And that embarrassment reignites the flame inside, and makes it burn even brighter.


This won’t stop him from achieving his goals of bringing automation to the world. This won’t stop him from modifying cars to create a world of peace. This won’t stop him from…


He stops.


He goes to his laptop and shoots off a quick email to call in his stored up vacation time to his boss.


He continues.


…This won’t stop him from hunting down whatever that darkness was and making sure it never hurts anyone ever again.


And so, he starts to search on his old laptop.


The clock on the counter pulsates with an almost malicious intent:

06:00 P.M.

​

 

[SidheLives]

@Vaneheart


The woman chuckled. "This is normally the day job," She glanced at him. "I think you'd like my night job even less."


"Private Detective... Well no offense to your cop buddies but I'm sure glad you're not one," She finished the last of the coffee in the travel cup and set it between her thighs, letting the pause linger a moment.


"You said 'cases like these'." She was looking out the window again. "What do you mean? What were you doing sneaking into a house in Jamaica at one in the morning?" She looked at Arthur again and in a passing headlight he was able to see serious hazel eyes and a nose that had clearly been broken multiple times and never healed right. "I thought you were there because of me, but you seemed as shocked to find me as I was to find you,"

 

[Vaneheart]

The Streets of New York


Brooklyn, New York.


Thursday


2:23AM

​

"None taken, the Force isn't what it used to be. Too much politics and power plays in the day to day job. Not enough training, or personnel screening either. People end up being just used and discarded, like common detritus." He sighed regretfully. "Then again, I suppose it was always that way." Yeah, don't kid yourself, you saw plenty of wrong going on. No golden age to be found there. No room for idealists either.


Arthur gathered his thoughts and continued, "What I meant earlier is the odd ones, or the sudden ones. Maybe even the weird ones." He paused, considering his next words carefully, before continuing. "The family that lives in that house, the Wests, asked me to look into a situation with their house. They sounded absolutely terrified. They claimed that they had seen things and heard things that were...inexplicable, and saw things out of the corner of their eyes." He continued his explanation almost without taking a breath. "They worried that perhaps someone...or maybe something, was in the house, possibly from the root cellar, tormenting the family, especially their young daughter." He took another look at the mirrors to make sure they were not being tailed. "She, the daughter, was having some kind of a reaction of sorts, almost sounded like seizures by the way it was described. Their baby didn't sound too great either. I asked them to pack a few things and leave for a motel, while I checked the house out for them."


He paused momentarily, and frowned in concern. There were some things that just didn't seem right about this one. At the end of the call, there was a knock at the door that I clearly heard. Someone also left a odd business card at the scene, and I was also tailed to the house. They never checked into their motel. And then you were there, tearing the place up. How did they even get my home number?. He briefly considered the oddly clean kitchen, and wondered if the Wests had been murdered, and he had walked into the tail end of a mob hit and clean-up job. He decided not to divulge any additional information to his suspicious passenger just yet, and left the rather obvious unsaid.


"Sounds pretty crazy right?" He tried to sound easy going and unconcerned about the matter. They weren't wrong, you, mystery burglar, came in and trashed their place the second they left. "Probably just a case of rats, epilepsy, and an overactive imagination or something. Like I said though, I have a soft spot for families and children." He also tried to keep the doubt out of his voice.


Arthur looked ahead out the window. "We're almost there. My office is just ahead on the left. The elevator is out, so we'll have to take the stairs." He glanced about for available parking in the garage.

 

[Javabee]

@Javabee
"Do you," The bartender spoke quietly, not noticing Syndey's continued attempts to observe the man and woman in the corner, "want a ride home or anywhere?" He looked genuinely concerned "My relief showed up like five minutes ago so I can take you home or wherever." The way he said 'wherever' sounded like he might have had ideas about where she could go, but his concern for her seemed sincere.


For Sydney's part as she tried to focus her attention on the strange pair again her headache redoubled, the pain spreading to right behind her eyes. For a moment though she caught them in that strange focus that felt like she was looking at them from right beside them. The woman was watching her, a wicked smile on her face. The man she had been with was gone, but as Sydney observed he returned from outside the bar and whispered something in the woman's ear, something that made that wicked smile become somehow more sinister. Then Sydney was back in her own head again.

Sidney head felt fit to burst, but she controlled it, barely. She tried to rid herself of the image of the woman and tried focusing on the face directly in front of hers, the bartender's.


"I might need an Advil." She said, then added, "maybe you'll hang with me until it kicks in before you head out? I know it's late and all, but I'd feel better about it if we stuck around inside until my head clears."


Sydney felt a feeling of needing to stay in the bar, stay in a public area, and keep the bartender in her sight as well. She didn't trust that woman in the corner as far as she could throw her...with her FACE.