[i]"Idiot."[/i] Sam grumbled internally. [i]"You've been caged too long. Should have seen that one coming a mile away."[/i]

Even though Sam had struggled with the concept of having enough money to buy things, the sudden loss of that power struck a nerve in her that she didn't know she had. She didn't even realize how her face had twisted up after the thief had robbed her. She felt embarrassed, weak, stupid. The event played back in her mind as one foot fell slowly, rhythmically in front of the other; each scenario with a different chain of events and, indeed, a very different ending. Without even the knowledge that it was happening, Sam was after the boy who took her card.

In her mind, she had him by his collar before he took two steps away from her. She jerked him backward in-stride, causing him to land on his spine. He had tried to apologize, but speech was difficult to accomplish with a mouth full of aged sneakers. The poor boy scrambled away from her, clawing at the ground to gain some kind of foothold, but she kicked his hand out from under him and helped his face to the pavement.

[i]"Steal from me, will you?"[/i] she demanded of him, pulling back his head by the fist full of hair in her hand. Then she slit his throat with her stolen bank card.

By the time Sam came back to reality, she was alone. The bustle of the crowds and the market was still plainly audible, but faded, as if further away. She made it to be about two blocks' distance. How had she come this far without the memory of walking? A quick scan of her surroundings revealed a less-frequented part of the city with an industrial tint to its layout and architecture.

[i]"Great."[/i] she scowled. [i]"At least there are no crowds here. Maybe I can find a decent spot for some free gear."[/i]

It was all she knew. From the time of her release, Sam's only source of equipment, clothing...even food...had been what she could acquire from dumpsters and pick-up sites. The loss of her eight hundred dollars seemed to weigh less heavily on her mind, now that the prospect of gaining back some of what she'd lost when she had been abducted presented itself to her. For some reason, she hoped to find something a bit more handy than discarded sweatpants this time. It was the damnedest thing, but the concept of second-hand tools most appealed to her now.

The theft did still give her the occasional reboot of her bloody daydream, but it was all secondary now; all unimportant next to the hunt.

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