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Credit really was the best after all.

Sitting in a cheap, aluminum chair, Josephine’s eyes flickered back and forth on the holographic screen of her HeinBox, scanning through her monthly transactions and comparing them to the bundle of physical receipts she had in her pockets. At this point, she really was better off hiring an accountant for such meticulous work, but the ruby-eyed girl was never really bothered by it. In the past, she had obsessively budgeted every credit in her account, but now, it was simply pleasurable reading through all those big numbers.

Of course, her monthly income would really only sustain a middle-income family of four, but Josephine was alone, and such wealth was simply luxurious. Maybe she should splurge on something again. That new weapon the Policus was using, the Retra Barrier Bunker, looked pretty good. She’d been thinking of getting a proper melee weapon anyways, and a piledriver advertised as being able to pierce through even the hardiest Painstaker’s physical barriers looked fun…if inaccurate.

The small smile on Josephine’s features disappeared. Yeah, she didn’t have any use for a weapon that can’t even work as promoted. Closing the HeinBox and pocketing the small, black cube, she stretched and yawned, eyes naturally falling over to Room 107 of Café Thaza’s basement hideout. It had been years since she first crashed there, and even though there was now some nameless drunk rolling inside that space, it still gave her some fond memories.

Perhaps that’s why she didn’t ignore the bleeding youth that Mom dragged in, even when she wanted nothing to do with the freakish ‘doctor’ that seemed so eager to help a stranger. Was probably going to convince him into believing that he’s better off shedding his skin and turning into a monster.

Josephine swallowed her disgust either way, as she placed a hand on Mom’s shoulder, firmly pushing the older woman aside. Not even turning towards Doc, she locked eyes with the older man, before saying, flatly, [b]“300 credits, or I’m putting it back in.”[/b]

Without waiting for a response, she turned to the wound next, expanding her senses to the microscopic, and then molecular level. It was just shrapnel. Small bits of metal. Much too easy to distinguish from the sickly, torn flesh of this young fool.

Slowly, a trickle of dust, sparkling in the dim light, drifted out of the youth’s wound. Thin strands wove into the form of a small bullet in Josephine’s palm, before the generation was complete. It dropped then, and she pulled out the Punisher EMT, manually loading it into the chamber.

[b]“300 credits, or I’m putting it back in,”[/b] she repeated.

The man with the shades was lucky Mom was there. He got himself a nice discount as a result.