"Ha. Even now you leave the choice to me," said Machia, a smudge of cream on her lip that she battles to avoid licking. "You are asking me. Asking me to believe in you. Asking me to treat you like a person. And it worked - you got inside my head. But -"

Steel. Backwards. Choking.

"You are not fighting me," said Machia, looking down on you, hand pressing the remote. Her knuckles were white. "You are fighting [b]everyone[/b]. And this does not work on everyone. Your gaze is set too low, Madeleine."

The pressure releases abruptly. Titanomachia's fingers have accidentally snapped the fragile joystick of the remote. Her fingers tremble as they hold it, as though they might crush it into powder, or place a ring upon it.

That was all she could say - a fragment of the storm that those haunted eyes had conjured inside her. I am a one time regional champion; you could cup the world in your fingers. I am useless to you if I cannot surpass myself; I am useless to you if I can be overtaken so early. I don't want to give up on my dream, and so I can't let you either. I want to win. I want to beat you for its own sake, and I am so [i]close [/i]to losing...

Losing what?

She stood up suddenly, eyes cast in shadow. Wiped her lip with a napkin. "Not an unimpressive result. We will continue tomorrow," she said. And then she left, still crushing the broken remote in bloodless knuckles.