The knife flies past before her body can even muster a flinch. The figure is faceless no more; splattered green blood illuminates the deformed features of an Olifat. Mischievous imitators.
“Lucky.” A recognisably cocky voice reaches out from the casino’s shadows behind her.
She watches as a tall man with long, blackened hair strides confidently into the vault.
“Pass me that, would you.”
She reaches down and rips the knife from the Olifat’s neck.
“How the hell did you…” Her eyes tighten, puzzlement etches across her face.
He slides the knife away and throws her a knowing glare. “Mum…and she’s pissed.”