So I'm not checking my neural-net account for a few weeks and in return I receive spam by people that're actually very well able to just freaking tell me what they're up to when we're out on duty kicking some sod back into the Abyss.
I've not responded to your last message some months ago, as it was quite obvious you could just have spoken to me right on Corsica. You remember, that place we're all hanging out from time to time where we allow you to conduct your business without further asking any questions?
The hell you want, Leiseka? The hell you do down there anyways?
And why Kelly hasn't answered all the mails I've to reply to now? This place is having a seizure or what?
Not that I expect you to have any answer to this.
Christ's sake, Leiseka. What should've had been in two days, that past already anyways? And don't get at me with some frakking riddle to solve, or I'll have some body part of yours resolved from your body.
I'm going for a drink now. You'll find me at the bar, and if not, I swear send me another message that won't contain any proper information, I'll push my boot so deep up between your legs you'll never be biological suitable to give birth ever.
For power. For Ishmael. For the Ghosts.
Salutes.
'Stefania Casta.