Hey, I'm being plenty nice. But you still killed someone. I don't tend to drink beers with murderers. Call it a code of ethics.

[ Riko's hand pushes back through her hair, black strands pulling through. She stops at the point where there is a small mark, a hint of a scar from a surgery she had ages upon ages ago. Her own implant. She doesn't even remember it happening – that's how long ago it was. ]

Whoever did it for you did it long enough ago that your head isn't still all wrapped up. You're not a walking, talking, nasty infection waiting to happen. [ She takes a second, smiling to herself as if it's at a joke that only she knows. ] As far as I know. Maybe a better question is why?