Operational
There are no beans in this bag. It’s all lumps and holes and grooves where the stitching has come out. No one would really call it furniture, but then again, Sonia wasn’t really asking them, either. Empty space and latex, she thought. It always came to this.
She flips out a black zippo lighter with a sanguine red ouroboros printed on the side and clicks on the flame. Purification through fire. WOTAH had been tracking the girl half her life, but that would all end tonight starting with the GPS tracking nanobots hidden in her hair. The auburn tresses blackened, clumped and crackled. Some of the strands bubbled in places into small white nodes.
