Amea Virou
Snowbound
The hammer slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor with a metallic thud. Drying blood clung to her hand and fingertips with an insistent grip as in that moment the reality of what had just transpired began to truly sink in. Amea’s nerves began to cramp up, her inability to move even the tiniest bit left her petrified and in shock as she mulled over the events that had transpired little more than a minute ago. As she towered over the corpse of a man who to most people was the son of a notable Coruscanti merchant but who in reality was one of countless names in a game of humanoid trafficking.
Had it not been for circumstances that Jerec hadn’t understood and that Amea herself couldn’t truly grasp, she too would have been one of these women in his supposed employ. The mind wipe that they had given her was something she had tried to see as a blessing at first. In a morbid kind of way it had left her with a new chance at life that few ever got. But for as much as Amea had tried to let the fear, anger, and hatred go, it was all in vain. The scars that she had ignored proved to run deep, showing once again that life seldom cared for your better wishes.
In the end she never had a clear path ahead of her. For as hard as she tried there simply was no moving on and it had always been a matter of time before the descent began. Once the nightmares began her fate was practically already sealed.
There was no point in remorse anymore. She could have mourned the future that she was denied. Maybe Amea could have worked some ships and created something new for herself, maybe there was a life after all of this as well, but in reality she knew that the thread that she had tried to untangle within her mind had definitely proven itself to be the wrong one. Instead another part of her took over, the part of her that had left a bloody trail from the apartment where she awoken into this new world, dazed and confused, and all the way to this very office where the man that had indirectly been responsible for everything she had ever known — for as little as it was — laid lifeless on the ground.
Brown, weary eyes remained distant as they burned the sight of what had once been Oliveira’s face onto her mind. Amea remained standing, staring, observing as the crimson liquid slowly intermingled with more and more of the metallic paneling beneath her feet. There should have been guilt or some form of remorse over what she had just done, but instead she found herself with a surprising lack of any real emotion at all. This was the result of all her plans having come to fruition. This was what she had wrought, and this was what she had desired. For so long she had felt the day come, and now that it was here she had no idea how to process it.
The bloodied corpse of the man beneath her feet was not recognizable anymore. At one point he might have passed for the spoiled little man-child that he was, but not any longer. Now it was hard to tell that he had been much of anything at all, the only thing that he resembled appeared to be little more than just yet another faceless, suit-wearing corpse on the lower levels. A man who day after day he had been free to live out his kingpin fantasy as he slowly but steadily found his safe houses and operations torn down with a violent tug before it all came down on him.
By now the naïve delusion of redemption and empathy had been shattered, and more than ever Amea found herself wanting to break away from it all. There was never going to be any rest that would be more suitable for scum such as Oliveira and his ilk other than the rest that she had just provided them with. His death was her mercy and the destruction of his entire organization was the acid drop that burned all too pleasantly against the scorned woman’s tongue.
There was nothing left for her here. She had told herself this path of sweat and blood was a means to take back a part of herself, and yet here she stood empty-handed and alone. She had torn a warpath across the galaxy only to get nothing to show for it, and now Oliveira was dead along with his goons in the hallway. It didn’t take a genius to understand that this story was well and truly over.
Yet as she held her hand to the door leading into the streets she paused. Her eyes darted back over her shoulder for a moment to provide her one final glimpse. Despite her empty-handedness there was a small part of her that was proud of what she had done while the rest simply didn’t care. Even if those around her wouldn’t accept that she had done this, she herself knew that she wouldn’t have been able to find peace if she had left it undone.
Her eyes set on the steel door again, and with a gentle push against the door Amea snuck out and disappeared into the crowd that streamed past the hidden storefront. For now she was sated, but with time — as the hours became days, and the days became weeks — she would realize that the only mystery that remained now was the one that scared her the most. The one that she had distracted herself from for as long as she could:
Who was she, truly?
Had it not been for circumstances that Jerec hadn’t understood and that Amea herself couldn’t truly grasp, she too would have been one of these women in his supposed employ. The mind wipe that they had given her was something she had tried to see as a blessing at first. In a morbid kind of way it had left her with a new chance at life that few ever got. But for as much as Amea had tried to let the fear, anger, and hatred go, it was all in vain. The scars that she had ignored proved to run deep, showing once again that life seldom cared for your better wishes.
In the end she never had a clear path ahead of her. For as hard as she tried there simply was no moving on and it had always been a matter of time before the descent began. Once the nightmares began her fate was practically already sealed.
There was no point in remorse anymore. She could have mourned the future that she was denied. Maybe Amea could have worked some ships and created something new for herself, maybe there was a life after all of this as well, but in reality she knew that the thread that she had tried to untangle within her mind had definitely proven itself to be the wrong one. Instead another part of her took over, the part of her that had left a bloody trail from the apartment where she awoken into this new world, dazed and confused, and all the way to this very office where the man that had indirectly been responsible for everything she had ever known — for as little as it was — laid lifeless on the ground.
Brown, weary eyes remained distant as they burned the sight of what had once been Oliveira’s face onto her mind. Amea remained standing, staring, observing as the crimson liquid slowly intermingled with more and more of the metallic paneling beneath her feet. There should have been guilt or some form of remorse over what she had just done, but instead she found herself with a surprising lack of any real emotion at all. This was the result of all her plans having come to fruition. This was what she had wrought, and this was what she had desired. For so long she had felt the day come, and now that it was here she had no idea how to process it.
The bloodied corpse of the man beneath her feet was not recognizable anymore. At one point he might have passed for the spoiled little man-child that he was, but not any longer. Now it was hard to tell that he had been much of anything at all, the only thing that he resembled appeared to be little more than just yet another faceless, suit-wearing corpse on the lower levels. A man who day after day he had been free to live out his kingpin fantasy as he slowly but steadily found his safe houses and operations torn down with a violent tug before it all came down on him.
By now the naïve delusion of redemption and empathy had been shattered, and more than ever Amea found herself wanting to break away from it all. There was never going to be any rest that would be more suitable for scum such as Oliveira and his ilk other than the rest that she had just provided them with. His death was her mercy and the destruction of his entire organization was the acid drop that burned all too pleasantly against the scorned woman’s tongue.
There was nothing left for her here. She had told herself this path of sweat and blood was a means to take back a part of herself, and yet here she stood empty-handed and alone. She had torn a warpath across the galaxy only to get nothing to show for it, and now Oliveira was dead along with his goons in the hallway. It didn’t take a genius to understand that this story was well and truly over.
Yet as she held her hand to the door leading into the streets she paused. Her eyes darted back over her shoulder for a moment to provide her one final glimpse. Despite her empty-handedness there was a small part of her that was proud of what she had done while the rest simply didn’t care. Even if those around her wouldn’t accept that she had done this, she herself knew that she wouldn’t have been able to find peace if she had left it undone.
Her eyes set on the steel door again, and with a gentle push against the door Amea snuck out and disappeared into the crowd that streamed past the hidden storefront. For now she was sated, but with time — as the hours became days, and the days became weeks — she would realize that the only mystery that remained now was the one that scared her the most. The one that she had distracted herself from for as long as she could:
Who was she, truly?
