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Manor of Speaking

Angst stared up at the ceiling and marveled at how high it was. "It's like some mini-mall in here, isn't it?" 

She seemed out of place in her cheerleader outfit, holding a glock. She moved, however, as if she was a veteran police officer walking through a crime scene. For a young woman she was well beyond her years in wisdom. Her hand wiped along the bannister of the stairs, picking up years of dust. 

"It's like that house in the first Resident Evil game," Max said as he looked around. "You know when the STAR agents are chased into the mansion by those demonic-looking wolfers." He was scanning the room, his mind keen and sharp, taking in anyplace where anyone could hide and pop out. Paranoia or years of conflict, or both.

Angst looked at Max and smiled. "Everything is a game to you, isn't it?"

Max paused for a moment and then added, "Not at first."