His mandibles fluttered and stayed close to his jaw, a clear sign of fear and irritation as his eyes fixed on hers. What she was saying right then didn’t matter to him, whether it was some sort of explanation or plea for her life or whatever, he didn’t care. All words were totally lost to him right now, save for the ones that he kept hearing in his head over and over again, playing back to him like a broken record. All he could hear was the year, 2186, and it continued to boggle his mind and fill his brain with dozens of questions that he doubted he’d get an answer to any time soon. What he really wanted to know was why? Why had he lost five years?
Realizing he still had this human by her neck, he released her and immediately turned his back to her, unsure of what he should say or if he should even say anything at all. It’s not like he was going to apologize or anything, but he could at least say something to her, or ask her one of the many questions that now plagued him. “You—you’re telling the truth,” he mumbled. “You’re not just fucking with me?” Kanner turned on his heels to face her again, eyes averted to the ground beneath his feet. “If you’re fucking with me, you better leave now before I kill you. If not, I—I don’t—how did I…?” Again, he stammered, unable to complete his sentences for the second time. “I don’t understand.”
Aya slumped against the ground. She took a few shallow, ratty breaths before bracing herself for the deeper ones. Her ribs ached with every intake of air, and she swore loudly. “Jesus fucking Christ, Kanner!” she exclaimed angrily, sputtering a little. Struggling to her feet, Aya lifted her shirt and checked her bandages again. Everything seemed to be fine, save for the sharp, biting pain she felt from her midsection. Tenderly, she brought a hand to her throat, and winced at the pain. Another bruise to add to the collection, she thought with a sigh.
“No, I’m not fucking with you,” Aya told him calmly. She’d never seen him so… unsure of himself, and honestly, it was more than a little disconcerting. She was still struggling with the idea that he actually didn’t know what year it was and that, added to his injured hand and his claim of someone stealing his memories, concerned her. The two of them weren’t exactly friends but then, Kanner Harlan didn’t have friends. Still, Aya worried about him and, despite his outburst, wanted to help him. “You said something about someone taking your memories,” she said as she took a step toward him. “And clearly something happened to your hand. Do you have any idea who would want to hurt you?” Even as she asked the question, she knew it was a stupid one; this was Kanner Harlan, notorious smuggler and drug dealer – of course someone would want to hurt him.
