twilight casts itself over mia’s lonely residence on the outskirts of the village. her emotions rattle when dusk approaches, a state of melancholia engulfing her already unstable body. the wood of the bench splinters into her hands as she splays them against the surface, a pile of paper stacked up on her lap. she still doesn’t understand why the BSAA had agreed to do something so risky for her, assumed it was chris who was pulling the strings. but the name at the top reads her most loved one: @made0fmold. lines of text bundle up below the title, some pieces blanked out. well, she supposes that she can’t have everything, can she? it doesn’t take her long to find the potential location of the man, flicking through the paper over and over again to check she was remembering the right bits and pieces.
mia travels alone, scopes out every area, clutches a backpack that is barely full of anything. roaches crawl within her spine, mind full of the bioweapon that is eveline. she does not understand how she can still infiltrate her memories like that. but she cannot ask. cannot wait for an answer.
mia finds the apparent residence of vincent baines.
cautiously, she raises a hand to the door, knocks. it’s surprisingly gentle, but she assumes it is not loud enough. she knocks again.