Barely Breathing

Mala sits on the bed of what appears to be her living quarters, facing the camera. Her body is covered by the bedsheets, and she holds a clear medical oxygen mask over her mouth and nose, removing it as she speaks softly.

There are in fact physical limits to the fun one can have...

I remember feeling incredibly light-headed before passing out. When I awoke several hours later, I had an unwelcome guest by my medical bed. An officer from CONCORD had arrived to ask me if I had any information about the perpetrator of the "domestic break-in." Still dizzy, I had no idea what she was talking about. She informed me that Max Jouvin, the kind citizen who rushed me to the medical bay, had told them he thought I had been strangled during a robbery.

Mala takes a breath from the mask, smiles a bit and rolls her eyes.

It was all I could do to keep from laughing. Of course Max had to make up some half-assed story. I could imagine him rushing frantically to get me dressed and loaded onto his ship after I'd passed out. At least he wasn't a moron; thanks to his speedy delivery I ended up unharmed.

...Honestly, what happened wasn't his fault in the least. Even with extreme care and caution, asphyxiation is always a dangerous game. I'm surprised this is the first time it's happened. Though, I don't suppose I'll be seeing him again. He only approached me at a social gathering a few days ago, and this was just our third time enjoying each other's company. Medical emergencies are kind of tacky on the third date, I suppose...

It's too bad. We were just starting to enjoy ourselves.

She takes another deep breath and the camera fades to black.

Public Medical Admissions Log - Duvolle Laboratories Research Center, Oursulaert VII, Moon 3

Patient: Identified as Mala Foxglove
Time of Admission: 22:16
Symptoms: Loss of consciousness, respiratory distress
Causes: Diffuse cerebral hypoxia brought on by apparent manual strangulation

Initial Prognosis: While tests may confirm or disprove, the patient does not appear to have suffered any lasting cerebral damage due to lack of oxygen, and should regain consciousness within the next few hours.

Other Notes: Patient was dropped at our emergency medical bay by an unidentified man who claimed the patient had been the victim of a domestic break-in. Red marks surround the patient's neck where she appears to have been manually strangled. Patient also seems to have numerous other signs of mild trauma on her skin, including lash marks on her upper back and red banded impressions around her wrists and ankles.

A Week in Silence

There is no video feed for this entry. Mala's voice is soft, and she begins with a heavy sigh.

I don't like having to hide out like this. Not only is it unproductive, but it does not compare favorably to the fun I had been having when I was weaving my way through CONCORD security.

This past week, I have mostly kept to myself. As far as I could tell, the crime scene was a criminal masterpiece, so to the best of my knowledge I'm not "wanted." But paranoia is natural when it comes to operations like these. CONCORD seems to have kept a tight lid on the whole thing. No public announcement has been made of the death or of their failure to activate his clone...

Bastard. I haven't felt a shred of regret or guilt.

For the time being, I've relocated to Alenia, in Gallente space. As an Achuran I'm not the most welcome guest here, which is to be expected, but the Federation doesn't quite consider me an enemy. Right now the goal is to revive my social life as well as some part-time pilot training over the course of the coming days...


The camera focuses in on a dimly lit room -- clearly someone's living quarters, and clearly not Mala's. The walls are decorated with various official looking achievement plaques. A large wooden nightstand can be seen; on it lays an unlit lamp, a long whip, several pairs of handcuffs, and a small bottle with a pump dispenser cap.

A large four-poster bed is the centerpiece of the room, and Mala sits on its edge, completely naked and uncovered except for a pair of black stylish, strappy, high-heeled sandals on her feet. Damp with perspiration, her skin glistens in the dim light. Her slender form appears to rest uneasily as she sits. Both of her wrists are half-circled by indented bands in her skin, as though they had very recently been bound. Sections of her upper torso, particularly the tops of her shoulders, are lashed rather haphazardly in a deep red color -- definite signs of damage inflicted by some form of whipping.

Behind her, in the center of the bed, lays the naked body of a man who looks to be at least twice Mala's age. In spite of this, the body appears to be in fine physical shape -- or at least it was, when its inhabitant was alive. In the center of his chest, directly below the sternum, a long dagger appears to be pushed in to the hilt. The man's facial expression is frozen in a state of terror, with both his mouth and his eyes held open, as they presumably were in his final living moments.

Mala's voice is a bit deeper than usual. Her voice quivers with anger as she speaks toward the recorder.

I couldn't do this and not get proof.

As I continued to extract bits of information from my high-level source, I used that information to dig deeper into CONCORD's private archives. Only earlier today did I finally link the prior undercover identity of the man I had been looking for, to the man's true identity. This man, as fate would have it, turned out to be this same high-level source -- one of the men with whom I'd been sleeping for the past few weeks. Fortunately I've been liberal enough in my use of cover names and stories that he never suspected a thing until I had already stabbed the life out of him.

Mala looks back at the lifeless corpse behind her. She slides toward the bottom of the bed and leans over to reach into a leather bag resting on the floor. As she leans, the camera catches a glimpse of a small tattoo of an exceptionally beautiful plant located in the small of Mala's back. The experienced eye can tell that it is, quite fittingly, the lethal foxglove plant. Mala sits back up and pulls a black leather glove onto each of her hands.

The best part is that tomorrow, I'll go back to life as usual, as though nothing happened. That's the great part about staging a murder-suicide. In a secondary ship nearby, I've stored a bound and unconscious prostitute who I intend to implicate, along with a bag I can pass off as hers and such a large quantity of hallucinogenics that any inspector with a brain would blame the drugs for the crime committed. What they'll have a harder time explaining is the untraceable and irreparable malfunction in his cloning system, implemented several hours ago courtesy of yours truly. This guy hasn't had his cloning system changed in the past decade of sitting behind a CONCORD desk, so no one will know whether this malfunction happened today or ten years ago.

My work is still cut out for me. I need to clear this room of any evidence that might implicate me, aside from this recording, of course. It seems fitting to have turned this insidious cloning sabotage technique, a technique he once used, against him. I view this as this is an entirely justified killing, so I'm not overly concerned about psychological repercussions on my end. There's only one foreseeable difficulty I might have as a result of this:

I have to live with the fact that I deliberately chose to come here yet again and have incredible, passionate sex with the bastard who sabotaged and killed both of my parents.

Hot On the Trail

There is no video feed for this entry. Mala sounds excited and speaks quickly. The sound of computer keys tapping can be heard in the background.

It feels like the pressure of my life's duty is pressing down on me at the moment, and I confess that I love the feeling. I am this close to righting a terrible wrong, a wrong that has stood uncorrected since I was a little girl. And no wronged person is more dangerous than one who thrives on pressure.

The parties, the fun I've been having, it's just icing. Wonderfully tasty icing nonetheless, but... I'd still be sitting here, working my way through layer after layer of security, even if the other pleasures weren't there.

...Although, returning to those pleasures will make for a nice vacation when I'm finished.

The tapping of computer keys stops.

Assuming I'm still alive.


There is no video feed for this entry. Mala's voice is calm and steady.

Villore was interesting. I've rarely ever entered Gallente airspace, but doing so served the dual purposes of enjoying myself and gathering more information. Unexpectedly, I made a few new contacts as well.

I attended with arguably my favorite CONCORD stud so far, who I've been "seeing" for the past few days. What makes him my favorite? He's a fairly high-ranking office man stationed at the CONCORD Bureau in Uchoshi, so he has access to more information than the usual enforcer grunts. It's amazing how much information you can subtly coax out of a bedroom partner when you're just laying there together. And of course, on a related note, the sex is great. It's been deliciously kinky so far, and there's no reason to believe that will change any time soon. I've been using several cover names, and the discovery of my primary alias "Foxglove" hasn't caused any danger of removing the wool covering this man's eyes.

When he and I weren't side-by-side, I managed to chat up a few of the partygoers to see if I could find any other sources of information. I mostly came up dry, though I did meet a young Gallentean pilot who, oddly enough, reminded me a bit of myself several years ago. She struck me as the type who currently has no real direction in life, and those types tend to be very usable for my own goals. Since it's naturally difficult for the Caldari to cultivate Gallente contacts, she may be eventually of some use in that regard as well. She lamented that piloting had become something of a drudgery for her, so I offered to show her the joys of blowing up outlaws in spare time at some future date.

...By the time these events came to pass, it was getting exceptionally late, and my beau offered to take me back to his quarters and "have his way" with me. Being the pleasure-seeker that I am, who was I to say no?

Mala laughs aloud, briefly.

In the meantime, I've spent the days illegally sifting through CONCORD archives, getting closer and closer to what I'm looking for with each new piece of information I uncover. I'm excited to know that it's now only a matter of time... though I admit the sheer buildup of anticipation is fairly exciting in and of itself!

CONCORD: All Balls, No Brains

The camera focuses in: it shows a very dimly lit view of Mala's living quarters. In the near-darkness, few details are easily discernable, aside from a few objects -- a spacious bed, situated near a small nightstand and a dresser... Mala's soothing voice seems to come from behind the camera itself.

It's about time the foolish shits at CONCORD caught on. I suppose it was a misstep on my part. I asked a few too many questions, to the point where one of my sources realized he was giving me a lot more than just some rough, steamy fun every few nights. Leaving him alive and unconscious was a necessary loss; I don't need CONCORD arresting me for the death of one of its low-level grunts, at least not anytime soon.

What's funny is that after the news broke, only one of my other inside sources felt guilty enough to confess and sacrifice his career. It speaks volumes about CONCORD that many of its employees can reconcile compromising the security of others with receiving a few nights of intense physical pleasure. I don't claim to be any different -- but then, unlike them, I'm not tasked with maintaining security and order.

They've given me plenty of information to work with. By the time they finish playing their guessing game and give up, they'll have a dead body on their hands and -- if I'm lucky -- no suspects to apprehend. In the meantime, I confess that the "high-class social events" they referenced are indeed highly addictive, especially under the cover of an alias. I'm flying out to another one this evening in Villore.

Speaking of which, I need to prepare my ship, and perhaps fire off a few missiles at some outlaws just for fun. CONCORD ships would be more enjoyable, of course -- until I end up with my ship in a heap of scrap and myself incarcerated.