You recognize the figure sitting in the bean bag chair. You wonder how much she might remember the unfortunate incident with Jay, or if she would recognize you at all. What did they say her name was? The buzzers seem to know, at least...

Oh, hi..."Cathy," right?


Ahoy there, stranger! Temp staff, I see! Gynnie runnin 'ya ragged?!

The acrid stink of concentrated ammonia wafts from Cathy with her every bubbling word...or is that her drink?... but at least you're getting pretty used to bad smells. And bad visuals. Sounds. Textures. All pretty not-good lately. You're mostly just relieved she doesn't remember your face from the moment she got shot full of bullets.

Behind you, you can already hear the impatient tapping sound of a finger on a wooden counter.

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