Once they arrived at Samantha's ship, they entered through the cargo bay then headed to her sleeping quarters. It was as small and cramped as he recalled from earlier, though the smell of burnt plastic and metal was a new addition.

Samantha stood in the corner next to her bed and folded her arms across her chest. She stared at him for a time as though daring him to speak.

Finally, she sighed then reached back and pressed something behind her neck. Her pink soft armor suit suddenly lost tension then quickly slid down her frame.

"Wha—" began Scott while naked Samantha stared back at him her eyes intense. They lacked any softness or hint of desire. They were hard glittering things filled with an unspoken emotion.

"I remember some of it now, the things you said off-hand," said Samantha. She placed her hands to her hips and scowled at him. "This is all you really wanted, right? This body of mine?"

"What? No—" began Scott only for her to cut him off.

"I'm giving it to you right now." Samantha thrust her chest forward then spoke in a hot acidic tone. "Childhood fantasy right? Some slut named Samus Aran? Right? She's the one that got your little boy parts all a-tingle when you were a kid."

She took a menacing step toward him, her body taut and tense like a panther about to spring atop an unsuspecting meal. "Well, fuck her already."

Daedra! Scott realized it the moment Samantha's oddness finally managed to seep into his brain. Higher than human intellect score or not, her actions shocked him. The odd faux-succubus had promised to look into the issues with remembrance that his companions had when he spoke of their existence. It was supposed to be something akin to a safety mechanism, keep the existential nightmares of non-existence at bay and what have you. Obviously, whatever system hoodoo she was using, it had begun to work. First Saelil started acting weird earlier, and now Samantha was losing it right in front of him.

Confused slightly, he could not help but recall that she said it would take a few days to sort things out. Did that mean that she had sorted it quicker than she had intended, or was her sense of timing simply off?

Scott's eyes narrowed. His face grew tight like a mask. "You are not her. She doesn't exist, you do."

"Do I?" she asked, her eyebrow rising into an imperious arch. "Am I real to you? What's real? This body? My life? What part of it is real?"

His hands slapped forward and caught her cheeks. Briefly, she tried to pull back, but the look in his eyes caused her to stop. Instead, she opted to glare hatefully at him.

"This part is real," said Scott.

She snorted loudly then asked, "What? My face?"

"No, the one behind it," said Scott.

"You don't even know the one behind it!" she snarled. "You know nothing about me. I sure know nothing about you! Not enough to—"

Her words caught mid-sentence, she could growled low under her breath then wrenched her head free of his hands. A feral snarl on her lips, she shouted, "Why don't you just fuck me and be done with it? That's all I ever was to you!"

"Who told you that?" asked Scott.

"You did!" she snapped. "Whenever you look at me now, all I see is how you wanted to fuck some woman who I was created to resemble!"

Scott glared at her in kind. "If that's all I wanted, I would have just had a copy of her made and fucked it whenever I wanted!"

"You—" she stared at him, her expression shifting constantly as emotions warred across her face. "Can do that?"

"Me? No. The system? Yes," said Scott. "I never wasted my points like that, but it mentioned it early on. I could spend my points to create damned near anything I want, including exotic hookers."

She slapped his reaching hands away then took a step back, one arm rising to cover her chest. "You..."

Scott's expression softened slightly then he took a step forward. "Did I originally see her in you? Obviously. I won't lie about it. I still do, and probably always will see something of her in you. I can't change that fact, even though I want to know more about the real you and not that fictional character that I fanboyed over."

She flinched slightly, but said nothing. Scott continued to speak. "I can't make your life not be what it is, hell my own life is apparently a lie as well. Remember? Just another part of this bullshit system."

Samantha bit her lip as though she tried to bite back choice words. He clearly was not helping matters at the moment.

He was at a loss for words, and she did not seem particularly interested in speaking. In truth, he did his best to try and keep the moment focused on their character drama but he was a lonely man. Given the quiet, her stark enraged nudity, and the mutual heavy breathing it was inevitable that his eyes would drift a little.

Quicker than he could react, she gripped his tunic and threw him sideways onto the bed. He barely began to react by the time she pulled a small pistol from beneath her pillow.

"Samantha..." said Scott slowly, no trace of fear in his voice. There was a hint of betrayal in his tone, however.

The likelihood that her weapon could reduce his hit points to a danger zone before he broke free was non-existent. It still hurt to see her pull it on him, however.

"I've got a plasma pistol pointed right between your eyes, and you don't care. Are you even a man?" she asked him in annoyance.

Scott said nothing, he merely looked her in the eyes and fought down the urges that arose. Did he want to slap the gun away, or reach for the softly swaying forbidden fruit? He was torn. Traitorous body! This was supposed to be some sort of dramatic moment of tension between them, and it took everything he had not to drag her down onto the bed and disappoint her greatly with his manliest of skills!

"I'm not her," she said defiantly.

He continued to look her in the eyes without judgment, though it was mostly a means to avoid staring at the rest of her. If anything, his efforts merely angered her more.

"I'm not her, but you did not answer me. Are you a man?" she asked him coldly. "You change bodies like I change underwear."

"Ninety-five percent of me," he answered flippantly. "And since when do you wear underwear?"

She snorted at him, "Always with the jokes. Well, I bet something else is a joke too."

He quirked an eyebrow at her but said nothing. Why give her the dignity of an answer?

Samantha slapped her hand down against his thigh. "Take 'em off."

"Why should I?" asked Scott belligerently, his eyes narrowing slightly.

She slid her hand sideways then firmly pressed the barrel against his right temple. "I'm in charge. Take 'em off."

Scott glanced sideways at the gun then looked into her eyes. There was no softness there, just hard glittering diamonds of untold emotion peering back at him. She wanted something. She would have it.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Why was he fighting this? When an insanely hot blond bounty hunter strips naked and demands a man to take his pants off at gun point, it was only proper to do so! They had gone through a lot together, and clearly she needed something from him right now.

He eyed her carefully while he slid his hands down and lightly lowered his leggings via a combination of pushing and a manly booty wiggle. He too, wore no underwear.

Samantha glanced down at it then quickly looked away. A slight hint of color came to her cheeks, but she refused to lower her gun.

An awkward moment ensued while she stood there naked, gun in hand, and he lay there half-clothed for all the world to see. As the moment stretched onward, Scott eventually chuckled and offered her a boyish grin. "You really didn't think I'd do it, did you?"

"Shut up..." she said quietly, he cheeks reddening further. Her eyes darted further to the right and further still from the obscene affront to her feminine dignity that flopped lazily nearby. "I'm angry with you."

"I can see that... Your face is so red ya might pop a blood vessel," said Scott in a sarcastic tone.

Samantha snorted slightly, an action that shifted into a semi-amused choking sound part of the way through. The nerve of this guy!

"Think you know me so well, just because you played a stupid little game with some digital slut who happened to look like me?" she asked quietly. The color disappeared from her face even as she slid the barrel of her gun down to his nose. She looked him in the eyes as it slid further down to his lips.

Samantha gazed down at him, her eyes still glittering intensely, then lightly caressed his lips with the tip of her gun. "You like that don't you? Getting your fill of seeing that slut of yours do this sort of thing to you?"

He said nothing, though his body betrayed him slightly. Was she mad at him, or trying to do weird gunplay fetish stuff with him? His manhood was so confused!

She left his lips then trailed the gun slowly along his chest. A sinking feeling in his gut told him exactly where she intended to lead her errant gun barrel. All the while she looked him in the eyes, her gaze intense. What did she seek there? Compliance? Trust? Fear? She did not say, and he did not ask.

Samantha lightly nudged his semi-erect manhood with her gun. After a tense moment she teased his balls confidently with the cold tip of her weapon then slowly stroked his length with the barrel.

Scott did his best to show no sign of fear or mistrust despite every masculine alarm in his body screaming at him. Do not touch it like that! Do not play like that! Danger, Scott's Johnson! Danger! Hit points or not, there are some things that would cause an unsettling sensation in the gut of any man. This situation was one of them.

"Does that game-slut of yours do this for you?" asked Samantha coolly, while she nudged his balls with her gun.

"She's not real," said Scott with all the quiet confidence that he could muster. It was a wonder that he did not squeak the words, given the unease he felt in that moment.

"Am I real?" asked Samantha quietly, while she teased his stiffening shaft.

"You're the realest damned thing I ever saw," barked out Scott his eyes wide and filled with all of his repressed anxiety, despite his best efforts to keep his unease in check. His unsettled nature was writ large on his face as well, as an almost desperate expression flew across it.

Samantha froze in place, her eyes widening slightly. After a moment, she withdrew her gun and coughed slightly into her hand. She refused to move the hand from her mouth afterward as well.

Scott glanced down at his half-erect manliness, which twitched in response to the attention, then back up to her. It was unsettling, but it was something. Don't stop now! It was just getting good!

She noticed his gaze then schooled her expression. "Get out."

"Eh?' he asked. He wasn't entirely certain of what she had said since her hand muffled her words.

"Get the hell out," she said slowly, though her words remained somewhat muffled by her hand.

"Samantha, I—" began Scott.

"I have to get my clothes on, you idiot. Now get out," she said calmly, one hand still lightly covering her mouth while she used her gun arm to cover her breasts in an attempt at feminine modesty. There was an odd tension in her body in that moment. She even began to shake and tremble a little.

"Ah, right..." he said, before he reached down toward his leggings.

"Leave 'em down, and go," she said imperiously.

In an odd mood, Scott shrugged and complied. He slid awkwardly from her bed then wiggle-trotted over to the door, his backside shaking merrily from his exertion.

Just before he left, he glanced back at her and she clutched her hand tighter against her mouth. The trembling increased and a certain wetness seemed to appear in her eyes. Just how pissed at him was she?

She waved her pistol at him dismissively, and he pouted. Dejected, Scott wiggle-trotted through the doorway and it closed behind him.

Samantha quickly moved to the door and locked it, and not a moment too soon. She spun around and threw herself against the wall. She burst out laughing at the top of her lungs, while her face turned bright red from the exertion. Slowly, she slid down to the floor while she let it all out.

"You idiot!" she cried out absurdly, her mouth gaped open like a fool even as her stomach spasmed and her chest continued to heave wildly from the fit of laughter she had unleashed. On the other side of the sound-proof door, Scott sat quietly on her mini-fridge. His leggings still rested around his ankles while his manly bits defiled the top of her precious drink cooling space without concern for social propriety.

What could it all mean? Was she still angry with him? It was hard to tell, really. She was not one to display her emotions openly outside of attempts at seduction that were mostly tests of character. Her laughter continued to bellow through the room next door, though Scott would never hear it.

Some time passed for the duo while they each took time to process what had happened. Scott's sad man-sack sat depressingly atop her mini-fridge while he considered Samantha's reaction.

She was clearly pissed about the nature of her existence, but at the same time there was a strangeness about how she reacted. In some ways it was almost like she was jealous. As bizarre as it sounded, even in his own head, she seemed angrier that he saw some fictional woman when he looked at her rather than the fact that she was a created entity designed specifically to be a living parody of that same game character.

In Samantha's room, the laughter had died down. Instead, the bounty hunter found herself lying on her bed while she looked up at the ceiling. No effort had been made to get dressed at this point.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" she asked herself quietly. "I've never done anything like that before."

Things like dating, sexy gunplay, and all of that sort of thing were the furthest from her mind that they could be. At best she would go to a bar and tie one on after a mission, but outside of only one recent memory she could not recall getting drunk to the point of losing consciousness. Her body largely disallowed such anyway due to its enhancements.

Her face reddened considerably as she remembered something far more damning than their momentary impromptu gunplay session. The way she screamed when she saw zombies eating his corpse haunted her thoughts. She knew he could be saved. Yet, seeing what had been done to him caused certain disturbing sensations to well up inside of her. Clearly, it was nothing more than an adrenaline spike from seeing the body of a fallen comrade in arms desecrated. Even so, her response to it annoyed her.

"This..." she shook her head then sighed. Weak. She was becoming soft while she stayed with these people. The galaxy, well more than that now it seemed, was a harsh place filled with murderous pirate scum. If she went soft then once the current thrill ride ended and all of her new found allies left her, like people always did, she would be worse off than before.

The memory of Scott looking into her eyes while she toyed with him caused her nostrils to flare slightly. She rolled over and released a loud sigh. "Damned pervert. He didn't have to seem so excited... Like I'd ever let him touch me, anyway."

Samantha grumbled lightly to herself for a moment then in a bizarre turn of character her cheeks puffed up and she frowned in a strangely cutesy manner. "Screw this!"

Proactive by nature, Samantha was not one to sit around a mope over situations in her life. At least, she did not do it without lots of strong alcohol involved. She rolled off the bed and went to her command console nearby. She tapped a few spots on the screen then commanded, "Ship, show me recent bounty offers."

A series of bounties scrolled across the screen, though she grimaced when she saw them. "Such low pay compared to those missions the idiot takes me on..."

Even so, they were exactly what she needed. She was Samantha Jeran, best bounty hunter in the galaxy. She neither wanted, nor needed, companionship. Long dark corridors and aliens with acid for blood were all she needed in her life.

Of course, a girl also needed to pay the bills. She selected a job that seemed like it would only take a few weeks at most. Not that she wanted to go out of her way to be available to work with the idiot, or anything.

Job secured, she got dressed then sighed loudly before she left her room. Outside her door she noticed Scott sitting slumped atop her mini-fridge man-bits befouling it with their manliness.

She sighed loudly at him then shook her head. Great. She would have to buy another one, now. This one was dirty.

"Why didn't you put your clothes on?" she asked him with a snort.

"You said not to?" he asked in return.

Samantha rolled her eyes then waved him off. "Whatever, you weirdo. Put your clothes on and get out. I have to leave soon."

"You're... leaving?" he asked her quietly. Scott hopped up and shimmied back into his leggings while Samantha did her best not to show any sign of her actual thoughts on that manner. Her body did tense slightly, and began to shake just a little.

"So are you," she said. "That mission of yours that only you get to go on."

"Not going to take time off?" asked Scott once he finished shimmying into his leggings.

"This is how I take time off," she replied coolly.

Scott followed her to the cargo bay entrance and she lowered it down for them. Once on the ground, he looked to her and asked, "I guess... I'll see you later?"

"If you have work for me," replied Samantha, her voice still cool and composed.

He tried to defrost her a bit by saying, "I'll find you a good one. I know how much you love money."

Samantha's nose twitched slightly then she bid the cargo bay doors raise her back up. Before they closed she gazed down at him from above and said, "I don't love money, or anything... It's just nice to be around it sometimes."

Scott leaned his head to the side a little and tried to catch a glimpse of her face. She was already too far up into the ship, however.

Confused by how she had answered, one thing came to mind. During their night of wine and spaghetti she had said something in a drunken moment of good humor. He mouthed the words, "Money is my boyfriend, and explosions are my lesbians..."

A warning alarm declared that he should clear the launch pad. Driven back by the desire not to be sucked into space or whatever else might happen, Scott moved beyond a soft green curtain of light nearby.

He watched as the little crab-shaped ship rose up then headed toward the port exit. His thoughts awhirl the entire time.

Inside the ship, Samantha settled in for a long trip her eyes gazing steadfastly forward. She was nearly to the exit before she realized something. "Ah. Dammit. The shower repairs..."

Back down at the port Scott tilted his head sideways as the little shipped stopped and hovered in mid-air then flew back down to its former berth. Not long after, the cargo bay doors opened and Samantha walked out with her chin held high.

She continued to walk right past Scott, but it was obvious where she was headed. He grinned at her back then chuckled softly while he followed after her. As he reached her, he smugly said, "Now that I think about it... Wasn't your ship supposed to be getting repairs?"

Samantha refused to look at him, but she unleashed a loud sigh that told him everything he needed to know. Her grand exit had been ruined by a busted shower in need of repair.

Feeling a bit playful, Scott asked, "So, can I pull on your ponytail a little?"

She snorted incredulously and replied, "I have a gun you know."

"Oh, I know..." said Scott in a smug tone.

She threw her head back and groaned loudly. "It never happened."

"Yeah, and money isn't your boyfriend," said Scott merrily.

Samantha grumbled loudly to herself for a minute then picked up her walking pace. The sooner she got the idiot home, the sooner she could escape his immaturity. Yes, clearly that was the plan.

He started humming something that irritated her for some reason. So, she asked him what he thought he was doing.

"Quietly singing to myself..." he said, with a boyish smile.

"Well, sing or don't. That humming is annoying," she said in a huff.

Scott shrugged then threw his hands out and started swinging his arms around in a horizontal circle. He threw in a little foot work for effect. "Samantha's got a boyfriend, Samantha's got a boyfriend—"

Her eye twitched spastically and she slowly shook her head like she had seen the most ridiculous thing that ever happened in her life. "You—"

He stopped dancing and offered her a warm smile. "Something wrong?"

Samantha shook her head then turned away from him, though a slightly bemused smile crossed her lips. "Let's head home, you dancing idiot."

"Will you pull your gun on me if I don't?" he asked her lightly, his eyebrows waggling obscenely in the process.

She snickered softly to herself, but said nothing. His ridiculous antics reminded her of their earlier interactions, and the infamous night of spaghetti. In a way, it was endearing, the way he made a fool of himself to cheer her up. If anyone understood the kind of stuff she dealt with, it was him. Two lonely people living in the dark, each hunting monsters in an unforgiving universe. She had dealt with it far longer than he had, but in the end there was something akin to common ground there. No matter what they chose to do in the future, it was nice to know that someone gave a damn.

The mercenary girl could not help but tease him a little, however. She so rarely got the opportunity, or even held the inclination. "It's really too bad you turned me down earlier. Ah well," she said.

"Turned you down?" asked Scott.

"I did offer to let you have your way with me," she said flippantly a certain exaggerated sway in her steps.

"That... didn't count," said Scott slowly. "You wanted me to pretend you were someone else..."

"Whatever you say," remarked Samantha lightly. "Some people pay good money for that sort of thing."

"Well, then I want a do-over!" exclaimed Scott.

She spun around then lightly bopped him on the nose with her finger. "Nope! Took too long. Better luck next play through."

Scott stared at her, his eyes widened in such a way that even an owl would be surprised. Her sudden shift in tone surprised him almost as much as the words she chose. He stammered out a few choice questions while his brain tried to catch up with reality. "Wha—? How? You wha—?"

Samantha laughed merrily then ran off toward the apartment building. She looked over her shoulder on the way and called out, "You coming or what?"

"I tried but you wouldn't let me, dammit!" cried Scott before he took off after her in hot pursuit. He wanted that new game plus!

She laughed again, her face alight with warmth and good humor. For that brief few minutes as those laughing idiots darted among the disgruntled pedestrian traffic of Hellespont, neither had a care in the world. Two lonely people who lived in the dark, had found a bit of light to guide their way.