The next story, Blake Belladonna: The Face of Vacuo, is up! Enjoy!

"So you brought me… here," Blake said, looking around. "A White Fang hideout, I'm assuming. But what's this? A broom closet? I know you people aren't exactly well-off, but…"

"I'm sorry, we're not in the business of keeping prisoners," Trifa said bitingly. "You should know that already, seeing as you've made your life mission to make our job a living hell."

"The White Fang's a job now?" Blake raised her eyebrows. "Maybe I got out too soon…"

Trifa's hand rose like a blur, knuckles clashing against the side of Blake's mouth. The blow would have knocked Blake off the chair if it weren't for the bindings. As it was, her head absorbed most of the impact, and it hung to the side for a long while as she recovered. It was during that time that Blake noticed a strange coldness on top of her head.

"Did you…" Blake looked up at Trifa, a quiet rage bubbling in the back of her throat. "Did you take off my bow?"