Time certainly does not heal all wounds. Some wounds, especially when left untended, fester and blacken spreading their taint as time slowly drags on. In some situations, even an infection set in on one small scratch can infiltrate the rest of the arm and the only course or action is to remove the entire arm.

A bitter wind sliced through her coat, chilling Charlie Nausikaa to the bone. Her green eyes, rivaling the wind's coldness, inspected the poster before her. Her lips tightened into a thin gritty frown. A curvy woman draped in nearly sheer cloth with a mane of dark hair dominated the advertisement.

Charlie's heart had been a source of one such grotesque turmoil for nearly two decades. Recent events had caused her heartache to spread anew. Even the carefully protected and guarded part which she had fought to remain clean was beginning to become contaminated with the acidic stench of uncontrolled anger.

She lifted a gloved hand and allowed a finger to trace over the flowing script of the woman's name. Releasing a ragged breath that she did not realize she had been holding, Charlie stepped away from the poster to view the mutilation anew. Some unknown vandal had torn away the unearthly gaze of her dear friend.

Perhaps it was merely someone's idea of a sick joke. However, her sources in the city and the private investigators employed under her at the House of Retribution confirmed the news. This was not the only poster. If it was a joke, it was one that was widespread.

With an angered snort, Charlie turned on the heels of her battered black boots and stalked away from the scene. It did not matter which was the case. Either way, she would dispatch of this possible threat with little mercy. She had failed far too many women in her life. She would not fail this one too.