Eight minutes later, her nose nearly as good as new, Johanna strides into the gym with one axe in hand. She doesn't intend to use it on Kate, but she isn't thrilled with the idea of walking without it. Rather than think of that as some codependent weakness, she focuses instead on how good the weapon feels in her hand, solid and familiar. If she thought on a more spiritual bullshit-y plane, maybe she'd call it a talisman or a touchstone or something--but probably not, because fuck that kind of thinking. An axe is one thing: a weapon. Calling it anything else is dressing up something bloody and utilitarian.

No matter what she'd transparently claimed to Kate, Johanna is ready for round two. Her boredom is starting to make her feel cagey. There was a dog in District 7, a stray that lived behind Factory 23. Half dead from mange and madness, it had started to bite at itself, chewing first its own tail and then its hindquarters, leaving behind sores that oozed pus and blood. Trotting down the street, the dog would stop, suddenly, and then twist around with a snarl to begin gnawing at some new strip of flesh.

That's what Johanna fucking feels like: that mad dog. She hates feeling that way. The hallways have an echo to them like water dripping in a cave, falling into some secret black pool. She hates that too.

In the gym, she throws her axe on the floor and stretches her arms over her head, draws one arm across her chest and pops her shoulder, looking around to see if she's beat Kate here or not.