Slow, heavy industrial blues filled the room, the sax lending a sultry background to the nicely furnished apartment. Her heated breaths forced tiny hairs on the woman's face below her to move about as the skin heated and cooled with each breath.

A widescreen on the wall silently displayed Werner Herzog's seminal film, "Fata Morgana".

"Now do you want to die, Vicky?" A slight hesitation, then simply a whispered—

"No. Please. Vicky don't. Please…."

"Too late.