Kathy deposits Tess onto a bed below deck, before walking over to a touchpad to frantically press buttons, in an effort to get the yacht moving.
"どのように仕事をしていますか？スイッチはどこにありますか？(How the fuck do you work? Where the fuck is the on switch?)"
"Hey, hey, easy. Stop stabbing the thing," spoke Tess, stumbling over.
With a quick series of taps, blood prints left on the screen, Tess charts a route back to their hotel. The yacht slowly shifts into motion, leading Tess to sit back on the bed with a wobble, her forehead cupped with one hand. Kathy meanwhile darts over to the bathroom to wet a face towel.
"Ice dispenser..." Tess mumbles, pointing to a nearby fridge.
Kathy pounds the dispenser's lever, without much care for some of the ice cubes that miss the towel she was using to catch them.
"Here," said Kathy, offering the wrapped towel of ice.
A welcome, cooling sensation pulses through Tess' forehead, as she holds the towel in place to stop the trickle of warm blood. Kathy moves to sit by and hold Tess' dislocated left arm, passing only a look to the injured spy to indicate what she is about to do.
With a firm twist and a push, Kathy locks the arm back into place, causing Tess to briefly shudder from the pain. The spies, now able to have a moment to themselves, both let out a shared sigh, as if they had been holding their breath the entire time in public. Silence hangs for a minute over the couple, within the dim interior of their cramped yet luxurious quarters.
"Huh... starting to make a habit of this," spoke Tess, lifting her towel to check her injury.
"... Tess... what happened?"
"... Not sure... definitely wasn't in the assignment description..."
Kathy stands to pace around the room, raking fingers through her hair in an nervous fashion.
"このドレスをファック! (Fuck this dress!)" Kathy mumbles angrily, as she moves to unstrap herself from her outfit.
Letting it slide to her feet, Kathy bundles up the dress and tosses it into a corner, leaving her to slip on some jeans and a flowing tank top. She then resumes pacing around Tess.
"Gerard... hang on a sec."
Able to more coherently collect her thoughts, Tess notes that Gerard and the operators were probably in trouble at the mansion as well. She peers around the cabin for a moment in search of her actual phone, before finding it in a nearby dresser to ring Gerard.
"Gerard, you there?"
"Tess! Where are you?!" Gerard frantically asks.
"We're on the yacht down the canal. Where are you?"
"Mansion! We're still at the mansion stall! There's shots fired! The lights are out!
"Ok listen, do not make your way through the foyer, that APC from the showcase stage, it's running rampant in there! Some drones also went haywire too. The staff were shooting back."
"... An APC is driving in the foyer!?"
"Yes, it was crashing through stalls."
"Stay with the operators, stay out of the way."
"Yeah, like hell I'm going anywhere without them... this has to be... what? Yeah I got it!"
"... This has to be some kind of cyber attack... some fucking technology convention, I said it was more party than security!"
"Gerard. Stay with the operators, stay out of the way, you understand?"
"Yeah... I got it, well under the table here."
"Ok, call back as soon as you're out, keep your head down."
Putting the phone to one side, Tess peers up at Kathy.
"Everything electrical in that convention went bad. That truck... the drone, all the lights..." Kathy mumbles.
"... Obviously not a power issue."
"Was someone really hacking the mansion?"
"... Looks that way... maybe they were here at the party, or somewhere else entirely.
"... Was the truck meant for us?"
"That APC seemed to be meant for a lot of people."
"We were about to leave... maybe they had cameras, and they knew us, and they saw us!"
"Could just be a coincidence."
"Ugh... fuck!" Kathy exclaimed, fisting a wardrobe door closed.
"Kat, easy on the ship... have a Kit-Kat, have a seat, just... augh, take it easy."
Kathy stops in her tracks to stare at her feet for a moment, before sitting back over with Tess with a huff.
"The Yakuza... maybe this was them, here."
"... Can you name them?"
"... I don't know."
Falling into a brief silence, Tess shifts a hand over to rest on Kathy's right knee.
"We'll need to learn more, but there's not much we can do now."
Moving to arch her back in a stretch, Tess stops as twinges off pain shoot up from her back injury.
"Ow. That's definitely bruising tomorrow..."
"... What's wrong?"
"Not much, took a pole in the back... how about you?" Spoke Tess, trying to sport a smile.
"... Just a table."
Kathy blinks for a moment, before deciding to scoot around the bed to face Tess' back.
"Want me to look?"
Unzipping the dress to peel it down, Kathy does a once-over look of Tess' back, prodding as she went to source any areas of pain. Turning away after a thorough look, Kathy leans back-to-back with Tess.
"Hm... we forgot the handbag," Tess stated nonchalantly.
"A few hundred euros, nothing serious."
"Nothing important," Tess yawns, "enough excitement for one night."
Leaning back onto the bed, she closes her eyes for a moment, taking in the softness of the mattress to keep her mind off the pain. Kathy moves off to find another rag, this time to act as a bandage around Tess' head.
"Should hold for now," Kathy says, as she finishes up on a tie, "we can find something better at the hospital."
"Hmm... maybe not the hotel, definitely not a hospital... whatever is going on, maybe we should sleep on it on open waters."
"I'm 90 percent sure I haven't broken anything, I'll be fine."
Kathy stares back with a frown.
"95 percent? Look, whatever is going on, we should keep out heads down until we figure this out. Right?"
"... Head hurts just thinking about thinking."
Reluctantly, Tess stands back up to alter the course of the yacht toward an isolated stretch of water, just outside the Venetian city limits. The spies remain awake and unmoving on the bed, monitoring themselves for the next hour to make sure their injuries didn't worsen. Only a call from Gerard would break the silence, letting the spies know that he and the operators were safely out of the tech convention.
Pained as the spies were, they soon fall asleep, with the aid of the yacht's weighted gyros to keep itself steady.