“No, more like the ability to selectively see through a smaller object”—like a silver helmet—“as if it were translucent.” Combined with the facial recognition software, I would be able to identify what I hoped was a fuckable face.
For an exasperating moment, she regarded me with one of her bizarre expressions I didn’t have a chance in hell of interpreting. Then she bent over her knees and roared with laughter while slapping her thighs.
I set my jaw. What the shit was so damned funny?
Eventually, she sobered and snatched the helmet from my hands. “Don’t sell your soul to Big Brother, he’d said.” Sliding off the table, she tossed the helmet between her hands as she paced a circle around me. “Join me, and we’ll decimate evil and transcend conventional morality with technology, he’d crowed. You’ll have enough freedom and money to delight your little futurist heart, he’d promised.”
Yeah, okay, she was paraphrasing the pitch I’d given her in grad school. When she was approached by a branch of the government—one that claimed some cloak-and-dagger crap about having no name or existence—I’d offered a sweeter deal. So what? I hadn’t over-promised.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “What are you saying? You want a raise?” Fuck, her salary already exceeded two million a year.
She paused in front of me, the spikes of her hair several inches below my chin. Tilting her head back, she squinted up at me. “Did Superman use his x-ray vision to sneak peeks at Lois Lane’s undies?”
I stiffened. No doubt my glare bulged my eyes out of my head.
“No. He didn’t.” She shook her finger at my face. “He used his powers to honor ethical codes and social mores.” She tossed the helmet at my chest.
I caught the costly piece of equipment before it hit the concrete floor and set it on the table. “What the hell are you going on about?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Logan Flynt. This x-ray business reeks of Eau de Miss Ducati.” She drew the plastic gun from her thigh and pressed the barrel against my forehead. “Who, like Lois Lane, is a scrotum fister. A flaunter of coy curves. A show stealer…”
I stopped listening. Christ Almighty, why had I mentioned her to Benny? Huge lapse in judgment. I squared my shoulders, shoved my head against the gun, and gave her my most intimidating glower. “We’re done here.”
The corner of her mouth curled up. “Aw, maybe that’s the problem.” A full grin pulled her lips from her teeth. “Maybe you need a good scrotum fisting. I know a girl—”
“Yep, we’re done.” I clamped my hand over her smug smirk and raised my eyes to the toy gun digging against my brow.
She squeezed the trigger, and fuck me, the obnoxious pop made me flinch. Goddammit, I was not in the fucking mood for this. I dropped my hand and scowled.
“So much anger, you angry angry angriphile.” Poking a finger through the trigger guard, she twirled the gun in the air.
I dropped my head back and closed my eyes. If she weren’t so fucking brilliant, I might’ve had her committed by now. Well, there was also the fact that she was my only friend, the sole person I trusted with my life.
She seemed completely oblivious to my growing frustration as she aimed the gun, mock-shooting limbs off my body. When her eyes locked on mine, I bit out, “Add the modification. That’s what I’m paying you for.”
“You’re paying me to save humanity from Trenchant Media.” She blew on the muzzle and holstered it on her thigh. “Which is so much more poetic than x-rayted panties,” she sang in a melodic yet condescending voice.
I ground my teeth, impatience sharpening my breath.
She glanced at her watch-free wrist. “Oh, look at that. I’m late for a date with Solid Snake.”
Solid Snake? Probably had something to do with her costume. She called it cosplay. I called it delusional.
She struck a pose, one hand on the butt of the gun, the other punching the space between us. “I make a foxy Meryl Silverburgh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I had no clue. “So I’ll assume x-ray vision is a technology beyond your skill level, then?”
“Pfft. Hardly.” She strutted to the secondary elevator at the rear of the garage and raised the metal gate. The only external passage to and from the underground warehouse, it was wide enough to transport six bikes at a time.
She lowered the gate and peered at me through the bars. Despite her childish outer layers, what stared back at me was profound, organically-evolved intelligence, albeit off-the-grid and not always identifiable. But that only added to her lively spirit, and my irritation notwithstanding, I found it endearing.
I envied her carefree nature, how she was able to roll between her animated mischief and bleeding-edge innovations. To be able to shut things out and goof around was something I’d always wanted the freedom to do, but I couldn’t.