“Trigger don’t work so good no more. Bummer. But thanks for playing.”
“Oh, shit.”
“That’s Dark Justice!” cousin Felipe said, recognizing her face. “We’re fucked!”
“Close, but no cigar,” the crazy naked girl said. “But you’re half right. You are fucked.”
It turned out to be the worst night in Lou’s life, as well as his last.
* * *
One of the Three Dead Amigos had been wearing a leather jacket, barely long enough to serve as a mini-dress once she zipped it up and tied a belt around her waist. The rest of their clothes had been ruined by all the blood and other less appetizing bodily fluids they’d spewed while she rearranged their insides. She probably should have killed them a bit more cleanly, but she’d been in a killing mood.
She giggled. She was always in a killing mood.
“Okay, Pissy Chrissy,” she muttered. “This may be your world, but as it turns out, you’re only living in it.”
She took to the air and was gone before the first cops arrived to the scene.
Chapter Three
Face-Off
Dreamland/Freedom Island, Caribbean Sea, July 6-July 14, 2014
“We should take a break,” I told her.
The relived memories dissolved away, leaving us back in the fake Hell she’d built.
“It’s hurting you, isn’t it?” Christine said. “The whole living my memories thingy.”
“Pain won’t kill me. I want to know everything that happened.”
“I doubt it.”
“The important thing is, you managed to escape Earth FUBAR. And saved my ass when the evil version of you tried to mind-fuck me. Everything else is just details.”
“Yes, but…”
“Whatever it is, we can deal with it. But let’s get out of Dreamland and let everyone know you’re okay. All the sensors in our apartment must have twigged to my going under. They’ll send someone to check on us, and if they find us both unconscious they’ll get worried. And if they get worried enough…”
“They wouldn’t hit the kill switch just because I’m taking a nap,” Christine said.
Before the Genocide War she’d had a set of miniaturized bombs built into her skull. They were still there, just in case she turned evil. I’d argued against that, but they wouldn’t listen, even after the arguments degenerated into death threats. Christine approved of the bombs. Doc Slaughter-Trent assured me the devices couldn’t go off by accident, or even if someone cut open her skull with a laser beam. I still wasn’t convinced.
“Yeah, they probably won’t push the button just because we’re both sleeping, but why take chances? Let’s comfort everyone, maybe grab some pancakes, and you can finish your story. And when you’re done we can decide what to tell our super-pals.”
I was worried about what Christine had done while trapped in Earth FUBAR. She clearly thought it was something that might appall even me. Very few things appalled me, so it must have been pretty bad. If it was bad enough, I’d make sure the Legion didn’t find out. Those sanctimonious assholes wouldn’t understand that sometimes you did what you had to and worked on living with yourself afterwards.
For all I cared, she could have blown up the entire planet. I would stand by her.
She picked up my feelings, and looked down, not meeting my eyes.
And that really worried me.
* * *
“Everything seems to be in order,” Doc Slaughter-Trent said.
Christine sat up on the examination table, looking past a dozen scanning and probing robo-tools to look at me. I made a face and gave her a reassuring grin. Neither of us liked hospitals.
“On the other hand, you were in perfect health for several hours before you regained consciousness,” Doc continued.
We exchanged glances, and I gave her a shrug.
I said. If she didn’t want to trust her pseudo-uncle, that was fine with me. The new Doc Slaughter might love Christine like a daughter, but his Damon Trent half had been willing to risk her life when the stakes
“Oh, shit.”
“That’s Dark Justice!” cousin Felipe said, recognizing her face. “We’re fucked!”
“Close, but no cigar,” the crazy naked girl said. “But you’re half right. You are fucked.”
It turned out to be the worst night in Lou’s life, as well as his last.
* * *
One of the Three Dead Amigos had been wearing a leather jacket, barely long enough to serve as a mini-dress once she zipped it up and tied a belt around her waist. The rest of their clothes had been ruined by all the blood and other less appetizing bodily fluids they’d spewed while she rearranged their insides. She probably should have killed them a bit more cleanly, but she’d been in a killing mood.
She giggled. She was always in a killing mood.
“Okay, Pissy Chrissy,” she muttered. “This may be your world, but as it turns out, you’re only living in it.”
She took to the air and was gone before the first cops arrived to the scene.
Chapter Three
Face-Off
Dreamland/Freedom Island, Caribbean Sea, July 6-July 14, 2014
“We should take a break,” I told her.
The relived memories dissolved away, leaving us back in the fake Hell she’d built.
“It’s hurting you, isn’t it?” Christine said. “The whole living my memories thingy.”
“Pain won’t kill me. I want to know everything that happened.”
“I doubt it.”
“The important thing is, you managed to escape Earth FUBAR. And saved my ass when the evil version of you tried to mind-fuck me. Everything else is just details.”
“Yes, but…”
“Whatever it is, we can deal with it. But let’s get out of Dreamland and let everyone know you’re okay. All the sensors in our apartment must have twigged to my going under. They’ll send someone to check on us, and if they find us both unconscious they’ll get worried. And if they get worried enough…”
“They wouldn’t hit the kill switch just because I’m taking a nap,” Christine said.
Before the Genocide War she’d had a set of miniaturized bombs built into her skull. They were still there, just in case she turned evil. I’d argued against that, but they wouldn’t listen, even after the arguments degenerated into death threats. Christine approved of the bombs. Doc Slaughter-Trent assured me the devices couldn’t go off by accident, or even if someone cut open her skull with a laser beam. I still wasn’t convinced.
“Yeah, they probably won’t push the button just because we’re both sleeping, but why take chances? Let’s comfort everyone, maybe grab some pancakes, and you can finish your story. And when you’re done we can decide what to tell our super-pals.”
I was worried about what Christine had done while trapped in Earth FUBAR. She clearly thought it was something that might appall even me. Very few things appalled me, so it must have been pretty bad. If it was bad enough, I’d make sure the Legion didn’t find out. Those sanctimonious assholes wouldn’t understand that sometimes you did what you had to and worked on living with yourself afterwards.
For all I cared, she could have blown up the entire planet. I would stand by her.
She picked up my feelings, and looked down, not meeting my eyes.
And that really worried me.
* * *
“Everything seems to be in order,” Doc Slaughter-Trent said.
Christine sat up on the examination table, looking past a dozen scanning and probing robo-tools to look at me. I made a face and gave her a reassuring grin. Neither of us liked hospitals.
“On the other hand, you were in perfect health for several hours before you regained consciousness,” Doc continued.
We exchanged glances, and I gave her a shrug.
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