Shit.
She gives me a knowing look, and Sloane clears his throat.
“Make up later, boys. Right now you both need some medical attention.”
Sloane laughs. Really laughs, and then I do, too.
Chicora huffs out a deep laugh of her own as she guides us out of the building and into the ambulance.
“So, that hard drive—you wiped it, right?” Sloane asks her as I lean on him. He holds his hand over his side, over his bleeding wound.
“Yes, I wiped it, but how the hell is he going to—”
“He’s not. Not anymore. But just in case… call it a contingency plan,” he says, clearing his throat. Sloane carefully grabs my sore wrist, his thumb pressing the button on the side of my watch.
“Activate Ghost Veil Phantom Protocol," he says smoothly, and my watch lights up like a damn light cycle straight out of Tron, and whirs like a clock.
“Ghost Veil Phantom Protocol initiating. Operative drives initiating for cloud transfer to Glitch Phantom Protocol in ten seconds.”
“Did you back up your entire life’s work on Oliver’s fucking watch?” Chicora asks, dumbfounded.
I watch Sloane’s sly grin.
“What? Like it’s that much of a stretch?” he says. “I built the Veil with my bare hands andmybrains.” He looks at me with a softness that shouldn’t exist on his bruised, cut face.
“You think they’ll let us use this as evidence for a testimonial?” he asks, giving me a smirk. Tears flood my eyes again, and I nod.
“Fucking hope so.”
Chicora chuckles as we approach the ambulance.
“Alright, which one of you is first?” she asks.
Sloane pushes me towards the paramedic.
“No, you got stabbed. You’re bleeding, you—”
“Oliver…” His voice returns, firm and stern.
“I am not going first!” I say petulantly.
Sloane lets out a heavy breath. “You know the chicken nuggets are still up in the air.” He raises an eyebrow. “And the Pop-Tarts.”
“You are not threatening me with Pop-Tarts.”
Sloane shrugs. “You can either obey me or defy me.”
I cross my arms.
“The choice is yours.”
I roll my eyes as another paramedic walks by, and I call out for her. She jogs over to us.
“Do you need help?” she asks. I glare at Sloane.
“No, I’m fine, but my boyfriend got stabbed and he’s being a fucking asshole, so can you please make sure you go extra hard-on the antiseptic?”
Sloane gasps as Chicora laughs.
