She taps my cheek with mock sympathy. “All these muscles and that pretty face too? Criminal. It’s an absolute waste that you only like dudes.”
“One of life’s great tragedies,” I deadpan, already leaning back toward my microscope.
She snorts. “Look at you, dying to get back to your nerd toys. I’ve never met anyone who gets that goofy, love-struck grin from staring at bacteria.”
“If you didn’t want me geeking out over science stuff,” I shoot back without looking up, adjusting the focuswith deliberate slowness, “you shouldn’t have bought me a microscope for my birthday last year. Rookie mistake.”
“Oh, I didn’t,” she says with a casual shrug. “I stole it.”
“Of course you did,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
“Working on anything fun?”
I glance over at the heap ofactualwork waiting on the side table. Reports are half-finished, samples have been labeled and bagged, and invoices neatly stacked with deadlines circled in red. There’s plenty of work from clients who pay well and don’t ask questions as long as the results come on time.
I’m what I like to call an ethical black-market scientist, as oxymoronic as that sounds. Need to cause a small, controlled explosion for…reasons? I’m your guy. Want a detailed list of readily available household chemicals that, when combined just right, make a decent makeshift tear gas? Give me a few hours and a coffee, and I’ll have it ready.
Something bigger, though, with real potential for large-scale damage? The kind that leaves scars on cities instead of just pride?
My conscience draws a hard line there, and I won’t touch it.
There’s a difference between bending rules for the ones who fight back and handing over the keys to the arsenal. Plenty of rebels would do just as much damage as the ones currently in charge. I’ve seen enough of what unchecked power does, and I sleep better knowing I’m not the one who helped light the fuse on anything that could burn the world down.
“None of my work is nearly as fun as yours,” I say as I gesture towards her lurking figure. “Honestly, you make, what? Two fake IDs a week?”
A self-satisfied smile spreads wide over her face. “Sometimes three.”
I scoff. “You make more money than the rest of us combined for an hour of work… half of which is spent coming up with innuendos for the names.”
“Listen, Haywood Jablome is aclassic.It’s not my fault you chose the wrong hustle, honey,” she purrs, then full-on hip-checks me out of the way.
I step aside with a snort, crossing my arms as she bends over the microscope like she knows what she’s doing.
She squints dramatically for a second, then straightens up with a theatrical grimace. “Based on my research, I can tell you one thing for sure.”
Amusement tugs at my lips again. “What’s that?”
“This is boring as fuck, my man.” She pops her gum with a loud snap, grinning wide. “We need to find new ways to weaponize that huge brain of yours for evil.”
“Uh, no, we don’t?”
She waves me off before I can argue further, her hand flicking dismissively like I’m a fly she’s swatting away.
“Not even like, big evil,” she explains like it's supposed to be obvious. “There’s enough of that to go around. Little evil is fine. World domination starts with baby steps, you know?”
She pauses, deep in thought before a smile lights up her face. “Like that time you convinced Cato that the dry skin on his beard was crabs that carried a flesh-eating bacteria.”
I choke, wheezing through a cough while pounding my fist on my chest to clear the shock. “When did I do that?!”
“Oh, wait, that was me,” she says with a wicked laugh. “Didn’t I tell you about that?”
She collapses into a howling fit of laughter, brushing tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Hebelievedme, too. Never even bothered to come ask you if it was true!”
Realization slams into me, and my eyes go wide in horror. “Is that when he shaved his beard last month?”
“His chin is so slimy without it,” she howls, doubling over as another wave of cackles escapes her, and I lose it completely as the memory of Cato’s suddenly bare face flashes in my mind.
“Oh… my… gods…” My hand flies over my mouth in mortified disbelief. “I asked him why he shaved. No wonder he looked at me like I was an asshole. He thought I was making fun of him for having face crabs.”
