I shrug. “I skimmed the headlines. Something-something, civilian asset, don’t blow anything up unless you really mean it.”
He turns. “Follow me.”
We march through the central hallway, his steps measured, mine like I'm stomping a war beat into the floor. People whisper. I catch words like“weaponized liability”and“who let him in?”
“Your record,” Lazarus mutters, “reads like a war crime indictment with a fan club.”
“Only the sexy kind of war crimes,” I reply.
He doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he starts listing rules, monotone like he’s reading the back of a ration box.
“No explosives inside city limits. No unauthorized surveillance. No collateral damage. You will maintain a low profile.”
“You want low profile, you should’ve sent a librarian.”
“We don’t have a librarian who eats plasma fire for breakfast.”
I grin. “Flattered.”
“We’re here,” he says, stopping in front of a residential tower that’s seen better centuries. A little grime, a lotta attitude. I like it already.
“This is where she lives?”
“She refused transport. Insisted on returning home. We’ve cleared the premises and added internal monitoring.”
“She got guts. I like that.”
“She’s also in danger.”
“All the more reason to meet her properly.”
Lazarus buzzes the intercom. We wait.
A voice crackles through. Crisp. A little annoyed. “I hope he’s discrete.”
That’s my cue.
My boot hits the door like a breaching charge. The lock shatters, the door swings in, and I bellow like a damn gladiator stepping into the arena.
“DISCRETE!? I NEVER EVEN LOOKED AT ANOTHER DUDE!”
She’s right there.
Short. Fiery red hair. Green eyes wide as twin moons. Standing in her tiny living room holding what looks like a laser-blaster in one manicured hand and a synth-tuna can in the other.
Mouth opens.
Shuts.
Opens again.
No words.
I smirk, taking in the chaos of the place, the scorch mark by the couch, the faint trace of Grolgath pheromone on the air. There was a shapeshifter here, alright. I know the scent.
But mostly, I’m lookin’ at her.
“I’m your new best friend,” I say.
