Meddle 3.12

(previously)

The thug shoves Donny’s shoulder.

“I can hear you,” Donny complains. “This isn’t easy. If you want it quick, just let me call my guy-”

“Do you want me to tell your wife what you do with your free time?” the thug asks.

Donny sneers. “Then it’s going to take at least a day and a half to break this encryption.”

“You have twenty minutes,” the thug says cheerily. He spots a ream of paper on the floor near the far wall. “Maybe twenty-one.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Donny says and adjusts his goggles.

*

From Donny’s point of view, he is standing in a yellow kitchen with blues and browns stretching into a trendy living space.

He requests the menu, and it appears above the bar. He turns to face it.

“Are you dancing with someone?” the thug asks in a disembodied voice.

“This is incredible,” Donny says. “The graphics are…”

He finds a map option. He swipes at it.

In a woosh, he’s suddenly hovering thousands of feet in the air. His knees begin to buckle. He throws out his hands to catch his balance.

“Whoa.”

“Seriously, mate. We don’t have time for-”

“Hang on,” Donny demands. “Just let me…”

From the map that floats out in front of him, he selects the nearest target.

And now he’s falling.

*

The thug looks up from his bit of light reading. He shakes his head, confused by the contract’s jargon.

He drops it back to the floor with a thud and turns to yell at Donny again.

Donny’s gone.

(next)



Categories: Fiction, Meddle

Tags: , , , , , , ,

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