Meddle 3.12


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.


“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.


Categories: Fiction, Meddle

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