She looked at the vat of violet gel. A small smile cracked her mask. She reached out a single, chrome finger and dipped it into the cooling Ghost Step. She brought it to her lips and licked it clean.
The crash hit him like a planet. The 4.2 seconds of borrowed time came due. He collapsed to his knees, and the world turned to tar. The drip from a leaky pipe took ten minutes to fall. The flicker of a fluorescent tube became a slow-motion strobe of agony. He could feel each cell in his body dying of thirst, one by one.
Click. Click. Click.
“Perfect,” she whispered. “A masterpiece.”
He looked at the bag of credits. Then he looked at the syringe still in his hand, a single drop of his own amber blood trembling on the needle’s tip.
The gel screamed . It turned from mercury to a deep, pulsating violet. A wave of heat burst from the vat, fogging the glass. The holoscreen read 100%.
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