“Jack Fenix.” The voice from nowhere startles me out of my reverie, and I go to draw the gun I no longer have tucked in my pants.
“Who’s there?” I shout, and whirl around to face the voice. In front of me stands a the silhouette of woman, cloaked in darkness. She steps forward. “Tess,” I say. “I’m a little jumpy with all the shit that’s been going down lately.” Her long black hair falls around her shoulders like small snakes, her body moves with its stylistic lithe machinelike efficiency.
“I can see that,” she replies, and steps forward to me. She’s less than three feet away from me now. She’s so close I can smell her. She smells sweet and acidic, biting and delicate all at the same time.
“I’ve gotta get out of here, Tess, I think CyberCorp wants me dead, and they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want.”
“I have a place where we could lie low. Wait out the night. If you want.” She takes another step towards me, and I find myself staring at the perfect shape of her breasts. Why is it that the artificial, the mechanized, the inhumanly perfect is always so damn sexy?
“Well what’ll it be?”
Take her up on her offer
Press her for more information
This is wrong, run the hell away