Wetwork Six: Too Close
The cylinders braced along the underside of Millie's forearms weren't heavy exactly, more bulky. For being small. they seemed to get in the way a lot. Whenever she stopped paying attention to them, they bounced off her thighs. Supposedly you could snap your wrist and the cylinder would jump into your hand, saving precious seconds and giving you a weapon immediately. She was the third best fighter with the Zap-batons in her class but she hadn't mastered that yet.
She didn't like the formfitting black leather jumpsuit she'd been given to wear. She felt too . . . exposed. Like she was on display.
Director Cameron's voice spoke through her ear piece, “You're T-minus four minutes. How are you feeling?”
"Like I should be behind a window in a bloody red light district."
"Freedom of movement--"
"--is paramount." Millie finished. "I know. I just wish that we had something more modest."
"You've helped disassemble a corpse and seen the the secrets therein. That's as intimate as it gets."
"This feels different."
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
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The element of humor distracts me from the sci-fi, or maybe it's the cat suit.