“It’s a simple proposition Mr … Jones.”

The suit opposite Wolverton stumbles on the pseudonym like it’s an alien concept. Normally Wolverton wouldn’t take a cold meet, but he’s broke and needs cash fast; burnt in a deal with some Triads who didn’t take it well. Either he makes good or the business end of a cleaver’s in his immediate future.

The suit smiles with too many teeth, like a shark. The sporadic ticking from the counter in Wolverton’s pocket becomes a chaotic buzz. At this point Wolverton starts paying close attention to exactly how many dimensions everything in the room has.

N.B. If you’re interested in the context of this, I’d suggest going here.


~ by Electro-mechanical Man on September 8, 2010.

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