Fly on a Wedding Cake
As gaudy as I thought the neon of the streets was, especially at night, the oxygen bar was far worse. It was clean, but every surface was backlit. People giggled, their skin looking bright blue in the ambiance, while drones served drinks as bright as the lights. My oculars toned down the light, blocking harmful UVB and other rays, but cast everything in purple hues. I frowned.
Fetus was easy to spot. She was the only dark spot in the whole room,was like a fly on a wedding cake.
“Fetus. Meet Elsha, scav..”
“Scavenger number 462, currently under the alias Melinda Monroe of Newark, who, as my recovery consoles show, died in 2378.” Finished Fetus in a bored monotone.
“I wiped that information!” The fly was beginning to irritate me.
“Not well enough.” She said, completely emotionless. I’d bet she could murder her own mother and never shed a tear.
Acrylic grinned, “My frenemy. I’d kill her but she’d love it too much.”
“Indeed, but not enough to risk discussing plans here.”
We followed her out.