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A Worse Idea 11

“So you get it now?” Prometheus said. “Potatoes and gravy.”

Sharise didn’t laugh. Arms crossed and sitting on a stool while Prometheus worked with the strange, sticky metahuman substance, she said, “I’m guessing you had to be there.”

“You know, thinking about it,” Prometheus said, staring through the microscope to take a closer look at the substance, “The other Sharise didn’t laugh, either.”

“This girl you just offered the job to,” Sharise said, “you think she’s going to be a good fit?”

“Anne?” Prometheus asked. “I have no idea. Don’t even know if she’ll take the offer.”

“I know I’m going to have to be the one to train her,” Sharise said, “so I just want to know what you see in her.”

“Well,” Prometheus said with a sigh, a part of him hurting to see so much potential going down the path of waste, “I see someone really smart. I also see someone who could use a lucky break.”

“Looking at the info our database has on her, I’m not seeing that. Her mother died, sure, but it looks like the government’s been taking pretty good care of her. Slipping plenty of money to her on the down low.”

“Life’s not all about money.”

“Says the billionaire.”

“I think all Anne needs is–”

Prometheus’s phone rang. He furrowed his brow when he saw it was from an unknown number.

He took off one of his gloves and picked up the call. “Hello?”

“I’m in trouble.” It’d been a while, but still the voice was recognizable: Katie’s voice.

“I can find your location through the phone’s GPS,” Prometheus said. “I’ll be there soon.”

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