The next afternoon, Anne sat in her car, outside of Prometheus’s garage.
“What have you gotten yourself into?” she asked herself, watching the garage shutter open. She couldn’t help but shake the suspicion that a garage would be the perfect place for murder.
“Not that he has any reason to kill you,” Anne mumbled, as she drove her car into the garage. “Except maybe karma? Woohoo. Deserving to be murdered feels great, especially in the morning.”
Anne moved to open her door just as Prometheus’s assistant Sharise did. This led to an awkward moment where they were both pulling on the door at the same time. Anne let go and gave an awkward smile.
“Don’t do that,” Sharise said.
“Um?” Anne replied.
“Open the door,” Sharise said. “I do that.”
“Okay.” Anne sheepishly got out of the car.
“Prometheus told me to give you a tour of the facilities.”
“That sounds…” Anne paused for a second, wondering if it’d be rude to just collapse in the middle of the garage and fall asleep. She decided it was. “Sounds great.”
“He’s coming a little late today, because he was busy last night. He said you’d know what I’m talking about?”
“Yeah, he was punching a guy and then he was like, ‘Oh this isn’t fun this is serious let me call you back’. And then I was like, ‘This is a really weird situation you’ve put me in.’ And he was like, ‘Bye,’ and then he called me back but it was still kinda weird.”
Sharise wore a blank stare. “You’re going to need to talk less.”
Anne laughed, nervously. “When’s Prometheus coming again?”