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A Worse Idea 31

Praetor VII looked at the bottles of booze that lined the bar. Vodka, rum, tequila, whiskey. Aperitifs, digestifs, and more. In the future, these were treasures unheard of.

He gazed at them in awe. Set his gun down on the bar counter and crawled over the counter. The light hit the bottles in a way that inspired awe. He smiled, taking off his helmet.

He grabbed a bottle of Laphroaig. He’d never seen such a strange and inspiring beverage. Unscrewed the top. Let the bottle meet his lips.

A bullet through the head. Praetor never saw it coming.

The bottle of Laphroaig shattered. Booze splashed and glass shattered.

Randy walked over to the future man’s corpse. Bent down and moved for Praetor VII’s wrist. Randy took off the watch and put it on himself.

He then grabbed Praetor VII’s gun off the counter.

Randy set the gun on top of his arm. The skin and metal opened up, stretching, reaching out to engulf the gun. It took a minute, but the gun became a part of Randy’s arm.

Randy leveled his arm, and the gun retracted. He shot a dart at the wall. It bounced off.

He shot a rubber bullet at the wall. It bounced off.

He shot a metal bullet at the wall. It went straight through.

Randy nodded, satisfied by his new arm. He picked the helmet up off the counter, then put it on for a second. He looked at himself in the reflection of the bar’s mirror.

“No.” He took the helmet off.

In his new eye, he could see that the cops would be coming for him soon.

The vision convinced him to leave the bar.

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