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A Worse Idea 50

The 911 operator had told Anne to stay on the call. She thought that was kind of weird.

Like, yeah, maybe an explosion happens and she has something to talk about.

But then maybe it doesn’t happen. Maybe she’s just sitting there on the phone with a stranger, having met this stranger at what was clearly an awkward time in her life.

Anne couldn’t stop thinking about Shade.

“Is anything happening, ma’am?” the operator asked.

“Nope,” Anne said.

“I’m going to need you to stay calm, ma’am.”

“I’m feeling pretty calm.”

A moment of silence.

‘So,” Anne said. “You do this a lot?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Do what a lot?”

“Get,” Anne said, suddenly realizing she hadn’t thought this sentence through very well, “emergency calls?”

“… yeah.” The voice was still calm, though it now carried a hint of condescension. “The police should be there soon.”

When Randy burst through the door to the fast food joint, Anne was thankful she had something to talk about.

“Oh yeah, freaky cyborg guy just burst through the door,” she said.

Randy was crying. He didn’t look cold and emotionless like you would expect a cyborg to be. Instead, he looked more like a bundle of nerves that had been shot out of a cannon, shaking and crying and completely unable to survive in this world.

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