Standing in the garage with Anne, Prometheus looked around. Sharise was hard at work, looking through a microscope at the jizz-like shit.
The whole place was a bit of a mess, but that wasn’t anything new. Prometheus preferred it, in fact. He loved the boardroom, and his fancy apartment. But the garage? The garage, with its dirty asphalt floor, its beat-up steel tables? All the grime of a garage filled with lab equipment?
In an odd way, it made him feel good. Nostalgic for the days when he’d just been starting out.
The gadgets Anne had been working on made the place look even better.
He walked over to a helmet that was sitting on one of the metal tables. “What’s this do?”
“I was watching some old Youtube clips of you fighting Mac Evans, the big telepath guy,” Anne said. “I figured you could use something to protect you from his brand of mind control.”
Prometheus grinned, grabbing the big, dome-like helmet. It was clearly meant to fit on top of his suit, but he still lifted it up, took a look underneath, and saw that it was bright silver on the inside.
“Does it work?” Prometheus asked.
“Nope,” Anne said.
“Not even a little bit,” Sharise chimed in. She lifted her head up off the microscope. “It didn’t work. Neither did the batch of broken helmets we chucked off the roof.”
Prometheus looked at her, horrified.
“It was, like, science?” Anne said.
“I prefer to think of it as workplace bonding,” Sharise said.