Shortly after Anne left the garage, Prometheus got on his laptop, which sat on one of the several desks in the garage.
(Sidebar: have you ever noticed how sketchy some superhero lairs are? Like, what the hell man? Is it a garage or a science lab or workout room? I get why superhero lairs are so weirdly multifunctional, but why do they have to be so dark and gloomy, too? At least Prometheus’s lair wasn’t a fucking cave. A big-ass cave where you could fit cars and computers and shit? Computers? Wouldn’t they get fuckin’ wet or some shit? Like get the fuck out of here.)
On the laptop, he pulled up a program that was connected to the cameras outside his garage.
The screen was divided into four different camera views. In one of those views, he saw Anne’s license plate number. He jotted it down, then stuck it into his pocket.
“What’re you doing?” Sharise asked.
“Have to go,” Prometheus said.
“Go where?” Sharise asked.
“Last time I checked, I was your boss, not the other way around.”
“You know you need me,” she said.
He darted towards his car. “I cloned you once, I can do it again.”
“Jerk!” she yelled.
He smiled, getting into his car.
Then he remembered why he was getting into his car.
Hopefully, I’m just being paranoid.