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A Worse Idea 121

Anne parked her car about half a mile away from Prometheus’s garage. She knew very well she didn’t want anyone to be able to identify her because of her car, so she instead walked the rest of the way.

As she neared the garage — moon high in the sky, her walking on the side of the dirt road — she realized she didn’t really have a plan.

Fuck, she thought. Why don’t I ever have a plan?

She shivered. It was pretty late at night, which meant it was cold by the standards of most Floridians. Of course, that made it roughly 50 degrees outside. Or, as most of the world would call it, “Not very cold at all.”

She still wore a coat. She mostly wore it for the pocket where she kept her laser saw. But still, she was wearing a coat, and she was still shivering.

To her surprise, she saw a burst of flame off in the distance. It sped towards her, getting closer and closer. Before long, she realized the flame was coming from jet boots. Prometheus flew straight past her, none the wiser.

That works, Anne thought. Fuck plans, him just leaving works great.

She walked the rest of the way to the garage. When she reached it, she realized she needed someone to open the garage door.

Shit, I should’ve brought the car, she thought. Should I have brought the car? Maybe I should go back and get the car. She looked backwards, remembering the half-mile she’d just walked. No, fuck that, I am not going to go back and get the car.

Anne walked up to the garage door. She pressed her face against the cold hard metal for a second.

“Hey, Sharise? Sharise, you in there?” Anne yelled.

Sharise jumped when she heard Anne’s voice.

Ah, shit, Sharise thought. This bitch is gonna kill me.

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