“The thing about sushi,” Caitlyn sighed, walking Stacy to her car, “is that it’s so completely delicious while you’re eating it, but then when you’re full—”

      “You’re like, ewww, I just ate a ton of raw fish!”

      “And seaweed!”

      “Exactly. I could barf right now. In fact…” Stacy looked anxiously over my shoulder. “Does my butt look fat in suede? Maybe I’ll barf anyway.”

      “Don’t you dare. Bulimia is so twentieth century.” Caitlyn rolled her eyes. Stacy was one of those marvelous idiots who had no idea how fabulous they looked. She was five foot seven, just about the perfect height for everything except professional basketball, with out-of-control black hair and skin the color of café au lait. She wore green contacts, truly striking in her high-cheekboned face. Caitlyn usually felt like the village frump when she was out with her. “Plus, we just dropped two hundred bucks on all that fish. Don’t waste it.”

      “I suppose. I’m doing an extra half hour on the treadmill tomorrow though. What about you?”

      I can’t. I’ve burned out the last three treadmills I tried. Apparently, I can move faster than a Ford Mustang when I set my mind to it. “Um…I’ve been lifting weights lately.”

      “Well, you look awesomely buff.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Seriously, Jimmy, what’s up? You’re not like yourself at all. I know the accident was a horror show, but you seem totally fine now. I guess we both lucked out.” Stacy looked her over critically. “Better than fine, actually. I don’t think you’ve ever looked awesomer.”

      Caitlyn chose her words carefully. “Physically, there isn’t anything wrong with me.”

      “Then, what’s up? I haven’t seen you at a party since the crash. The girls were talking about having, like, a reunion party, now that Shelly’s off her crutches and all—”

      “It’s a miracle we weren’t all killed,” she muttered. “Fucking miracle.”

      “Yup. Although it was tough work shaving my legs when I got home—what is it with those hospital razors? You’d think a hospital would have, like, sharp things. You shoulda seen my legs by the time I was done. Total gross-out.”

      “What happened to you in the crash?”

      Stacy smacked the top of her head. “Concussion, whiplash. The usual. Nothing you could see from the outside, and I had to wear this massively bogus neck brace for eight weeks, but I’m a lot better now. We all are, and like I said, we wanted to have, like, a reunion party, but we haven’t been able to reach you and, like I said, there were all those totally lame rumors about you being dead.”

      “I’ve just been really busy with work.” A lie. “I miss you guys though.” The truth.

      “Target acquired.”

      “What?”

      “I didn’t say anything.”

      “Alpha team, move in. Extreme caution.”

      “Are you okay, Caitlyn? You look kind of weird.”

      “Copy that.”

      “Can’t you hear that?” Caitlyn asked, then realized instantly, of course Stacy couldn’t hear it. She wasn’t really hearing it either…it was like the mop-up team was talking in her head. That chip. That damn chip must be able to pick up their frequencies. And then broadcast it—uck!—into her brain.

      Caitlyn felt a moment of panic. Sure, she was faster and stronger than regular people now, but she didn’t have any training. Except in giving highlights and manicures. Unless the guys on the prowl needed haircuts, she was in deep shit.

      She was simultaneously shocked and unsurprised. She’d been blowing off psychoboy for weeks and now it was time to dance. Those assfaces at O.S.F. had sent a whole team after her!

      Talk about not taking no for an answer! She knew the unemployment rate was high for the state, but this was ridiculous.

      She could hear them coming, moving quickly and quietly—but not quietly enough, ha!—and wondered if it was better to just give up than risk getting some teeth knocked out. After suffering through junior high with braces, she wasn’t about to risk the integrity of her mouth, thank you very—

      Targets: 45° 72° 33°

      Armed: .33 Beretta, full clip, none in the chamber

      Armed: Mini UZI SMG, full clip, safety on

      Armed: Semi-automatic Jericho pistol, full load, holstered. SAFETY IS OFF.

      REPEAT, SAFETY IS OFF.

      “What the hell?” she said out loud. This had happened to her so infrequently, she had succeeded in forgetting about it. Tough to do at the moment, since there were things in her left eye again. Not really in her eye…more like reading a page from a book…except the page was being projected inside her head. It was like those Terminator movies, when the audience could see through Arnold’s eyes, kind of weird and cool at the same time, but how was she supposed to—

      Targets: closing in. Engage. Engage. Engage.

      “All right, all right. Don’t nag.” She kicked Stacy’s feet out from under her, ignoring the woman’s surprised squawk, and turned. She crossed the fourteen feet six inches between herself and Goon #1 in two point two seconds—

      You can stop doing that now, computer chip. I’m on it.

      Alas, stuck in her brain where it was, the thing wouldn’t shut up.

      It was good for one thing anyway. They weren’t here to take her hard. Just take her.

      She grinned—for the first time in days.

      Too bad for them.