“I swear to God, Slate. If this one is anything like the Ghost Diver, you can find yourself another Tempest.”
Ariel was again dressed as a civilian, though she had been requested to ‘doll up for this one’. Men. Honestly.
The offending Agent Slate was seated next to her, and they were both getting chauffeured by Agent McGuinty, whose own comment on her appearance had earned him a quick slap to the face. The Irishman had simply chuckled in response. They were rolling down a glitzy drag in Illinois, looking for a nightclub which had recently advertized a night of boxing and entertainment for its patrons. Continue reading →
“You can’t go in there, Steven.”
Agent Slate turned. Shamus had a pistol leveled at him.
“You can’t go in there anymore. The power’s gone, Steven. She’s gone. You go in there, and it’s a paradox. No-one knows what will happen. You said it yourself. Step away.”
Slate turned back. He was staring at the green door. He had to have passed three layers of security to get here. How did he do that? Continue reading →
Shamus turned down another suburban road. The rows upon rows of identical housing, interspersed with development projects to create yet more identical housing were loathsomely boring, and the Irishman was quick to take note of this. His breath smelled of the whiskey that he occasionally weaned from his flask as he allowed the long tank of a car to slowly glide down the streets.
“I’m telling you, lad. Were I this Tempest lass, I’d knock down a tree or two just to give this place some semblance of excitement. Can you imagine living out here? The silence would drive me to the bottle.” He took another sip of his beverage. Continue reading →