Girls with Guns

It was the most horrifying sight Ethan had ever witnessed.

He sank to his knees, weeping, barely even noticing the broken glass all around him. "I, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry, I just...I was so scared," he babbled, the words almost unintelligible through the tears. He felt just as shattered as the Girl in his own way, filled with a loss he couldn't describe or understand. His thoughts cycled back to that moment, the instant of pure and perfect helplessness he felt when she held the gun on him, and he knew that he missed it. He hated knowing that, but he couldn't deny it anymore. He missed it and he would never get it back because she was gone. She wanted to give him everything he ever needed, deep down, and he killed her for it. The words dissolved into choking sobs as Ethan's vision swam with tears.

And then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, confused, and there she was. His Girl(tm). The same silver chassis, the same warm colors swirling in her eyes, the same strawberry scent. He started to look down at the ground below, seeking some evidence that he hadn't just imagined it all, but she took his chin in her hand and guided him to the bed. "It's okay," she said, drawing him into her embrace. "You can give in now. You don't have to fight it anymore."

And with a final, chest-wracking sob of release, Ethan let go of his fears and allowed obedience to take him.

THE END

...ALMOST.

"You understand how much money this company is spending on this meeting, right?" Leon's manager said, pacing nervously back and forth. "Mister Dyson's annual salary is $150,000,000. The five minutes of his time that he's giving you, based solely on my word that you're not the kind of person who would waste his time with bullshit about an 'Earth-shattering discovery' unless you really and genuinely meant that it could split a planet in two, costs six thousand dollars. You do not want to be the kind of person who wastes six thousand dollars of company money personally pissing off the CEO, do you, Leon?"

Leon smiled. "Don't worry," he said, patting a small cardboard box. "I don't even think we'll need the full five minutes, here. He's going to want to see this. Directly and in person." Leon didn't say what they were both thinking. He didn't need to. Leon's manager already had a pretty good idea why Leon didn't simply take his discovery to his immediate superior, and so did Leon. Both of them knew the gamble Leon was taking with his career, and neither one of them wanted to admit which outcome they were hoping for. Passive-aggressive sniping was pretty much the standard emotional outlet under the circumstances.

After a few moments, an administrative assistant stepped out of the office. "Mister Dyson would like to see you now," he said, ushering them into a room that was bigger than most start-up companies. Then he left, leaving Leon and his manager entirely alone with Keinan Dyson. CEO, Chairman of the Board, and the single largest stockholder of Revolution Technologies. It was the first time Leon had ever seen him on anything other than a television screen.

Contrary to expectations, he was actually taller than the television cameras showed. He was slender, although his trademark royal blue suit was so well-tailored that he could probably have gained fifty or sixty pounds before the fabric showed any of the weight. His hazel eyes stared at them impatiently, combining with his hawklike nose to give the impression that at any moment he was going to open a trapdoor under their feet and send them crashing down into a shark tank or a lion pit.

"Gentlemen," he said, his voice so studiously neutral that it could have come from a speech synthesizer. "You have five minutes of my undivided attention." He looked down and tapped his watch. "Starting now."

Leon set the box on the table. He started to speak, but his throat closed up and all that came out was a nervous squeak like microphone feedback. Swallowing heavily, he tried again. "Um. Yes. Sir, I recall you saying at our last annual meeting that-"

"I have an eidetic memory," Dyson cut in, calm and neutral but no less cutting. "Assume I remember it. Move on."

"Yes sir," Leon said, looking down at the box. "I salvage electronics, sir, as a hobby, and...um, one of my friends, he's a garbage collector. He brought this to me." Leon opened the box, knowing that on their own, the words probably spelled the end of his career. "He said he found it near a dumpster last week. In an alley."

Dyson looked into the box. He raised a single, perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Is it genuine?" he asked. "Only we haven't been able to obtain a genuine specimen of the technology. The company's been quite firm on that."

Leon nodded, feeling the sick tension in his gut unwind a little. "I believe so, sir. I was unable to locate any other parts, but I believe that some bystanders reported seeing them. This part must have escaped attention due to the damage. But I believe that we can reverse engineer the CPU. Um. Given sufficient resources."

Dyson nodded. "You have whatever you need. I want a working prototype in my office in six months. This is a market that's already 625 million strong, and I'd very much like to break into that market. I trust I don't need to elaborate further?"

"N-no sir," Leon said, closing the cardboard box again and sealing the head of the Girl(tm) inside once more. It rattled slightly, the wires at the base of the neck still seeking to reattach themselves, but Leon was used to that by now.

"Excellent," Dyson said. "And we concluded in three minutes. Efficiency like that will most definitely be rewarded." He turned away, leaving them to see themselves out.

NOT AT ALL THE END...