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he’s not OK. And I don’t want to get any closer to these people until I understand what’s happening.

“Aww, see,” the woman says. And then she sighs. “You like her. Don’t you?”

“What?”

“Megan. You like her.”

“I’m not going to let you hurt her. And I’m not leaving here without her either. I’d just like to make

that clear.”

“Johnny—” Megan starts to protest.

“No,” I say. Gritting my teeth, not even looking at her. “It’s not up for discussion.” And then I turn

my attention back to the woman. Who is now looking at me with an expression of… awe.

Or… something. I’m really not sure what’s happening right now.

“Mmm,” she says. “Yes. It’s definitely taken hold. Mr. Boston, would you like to sit so we can

have a chat?”

“Look,” Megan says, “I will be the one making the decisions today, OK? So you can just have your

little chat with me.”

The woman glances at her and gives her a tight smile. “Miss Machette. We’ll get to you in a

moment. But right now we’re here to discuss Mr. Boston’s service record.”

“What?” we both say at the same time.

“I’m sorry.” Just me this time. “Did you just say service record?”

“Yes, Mr. Boston.” She flicks a wrist in the air. “You’re being promoted. Why else would we be

here?”

And that’s when all the things that I thought made sense don’t make any sense at all.

“Hold up,” Megan says. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

And there’s my girl. Let the F-bombs flow, baby. If ever there was an appropriate time for that, it’s

right now.

“Because my father has been beaten to within an inch of his life. He can barely hold himself

upright in that chair. And last night some psycho drone flyer sent us an invitation with video of said

beatings. And, just to drive the point home, some Hollywood special effect of Johnny’s family and

friends being blown up. So cut the crap, lady. And start. Fucking. Talking.”

The woman just continues to beam that tight smile at Megan.

Then she looks at me and says, “Mr. Boston. I would like you and Miss Machette to take a seat,