There is a type of man whose prime method of communication with other men is by chest bump. Ravi was such a man. For whom slacks and a golf shirt were the perfect evening wear for a stylish bar. A man who, despite the training he put into his muscular forearms, still wore his gaudy watch like it weighed down his hand.
Tonight, Ravi flitted between his date and the small groups of men with whom he had acquaintance. The engagements were both a form of flirting. With the woman he half-listened, and boasted, and scrolled on his phone for good pictures of himself. With the other men he half-listened, and boasted, and scrolled on his phone for good pictures of himself.
Ravi is not a bad guy. He’s just a certain kind of guy.
Tonight Ravi will have to choose if he wants to stay that kind of guy.
He doesn’t know this yet. So far, it’s an evening like so many other evenings. Carefree, if he didn’t care so much about showing how carefree he is.
The woman laughed, and across the room a man grimaced.
“Really, it’s that painful?” asked his companion. Her words showed more concern than her face.
“Yes,” the man said. “The implant’s worse in proximity.”
“I still don’t know what possessed you.”
“It was supposed to be temporary.”
The woman laughed again, and the man screwed up his face.
“Wild.” His companion was tall. Thickly attractive. The right amount of too much makeup.
“What time is it?” the man asked.
“Too early for you to be asking,” she said. She raised a hand to call a waiter to their darkened booth. “Martini, very dry.”
They waited for two more hours. Ravi and his date laughed. They dined. They drank. Arm in arm, they headed for the door.
“Finally,” said the woman.
“C’mon,” said the man, already out of his seat.
The two of them were thirty seconds behind the couple when they went out the door. There was no sign of either Ravi or his date when they followed them through it.
“Fuck,” said the man, peering around the parking lot. Then he doubled over, clutching his stomach.
“Not far, then,” said the woman lightly. She pulled a slim, half-translucent gun from inside her jacket. “Stay here.” She looked down, shook her head. “Pitiful.”
It only took her a minute to find them. A back alley just behind the bar. A good spot for a makeout.
“Back off,” she said.
“Huh?” said Ravi, turning. He noticed the gun. “What the-?”
“Shit,” said the woman he’d been kissing.
“Hi, Celine,” said the woman with the gun.
“Hi, Katy.”
“What’s going on?” said Ravi. He took a step between the two women.
“Your girlfriend’s supposed to be dead,” said Katy.
Ravi turned back to look at Celine. Her face crumbled at his glance.
“Nobody said I wasn’t allowed to get out,” she whispered.
“Nobody expected it to be an issue,” replied Katy.
There was a thud as the other man bumped into the wall, slumping into the alley. “Bitch.”
“What’s going on?” said Ravi.
Katy shrugged. “A whole bunch of shit that you got stuck in the middle of. She belongs to him, there’s a fucking thing with emotion exchange chips. You should walk away.”
Ravi shook his head.
Katy looked behind her. “So now what?”
“Shoot him,” suggested the man.
“I’m not gonna shoot him. You think our boss is gonna thank me if I do that?”
“Then let’s take her and go,” he said.
Ravi stepped closer to Celine. “No way.”
The other man winced at the same time Celine smiled.
“What does he want?” asked Ravi.
“Sick fuck. He put in an emotion exchange implant. But not normal. He messed with it, so he feels the opposite of me,” Celine spat toward the man. “He hurts me, he feels good.”
“And you?” Ravi asked.
“Nothing. I just broadcast. So he gets off on it twice.”
Katy coughed. Shook the gun slightly.
“You should come with us, Celine,” she said.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’ll have to go through me,” said Ravi.
The other man fell to the ground.
“Really?” said Celine.
“Yeah,” said Ravi. He took a breath. “I love you.”
Celine broke into a smile.
The man on the ground shrieked.
A story from the Static Drift universe.
Article Photo by Pablo Merchán Montes on Unsplash.