Her collar drips with heat.
Her white tunic is drenched.
Her arms brush against the shoulders of strangers, her waist bounces in his hands to the throbbing beat.
He runs his hands through her short-cropped platinum hair. His eyes trail down to the black bracelet wrapped tight around her wrist.
“Bio-data scramblers,” the fixer they hired told them as she fitted the bracelets around their arms. “Don’t ask too many questions. Just wear these until you get to the safe house. My associate will help you from there.”
He looks back up from the bracelet to her smile.
She sparkles up at him.
They sway and grind in each others’ hands and the pink and purple and blue and red and orange lights all flash and flicker as the drums get louder and the synths get sharper and the rhythm gets tighter and the tempo gets faster and her lips flutter up to his lips as the music stops.
Everything goes dark. Everyone waits for the beat to drop.
> WARNING!
> RESTRICTED MEMORY SECTOR (2.255.A1X.F.16.B.23.E1-10:1-poolXPOOL0MnT)
> PROCEEDING TO NEXT SCRIPT MAY CAUSE PERMANENT PSYCHOLOGICAL ERRORS