"They sent me back for you, Bubbles. The Society is unhappy with your choice to leave us."

Sully slowly reached into his trenchcoat and extracted a vicious looking piece of blued steel. It was some sort of angry snub nosed pistol, likely well used by street criminals and bank robbers. Makes it harder to track back to a specific crime. Bubbles remembered her training. The long hours in the classroom, the arm numbing days at the shooting range, the nights of bitter cold in the mountains, hidden by the snow and the ghillie suit.

"Wait, that isn't right", thinks Bubbles. "I'm just a graphic artist who can't find work. Sully is a freaky record fetishist. Whats all this cloak and dagger shit?"

Sully stands up from the bin, and pulls Bubbles close, a little too forcefully, like a familiar hand on the leash of a willful attack dog. Sticking the hard cold muzzle into her ribs, Sully lets his breath start a sentence, whispered, that is poured into Bubbles ear as carefully a poison drops down a silk thread. No chance of overhearing them. The dangerous grip could easily be passed off as a friendly hug.

"Come now, "Bubbles", did you think they wouldn't find you? I've been your handler for years, Sasha, and I've never seen you go off target like this before. Did you feel how fast you finger was pulling the trigger on the pricing gun? Carlos would be long dead if you had been using your proper equipment".

Flabberghasted, and feeling teased out over too much room, hot pink Hubba-Bubba on a shoe, Bubbles knew it couldn't be a lie. Or was it. An angry buzz filled her whole world, and she felt all wrapped up in sharp cotton. "Is this a fever dream?" she begged. "Am I standing here?"

"I knew you would be looking for it" said Sully. "They always played Agharta to snap you out of it. Miles Davis can kiss my ass."

"Fuck you Sully" whispered Bubbles, while she watched the blood from his smacked head roll off the top of his ear.

My apologies to Slidewell et al.
see Bubbles, Biff and Binny

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