Tris and Krakatoa eventually got up to get all of the formalities out of the way. Toa was given a proper work contract as a member of the Secret Task Force. This entitled her to an abundant salary, an entire PR team, and free use of Tris’s mansion and any of the four other Task Force members for sexual favours. All she needs to do is train herself up to standard and participate in missions she’s needed in.
It’s a bit loud in here. Must be all of those sirens and people screaming. I wouldn’t exactly say that this is preferable, but what can I do but ignore it? Something about this place draws me near. I don’t know exactly what. Must be something really extraordinary, ’cause I get all tingly just thinking about it.
(omnipotence, various physical transformations, mind control, cruelty)
I held my briefcase tightly as the bus rolled along under me. I kept my eye out for my stop while rehearsing answers in my head. If they ask me what my greatest weakness is… I don’t know, that question always feels like a trap. I thought about anecdotes and experiences I’d had that demonstrated my creativity, my dedication and my ability to co-operate. I was nervous, but I felt pretty ready.
Bobby sat idly at his keyboard. It was hour six of a last minute sprint to complete his term paper on “The Making of the Atomic Bomb.” To tell the truth, it had been pretty easy since he had copied much of it nearly verbatim from the book of the same name, but he knew his history teacher was pretty lazy and he was unlikely to get caught. Now all he had to do was construct a believable bibliography.
“Come on Sabrina, I feel bad!” Steve said as he paced back and forth across the white marble floors of his once-dingy shithole of an apartment, in the middle of a heated conversation.
Despite not physically moving from his cheap and comically tiny studio apartment downtown, it was now easily 1000x bigger on the inside than it was the outside; an entire mansion and estate, even the outdoor garden, swimming pool, and hedge maze, all behind the unsuspecting door of room 420 of the Ronald H. Jeremy building on 69th street.
In the year 2498, the filming of a documentary about the famed but elusive Secret Task Force coincided with a press conference revealing that the Task Force had attained a new member. These following exerpts of dialogue are snippets of the interviews from the film, scheduled to release in Spring 2499. Each member of the group will get their voice heard.
Interviewer: ”How old are you?”
Tris: ”Twenty-one. Plus five hundred years.”
Meet Jill, a twenty-something woman of considerable intellect. A tireless researcher of theoretical mathematics at her University, she’s been working away at a proof for a single conjecture for three months now. She’s barely able to take a shower every week. Her diet: noodles every day. Alternating between chicken and beef to stave off boredom from the bland pasta. Sometimes when feeling like splurging, there’ll be takeout pizza.
Katie walked hesitantly from the changing room. The volleyball boys had disappeared, but the beach was filling up with sunbathers and swimmers. Down the beach a quarter mile rolled a break with a handful of surfers carving graceful paths through the waves.
Katie found herself an empty space on the beach and sat her round firm ass in the sand. Laying back, she felt the tingly embrace of the sun, and hoped the magic swimsuit wouldn’t let her burn.