The door to Mark’s office opened slightly.
“Mark?”
“Thor.”
The door to Mark’s office opened all the way. Thor walked in.
“Paulo’s dead.”
“Dead dead or kinda dead?”
“Dead dead. ‘Wolves got him.”
“He went to the Subway in Jersey City, didn’t he? Now I’m not going to get my sandwich.”
“Probably not, no. You want me to re-activate the Craigslist ad?”
“Nah, I never took it down. I’m keeping a backlog of applicants.”
“That’s enterprising of you.”
“Yeah, well, the way we’ve been going through them it won’t last long.”
“True.”
The tiny office was quiet, except for the whir of Mark’s ocular implant. Thor was forced to concede that it was, indeed, a little unsettling. He took a step sideways, putting a chair between himself and Mark.
“I can see through the chair, Thor.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep,” said Mark, “this thing’s got…”
“Hold up. Why are you looking at my junk?”
“I get bored,” he said with a shrug. “And, I mean, you were a god. I was curious.”
“Can… can you stop? It’s a little unnerving.”
“Yeah, no problem. Although, I gotta say, that’s less than impressive.”
“Fuck you, man!”
“I’ve got hydraulics in mine. You wouldn’t believe…”
“Dude, stop, please. I don’t want to know.”
“Fine, OK. But I’m beginning to see why science won.”
“Not cool, man.”
Mark laughed, the faint, tinny sound of something like a modem backing the syllables.
“Catrina and I are skipping out early,” said Thor. “You good with the guests?”
“Yeah, sure, we’ve got what, two?”
“Three. Some cheap-ass pillow fetishist came in a couple hours ago.”
“Alright, no problem.”
“Thanks.”
Thor turned to walk out, but heard Mark’s eye refocusing again. Thor turned sideways and ran, closing the door to Mark’s office behind him.
“I wonder what Jesus’ wang looks like,” said Mark to himself quietly.
The phone on his desk rang. He answered it.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, hi, this is room 218. Can I get a few more pillows sent up?”