More from The BRAT Stalker, my new tale! This is my way of helping you all assimilate into a totalitarian new world order. You’ll thank me when you have your RFID tags shot into your backsides 
Agent Darby quirked a brow at the flippant response. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” Chase replied, letting the boredom of the past six years ooze out of her every pore. “I will spend the next 30 years of my life sitting in a chair and staring at a glowing screen if I’m lucky. You think you have some fate more horrifying than that up your sleeve?”
“You could spend the next 20 years not able to sit,” Agent Darby uttered in a threatening murmur.
Chase practically laughed in her face. “Is this interview about to take a turn for the Matrix? Is my ass going to melt shut?”
There was a sudden bark of laughter from somewhere beyond the mirror. Chase grinned. She was winning this. It was a battle of wits, a battle of intimidation, and she was winning. Against a professional no less. This was unexpectedly awesome, even if her backside was stinging slightly from the slap Agent Darby had given it earlier in the proceedings.
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I’ve been taking a break from writing, which is why I have this new story for you. My world is like Alice in Wonderland : Reloaded, sorry Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass. (If only Lewis Carrol and The Wachowski Brothers had lived at the same time, the world would be a very different place.) Anyway, the less I try to do, the more I end up doing. That and there are rabbits everywhere. Everywhere! Anyway, enjoy this, or alternatively, don’t. I’d prefer it if you did though.
With a little cackle of glee, Chase leveled the scope of her sniper rifle at the back of the pedestrian’s head. Although the ground around her was littered with dismembered bodies and the walls were caked with the blood of innocents, the young woman seemed completely unaware of the imminent danger as she continued her ambling gait down the street in a skirt so short it barely descended to her upper thighs.
“Clueless, utterly clueless,” Chase muttered from her position on the 10th floor, as she prepared to squeeze the trigger.
Creaky-creak went the office door. Alt-Tab, went Chase, bringing up a glowing spreadsheet filled with complex numbers that hurt her brain. Gordon poked his head around the door. “Are those numbers ready yet?”
“Not quite yet, Mr Black,” Chase replied primly. It was no wonder they were not ready yet. 6 hours after loading Grievous Bodily Harm: Freedom City onto her work machine, Chase’s productivity had never been lower.
Gordon, a middle aged, slightly balding man with a new baby at home that was making him tense and irritable during the day, frowned. “They were due in yesterday.”
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