The last time I barely remember hanging out with Dr. M was about 2 years ago off the coast of Spain. We had been swimming with sharks and afterward I was lounging on the deck of her floating giant robotic squid submarine/rocket ship. It was 1AM and I was getting started on my second bottle of wine, laying nude in a deck chair as the stars twinkled in the distance.
“Lovely, are they not?” I said in faux pretentiousness.
“They remind me that I’m starving.” Dr. M said, sauntering over in a skintight black leather catsuit while dangling a razor blade haphazardly between her fingers. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders like ivory tentacles.
She sat in the chair next to me and took my wrist.
I looked over, her skin was porcelain and deathly in the moonlight. Her black slits of eyes darting like a cat’s. She could have been from another world. Technically that’s never been disproven.
“Do you think the sharks got rid of all the evidence?” It had been a long day, and maybe the wine was making me paranoid. I had murdered maybe a dozen people the previous day, dismembering them aboard ship with an axe. Lawyers and politicians mostly. A favor for Dr. M. If you wanted to avoid the trouble of building so much space-age tech yourself you need other’s to do it for you. Governments are best, but who wants people in office who’d rather spend money on health-care reform or border walls when you could have people building orbital platforms free for the taking? Killing them was small potatoes compared to Dr. M’s grand scheme of things, but I do my part. Plus we needed to chum the waters with something.
Doctor Mercury smiled. Her fangs shiny with saliva. “Of course Jack.” I winced as the razor quickly sliced through my skin. Blood began dripping out which she collected into her own wine glass. My drunken haze intensified.
She put the glass to her lips and tossed it back. “A good vintage.” She laughed.
“You spoil me.” I said.
The rest of the night fades in and out. I woke up in a London hotel 2 days later with my left wrist handcuffed to the headboard of my bed and the initials “D.M.” tattooed on my pelvis. A note on the dresser read:
Do try to get plenty of rest. The surgery went extremely well and you should be able to get out of bed about 10 hours after you wake up. I’ll be in touch. Enjoy your robot arm!
I pulled my left arm down and snapped the handcuffs in two.
She really does spoil me.
**Doctor Mercury is the creation/alter ego of my good friend J.R. Blackwell**
Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes…