Page 100 of Random in Death

He had nothing against fiction, but science fiction simply infuriated him. But the venue, the setup, the possibilities here, tonight, outweighed his fury and disgust.

He’d paid his entry fee in advance—in cash—one of the remote ticket sellers as soon as available. A premium price for the absurd, but well worth the investment.

Now he stood, just another idiot kid queued up with other idiots who’d paid far too much money to sit in a cold, loud theater stuffing overpriced, slime-covered popcorn in his face and slurping a watered-down fizzy.

Of course, he wouldn’t do any of that.

Oh, he wanted to feel it all again. Wanted to hurry. Of course, he understood perfectly well that need to rush came from the boost he’d taken.

Not enough REM sleep could equal sloppy work.

He was never sloppy.

So he controlled himself, and he shuffled on with the rest, careful to keep his head down, angle himself away from any cams—which he’d already scoped out on previous visits.

Everyone packed together, so easy enough. He’d already picked two likely targets for his personal experiment. And entertainment.

Either the redheaded slut or the blond whore. Unless he saw something more appealing inside the lobby.

Neither of them would look at him twice, or if they did, with that not-worth-noticing look.

He’d make them notice soon enough. He closed his hand over the syringe in his pocket, imagined himself just jamming it into one of them. Either of them.

He took slow, deep breaths to bring his heart rate down.

Inside, the noise level grew, just as he’d anticipated. He had his ’link scanned for admission. Just another brainless kid. The cops would notice if he didn’t follow through with admission.

He slouched along toward concessions with giggling girls, boys talking too loud, music playing the Defenders theme.

It banged in his head, reminded him of the club, of the park. The music, the memories, the booster, all revved in his system.

He had to deliberately loosen his fingers around the syringe.

Now they packed in for that popcorn, those fizzies, candy, chips, all that disgusting junk food.

Somebody bumped him from behind so he almost bumped into the redhead. She glanced back at him, through him, then went back to giggling and talking too loud with the masses.

You then, bitch. It’s you.

And his fingers tightened again.

He followed the plan, kept close but not too close as she and her group ordered. Then he fell in with them as if he belonged.

Into the theater where, again as planned, the previews had already begun. He slipped off his sunshades, tucked them away. In the dark, following closer—he could smell her—her hair, her skin.

He slid the syringe out of his pocket.

He couldn’t wait, just couldn’t wait a minute more!

He had to jab through her jacket, but he’d accounted for that.

But when he pushed the needle into her, she shrieked. The sound sliced his eardrums. Sent his already raging heartbeat into a wild gallop that leaped into his throat.

It stole his breath.

The popcorn tub in her hand flew up; the contents rained down in a blizzard as she started to spin around. Something thudded on the floor, and liquid splashed on his shoes.

He saw her raise her fist, and he stumbled back as cold sweat coated his skin.