Get Ur Freak On
Lara Croft stepped down from the smoking heap that had once been Simon, her robotic training partner, and walked away like a woman on holiday. While the machine, gutted and shot to pieces, sparked and shuddered behind her.
She approached a solitary pillar, black leather boots squeaking on the floor of her exercise chamber, and snatched off the top a hard plastic case the size of her hand. This was it: what she had risked life and limb for--and only time would tell if it had been worth the effort.
She tensed suddenly, sensing an attack coming, and spun on her heels only to find Simon towering over her, his four arms pulled back to strike multiple killer blows.
"Stop!" Lara shouted, her hand shooting up for emphasis.
Simon froze in mid-motion.
She stared up at him in silence, blue eyes narrowed, and dared him to disobey. Instead there came a hiss of decompressed air, then a panel lowered from his chest to reveal a small monitor. The command KILL LARA CROFT blinked in large letters on the screen.
Lara sighed, not surprised in the least to learn Bryce had set the robot's parameters to max, then blew a dark wisp away from her face and cracked open her hard-won case. Inside was a small disc. She took it out and slipped into the slot on the side of the attached keyboard.
For a moment nothing happened. Then the screen flickered, and KILL LARA CROFT became LARA'S PARTY MIX.
Lara turned away as thumping beats blasted from state-of-the-art speakers hidden around the room, and closed her eyes and bobbed her head in time with the music.
"Bryce," she said. "Be a dear and turn the cameras and audio off."
Her high-strung technical wizard didn't much like that idea, but he knew from painful experience not to argue with the boss once she had made up her mind.
Lara turned back to Simon and arched an eyebrow. "This is your lucky day," she said. "If you weren't a machine, you'd be smiling right about now."
She pulled the snaps that held her gun belt to her sweaty thighs, then undid the buckle and let her twin pistols slide down to her ankles. She peeled off her tight black tank top, followed by the matching sports bra, then slid her shorts down and kicked them away before standing up straight and tall so Simon could scan her twenty-five-year-old body and update his files. All she wore now were her boots and the sports watch velcroed to her wrist.
She rolled her shoulders and cranked her neck, her heaving breasts quivering at the slightest movement. Her sculpted figure glistened in the dull interior light, and emblazoned in thick black ink across her smooth pubic mound were the names of lovers past and present. All were female.
Lara licked her pouty, almost swollen lips and threw Simon a flirty wink. "Attack Plan Two," she said.
A slot opened beneath his monitor.
