The Workshop

Somewhat blankly, you follow the gorgeous (and slightly terrifying) blonde into her apartment. Immediately you notice that the place is filled almost to the brim with various scraps and half-completed projects. Sketches and schematics cover one wall completely, and the rooms that would normally house her roommates seem to be just as busy as the common room. A wide desk doubling as a workbench has at least a dozen different tools scattered across it, and you think you see at least one blowtorch.

“Don’t make yourself at home, but feel free to have a seat.” She shrugs, pulling the bottom off of the magazine on the gun’s underside. “Still can’t get over how easy it is to scare people when I don’t even have Trusty loaded.”

“Trusty?” You eye the instrument in her hand and wonder if you were overestimating the danger. One handed, she cocks the weapon (because of course she made a homemade pump-action) and nods.

“Trusty.” Setting the black-painted monstrosity on her desk-slash-workbench, she turns to you as you stand awkwardly. “One of my better products. Got the idea from an article I found and made my own personal mods.” She quirks an eyebrow and nods at one of the overstuffed chairs that faces the television. Taking a seat, you watch as she settles into her own, facing you as she crosses her arms (which only distracts you more, since it pushes her breasts together and up and makes you wonder if they’re just as firm and pert without the sports bra). “Well? Spill.”

“Hm?” Pulled out of your imagination (which was probably inaccurate anyway, since looking back you can’t imagine this girl not being dominant in bed), you freeze for a moment before remembering that she probably wants to know about the evacuation plan. “Oh, right.”

“Right.” She waves her hand at you. “Well, go on.”

“Right.” Nodding, you swallow before looking her in the eye. “I… tomorrow I’m expecting at least an attempt at a rescue. My sister…” You weigh the odds of this being a terrible terrible idea before deciding that if you’re going to die it’s pretty much a given now. “She’s coming tomorrow, and we might be able to fit a couple people in. She’s probably expecting me to have one or two tag-alongs.” She stares at you for a moment before nodding once.

“If there’s room, I’m in.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“No… requirements? No guarantees?” You’re left scrambling for a moment as you try to figure out why she’d accept the chance of not being in the rescue.

“No.” She purses her lips, her expression unreadable. “See, the way I see it, I don’t actually need it. A guaranteed rescue to a presumed safe zone is nice, yeah, but I’m not helpless. I could hold my own for a bit before needing to move. Joining up with you is an opportunity, a good one actually, but not a strict necessity.” She leans forward. “But what I bring to your little party? Trusty over there’s just ‘Exhibit A.’ I’ve got at least a dozen other projects already workable, and so many plans and ideas I’ve started determining which one to build next by rolling dice. I’m not indispensable, but I know I’m a damn good catch for anyone hoping to survive this mess.” Settling back into her chair, she pops her gum with a satisfied grin. “So no, I don’t have any conditions. I don’t gain or lose anything either way except nebulous possibility. After all,” she shrugs, “who’s to say the rescue will even make it?”

You feel your stomach drop as she voices the one thought you had been trying desperately not to consider. Because it wasn’t a certainty. Things could go wrong in so many ways. The… infected… or whatever they were might break into the building and get to you. The density of the infected might be too great for Bella to get through, and she might have to call it off. Bella might even be…

You slam your eyes shut and tell yourself that it’s not going to happen. That your sister will show up tomorrow, alive and probably chewing you out for being slow to run to the getaway vehicle. That you and Sam and maybe the blonde in front of you will get in and go somewhere that isn’t in danger of immediately being overrun, or that might even stand a good chance of holding out indefinitely.

Breathing deeply, you look back to the girl across from you.

“Got it.” Standing up, you extend your hand. “If we’re doing this, we might as well get properly introduced. I’m Michael.” She stands up and takes your hand, and if you had any doubt that her figure hid a core of lean muscle, the strength you feel in her fingers dispels it immediately. With one last snap of her gum, she nods to you.

“I’m Meg.”