You choose romance.

In a moment of optimism, you throw the instant dissolve affection multiplying pill in the garbage disposal, press the button and hear the sizzle of the lasers atomizing it.

You take a deep breath, a real challenge, one worthy of your intellect. You will seduce this female, she is no match for you, she will have to submit. Fortunately she likes the chicken fingers you always eat on Saturday evenings, and you even have James whip up some macaroni and cheese for her when she asks. You made sure to make it a gesture, showing her your caring side. Sadly, everytime you gesture in her direction she flinches and apologizes, and then when you assure her you don’t take offense she cries. It is a disturbing pattern, and the third time it happens you have started to wonder if the pill wouldn’t have been better.

When you finish dinner she starts crying again, you put your arm around her (another flinch, another apology) and ask her what is wrong, she is your woman now, if something is making her sad you will burn it off the face of the planet. She settles down enough to tell you she’s worried about her mother, what if no one knows where she is, her poor mother. . .

You can’t help but be sympathetic, after all, if she gave birth to your wife she is likely a highly irrational and emotional woman as well. You offer to watch the News with her, and she smiles, a weak smile, but progress. Showing yourself to be both strong and caring is working, even if it is taking far longer than you hoped.

“Local Beauty Queen ****!” The words in large, loud font scream at you from the screen. It makes you smile. They obviously can’t show the orgy, but the shots before that, the flashes of the anti-sniper drones, the dramatic landing, the screams of your beloved. . . it’s beautiful.

When they switch to talking about your bride, you find out all kinds of things about her, her name, Kimberly, for one. The fact that she did theater and musicals and loved her pet rabbits. You could get her a rabbit, you had plenty in the laboratory, but most of them were mutated into things your sensitive female might not appreciate.

“Oh, she used the photo from the fall play. I always liked that one.” Your wife comments. She squeals a moment later, her hands over her mouth in excitement.

“Oh, they are holding a vigil for me!” She practically shouts. “I bet Jennifer never got a vigil held for her!” She has apparently recovered from being afraid, at least temporarily.

“The mayor!” She stands. “Ha! Suck it Jennifer, you dumb slut. Oh, can you record this? I missed what he was saying about me.” You nod, you already record any news broadcasts and filter them for mentions of you or your crimes. You can’t help but smile, what a good husband you are turning out to be.

You look back to the screen to see her mother on screen, crying and blubbering about her baby as she holds a picture of your wife wearing a tiara.

“Ooh, good choice mom. Look at my cheekbones in that picture, I always thought my makeup was really on point for that pageant.”

You sit back and relax, enjoying the news coverage you are getting this year.

“Wait, what?” She suddenly yells.

“Why is Jennifer on screen? Don’t talk to her, I hate her.” You see her face turn red, her fists clench. “Oh, I get ****, could be tortured or killed and Jennifer is selling tickets to her performance? Yeah, sure it’s in honor of me you opportunistic whore!”

She turns to face you. “She’s stealing my spotlight!” She yells, pointing at the screen.

“What do you want me to do about it?” You ask. It’s the wrong response, her face tells you that immediately.

“You want to marry me, right?” She asks, suddenly looking sweet.

“Well, technically the paperwork is already on record, we are married.” James generated and uploaded the certificate as soon as you returned with your bride. You’d been married for two hours.

She glares at you. “That slut, Jennifer, is trying to use our wedding to promote her no-talent career.”

“And. . .” You say, not knowing what she is expecting you to do.

“And my husband is just going to sit there and do nothing? You took on the entire police department, had those robot things exploding in the sky, and you’re going to let that brainless whore steal my, I mean our spotlight?”

She had a point. You did put a lot of work into this, it was irksome if some empty-headed female could take the attention off of you and your bride. You were starting to like this woman. She saw things clearly.

You lean forward, smile wickedly. “What should we do about it?”