"Take care, Mint."

"Are you worried? For me?"

I am. And it's stupid. There's a 97% chance that he'll return unscathed. It's more than regular people have after they've stepped out of their doors, because Mint's more agile, so he's less likely hit by a car, a bus, or a cargo train.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are," he says, grinning.

I'd really like to slap him. Because, honestly, worrying isn't the first stupid thing I'm doing since he kidnapped me. I do things for no logical reason all the time. Not to move us towards my endgame goal, which shows a 92% correlation to the endgame goal of the world's population in total. Just for fun.

Something must be seriously wrong with me. I might be a little worried about him, but I'm more concerned about myself.

The asshole broke my brain.

He's so stupid that spending too much time in his company turned me stupid, too. Or, there must be a weather front—a very prolonged, slow-moving front that has a clouding effect on my usual judgment.

"It's not funny," I snap at him.

"Okay," he says, patting the back of my head as if I was an agitated horse, which makes me want not merely to slap him but slap him with a chair. "Don't worry. I'll be back in an hour, and I won't engage with Duke. If he's at home, I won't even try to go in. But I bet he spends very little time at his safe place."

"Yeah. He's still busy cleaning up the broken things at his regular one, right?"

Mint grimaces, looking a bit guilty. And I find it cute, for no reason. I close my eyes and shake my head. I must be sick or something. The new environment carries new bacteria, viruses, and parasites, and some of them might have attacked my brain.

Might have. What a stupid thing to think. A probability without percentages. Come on, I'm better than this.

Why am I thinking like a dimwit, all of a sudden? I don't have an answer.

"Don't look so desperate," Mint says. "Everything's going to be all right."

The asshole apparently thinks that he's the center of the universe. Of course, he's going to be all right, but what about my brain? Who will fix it, huh?

"Why don't you get acquainted with the boys while I'm away?" he proposes. "The door's open, so you can look around if you want."

"How kind of you," I snort. "But I still can't leave the building, I guess."

"Well, if I find the formula at Duke's place, you're free to go."

"Yeah. You won't need my assistance after that."

"I won't have a reason to keep you here, either," he says. "Except that..."

"What?"

"Um... I'm just wondering if you have anything urgent to do, you know, back at home. Because if you don't..."

"I can't remember anything urgent to do," I answer. "Nothing in particular."

"No? That's... um... good. Because, in that case, I could keep you here for a few more days, just to... um... you know. To help me."

"To help you?" I repeat.

"In general terms, I mean."

"General terms?"

I'm particularly great at repeating things today.

"Yes. Very... um... general. Nothing specific."

"Sounds reasonable," I assure him.

"I know."

"Okay, then."

"Okay," he grins from ear to ear. "Very good. See you then."

"See you, Mint."

He clumsily pats my back, bumping into me when I move in his direction at the same time, then he says goodbye again, wringing his hands, not even bearing a resemblance to his usual self. The front must affect him, too.

When he's finally out of the room, I collapse on the bed, and I bury my face in my hands.

What the fuck am I doing, now seriously? I have nothing urgent to do? Why the fuck did I tell him that? It's not something I have an answer to, either.

An unknown parasite is probably chewing on my brain at the moment, and I'll be dead in a few days, but not before I turn into an incoherent neurotypical.

Probably. What the fuck does that word mean? Nothing. I must turn back to myself urgently. There's a 56% chance that a nameless threat found its way into my system, so I must localize and exterminate it asap.

I pick up a book, but I can't focus on the story. The security issues Mint's stupid paperback novels offer, fail to pique my interest, too. I try to watch TV for a while, but everybody's talking about the virus and nothing else. There are so many deaths, and I'm sitting here, idly.

After an hour or so, I decide to take Mint's advice about talking to his men. I already know their names, and I also met Boulder before. He's nice. And I'll need all the data I can gather to save the world properly.

The only problem is that Boulder flees when he sees me approaching them. Jorge is braver, though.

"Hey, ma'am." He grins at me. "Did boss let you roam free? Or did you break free?"

"Would I dare to oppose him?" I ask, trying to sound like a proper lover in a B-grade mafia movie.

"Is that a question?" Jorge laughs. "Yes, it certainly sounds like that when you scream his head off."

"Oh."

"Never mind. I love to listen to you two. It's good to see boss being happy, for a change. And it's relieving my nerves."

"Are your nerves worn out, Jorge?"

"I can't get over the fact that we work for someone who wants to see me dead."

Okay, that wasn't very hard. We're on topic.

"Are you talking about Pavlov?" I ask innocently.

"Yes! That fucking snake. He wants to eliminate half of the population, did you know that?"

"I did."

"And are you okay with that?" Jorge frowns. "You have nothing to worry about, right? But I'm gay. And you certainly have gay friends too, they just didn't dare to come out to you, so even if you think that it has nothing to do with you, you better face the truth, and—"

"And I have a disability."

"You don't look disabled," he states with eyes like saucers.

"You don't look gay either," I point out.

"Okay." He shrugs. "But I have many friends who do."

"I also have people who are important to me. And 80% of them share my problem."

"80%? Exactly? How do you know that?"

"There are ten people I must protect," I explain. "And eight of them are special needs. Come on, Jorge, even you could calculate that, right?"

"Yeah. But it also means that you have a substantial reason to convince boss to quit this contract. You might be the one who has a shot to change his mind."

"That wouldn't be a real solution," I answer. "He'd be killed."

"But you only care for ten people," he tries. "So—"

"He's one of those ten."

"What the fuck?! You protect boss? What are you, a secret super ninja disguised as a weakling?"

"Not exactly," I admit.

"Boss doesn't need protection! He's the only person I've ever met who can protect himself against anyone! He's a fucking death demon!"

"Okay, but—"

"That's why," he goes on, "he could go back on his word and terminate this fucking contract, too. Because who on earth would kill him? Okay, every gang's every headhunter would be after him, and that makes life uncomfortable—okay, mostly impossible to lead a normal one, but still, who would kill him? Huh?"

"Well, there's a 42% chance that you would, Jorge," I inform him.

He shuts up immediately.

"You'd receive an offer you have no way to decline," I carry on.

"No one could pay that much. I might be mad at him at the moment, but—"

"Do you have a family at home, Jorge?"

He doesn't answer, just breathes out, desperately.

"It doesn't matter how good you are," I tell him, "if you don't see where the strike comes from."

Jorge keeps staring at his shoes. I give him time to digest everything I said.

"Now I see how you protect him," he says, after a long silence. "But maybe you should consider that he doesn't deserve your protection. And maybe it's something I should consider, too."

"Don't worry, Jorge. I might not want to see him dead because it's... um... kinda incompatible with my existence. But it isn't the only way to make things work out in our favor, is it?"

"Can I be entirely honest with you?" he asks. "You don't seem like a classic hoe with a finesse to control a man by his dick."

"Yeah, captain obvious. And I would never try such a tiresome and unpredictable strategy, either. What for? It's much easier to control them by their brains."

"How?" he asks, sounding skeptical.

I'd gladly explain to him that I tell them what to do, and they do it, and that's it, but the subject of said method arrives back mid-sentence.

"I haven't found the formula," Mint announces, sounding more relieved than annoyed, strangely. "So I still need your specific help, not the general one, or, rather, I need the specific first, and after that, starting at an unspecified future date the general one, too, so, all in all, I'm afraid that you need to stay a few more days."

Jorge looks confused. I'm not surprised.

"More than what?" I ask.

Mint shrugs. Typical. Making comparisons without defining a basis.

"Did you break anything?" I inquire further on.

"Of course not. Duke won't even notice that I've been there."

Of course. Building a prognosis without taking previous tendencies into account. He's hopeless.

"So, what do you think?" he asks. "This job needs... um... more days, right?"

"Totally," I answer.

Jorge raises his eyebrows. There goes his opinion about me being a calculating mastermind. By the way, my own assessment regarding my performance shows a 96% concordance with Jorge's. Totally, my ass. What the fuck did come over me today?

The only good aspect of my brain turning into a useless piece of rotten jelly is that now I can roll my eyes properly, without restrictions. Judging myself for being stupid isn't prohibited by my code of honor, like judging my mediocre human peers for the same reason.

"Is she really your girlfriend, boss?" Jorge asks, out of the blue.

"My question, exactly," sounds an unknown voice from behind my back.

It belongs to a man I've never seen.

He's old. Much older than he looks. The way he moves betrays his real age, no matter how much time he spends in the gym. He wears flattering clothes, designed to show him younger than he is, too. He's vain. A womanizer, probably. He loves to show power. He can't tolerate weakness. He has a slight limp he learned to conceal; it's not even noticeable visually, only by assessing the rhythm of his walk. He's armed. He doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's carrying a gun.

Mint steps between him and me. Jorge steps behind Mint's back.

Pavlov, then.

"Hey, hey, no need to look for cover," he laughs. "It's just a friendly little surprise visit, all right?"

To remind Mint that there's nowhere to hide from him, in a friendly way.

"It's good to see you, Pavlov," Mint says, sounding like he doesn't need my calculations to understand the real reason behind his sudden appearance, either. "What can I do for you?"

"Why, deliver my formula, of course," Pavlov answers. "But before we talk business, you can introduce me to the lady."

It's strange how normal deranged people can sound when we leave the small details out of consideration. Like the contents of their heads, for example.

"She's just a bitch," Mint answers morosely. "We don't need her to be here. Go, baby."

I nod, trying to channel my inner bitch. Sadly, I don't have one.

"Oh, don't run," Pavlov says, blocking my way. I can tell that he's enjoying the situation. He loves to see people squirm. "You're such a strange little lady. Our common friend has such a strange taste when it comes to women, right?"

Well, fuck you too, I think. But I say nothing, as if I wouldn't understand the insult behind his words.

"She's well-trained, though," he adds. "I'll give her that."

"Enough," Mint says. I wish I could warn him to keep his mouth shut. Pavlov doesn't care about me, he just tries to get a grip on Mint, searching for a weak spot like a hound for a bloody trace. Not necessarily to discipline him for not delivering the documents, just for fun.

He's a sadist.

Pavlov takes another step in my direction. Mint hugs my shoulder, shielding me from him. I tense up like every time I'm touched without warning.

"Oh." Pavlov grins. "She doesn't seem very fond of you, big boss. I believe she uses you."

Fuck. I wish I were able to behave like a normal woman when her lover touches her. But now it's too late now for that; Pavlov got his claws into Mint, and he's having the time of his life making him uncomfortable.

"No worries," Pavlov goes on, grinning. "I can get rid of her for you if you want. Or maybe, I'll be a very good friend, and I'll get her out of your hair even if you don't want me to."

Mint takes a step in his direction. I hold him back.

"Wait for me in my room," he commands, and I flee. I've caused enough trouble for today.

"No chemistry." Pavlov smirks before he lets me through. "I'd only do you a favor by ending her misery. She doesn't seem to appreciate how lucky she is. Other women would be screaming for joy in her place."

So we have a mole. I bet our lie about being lovers made Pavlov curious. It's like offering a weakness on a plate to him to use it for the thing he loves most.

For torturing people.