Page 53 of Garbage

Evan. He needed Evan now. He needed him to pick up the phone and text back because the Bad Man was holding his arm. The Bad Man was…

Something dug into his neck. No, not his neck. His SP3N port. Pain surged where it had been forced out without the proper unlocking protocols, ripping through tough skin and delicate sensors.

Quincy babbled into his text, paragraphs building up. The answering service finally picked up on the call, and he sent off the text so he could voice record.

And then something slapped against his open port, and everything went white.

Hazy.

Fear nestled in his chest and rooted itself in his limbs.

He could still think, somewhere scary and lost, deep inside, just a little bubble around his BIOS. But his body was not his own. His programming was running down paths that were no longer under his control.

And all of his communications systems had been cut off… with his text, an incomprehensible saga, flagged as sending…

Why, oh why, had he not sent a lot of little texts instead of one monstrosity?

Had any of it made it out?

The Bad Man told him to walk.

His legs walked.

Internally, he skittered around his hobbled programming, looking for a way out. A forgotten subroutine. An escape hatch.

His map was dead. His head couldn’t turn for him to even glimpse the street signs. All he could see was lines in the gray, speckled sidewalk and two pairs of boots. Even his internal speakers had been cut off.

If they’d been on, he would have been whimpering.

Chapter 12

Evan

Evan was just wrapping up a meeting when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He knew it could have been anyone—maybe a telemarketer, or even a rare call from his parents or a friend—but he hoped dearly that it was Quincy.

The past twelve hours had been passionate beyond his wildest dreams, and also left him with a hole in his heart when he had to drive away from Quincy’s hunched shoulders and mournful eyes.

Quincy embodied everything Evan had ever wanted in a boyfriend. Laughter. Generosity. Comfort. And god, the way Quincy had taken charge in the bedroom…

Quincy was the perfect boyfriend. And that was what scared him.

Quincy would never want to be stuck with Evan once he found his way in the shiny new world that he was so eager to explore. He was so talented, so joyful, so full of life—and with so much to offer to someone who could offer the same things to him in return.

Evan had been through enough asshole exes to know that he wasn’t a catch. Quincy had just imprinted on him or something, like a duck.

Evan still wanted anything that Quincy was willing to offer… but the crash at the end was going to leave him wounded and cracked.

But that buzzing in his pocket still made him perk up, like Pavlov’s dog. He never knew why Quincy would call him—to ask about his favorite dessert, or tell him about a flower he’d found. He asked for help sometimes, but that was getting rarer as Quincy found his feet and knew how to wield the internet.

Most of the questions would tumble out while they ate and scented their food together each night. So it was extra special when Quincy called during the day.

Evan was missing him already.

He waited impatiently as his supervisor just had to get one more word in, and then one of his colleagues had a question for him in the hall.

When he finally made it to the little atrium off the staff kitchen and saw that it was empty, he didn’t wait to check his messages, but dialed instead.