This was what billions bought when quantum computing went commercial, when DARPA tech trickled down to billionaire playgrounds, when you had engineers on retainer who built things just to prove they could. Not consumer tech multiplied. Consumer tech transcended.
And scattered across the furniture like the aftermath of a natural disaster: my women.
Sofia sprawled on the sectional, one leg thrown over the armrest, wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts that came down to mid-thigh. Her hair was a mess, her eyes half-lidded, and when she saw me she tried to sit up—made it about six inches before collapsing back with a groan.
"Don't," she whimpered as I tried to touch her. "Everything hurts."
Emma was curled in an oversized chair, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, only her face visible. "You're a monster," she said without heat. "A beautiful, terrible monster."
