Out Of Your League: The Lethal Ex-Wife

Morning light sliced through the gaps in the ICU blinds, hitting Erica directly in the eyes.

She opened them. Exactly on schedule.

Repair progress: 70%.

Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway outside her door. Erica instantly closed her eyes. She altered her breathing pattern, making it shallow and erratic. She slipped right back into the skin of a broken, traumatized victim.

The door swung open. Dr. Fletcher marched in, clutching a thick stack of CT scans. His eyes were wide, burning with a frantic, obsessive energy.

Nurse Dale Kowalski followed close behind, whispering loudly. "I'm telling you, her bone regeneration is like Wolverine. It defies every rule of pathology."

Dr. Fletcher stepped up to the bed. He reached out to press his fingers against Erica's newly fused collarbone.

The moment his skin brushed hers, Erica violently recoiled. She scrambled backward, pressing her spine against the headboard. She pulled her knees to her chest and let out a pathetic, terrified whimper.

Dr. Fletcher snatched his hand back. He looked down at the scans, muttering to himself.

"The brain scans show a high-density shadow in the frontal lobe," he said, tapping the plastic film. "I can't resolve the image. It has to be shrapnel from the car crash."

Erica kept her head down, her shoulders shaking. She laughed internally. That shadow was the ORACLE hardware core. Their primitive MRI machines couldn't even begin to process the molecular structure of future titanium alloys.

The sharp, expensive click of leather shoes on marble echoed from the corridor.

"Clear the area," a deep, aggressive voice barked outside.

The ICU door was shoved open. Two massive bodyguards stepped inside, physically pushing Nurse Dale out of the way.

Ebert Chase walked into the room.

He wore a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit that screamed Wall Street predator. He carried the scent of cedar, expensive tobacco, and absolute arrogance. His assistant, K. Sterling, trailed a step behind him, holding a sleek briefcase.

"Excuse me!" Dr. Fletcher yelled, his face turning red. "This is the Intensive Care Unit! You can't just-"

K. Sterling didn't say a word. He pulled a checkbook from his jacket, clicked a pen, and handed a piece of paper to the doctor. It was a massive hospital donation check.

Dr. Fletcher looked at the number. His jaw snapped shut.

"Leave," Ebert commanded. His voice was low, smooth, and left no room for argument.

The doctor and nurse practically ran out of the room. The heavy door clicked shut.

Ebert walked to the foot of the bed. He looked down at Erica, who was still huddled under the thin hospital blanket. His eyes swept over her like he was evaluating a damaged piece of merchandise. A cruel, mocking smirk touched his lips.

K. Sterling opened his briefcase. He pulled out a hideous, grotesque African fertility statue. He slammed it down hard on the metal nightstand.

Ebert pulled a cigar from his breast pocket. He didn't light it, just rolled it between his fingers.

"Congratulations on your release from prison, Erica," Ebert said. His tone was dripping with malice. "Consider this a pregnancy gift. For your ex-husband's new whore."

Beneath the blanket, Erica's hands curled into tight fists. Her fingernails dug into her palms.

Pregnancy.

The ORACLE System instantly cross-referenced the keyword with the host's memories. Ivy Thorne. The mistress. The woman who framed her. Colten had stolen her money, thrown her in a cell, and knocked up the woman who ruined her life. A cold, heavy rage settled in her chest.

She didn't move. She kept her body trembling. Through the curtain of her messy hair, she activated her tactical scan.

Ebert's heart rate was a steady 60 beats per minute. His muscle tension indicated he was ready for a physical altercation at any second. He was a man who thrived on control. Highly dangerous.

Ebert watched her shake. His smirk faded into a look of utter boredom.

"She's completely broken," Ebert said to Sterling, tossing the cigar back into his pocket. "This piece is useless. She doesn't even have the value of cannon fodder. Let's go."

He turned his back. His expensive leather shoe took one step toward the door.

A dry, raspy laugh cut through the quiet room.

Ebert stopped. He slowly turned his head.

Erica was no longer huddled in the corner. She was sitting straight up. The trembling had vanished. Her eyes locked onto his, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

She reached over and picked up the ugly fertility statue. She tossed it lightly in her hand, feeling the weight. Her eyes subtly scanned the object. The ORACLE System flashed a material composition analysis on her retina: cheap resin, modern paint, mass-produced. Value: negligible.

Erica tossed the statue into the plastic trash can. It hit the bottom with a loud thud.

"This fake isn't even worth fifty bucks," Erica said. Her voice was scratchy, but the ORACLE System had analyzed the host's memory fragments, perfectly reconstructing the speech patterns and upper-East-Side Manhattan accent she had spent a lifetime cultivating.

Ebert's pupils contracted. His posture stiffened. He hadn't expected a brain-damaged ex-con to instantly spot a cheap flea-market knockoff.

"If you want to use me to disgust Colten," Erica said, staring dead into his eyes, "your methods are embarrassingly low-tier."

K. Sterling stepped forward, his face red with anger. "How dare you speak to Mr. Chase-"

Ebert held up a hand. Sterling froze.

The boredom in Ebert's eyes was gone. The predator had just found a prey that could bite back. He walked slowly back to the bed. He placed both hands on the metal railing, leaning in close.

"Since you aren't crazy," Ebert whispered, his voice dark and thrilling, "do you want to partner up and destroy Colten?"

Erica didn't flinch. She leaned forward, closing the distance until their faces were inches apart.

"I don't need your charity," she spat, her words sharp as broken glass. "And I don't act as anyone's gun."

She reached out and slammed her palm onto the nurse call button. She looked at Ebert like he was dirt on her shoe.

"Take your cheap cigar and get the hell out of my room."

Footsteps rushed down the hall. The nurse pushed the door open.

Ebert stood up straight. He adjusted his suit jacket, his eyes never leaving hers. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick black business card, and dropped it on her blanket. He turned and walked out without another word.

Erica stared at the card.

Warning.

The ORACLE System flashed red across her vision. Targets Colten Fischer and Ivy Thorne approaching current location. ETA: 30 seconds.

Erica cracked her neck. The real war was walking right through that door.