“Well, Paulo wasn’t that bright.”
“What a way to go, though. Mauled to death for a chicken sandwich.”
Ooh. Maybe a chicken sandwich.
“I’m not telling Mark.”
“Aw, come on. I had to tell Mark about the last two.”
“And you’re going to keep telling him. At least until we hire a bellman with a sense of self-preservation anyway.”
Catrina continued, “You know Mark’s got that x-ray implant. I feel violated every time he looks at me.”
“Fine,” said Thor. “But I’m telling him you’re a racist.”
Two: You Win This Round, Science
The door to Mark’s office opened slightly.
“Mark?”
“Thor.”
The door to Mark’s office opened all the way. Thor walked in.
“Paulo’s dead.”
“Dead dead or kinda dead?”
“Dead dead. ‘Wolves got him.”
“He went to the Subway in Jersey City, didn’t he? Now I’m not going to get my sandwich.”
“Probably not, no. You want me to re-activate the Craigslist ad?”
“Nah, I never took it down. I’m keeping a backlog of applicants.”
“That’s enterprising of you.”
“Yeah, well, the way we’ve been going through them it won’t last long.”
“True.”
The tiny office was quiet, except for the whir of Mark’s ocular implant. Thor was forced to concede that it was, indeed, a little unsettling. He took a step sideways, putting a chair between himself and Mark.
“I can see through the chair, Thor.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep,” said Mark, “this thing’s got…”
“Hold up. Why are you looking at my junk?”
“I get bored,” he said with a shrug. “And, I mean, you were a god. I was curious.”
“Can… can you stop? It’s a little unnerving.”
“Yeah, no problem. Although, I gotta say, that’s less than impressive.”
“Fuck you, man!”
“I’ve got hydraulics in mine. You wouldn’t believe…”
“Dude, stop, please. I don’t want to know.”
“Fine, OK. But I’m beginning to see why science won.”
“Not cool, man.”
Mark laughed, the faint, tinny sound of something like a modem backing the syllables.
“Catrina and I are skipping out early,” said Thor. “You good with the guests?”
“Yeah, sure, we’ve got what, two?”
“Three. Some cheap-ass pillow fetishist came in a couple hours ago.”
“Alright, no problem.”
“Thanks.”
Thor turned to walk out, but heard Mark’s eye refocusing again. Thor turned sideways and ran, closing the door to Mark’s office behind him.
“I wonder what Jesus’ wang looks like,” said Mark to himself quietly.
The phone on his desk rang. He answered it.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, hi, this is room 218. Can I get a few more pillows sent up?”
Three: Thor’s Kind of a Dick When He’s Hungry
The diner ran out of pancakes shortly before Thor arrived. It always ran out of pancakes. All things considered, it was a pretty terrible diner. Thor wasn’t sure why he kept going there. Well, other than convenience, laziness, and steel-reinforced walls.
“The guy next to me got pancakes,” said Thor. “And he ordered after me. I think the waitress might be lying to me.”
“Give it a rest, Thor,” said Catrina.
“Excuse me, miss?” he said, flagging down the waitress.
“Christ…”
“Yes?” said the waitress.
“Are you sure you’re out of pancakes?” asked Thor.
“Yes.”
“But that guy got pancakes.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He’s eating them right now. Look. He’s got maple syrup on his chin.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Thor stared at the woman. The woman stared back. She had a powerful gaze. Thor felt like she was staring right through him. Her eyes flicked red and Thor heard a motorized humming coming from the waitress’s skull. She
“Can you at least look
“No.”
“Seriously, lady? What’d I ever do to you?”
“What haven’t you and your people done to…”
“Really? My people?”
“Three years ago I was revered! I was feared! Back before your kind…”
“Ha!” said Thor, pointing a finger at the waitress. “I’ve only been on this plane of existence for two years! I didn’t do shit to you! Now give me my damn pancakes.”
“No.”
“That does it.”
Thor reached up and plucked the waitress’s left eye out of its socket. There was a mild shock, but nothing the former God of Thunder wasn’t used to. The waitress didn’t even blink.
“What the fuck, sir?”
“You get your eye back when I get my pancakes.”
“Fine.”
The waitress walked away.
“Fuck, man,” said Thor. “Fucking cyborgs. Fucking Oklahoma Treaty. Just because the robots decided they didn’t want you anymore and the humans wouldn’t take you back is no reason to give
“Wow,” said Catrina. “Now who’s a racist?”
“I was under duress.”
“I’m pretty sure a lack of pancakes doesn’t equal duress.”
“I’m pretty sure it does.”
