Superman vs Gravity
Each knock is punctuated with steamy breath coming out of Frey’s mouth—he waits a moment, looking around at the cold icy landscape surrounding Nemo’s apartment.
Nemo, who’s on house arrest, opens the door wearing an ankle monitor.
“Well, I knew Casey was into fashion, being a model and all—guess it rubbed off on you,” Frey jokes, looking down at Nemo’s foot. “Is that from the latest season?”
“Cute,” Nemo says in a deadpan voice, shuffling aside so that Frey can enter with his fat briefcase.
“Oh, by the way, speaking of Casey,” Nemo continues, “What was up with you mentioning that I was in love with her, in the middle of the trial? Is that a new type of argumentation they teach you in law school?”
Frey ignores the comment, pretending not to hear. “So. Nemo. Good news. The murder charges are being dropped. Now you won’t have to wear that, uh, statement piece.”
Nemo blinks blankly. “Excuse me, what? You just breeze in here like you’re stopping by for a cappuccino. . .and just want me to know that a life prison sentence is no longer hanging over my head?”
Frey shrugs and digs out a ream of papers from his briefcase. “Wow, I honestly thought you’d be happier. . .”
“I am happy. Shocked. Floored, really. But—”
“So look at this, Nemo…” Frey says, spreading the papers across a coffee table.
The series of documents, produced by Original Syn, contain chapter and verse on their project to modify human life forms with biotech.
“Turns out, biotech modified beings, like this Broseidon who you’re accused of manslaughtering—well, their creators aren’t even sure they’re fully human. Looks like you’re no more liable for manslaughter than the local office grunt who destroys the company copy machine. . .because, well, that was no man.”
“I’m afraid, you’re gonna have to explain that one to me, Frey.”
“OriginalSyn describes here their rationale behind creating a new ‘super’ race. They state that this race is ‘neither human nor machine, but a new hybrid, something neither living nor dead.’”
Frey drops his glasses lower down on his nose. “Soon as the judge got a load of this, he dropped the charges immediately. Not even the plaintiff can agree this was a sentient being, and certainly not human.”
Nemo feels as if he could soar through the roof—but something still weighs him down, and it’s not the ankle monitor.
Frey pushes the glasses back up the bridge of his nose and stuffs the papers back into his briefcase. “An officer will be by in about an hour to take that off your hands,” he says. “Or foot, as it were.”
“Your levity here is truly classy,” Nemo says dryly. “Never stop being you, Frey.”
“Right back at you,” Frey says at the door, twisting the knob. A small crack opens, letting in a cold draft. He pauses and turns around.
“Nemo, about your earlier question—whether they teach that style of argumentation in law school now. . .”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t learn about love in any book or any school.”
He pulls the door open and squeezes out: “Don’t write ahead too many chapters when you’re feeling desire, Nemo. You should leave some parts unwritten, until it’s the right time. . .”