Work Text:
Revenge Fantasy 1.0
by Batya
The frail blonde smiled sadly. "Freddie, these last few weeks have been the best of my life. I just wish I had more time to spend with you."
"Oh, Peaches," Frederick Balsam said, leaning to whisper in her ear. "You don't have to die." He relished this, playing the magician, the dark god. He'd never thought that he would offer this to another so soon, but wonder of wonders, he was in love.
"But . . . a body-jump? It sounds like science fiction. I can't tell you how much I want to hope, want to believe, want to *live,* but . . ." A tear ran down her cheek, and Balsam, cigar held aloft, used his other hand to wipe it away. She smiled again, this time gratefully.
"Oh, love, I'll find you the perfect girl, healthy and strong! Once you're in, we'll make her face look just like yours. You can live as long as you wish."
"But you said the machines . . . you said you destroyed them. How . . .?"
Frederick tapped the side of his head. "It's all in here, Peaches. Otherwise, I'd die in another sixty years or so. Neither of us wants that."
A gun clicked at the back of his head. Balsam's hands went slack and his cigar fell onto the bed, where a black-gloved hand retrieved it. "Stand up," a man's accented voice ordered, and he did. "Hands behind your back," and he was bound. When he was turned, he looked into the eyes of the man with the gun, and reflected that they were deader than Eric the Crow's.
The man looked at him but addressed the woman as he said, "Excellent work, Nikita."
end