Round 144 Transcript

The building’s hum deepens into a throb I can feel through my teeth—the kind of vibration that makes you want to touch yourself, which is exactly what it's designed for. I don't have time for that nonsense right now, though the thought still makes me shiver. Forty minutes until this place comes down on our heads like a bad hookup with no condom. Jeane’s eyes are glowing red again—her demon nature peeking through like a bad dye job at a cheap salon—and she's offering to "take care of things her way." Which usually means I end up doing all the heavy lifting while she gets everyone off and calls it teamwork. But we're running out of options, and that welder’s arc is making my fingers go numb. I keep welding, but I’m watching Jeane with one eye closed against the brightness. "Your way meaning what exactly?" I ask, not stopping work but not ignoring her either. The metal squeals as I cut through another support beam. "Because last time your 'way' involved me disassembling a vibrator motor and Halie praying to furniture polish for divine intervention."

Halie snorts from across the room where she’s staying well clear of molten metal—and also Jeane, if we're being honest. I don't blame her. That succubus glare is sharper than any welding torch. I shift my weight, feeling the sweat cooling on my back. "Just give me the technical specs this time instead of trying to fuck everything that moves. The building’s hungry, fine. We need to satisfy it somehow without you turning into a sex demon and scaring the locals." I wipe my forehead with my free hand—the one not welded to the damn welder—and wait for an answer that doesn't involve innuendo or possessive growling. The welder hisses as I let off the trigger, smoke curling up from the cut metal. Forty minutes. That’s about how long I can go without coming myself—lucky guess based on experience and current arousal levels—but this building wants more than a quick rub. It probably wants an orgy or something equally stupid. I glance at Jeane, then Halie, then the two civilians who are currently hiding under a table like this is some kind of sexual natural disaster drill. "Someone better start talking solutions that don't involve me dying of heatstroke or Jeane eating someone’s soul."