Filmore Fenton walked through the squalid streets of Hollywood. He was in his early 50s, and was starting to go bald. He pulled his coat on a bit tighter, partly because of the cold winds of Californian nights, and partly because of those around him. He looked around in disgust. Druggies, winos, and the homeless sat on the street, making the walk to his car somewhat unpleasant. When he’d moved to LA 30 years ago (God, 30 years? Where did all the time go?), things had been nicer. Sure, there was an abundance of smog in the air, but it was nicer.
Filmore’s ruminations were rudely interrupted when he was pulled into an alley and slammed onto a wall. His first thought was, "Oh God, I’m getting robbed." Then he saw his assailant, and promptly rethought his earlier assumption.
She seemed to be around her early 20s, with black hair and a brown eye. But that wasn’t what made him rethink his initial thought. No, it was the fact that her other eyes was glowing red, she had a robotic arm, and a smile carved into her face, a la Heath Ledger Joker. Most muggers he knew didn’t look like a cyborg female version of the Joker.
He thought that maybe she was one of those weirdos who dressed up for conventions or something, except for the fact that her robotic arm was very realistic looking, and very strong.
"W-what do you want?" he asked.
"Money, happiness, people to kill that sort of thing. But since the first two are hard to come by, I figured your death would suffice." She answered.
Filmore was not usually one to beg, but when confronted with a murderous cyborg, he decided that maybe survival outweighed his dignity. "Oh God, please don’t kill me."
The woman laughed, and asked, "Tell me, Mr. Fenton – and yes, I know your name – why shouldn’t I kill you?"
"I-I can help you." He stammered.
"Oh? Please tell me how you can."
"I’m a talent scout. I meet with a lot of people."
"Yes, I know. I’ve been watching you for a while."
Trying not to let the thought of this murderous cyborg scare him even more, Filmore continued. "I can get more people for you to kill."
This seemed to pique the woman’s interest. "Can you now? And how do I know you’re not lying?"
"I swear to God I will if you don’t kill me."
The woman thought, then released her grip on him.
"Fine," she said. "I’ll let you live. I’ll let you know where and when to bring someone. If you lie to me, I will make you regret it. I will eat you alive, and give your bones to my dogs. And don’t try to call the cops either."
Filmore nodded, and started hastily walking away.
"Oh, and Mr. Fenton?" the woman said.
"Have a nice night." She said, smiling. Filmore nodded and went to his car. After that whole ordeal, he needed to get home and change his pants.