His arrogant threat turned my curiosity into rage. I knelt down, thrust my hand into his chest and ripped out his virtual heart.
Yeah, my Tarantino Ninja move surprised me too. He sizzled for a few seconds and disintegrated into pixelated goo with a loud pop.
I decided I'd better get out of Dodge. Ten seconds after looking for an exit I realized I'd also better put on some clothes.
Flash! A clothing menu appeared. I had to hand it to those fascist white-slavery motherfuckers; their technology rocked.
I didn't see any ruby slippers, but if wanting to dress rezzed a virtual closet, maybe "no place like home" might rezz a map.
The second that thought crossed my mind, the world flickered into black and a BBC-quality voice announced, "Transporting Home.
The story continues here.
This is the daily archive of"Botgirl Lives," a TweetStory, published one post at a time on Twitter under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike License
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