When Dahlia left the studio, Johnny Geton was waiting for her.
"You could call a girl!" she shouted at him. Then she climbed on behind him. The bike roared as if it were feeding hungrily on the night, and then it sped off.
"I heard you were quite impressive tonight."
"Heard how?" she screamed, still wondering how they could hear each other.
"I know lots of people. I'm a good networker."
Dahlia's mind started working at such a pace that she could hardly follow her own thoughts. It was sorting through recent memories: terrorists on the news called Rota Fracta. Rota, rotate, wheel. Fracta, fractured, broken. The broken wheel. The wheel that exploded behind her. Johnny's excitement over it. And now, his "connections," like he's part of an organization…
"You're in Rota Fracta," she announced.
He paused. "Damn, you're good."
"You're a fucking terrorist!"
"We can't all be saints."
Object: God's face