John walked under the crane.
The driver's seat was empty.
Next to it was a house made from a shipping container, with a sliding magnetic door, no lock; a push of the hand could open it. Talia, wearing a jacket, lay on the floor holding a gun.
"What the hell..."
John thought he had walked into a crime scene.
He was about to start scanning when the girl suddenly opened her eyes and sprang up.
"Why are you lying on the floor if you're not dead?"
John dropped his bag, rested on his knees, and asked. "We just talked on the phone hours ago, but now you look like hell and are holding a gun?"
"You are... oh, John, you're quick."
Talia looked at the kinetic revolver in her hand—it had a thickened barrel, a composite grip, and a side vent chamber, giving the impression of some madman's distorted creation.
She aimed it at her forehead and pulled the trigger.
The chamber was empty.
"Drinking last night made me feel like dying."
"Sleep then."
