Dangerous by Default

Epilogue

 White Wing let out a sigh of relief. With the weight of another failure on her shoulders, there was a small comfort in knowing that the locks had not yet been changed at Ami's apartment. Watching Roseogrisea's undeserved claiming of Dimensions, after she had done all the damn leg work, White Wing desperately needed to be alone. It was either the best place she could think of or the absolute worst place to be. She didn't care anymore. What was the point of bringing all her best to the Doves, only to have someone lesser rewarded? They were all just a bunch of ungrateful morons.

White Wing groveled as she swung the lacquered apartment door open, remembering when she had once made fun of Ami for living in such a fancy building. Ami said she loved it because it had so much 'character'. Such a nerd. Where a normal person would have felt grief, White Wing felt annoyance. Every bit of the now dusty apartment sung of Ami's life. In her eyes, tt was just one big monument to White Wing's wasted time and effort. A shrine to the gods of losing big. A temple of 'how to fuck up your entire career by trying way too hard". She needed a damn cigarette.

Kicking over an end table along the way, White Wing flicked open the living room windows with the tip of her boot as if hitting a light switch. You could always move to Hollywood and be a stunt woman. She snorted before lighting the tip of her Marlboro. Maybe the sarcastic voice in her head did make a solid point, What the hell do I do now? There was no way in hell she was about to become another sniveling lackey, kissing Rose's toes just to appease the Doves. That wasn't her style. So how the hell was she going to bounce back, and save herself from a life of stagnancy? She was meant for more than this, and they all knew it. Especially Turtur. So why the fuck didn't they make her CEO?

This question haunted her with a growing persistence, and no amount of nicotine or violent acts were going to answer it. As she absentmindedly gazed at the door to the office she and Ami had once joked about making into a nursery, an idea smacked her square in the face. Ami's laptop. Throwing her still burning cigarette out the window, White Wing rushed into the spotless room. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, all but for the large work table against the farthest wall from the door. The laptop's normal resting place in the middle of the desk and in-house lab was empty. She had to find it.

White Wing wasted no time inspecting every inch of the lifeless apartment. Couch cushions removed in one sweeping motion. Dust bunnies and pennies smiled back at her, mocking her determination. She moved silently to the next room. The entire bed ripped apart with furious hands, only to find the strap-on that once brought Ami so much pleasure. Gross. It seemed to sing a taunting tune to her, swooning in the back of her mind:

You fucked an old lady again and again

Ha ha ha

But you were really just fucking yourself!

Fighting all temptation to throw the plastic phallus out the window with everything else in the apartment, White Wing reluctantly threw it back onto the bed before heading to the kitchen. The stench of defeat permeated through the space. She blankly snatched the bottle of scotch a top the fridge, the one that stupid Ami kept around just for her. Not bothering to grab a glass, she let the room temperature amber burn her throat. She needed to feel something other than the rot of disappointment that was ferociously eating away at her pride. Taking another long swig, it was in the reflection in the kitchen window that she noticed it. Ami's other work bag. Hiding in plain sight on the kitchen counter, the last place Ami would ever leave it.

Gently unzipping the polished leather, White Wing huffed all the air from her lungs before opening the bag. To her great relief, Ami's laptop patiently awaited her every command. Plugging it into the nearest outlet, it was mere seconds before the glow of the login screen lit up her face. She took another swig from the scotch bottle and lit a fresh cigarette. Cool your jets, gorg. You already found the damn thing. It took her less than a minute to hack the password, knowing Ami had a strong affinity for Sailor Moon.

Loading the tracking program, it looked like the mysterious homing beacon had been moving fast. Flicking through the destination history, a clear path from San Francisco to Los Angeles, then all the way to Texas had been made in a matter of hours only a few days previously. The screen showed a brief stay at the Woman's hospital of Texas in Houston. White Wing took a long drag as the OS struggled to load the live feed. The pieces were finally starting to fall together, and as the sight of a little pink dot slowly made its way through the Carribean sea, an update badge popped onto the screen:

Fertilization Successful.