My paranoia starts to kick in as I realise how easy it would be for him to kill me, just as long as he took me unaware. For all my jacked up reflexes and painstakingly learned skills, in light of the new wholly artificial employees our rivals have been raving about, I'm starting to look a lot like an old Decca television set in a room full of Sony projectors. In all likelihood, Mike would have had me killed months ago already if I wasn't still so damned good.
"And Suzi?"
"Yes?" Our eyes meet again, at last.
"Do yourself a favour. Don't get emotionally involved. It's just business."
"I know." I walk out the door, not looking back.
"Well, all your tests show you're operating within specs," says the man that Mike claims to be some sort of medical doctor.
"That's a relief," I say sarcastically.
"Nevertheless, I'm still concerned about these certain imperfections in your performance. I just can't seem to find a neurological or physiological source for them."
"Did it ever occur to you that I'm only human?"
A grunt serves him as laughter. "Isn't that your main selling point? From what I hear, you're Mike's poster girl. Maybe even the whole industry's." He looks me up and down, and I fight the urge to pull out the knife I'm carrying and gouge his inferior eyes out. "Shame no one knows what you look like." Perhaps sensing my obvious discomfort, he changes the subject. "You know how few of you there are left in your line of work?" By 'you,' I assume he means humans. "Less than a dozen, by our estimates. Worldwide. You're a rarity."