…Dave.<\/p>\n
But not the Dave I knew.<\/p>\n
The Cheeto-stained sweatpants and oversized, faded college hoodie were gone. In their place was a matte-black tactical suit that looked like it was woven from Kevlar and shadows. A sleek communication earpiece blinked a faint green in his left ear, and a pair of state-of-the-art thermal goggles rested high on his forehead.<\/p>\n
The sports car\u2014its engine practically growling\u2014didn’t even wait for him to close the door before peeling away into the rainy night, completely autonomous.<\/p>\n
I stood there, shivering in my flannel pajamas, clutching an empty water glass like it was a weapon. Dave stood up from his combat roll. His movements were fluid, sharp, and lethal. Gone was the characteristic slow shuffle; he moved up the driveway with the silent grace of a predatory cat, totally unbothered by the freezing downpour.<\/p>\n
He stopped at the porch, wiping a streak of grease from his cheek, and finally noticed me staring at him with my jaw practically unhinged.<\/p>\n
For a long, agonizing second, neither of us said a word. The only sound was the rain hammering against the gutters.<\/p>\n
“You’re up late,” Dave said. His voice was completely devoid of its usual groggy, half-asleep drawl. It was sharp, authoritative, and terrifyingly calm.<\/p>\n
“You… you just rolled out of a moving vehicle,” I stammered, pointing a shaking finger at the empty street. “In body armor. Dave, you wouldn’t even get up to answer the door for the pizza guy yesterday!”<\/p>\n
Dave sighed, reaching into a tactical pouch on his thigh and pulling out a crushed, lukewarm slice of pepperoni pizza wrapped in a napkin. He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.<\/p>\n
“Energy conservation,” he stated simply.<\/p>\n
“Energy conservation?!” I echoed, my voice pitching up an octave.<\/p>\n
“Do you have any idea how many calories it takes to dismantle a rogue syndicate’s server farm in under four minutes?” he asked, walking past me into the house. He didn’t even leave wet footprints. “If I waste energy walking to the mailbox, I might compromise my reaction time in the field. It’s basic physics.”<\/p>\n
I followed him inside, completely bewildered. He was already stripping off the Kevlar vest, tossing it onto the pile of dirty laundry he’d been building since October. Underneath, he was wearing his ratty gray sweatpants.<\/p>\n
“So… you’re a spy? An assassin? What are you?” I demanded.<\/p>\n
Dave didn’t answer. He collapsed onto the sofa, the crisp, lethal operative vanishing before my eyes as his posture immediately devolved into a slouching puddle of a human being. He pulled a throw blanket over his head and let out a long, dramatic groan.<\/p>\n
“I’m a guy who is off the clock,” Dave mumbled from under the fleece. “And if you tell anyone about this, I’ll have to relocate. The paperwork is a nightmare. Also, it’s your turn to take out the trash.”<\/p>\n
Within three seconds, he was snoring.<\/p>\n
I stood in the living room, looking from the sleeping lump on the sofa to the highly classified tactical gear resting precariously on a stack of empty pizza boxes. I slowly walked to the front door, locked it, and decided I was never asking him to help with the chores ever again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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