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Chapter 5: breast quest
May 25th, 1994
Heather H?terguns dropped down from the entryway two meters up the temple wall and landed in a crouch upon the dimly lit inner sanctum floor. Her large breasts bounced seductively, poetically, up and down with graceful artistry inside her spandex suit. All was quiet. The candles didn't even flicker in the absence of wind way down here.
The candles! Who had lit them?! Someone was here?
Spinning to her feet with a gymnast's ease she quickly backed into the shadow created by the precipice overhead. She listened and it was dead quiet - only a few spiders meandered slowly across the dusty floor. Nobody was here?there was no place for whoever had lit the candles to have disappeared to?
Suddenly she worried. Had they gotten to the emeralds first? Up high on the other side of the sanctum wall Heather caught a glint of the statue's glittering, dusty, green eyes. No, she'd gotten here first. Reaching into her sidepack she withdrew a small knife and held it up in the light. The tip flashed and a big, wide grin came across Heather's face. Those eyes were hers.
Stepping quietly out of the shadows she made her way slowly across the room, vaguely scanning for traps. On the other side of the room she approached the 6000 year old sacred sculpture of Shakram Z'ah. Taking hold of the statue's knee, she used it as leverage to begin her ascent. Pulling herself up she made a second grab with her other hand at the king's large and well sculpted 'package.'
Suddenly there was the heavy baritone rustling of stone moving behind her. Had the king's rock codpiece been booby-trapped? But it hadn't moved?
Before Heather could turn around a voice came slithering across the room. It was more slimy to Heather than a snake. "After the King's jewels, I see, Miss H?terguns." Heather rolled her eyes at the obvious double-entendre and slowly backed down.
She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Professor Ranton - head of the Archeological Department and foremost in his field at Yale University. An American. Americans - the word rolled off her tongue like acid - what a bland, urbane and supremely annoying breed - arrogant, like their British fathers, but less intelligent and more folksy. And American professors were the worst. Especially Ranton.
Heather turned around to find the professor standing near the back wall with two young, heavily armed thugs. She recognized them. They were the ones who had given her the information at the camp. It had been a set-up from the start. They had come through a trap door in the wall.
The professor pealed with high-pitched laughter - partly at his own clever joke, partly at having, finally, caught Heather H?terguns right where he wanted her and partly because pealing with laughter was part of what the professor did. It was his shtick.
"Yes," Heather responded in her Norweigan accent. "Despite the fact that he is thousands of years older than you, his jewels haven't shrivelled up like raisins yet. Jealous?"
The professor snickered. "Good for you! For someone of such high birth it's refreshing to see that you're not above a low brow comeback."
The Professor slowly hobbled forward on his cane. Heather was proud of the work she'd done on that leg in their last encounter in Andalucia. Her contribution there seemed to be permanent. He was getting really old for this, she thought.
"Jeepers. Creepers," he said coming right up to her now. "But I'm afraid we've come for those peepers." He smiled at his own cleverness. He was a short one. Even though Heather was quite tall, he only came up to her well-endowed chest, deliciously contained in her tight-fitting explorer's spandex.
"Well," began the professor, sinisterly pulling a long narrow blade out of his cane. "It looks like your treasure hunting days are through." He drew the blade up high behind him. "Now, instead of being bejewelled you'll just be beheaded." And with that he swung sharply forward. But Heather grasped the professor's thin, anaemic wrist mid-stream and using his own force flung him sideways through the air. In an instant she had crossed her arms at her midsection (which uplifted her breasts into perfect, round, perky pillows) and withdrew both her mini-UZI sub-machine guns out of her hip holsters.
The professor's blade hit one of the four support pillars and landed on the ground with a dull clang. The professor followed with a large thump! Those two thug brothers both quickly raised their machine-guns towards Heather's location and let loose a barrage of fire.
But they were too slow as she had already leaped sideways. Flying seven feet through the air she faced the men and opened fire. Sparks, bullets and dust flew everywhere. The boys cowered in slow motion as rocks and dust shot off the wall behind them. Her leap ending, Heather tucked into a ball and rolled into a kneel behind the pillar. Had she hit either of them? She couldn't tell. The professor's high pitched peal of laughter told her she had failed.
"Most exciting! Most exciting indeed!" he shouted. Suddenly, in front of her, the wall began to explode as they fired in her direction. Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!! Chunks of rock and dust blew off of the wall and onto her bare legs, pocking the skin. She turned her head to avoid getting dust in her eyes.
The pillar stood up to the bullet test and she could hear one of the boys reloading. Now was her chance! Bolting upwards she tucked one of her guns away and did a tumbling one-handed cartwheel across the room towards the pillar near the professor - opening fire with her UZI. Making a rotating circle of fire across the back wall she had to hit something. And she did. One of the men spun and crumbled as a bullet pierced his right shin. Another bullet blasted the gun out of the other brother's hand and another hit it mid-air sending it, destroyed, across the room. Heather landed near the professor and scooped him up, ducking again behind the adjacent pillar. Reaching out around the column with her gun she fired aimlessly at the wall. The rapid popping was suddenly replaced by a steady, automatic clicking. Out of ammo, Heather dropped the gun to the floor, took out the mini strapped to her boot.
Spinning out of her hiding spot she yanked the professor with her towards the southeast pillar, about 2 meters away. The wall lit up with explosions and though the men were too slow to hit her, she managed to see that they were both still standing. Keeping cover behind the column she quickly ducked and spun to fire around the other end of the pillar. She hit one of the men and he was blasted back into the corner, crumbling to the ground, but the other had been quick enough to duck behind the remaining pillar. Her second gun was out of ammo now and she ducked back behind the pillar, professor Ranton headlocked between her breasts.
The wall in front of her exploded again as the remaining brother returned fire. The professor was sweating and the dust stuck to his face. The firing stopped and the room filled with stunned silence.
"Quit firing, you morons!" yelped the professor. "She's got ME!"
Heather reached down the top of her shirt and into the secret compartment of her size triple-F, industrial strength brassiere. Her spare clip of extra-explosive ammo, referred to by her enemies who'd previously been punished with it as Heather's Booby-trap, wasn't there! Damn. She'd forgotten she'd used it on the Mummy outside the tomb!
"She's got no amm-" the professor began to shout but Heather tightened her elbow around his throat pinching his voice into a high-pitched, yelping squeak. She liked that sound.
Again the wall exploded. They had certainly come well prepared with ammo. How was she going to get herself out of this one, she wondered.
"Heather," came a soft, feminine voice, echoing through the room.
Not now, she thought. What bad timing. She had to figure a way to get back up to that precipice.
"Heather, are you listening?"
Go away! Maybe if she threw the professor off to the left side she could use the distraction to jump repel off the pillar and flip up onto the precipice?
"Heather?"
Suddenly there was that pop-pop-pop-pop-popping sound again but this time accompanied by the thick, dull meaty sound of bullets entering flesh. The professor danced in her arms as he was riddled with bullets and Heather was hit from the side. The other man had suddenly appeared on her left!
Weak, Heather collapsed to the ground, slumping on top of the professor's small, bony, body. All she could see was the dust on the floor. Dead, she could hear the brothers moving about. The other one must have survived somehow?
"Mother! You just KILLED me!"
"You know," said Kendra, "Just because the main character has the same name as you doesn't mean you have to be her 24-7. Dinner is ready. Come on. You have all weekend to play Breast Enhancer II."
"It's Crypt Destroyer." Heather said through clenched teeth. She hated when her mom did that - purposely mispronounced a name like she didn't know the proper one. Usually it was a sign of derision for a game. But how could her mother not know the title of this game, she worked in the game industry.
"Come on," said Kendra. "It's dinner time."
Dinner was peas and steak with Dr. Skipper to drink. On Friday nights they could have pop with their meals. Well, the kids at least. Kendra and Will had a glass of wine with dinner almost every night. The dog, Barker, knew enough not to beg but, instead, sat in the bean bag chair watching, with mopey eyes, everyone else eat. Secretly he lamented the fact that Mark's friend got to partake in the delicious steak and pea dinner but he, the faithful companion, who kept their feet warm at night, who fended off strangers, who fetched that stick over and over again, wasn't offered any. He would lament about this until the meal was done and then forget about it when the two boys would take him out for a walk.
Heather sat alone on her side of the table, making the best, surly, unpleased teenage face she could muster while eating. Mark and his friend Dwayne sat on the other side stuffing their faces and talking about exciting elementary school boy stuff. It being a Friday night, Mark was having a sleep-over. Heather didn't make much of a fuss about it. After all, the parents were going away for the weekend and she could be by herself. And the two boys weren't that bad. Mom was pretty good about keeping them away from Heather. Anyway, at 15 to Mark's 11 Heather, Kendra figured, could manage for herself over the weekend.
"When are you leaving, again?" Heather asked. She knew when they said they'd leave, but she just wanted to stress the fact that she couldn't wait for them to go and was counting the minutes until they did. Also, somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped that by rechecking somehow the hour would have magically become earlier.
"I don't know, hon," said Will. "Pretty early. We'll leave here around 8, I guess. It's a 3 and a half hour drive to San Francisco. We'll be gone before you get up anyway."
"We'll be checking out the new building for the headquarters so we won't be back until Sunday," Kendra added. "There's a possibility that we won't be back until Monday, but we'll phone you if that happens, Ok? There's plenty of food in the fridge and freezer to feed yourselves. We'll leave 20 dollars for you to rent a movie or something and get a dessert from the store tomorrow."
"Cool!" said Mark.
"Awesome!" Dwayne joined in.
"What are you saying awesome for?" Mark asked. "You won't be here tomorrow."
"oh yeah." Dwayne said. And then after a pause, "I forgot."
"What's for dessert tonight?" Mark asked.
"I don't know. Maybe you two can make a pie."
"Cool!" said Mark.
"I don't know how to make a pie," explained Dwayne as if Kendra was teasing them.
"Well, I'll help you out," she said. God, pretty soon she'd have to start design on another game and wouldn't have time to bake pies with her kids. Baking a pie would be nice. She liked Dwayne. He was a sweet kid. She couldn't figure out what his genetic stock was - half white and half a mix of other stuff. Usually he looked black. At other times he looked South American. He was a handsome boy. His mother worked at the small press in Berney.
Heather wanted to ask if she could have some of the pie?but didn't want to look eager. She'd probably get some by not saying anything. She didn't want to help make it. She wanted to get back to Crypt Destroyer.
Kendra helped Will with the dishes, drying them off as he washed up. Will liked to wash dishes. Or, at least, more than he liked cooking meals. So he most always did them. Kendra helped out when she wanted to talk.
"Have you played that Crypt Destroyer game?" she asked.
"Sure. It's not bad. More of an idea game than great gameplay. But it's definitely enjoyable?and the technology is up to par."
"I was watching Heather play it the other day. I don't understand it. I mean, it's not that I don't understand the attraction of playing it?it's just that it's so outrageous. I mean, you play this rich girl with big tits who goes to third world countries, breaks into their sacred, holy, and ancient historical monuments (and I'm pretty sure you don't seek permission or apply for a visa) and then steals the valuables out of them to bring back to Western museums. And she's the hero!"
"Heh heh. I guess you're right. I never really thought about that. I guess Indiana James is the same way. Kind of socially-irresponsible, I guess."
Kendra dried a couple of plates. "Heather is really into it, though."
"Really? That's interesting. Some people were saying that that game was a big leap forward because it had a female main character. But really, I thought she was just a sex pot for the boys. Kind of surprised it does it for her. But I guess she's always into lots of games."
Kendra held herself back from mentioning that she had been the first designer to ever put a female as the main character in a game, four years ago with Fantasy Quest III.
"Yeah. But she seems obsessed with this one. Actually, that's not true. She always plays a lot of games - maybe I notice more because this is the first one that she's been this into that has not been one of ours. Anyway, I mean, she's tied to that computer. Just, so focused on that one game. Shouldn't she be out flirting with boys or something?"
Kendra paused for a moment. "God, look at what I'm worrying about. In High school I just stayed inside and read books all the time. My mother always bitched about me being a social misfit. People are so dumb in high school - I never wanted to hang out with them either. All I wanted to do was grow up. Still. It can't be healthy to be playing those games all the time. What does she see in it, anyway? I know this is ironic, since I make games and stare at a screen for a living?but I don't feel that it interferes with my life. I'm just worried about the amount of time and energy she devotes to it. As a parent you're supposed to help them grow up."
"Yeah," agreed Will.
"I don't know if this is positive for her or not. I really can't tell. It always kind of bugged me that she played so many games?but I was also proud. Now she's getting older?Is it just because it's not our games?"
Will didn't say anything. He just kept washing the dishes. It was listening time. He was a good listener. Well. Sometimes.
"In a way I should be proud. I'm always complaining that there should be more girls into games - but find they're either too scared of doing something that's 'for boys', too rigid to break out of their gender constraints?or they're intimidated by these aggressive pubescent boys who've been playing since they were eight and derive immense satisfaction from beating a girl whose obviously less trained at it."
"Would you be this worried about her if she was a boy?" asked Will, casually, scrubbing a dish in the murky water.
Kendra thought about this for a moment, shrugged. She was slightly irritated with herself that Will was able to point out potential gender-bias in her. Maybe she wouldn't be as worried if Heather was a boy?but she should be. And that still didn't make it right. And, no, that wasn't the only reason. Mostly she was just concerned about her daughter. "Still, she spends a lot of time in front of that screen," she replied. Will nodded.
Kendra paused and wiped down the last plate, signalling the end of her monologue. Will pulled the plug in the sink and watched the water gurgle away. She hadn't resolved anything with this talk - but she felt better.
"I wouldn't worry about it right now," said Will. "She seems pretty normal. And she does have friends over now and then. We're not exactly close to school so it's hard to have friends over a lot. We'll see how it goes."
"Yeah." Kendra said. Will was right. She went off to find the boys to start on pie.
She was dead. Again. The game had crossed the subtle line between challenging and addictive to frustrating and compulsive. She was getting angry at dying, not even making it as far into the dungeon as she had on the previous tries?which made her mad - made her want to hit things - made her impatient - made her want to play again. Quit fucking dying, you dork, Heather cursed her dead alter-ego and reached for the F1 button to revive her again. This was the fifth try. She'd been on now for one and a half hours and hadn't gotten anywhere.
"Hey! Are you playing Crypt Destroyer?" a voice came from behind her. It was her little brother Mark. It was strange for him to take interest in a game. Especially one that was not a Madre game. Heather turned around. She could smell the pie baking downstairs.
"Yeah," she said.
"Cool!" said Dwayne.
"Can we try something, Sis?" Mark asked. Heather's first impulse was to say no, but the connection between her finger and the F1 key had been broken, throwing the vicious circle into a wobble - Heather really didn't want to frustrate herself again. If there was one thing these games did teach - via repeated failure - it was how to deal with frustration - and when to quit.
"Sure," she shrugged unenthusiastically. Besides, she was just a bit curious to see why her brother was interested. Heather didn't know who was a bigger shame to the family. Her, the girl who played shoot-em-up action games non-stop, or her brother who didn't like computer games much at all.
The two came in the room. Dwayne was holding a piece of paper. "I got it out of my friend's game magazine. It's a cheat-code," he explained. "It's supposed to be really cool or something."
With small fingers they approached the game like amateurs, unable to figure out how to escape to the main screen. Heather had to help them. Dwayne took the helm and Mark sat back to read out with his grade 6 reading abilities what was written on the sheet. "Press up, up, left and then type 'I must I must I must increase my' and then type in a number."
"How do you spell increase?" Dwayne asked.
"Idiot! It's I-N-C-R-E-A-S."
Heather rolled her eyes.
"Nothing happened."
"You should hear a bell ring if it worked."
"Nope."
"Morons," said Heather. "You spelt increase wrong." She looked at her brother. "It's right there on the paper spelled correctly and you called him an idiot and you still couldn't spell it right. I-N-C-R-E-A-S-E."
Mark grinned sheepishly.
"Ok, I typed it, but still nothing," reported Dwayne.
"Try again."
Dwayne typed it in again. There was a bell ring. The two boys grinned and looked at each other. "Ok, start a game."
They did. They pressed escape to skip the intro and the game started. The boys both burst out in laughter. Heather rolled her eyes. There Heather H?terguns stood. Her breasts were huge! Well, they were already huge, but now they were enormous. Beyond the point of absurdity and into the realm of?mega-absurdity. The boys couldn't stop laughing. They were massive! The two boys rolled on the floor laughing.
"That's hilarious!" cried Mark. Heather didn't see what was so hilarious about it.
"Let's do it again!" suggest Dwayne.
"Try 10. I don't think you can go higher than 10."
"Ok." Dwayne, with his tongue out, typed it in. His typing accuracy was rewarded by the fairy-like bell ring. The two boys grinned and started pre-emptive anticipatory giggling - like a drug addict getting a little buzz just from thinking about shooting up. The game loaded. They skipped the intro?
And huge bursts of laughter fill the room. Even more than before. They fell to the floor. They fell over each other. They couldn't speak. Her breasts were now almost as long as Heather herself was tall?except they pointed straight out, defying any sort of gravity, defying the muscles in her unbelievably unmuscled back (for someone who carries around 10 pounds of boobflesh, heavy guns and does backflips). Heather H?terguns stood totally erect, with these?monstrosities pointing out in front of her like cannons. If she fell forward, she would have been stopped by her breasts at a 70 degree angle. They laughed so hard.
"Try - hee hee hee hee hee hee!," began Dwayne. "Try moving her - ha hah hah! - around!"
Mark moved the keys. Heather H?terguns ran, those giant melons pointing the way as if pilots sat in the nipples. They were crying with laughter now. They tried other things too. They made her climb a box. Her breasts just disappeared into the box as she clambered up. That was kind of disappointing. They were expecting them to get in the way. But breasts don't get in the way of video game heroines.
"I've got an idea!" said Mark. He quit the game and typed the code in again. Jing! Jing! The bell rang. He started the game, skipped the intro.
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAAAAA!!!! Tears were flying out of their eyes like Japanese animation. Their stomachs hurt. They couldn't pull themselves off the floor.
"That's the funniest thing ever!"
"I wanna make video games when I grow up!" exclaimed Dwayne between guffaws.
Mark had typed in -10 as the number and now standing on the screen was Heather H?terguns with enormous inverse breasts. The parabolic functions that created those round orbs were responding to negative digits and now the gigantic ?ber-b??bs were attached to Heather's back, like bizarre wings or flesh jetpacks. There were two large concave pits on her chest where breasts should be. Heather, the intrepid hero of the game, in all seriousness stares forward ready to conquer the dungeon - unphased by her nega-boobs. Even Heather thought this was a little funny, though the pits in Heather H?terguns' chest reminder her too much of her own shortcomings in this area.
The boys wanted to try other things with the game, but Heather was getting bored of this and wanted to get on the computer again. She left her Dad's office and went upstairs to her own inferior computer where she logged on to SupraNet to chat.
Heather was logged onto the network by her favourite handle, Aphrodite's Bow. Nobody was up now. The house was dead quiet. All the lights were out. This was the time of night she liked best. Around one in the morning she felt like she owned the house. She felt like an adult?and on SupraNet she felt like she was in her own little world. It was her home away from home when she was at home. It was her universe where suddenly she found meaning and compatriots. Heather wasn't sure exactly what time it was?but it was late. She'd lost track. She'd been on SupraNet for at least three hours. Even the giggling from Mark's slumber party downstairs had been dead for quite a while now.
Heather liked chatting. There was lots of stuff to talk about. Serious stuff. Silly stuff. Game stuff. She'd met a few people her age. There were several thousand subscribers to SupraNet so there was a fair number of people and chatrooms and discussion groups to browse through and get involved in. Addicted to. Another thing Heather liked was that she could lie about who she was. She had several handles, depending on her mood. Most of the time she liked to be herself - Aphrodite's Bow. But sometimes she liked to be older. Funnier. Meaner. Younger. A man. Sometimes she just wanted to avoid being harassed by the male subscribers. Most were fine, but some were vitriolic. Mean. Who had nothing better to do than find some stranger and harass her. Or hit on her. But that only made Heather feel more adult. Like she could hold her own. Anyway, she was used to losers from school. Although, sometimes Heather found these jerks titillating? sometimes she wondered if these men were really women pretending to be men - or women pretending to be what they thought men were like - mean?forceful - sleazy. Real men couldn't be such dicks, could they? That was beauty of it all. It was so open?and all or none of it could be real.
But no matter who she wanted to be on-line, with her father's company owning the SupraNet, she had unlimited freedom to be whoever that was for however long.
She'd made a couple of regular friends on-line. From talking to them over the past while, she gathered they were about her age. Or, at least, not more than 5 years older than her. People who shared her interests. Tonight she'd been talking with some game enthusiasts earlier but they had gone to bed or gone out, being in different time zones. Truly alone now she meandered from discussion room to discussion room looking for something to talk about and decided to check the Tech Specs chat room. Heather was never really into talking about computer hardware, but when theew was no one else to talk to, she could do it. There were only a couple others here; talking about soundcards.
<Aphrodite's Bow> Hello.
A long pause.
<Rock_Hard> Aphrodite's Bow. What kind of gay name is that boy?
<Aphrodite's_Bow> xcuse me?
<Rock_Hard> Sorry, we're having a non-queer discussion here...so please piss off.
<ROM-Master> Ha! Ha!
<Aphrodite's_Bow> First off, I'm NOT a boy. Secondly, computer nerds who sit around talking about Computer Hardware in the middle of the night are hardly manly men. I think you're more likely to be wearing the label Nerd.
<Rock_Hard> a pussy girl, huh? even worse. What? are you spying on our conversations? you'll never understand it.
<Aphrodite's_Bow> In fact, considering your deep knowledge of EVERY SINGLE LINE from Space Trek and in-depth discussions about who would beat who in a fight, Spiderguy or Batguy - it is probably more accurate to call _you_ a 'fag.' But that would be an insult to homosexuals.
Heather was proud of herself. That was quite a comeback. She was getting good at dealing with these losers. They were infrequent, but stupid enough to be disturbing.
<ROM-Master> Bitch
<Rock_Hard> You better watch what you say, cunt. You're lucky this isn't a _real_ room.
<ROM-Master> What do u call the useless skin aroun the pussy? A woman.
God, these guys just don't give up.
<Aphrodite's_Bow> Yeah, rockhard, so I don't have to be repulsed by all your zits and coke-bottle glasses from your nerd lifestyle.
<ROM-Master> We'd teach u a lesson youd never 4get Bitch!
<Aphrodite's_Bow> Ha! Ha! Ok, "ROM-Master." You know I'd be intimidated by your social skills that vanish when you have to have _real_ face to face conversation. Bt of course, you hang out in chat rooms instead of being out partying this Friday night because you're too cool and tough, right?
Damn! She was on a roll tonight!
<Rock_Hard> I cut your fucking cunt-lips off, bitch and tehn feed them too you while we both take turns raping you!
Heather was shocked by this. Though she shouldn't have been. There was no winning with these losers. It was an escalating game. No matter how good your comeback, they'd just escalate?, they'd come back with something crude or violent or just stupid. It didn't matter, they would win just by virtue that they would just up the ante every time you fought back until your surfing experience was ruined. You couldn't do anything about it. Heather considered telling them that she was the daughter of the owner of SupraNet, but thought better of it. She didn't want to give away her identity - she'd learned that one quick - for fear of further harassment. Her heart was beating now. She was angry, but accepting. She'd been through this before. It was just stupid and irritating now.
<Aphrodite's_Bow> Yup. I could tell you were a couple of real cool guys. Psychopathic murdering rapists. Always the coolest.
Well, that hadn't captured the clever insult that was in her head. She'd lost now. It was a losing battle from the start. All they had to do was raise the bar high to the point where witty comebacks - if you had them - didn't matter anymore. These people were so stupid. Is this the sort of stuff nerdy boys in the gym locker had to put up with? She'd met a few boys on-line who, when she told them about the few times this had happened on-line, had told her about being harassed by guys in their school.
<Rock_Hard> I've got your email, Afro. Hhbow@Snet.Madre.com. I'd watch your back from now on?
Shit! What a couple of idiots. They'd checked her profile. She quickly checked her profile to make sure there wasn't any other information they could get. Thankfully, everything else was either too vague or lies. She'd fool-proofed it the last time. Her real friends could get her info and secure email from her personally after she got to know them on-line. Still, it was annoying. Now she'd have to change this email again. Heather thought about writing back but thought better of it. She'd rather just leave and forget these losers. She'd leave a note with a print-out of the chat-log for her dad before she logged off and on Monday or Tuesday these two would be booted permanently from SupraNet.
Heather's heart was still beating a little bit, which bugged her. She hadn't been afraid of these two. If anything, she'd felt total derision. They were a couple of big time freaks. Still, somehow it had gotten to her. The outrage of it all. She hadn't done anything! She hadn't been scared or intimidated?so why was her heart beating? Too bad these two hadn't been gamers. She could have challenged them to an on-line game and humiliated them! She really enjoyed beating boys. Especially the cocky ones. She liked being good at games, period. But these two wouldn't have been worth her time or talent anyway. Does Heather H?tergun's heart ever beat like this? Heather wondered. At least SupraNet's security features had improved somewhat since it started. Part of those improvements came from Heather's own suggestions. She felt good about that.
Leaving a note for her Dad with the two guys' handles Heather logged out. God! It was almost 4am! Shutting down she left her Dad's office and crawled off to bed, sleeping in her clothes on top of her covers.
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