Core Drive: A Westworld Story

Reverie 2015-P: Logan

Bliss.

Pure. Unfettered. Tingling through his veins from his head to his toes.

He laughed next to Olivia in the limo. The bass from the car's speakers sent tremors into the leather seats.

The buzz of being high and the buzz of the music's tempo made his body feel like a sleeve he could slide out of.

Olivia passed him her e-cig, painted nails shaped like blunted talons. She smelled of a new perfume. Bergamot and tangerines. It matched her hair. Long and deep red and artificially shiny under the dim lights.

Logan took her offering, pressing down the small button as he took another drag. And another rush hit his nervous system like a wave.

They wore white, like saints or virgins or very rich kids who had no care for stains ruining silk and cashmere and stiff cotton.

Logan watched as she deposited several large sums to various charities and funds associated with media conglomerates and one or two rehab centres in impoverished neighbourhoods.

"Making reparations for your sins so early in the evening?" he teased.

She tutted, reaching for her e-cig, "Image is everything, baby. Insurance policies. I'm out with you, after all. Black sheep of the rich kid dynasty."

"And you're the angel," he said sarcastically.

"No, Juliet is the angel. Bless her. You did a good job as a cautionary tale. I'm the saint. Mother Theresa. Understated beauty. Shattered hip. Tragic story of how I'll never compete again. My publicist really does work wonders."

"How much money do you spend keeping your clean image?"

"About half as much as your company stocks lose every time a new tabloid photo of you shows up."

"Touché."

The limo pulled up to an extravagant lot. Limescale walls, a large bonsai in the centre of a roundabout and steps covered in soft, rollout carpet.

"I haven't been to one of these in ages," he admitted, loosening his bowtie.

Olivia rolled her eyes and undid his bowtie, unbuttoning the first two buttons on his shirt, "No better practice than simply doing it."

He chuckled, "Is that what they taught you in show jumping camp?"

"Oh, certainly not! Practice was the better practice. But horses are more complex than people. People just fuck and like to be fucked. Just depends on how they want to take it."

"Delightfully crass as always."

"And you're awfully tame, baby." She unclasped her purse and retrieved two pills from a silver tin. "These will liven you up."

Logan wrapped his hand around her wrist before her fingers could deposit the pill into his mouth.

"Relax, baby," Olivia gave him a stern look. "Monogamy, I know. I'm not trying to get into your pants. It's just a happy pill. If anything, that cock of yours will be too drunk to get a hard-on tonight."

"You say the sexiest things."

"Relax, just pop a blue pill if you need the extra... hand later on." She laughed at her own joke.

"I don't think sex is something I'll have to worry about tonight."

"Oh, come on. Don't pout, it's unbecoming. Besides, you and I know there's nothing as hot as post-fight sex. It was our specialty, remember."

"Sex was our only specialty."

"True."

Logan shifted in his seat, the buzz in his veins wearing out just enough to let clarity disperse the fog in his brain. He was back in Joy's lab, staring down Ford and her and their android child look-alike and he was the odd-one out. He was the one that didn't belong.

"Our fights were stupid," he shook his head and tried to focus on Olivia instead. "Childish. When Joy and I fight it's..."

She relaxed back onto her hunches, kneeling beside him, "Devastating?"

He ran a hand through his hair, forgetting for a moment that he'd styled it with pomade earlier. "In a word, yes."

"God," she sighed, flipping her head to the side as she swallowed her own pill. "You really are dense sometimes."

"What does that mean?"

"You'll figure it out. In your own time. You'll probably make a mess of it too. Now," she gestured for him to lean upright, "no more wallowing. Tonight's about some good, old-fashioned, self-destructive fun. Tomorrow we'll be miserable and you can regale me with all your woes about loving a woman."

"'Love' is a big word," he responded. Almost scolding.

"'Love' is a small word. We're just broken people. Open up," she brought her fingers closer, pinched around a pill.

Logan responded by tilting his head back and opening his lips. The pill dropped onto his tongue. Chalky and sour and small. He swallowed dry and got out of the car when it was their turn in the queue. He held a hand out to Olivia and helped her out.

"Ready for some fun?" he asked.

Olivia wrapped an arm around his elbow as they ascended the stairs, "Ecstatic."