—September 15, 2158, 20:13:00—
The U-Joint smelled like a memory. Real woodsmoke, stale synth-beer, and the low, dirty thrum of a century-old rock anthem. It was a place where things were worn, not replaced, a perfect fossil of a life that felt more real to Tina than the pristine apartment she currently occupied. Her heart hammered a frantic, desperate rhythm against her ribs, a drum solo of hope and terror. He would be here. Cam had tracked him for a week, a lifetime ago, and Tina knew Elliot’s habits better than she knew her own reflection these days. He’d arrive around 20:03. She gave it ten minutes, a buffer for the universe to prove it was still a cruel, random place. She walked in at 20:13 on the dot.
A quick, sharp scan of the room, her eyes cutting through the haze and the gloom. And then she saw him.
Right near the rear corner. That wavy, jet-black hair, a little longer than she remembered. The familiar five-o’clock shadow that he’d always complained came in too early. That smile, the one that could light up the ruins of the old world, and the easy laugh that made him the center of gravity in any room. There he was. Her Elliot. More than alive.
A waitress dropped two handfuls of beers at his table, and Elliot grabbed his pint, raising it to his lips. That’s when his eyes found hers. He froze, the glass hovering an inch from his mouth, the laughter dying in his throat. It wasn't just recognition; it was a shock. A ghost had just walked into his bar.
She knew the history. Cam’s Tina had done her recon on him seven years ago. He told her the story and she could tell in his voice there was pain in how he remembered it–a tinge of jealousy that had never quite gone away. The darts, the bet, the aftermath. He didn’t say it outright, but she knew. Her other self liked what she saw when she met Elliot. Did he make a move on her? Almost certainly. How far did things go? Did he take her on one of his tours? Did he bring her to that special garden--the pocket of impossible life where she and her Elliot first made love together? Tina didn’t know, but she was about to go and rekindle the fire.
The look on his face instantly betrayed him. For Elliot, seven years didn't just melt away; they evaporated, and she could see it plainly. He was nailed to his chair, like a statue trapped in the amber of a memory. Tina remembered how her Elliot used to recount their first encounter. “An electric-red-haired woman strolled her way into my life,” he would say. Well, tonight, that’s exactly what she’d be.
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She was dressed for a specific hunt. Like punk rock meets rock ‘n roll, a war cry in fabric and leather. A tight, black leather skirt hugged her hips, ending high on her thigh. Fishnet stockings, a deliberate, tantalizing barrier, led down to a pair of cherry-red vinyl boots with a sharp, dangerous heel. A white crop top bared a slice of pale skin, her toned midriff a stark contrast to the worn, unbuttoned jean jacket thrown over it. Her shoulder-length red hair was a tussled, glorious chaos, a fiery halo framing her bright green eyes. She knew her man. And she was coming after him. Hard.
She moved through the tables with a predator's grace, her hips swaying with a confidence that was part performance, part pure, undiluted need. The noise of the bar seemed to fade into a dull hum, the world narrowing to the space between her and him. She didn't hesitate. She didn't break stride. She walked right up to his table, his friends falling silent as she approached.
She leaned forward, placing her hands flat on the scarred wooden table, her voice a low, husky purr that cut through the thumping music. "Elliot."
He just stared, his mouth slightly agape.
"I believe," she said, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her lips, "you owe me a rematch." Her eyes glinted. "Winner gets dinner. And if you play your cards right… maybe I’ll throw in something more for your trouble."
One of his friends let out a low whistle. Elliot’s shock slowly melted into a grin, a slow, rediscovering curve of his lips. He was back. The adventurer, the gambler. He pushed his chair back, rising to his full height. "You're on." His buddies let out several hoots and hollers and shuffled their way to the peanut gallery beside the dart board.
The game wasn't a game; it was an execution. Tina played with a surgical precision that was both dazzling and terrifying. Her throws were clean, sharp, and merciless. She cleaned his clock, racking up points with an ease that silenced his friends' taunts and turned them into murmurs of awe. She closed it out with a double bull, the dart sinking into the board with a satisfying, final thud. She turned, took a small, theatrical bow to a ruckus roaring audience, and then fixed her gaze on her man.
He just laughed, a deep, genuine sound of pure delight, clapping for the victor. He pulled a credit chit from his pocket and slapped it on the table. "I guess I'll get the tab."
She walked up to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, the scent of leather and outdoors clinging to him just as she remembered. She looked up, meeting his warm, brown eyes.
"So," she murmured, her voice a velvet challenge. "Where are you taking me to dinner, adventure boy?"
