In the mirror, Percy Pierce stared at the device on her chest that made her controlled. At least it’s not in her *head*, she ruminated, trying to cheer herself up. And, after all, it’s what makes her a top notch director, able to think in many directions at once, see many possibilities. The problem, then, becomes *choice*. And that’s where Axis-Windmill Man comes into play; why he was manufactured in the first place. She needed someone imaginary to do battle with. Manual, pheh. There *is* no manual.
—–
“What are you looking for little boy?”
“Toys.”
She spreads her arms wide. “Alll around.”
Sunklands 