Case woke from a dream of airports, of Molly’s dark leathers moving ahead of him through the concourses of Narita, Schipol, Orly … Opening his eyes, he saw Molly, naked and just out of reach across an expanse of very new pink temper foam. Overhead, sunlight filtered through the soot-stained grid of a skylight. One half-meter square of glass had been replaced with chip-board, a fat gray cable emerging there to dangle within a few centimeters of the floor. He lay on his side and watched her breathe, her breasts, the sweep of a flank defined with the functional elegance of a war plane’s fuselage. Her body was spare, neat, the muscles like a dancer’s.
“Hey, Molly.” He asked her. No response.
“Molly, you there? Earth to razorgirl!”
Case watched her closely. Judging by breathing pattern, she seemed awake, at least as far as one could tell without seeing her eyes, hidden behind the mirrored surface of her implanted lenses. Looking closely, one would notice her facial muscles strainging a slight bit around, here and there, as if she was rapidly shifting her eyes, watching something invisible. Was she dreaming after all? Or perhaps using the computer implanted in her brain, watching the display on her optic nerves – but what she was doing and why, one could only guess.
They sat there in silence for some time.
“Molly, are you’re oka–
– she yelled, rapidly sitting up. Case just lied there, peftrified.
“Genuine dicksucker! Yeah, sure, put five fucking shotgunners right behind the goddamn door, sure! Why not twenty?! You miserable little piece of –” At this point she was standing up, tearing at the pillow apart with her finger razors in a blind rage, rain of synthetic feathers dropping down on both of them like an early snowfall. She stopped as soon as she noticed Case staring at her in shock. “– uhhh, sorry, Case, you were saying something? I wasn’t paying attention.”
(Note: first paragraph is taken from Neuromancer by William Gibson. Rest is mine.)