18437 / 20000 — perhaps not the wisest thing to say to your manager, no matter how close a friend he might be
“Ah, ah, ah.” Andy raised both of his hands. “My son isn’t ‘one of us’,” he said, making air quotes around the key phrase. “He’s capable of it, but I hope to God he never ends up like us. I hope to God.”
Violet furrowed her eyebrows, tugging at one of his rolled-up sleeves. “Andy…”
He was too wound up to listen. “Fuckin’ scrambling around, dealing with nasty alien shit all day, gettin’ beat up. Trying not to get killed.” His voice slowly rose in volume as what had been a simple objection blossomed into a rant. “What the hell kind of life is that? Blood, sweat and tears, all day every day. Fuckin’ miserable life, is what it is.”
