The day after the crinkle-cut french fries incident, Dr. Medici is all business again. She is somewhere between the manic and depressive phases of her personality cycle...in other words, on a rare even keel.
“I’ve finished the doomsday device,” she says matter-of-factly, strolling into the lab in a white lab coat and black slacks. She holds an oversized coffee mug with both hands and blows the steam off its contents. “Let’s talk about deploying it.”
For the next two hours, she tells me her plan to hold America hostage with the doomsday device. I listen intently and take tons of notes, but my mind isn’t really on Dr. Medici’s plan.
Partly, I’m thinking about how beautiful she is, and how I would love to reach over and touch her face. I’m envisioning a perfect daydream world of whisp
