(This is only the second draft of the book Worthless. Expect typos, plot holes, odd subplots and the occassionally wrongly named character, especially minor characters. It is made public only to give people a rough idea of how the final story will look)

Chapter 1

The damp streets of Nakskov glistened softly with those last bits of early autumn rain still clinging to the pavement. The hum of school children from the multiple schools that lay shoulder to shoulder near the town train station was a droning sound, mixing with the hush of low afternoon traffic.
At the edge of the sidewalk, barely noticing the cars occassionally passing in the street, sat a small figure, poorly dyed black hair covering its face, eyes fixed on fingers.
"Hey, what's up, Ida?"
The small figure reacted with a casual glance as the young man scraped enthusiastically across a bit of sidewalk, coming to rest beside her.
"Hey, Mish," she replied, voice not showing any particular emotion one way or the other. Thoughts were weighing on her. Snapping out required a bit of effort.
Misha scooted a bit back and forth, trying to sit comfortably in a spot that really did not allow for that. He was clutching his school bag awkwardly as he did so, clearly looking with one eye inside of it for something, all while moving around.
"Sandwich?" he chirped, pulling out an obscenely shaped object wrapped in foil. Ida's eyes finally sprang to life. Misha's mom's sandwiches were legendary, as was her habit of packing more than needed.
"Thanks, I really ne..."
As she reached for the sandwich, Misha pulled it back. His eyes met hers, in a brief moment of faked seriousness.
"Want the thinly sliced ham, spill the beans," he commanded softly. Ida grumbled a bit.
"Hanky called  me a sand nigger," she growled, eyes picking a point on the passing road to fixate on.
Misha sighed. Then he stopped, his brain trying to unravel a point.
"But you're not Arab. Or African. Does African work with that?"
Ida made a low growl, complaining by sound about the situation.
"Wouldn't eskimo be better? Or is that not edgy enough for her? Is snow nigger a thing?"
He was pretending not to notice Ida staring at him in annoyance.
"Mish, I'm not looking for a smarter breed of racist," she said, in the friendliest tone she could muster.
"Anyway, she was just trying to show off to the new girl. I'm guessing she had..."
"Hold it," Misha interrupted, "what new girl? I never signed off in anything!"
Although trying desperately to glare at him, Ida cracked a small grin at the remark.
"Yeah, because that's how we..."
Then her head exploded.
Blue sparks continued to dance for a fraction of a second as bits of plastic and tiny metal parts filled the air like a chunky mist, hitting Misha in the face and even getting in his mouth. His eyes filled with a silent scream as they quickly scanned the now headless Ida, her body ending around the neck, delicate filaments and wires sticking out of the hole like party decorations.
"RUN!" I screamed, approaching him with rapid steps. But he barely even noticed.
"Run, dammit, run!"
He finally snapped out of it, pulling his eyes away from the twitching piece of headless machinery beside him and looking down the street at me as I came closer.
"Ida?" he asked in disbelief. I noticed his gaze briefly pass over my left hand as I flicked the small disruptor into my palm and pocketed it. Even I was surprised at the damage it had done to the fake body double. Misha, needless to say, was still even more surprised.
"Run. Now!" I yelled, now seconds from him. He pulled away from the sputtering machine and got to his feet, hitting running speed almost the instant I passed him. I still grabbed his hand, making sure he would keep pace. He did.
"What the... what was..."
"Not now," I interrupted, but I could feel the confusion slowing him down.
"You exploded!" he finally half-yelled, and I felt him starting to slow down badly.
"Not me," I hissed, sending his eyes a quick, intense glance. "A double."
"Why?" His speed picked up a bit at finally getting some answers, in spite of the new questions they clearly raised.
"They want to replace me," I snarled between quick breaths.
"Why?" he added again.
"I stole a time machine. Pissed them off a bit."
Misha slowed for a second, then picked up pace even more than before. I smiled as I continued to try to plot the best course in my head.
"You what a what?"