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Fin's Father

There in the dark sat a man.  He had a bushy grey beard and unkempt grey hair.  On top of his head (hiding his bald spot) was a worn hat reading “United States of America”.  It was a relic from a bygone time. The man's name was Zach.  He had a terminal condition; blood cancer.  He had less than 2 months to live.  Strangely enough, this didn't scare him but instead brought freedom to him.  He decided to choose his own exit from this world.

So much time he'd seen wasted in his 73 years.  So much history that was now being rewritten.  When did it all go wrong?  There really wasn't one specific cause; like many great tragedies, there were a lot of factors.  This “Republic of America” was a poor shadow of the “United States of America” he'd grown up in. It was the federalization, he supposed.  Sure, Lincoln forced a torn country back together; history taught that.  But maybe it should have been left to separate; perhaps it set a dangerous precedent.  Many years later it was Roosevelt that through many federal programs helped pull the country back up from its depression.  As time went on, more & more federal laws trumped state laws.  The inept federal government continually failed to balance the budget; more & more, the debt was owed to China.  They held the debt, and therefore, the purse strings, eventually.  When North Korea finally completely lost all sense, annexed part of the old Russia and tried to take a piece of its ally, China, China had to fight back.  It only made sense they would call on America.

Besides, as China shifted its manufacturing to wartime, the cheap products Americans had so grown accustomed to were suddenly not available.  It started tipping the American economy toward another depression.  The American government was happy to send troops to support China, and help divert part of its out-of-work populace to a war.  But never had a war been won with such a bittersweet victory.  No one would ever be born on the Korean peninsula ever again.

Those vets that came back did not come back to jobs.  An economic depression had set in during a war and stayed after its end.  This was unprecedented.  The federal government started forcing resources from the states that had done their due diligence and ran their part of the country correctly.  Succession suddenly became the new buzzword.  Through a rash of sudden terrorist acts and then state governments deploying troops to keep federal troops out, things hit a boiling point.  While Americans were pointing guns at Americans and all refusing to pull the triggers, behind the scenes federal agents took custody of “traitors”.  State governments fell.  Troops withdrew and went home.  The stock market closed. 

International trade stuttered, and for once, the federal government actually acted.  It was suddenly proclaimed that we were not the United States OF America, but that the United States ARE America. In the name of balancing budgets, state governments were replaced by the federal government.  Most of the actual employees kept their jobs and kept doing what they were doing; it was just the name on their paycheck changed.  All the state politicians were suddenly unemployed.  Not that anyone really missed them… And so, it was time for a Presidential Election.  One candidate promised to 'restore' the states' rights.  The other promised to 'streamline government, getting rid of waste and making sure all laws were equal'.  And that's how President Yamamoto won the election.

In the beginning, there were rumors that the first oriental president was a puppet for China.  Now that we're on our 4th straight oriental president, no one is even pretending that he isn't.  We still make believe we're a democracy, with our Legislative, Executive and Judicial branches.  But we're not.  The candidates are always picked; the outcome is always calculated ahead of time.

But now, thought Zach, he actually could make a difference.  The water treatment plant ahead of him was about to receive its delivery of Tranquility.  The timed-released dosage would quell the local population's rage and unrest.  This small city would become an example of how to tame the anti-government movement.  Or, at least, it would have.  One thing the government had been very good for, and that was teaching Zach how to kill.  And when you don't have to plan a way to get out alive, its amazing how much you can do.

Zach had the rifle sitting on a tripod. The small camera lens was mounted on top of its barrel; a cable went from it to a motor between the tripod and the rifle. Directly under the tripod on the floor was a box with a green light on. It sat on top of another larger box, which had a single wire going to it. The light with the green box was a small computer. It was 'underground tech'. Zach's transmitter was a fake tooth in his mouth. He was in an abandoned building. The rifle was facing a window, pointed toward the front gate of the water treatment plant. Zach walked out of the room, down the stairs and to his plumbing repair truck. He climbed into the back of the truck. It was filled with plumbing parts and tools. He pulled on the overalls that proclaimed him to be “Ed's plumbing”. The name badge said “Ed”. He went up to the steering wheel, started the van and drove out from behind the abandoned building to the street.

The government's dysfunction would work to his advantage.  The local state & city governments had been given small bits of power to placate them; part of that was destruction of buildings.  It would have made sense to secure any government structure by destroying abandoned buildings near them, but it was more friendly to make the high-rent district prettier.  So Zach was merely exploiting a weakness.
He drove up to the security gate and a guard met him.  A large rectangle light by the gate was red.  “Tag?”  asked the guard.  Zach's clock showed 1:28 am.  2 minutes early.  He'd have to stall.
“It's here somewhere,” said Zach, “I was kinda in a hurry, y'know.  Damn phone woke me up in the middle of the night and all that.  Always a fuckin' emergency with you gov'ment types.”
“What are you here to do?”
“Well, plumbing repair.  Can't you read the truck?”  The guard sighed.  He continued,
“They make me ask.  They monitor everything remotely, you know.  I'm just doing my job”
“I think that's what they said at Auschweitz.”
“What's that?”
“Oh, nevermind.  Here's the tag.”  The clock clicked to 1:30am.  The guard scanned the security card.  In a moment, a mechanical 'click' was heard, the light turned green and the gate started sliding open.  Zach said, “They watch everything, huh?”
“Yup.  But we still control the gate.”
“My question is, who watches the watchers?”
“The world ain't the same, old timer.  Its moved on.”  The gate finished opening and Zach drove through.
Zach drove by a couple lots full of vehicles built for specific purposes.  Construction equipment, mainly.  Everything was well lit.  Signs pointed to side roads for “Chlorine delivery”, “Charcoal delivery”, “Scrap removal”, “Pre-treatment Plant”.  Finally, Zach followed the sign stating “Final Treatment Plant”.  Then, “Service Only”.  He backed the van up to a dock, got out and opened the back doors.  He slung a tool pouch over his shoulder and picked up a toolbox.  He stood on the dock a moment and looked past the van.  In the distance he could see the outline of the town against the night sky.  “Well, I guess this is it.  ARM”.  Green lights under tripods of 3 different rifles clicked from green to red.  The rifles moved on their own, aimed, and waited.
Zach walked up to a door, opened it and went in.  It was a small corridor with a window in the middle and a door at the other end.  A black lady sat behind the window and asked, “Who are you and why you here?”
“Ed's plumbing.  Sensor failure on sprinkler #43.”  The lady worked at a computer.  She said, “I don't see nothing about a sprinkler failure”
“Not a sprinkler failure, a sensor failure on sprinkler #43.  Call was internally generated.  You know; these self-diagnosing systems.  Did you get the software update yesterday?”
“No one told me nothing about a software update.”
“Do they usually tell you anything until it happens?”
“Now, you know they don't.  They don't tell us nothing”
“That's right.  But they still expect us to obey now, don't they?”
“Yeah.  But I can't just let you through.”  Zach sat his toolbox down, opened it, and pulled out a donut.  He said, “You transferred in, didn't you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, there used to be this place called Bell's Bakery.  Made the best donuts.  Just like this one here.”  Zach placed it in the window drawer.  She slid the drawer in.  She said, “You think you can bribe me with a DONUT?”
“Yes, I do.”  She picked it up and sniffed it.  She said, “Oh my god.  That's real sugar glaze.”
“Authentic.  Unprocessed.”  She reached over and hit a button; the door at the other end of the corridor popped open.  She said, “Darling, I didn't even see you tonight.  You go right on ahead”
Zach picked up his toolbox and walked through the door.  It was a small room with another door.  A screen came on and stated “Scanning for explosive powder”.  In another moment, the screen said “Clear.  You may proceed”, and the last door clicked open.
Zach stepped out into a hallway.  He walked down the hallway to a door marked “Lab”.  He opened it and stepped inside.  Three men were in the room wearing white labcoats, all sitting at computers.  They turned and looked at him as he sat down his tool pouch and tool box.  One said, “Are you lost, old man?”  Zach opened his toolbox and pulled out a long flat head screwdriver.  As he turned holding it, he said,
“No, I don't think so.”  With a fast movement Zach thrust the screwdriver straight up behind the man's chin.  His eyes bulged as his body started to squirm.  The other two men jumped out of their chairs, one reaching for a red button on the wall.  Zach's other hand blurred as a small screwdriver flew out of it and pierced the man's hand, pinning it to the wall right by the button.  The third man approached Zach as he tugged the screwdriver out of the man's skull who fell to the ground.  The third man swung a knifestick at Zach but was knocked out of his hand by a large adjustable wrench.  Zach swung the large bloody screwdriver in an arch at the man's midsection, but the man moved back enough that only his white labcoat was cut.  The other was pulling the screwdriver out of his hand and hadn't hit the alarm button yet.  The one with the ripped labcoat had taken a few steps back.  Zach said to him, “If you'd been doing your damn job, you'd have answered the door.  I wouldn't have this mess right now.  Don't you know shit about security protocal?”  The one with the ripped labcoat grabbed a stun gun off the table and aimed it at Zach.  Zach stood arms wide and took a step toward the man.  The man pulled the trigger and two darts shot out, hitting Zach in the chest.  Zach said, “So fucking predictable”  As the man stood stunned, Zach clubbed him in the head with the adjustable wrench.  He went down.  Then, the alarm went off.
Zach turned and looked at the lab tech who's non-bloodied hand was on the button.  The tech stared at him, eyes wide.  Zach grinned.  The lab tech pleaded, “Don't kill me”.  Zach ripped open his shirt, revealing a thick pad with the 2 darts stuck in it.  Zach said, “It's your lucky day, boy!”  He peeled the pad off his chest, rolled it and when he did, 2 metal contacts on it touched.  He threw it at the lab tech, and as it flew, multiple strands came out of it.  The strands and the pad hit him, and he twitched with electrical shock.
Zach turned to a row of compressed tanks hooked up on a wall.  One was about 2 feet long.  He quickly unhooked it and worked with his tools and pouch.  Within moments, he stood up, tank strapped to his back with what had been his tool pouch.  A line ran over his shoulder from the tank to what appeared to be socket extensions with the firing mechanism a ratchet from where the end of it the line hooked to.  Just a few inches down from where the 'ratchet' hooked to the 'extensions' was a clear container of screwdriver bits.  He turned toward the man on the floor he'd hit with the adjustable wrench.  He was starting to get up.  He aimed and a hole appeared in the man's forehead as the tile floor behind his head cracked.  He stopped moving.
Outside, at the main gate, multiple military trucks rumbled up.  The three tripod-mounted rifles fired, taking out the 3 guards with a single shot to the head of each one just as the first truck came to a stop.  Smoke and fire came up from the box on the floor under each

tripod. Soon, the entire rifle & tripod started melting. The reactive military quickly took positions trying to find where the shots came from. Without the guards, no one on the inside could open the gate.

Zach walked the hallway.  It was 1:30am; there were little staff here.  A guard popped around a corner and was met with 2 screw bits.  The screw bits shattered the wall as the guard fell.  Zach took a left and walked out into a warehouse-type open area.  There, he could see a tank labeled “Tranquil v2”.  2 pipes came out of it, each with a valve.  One hooked to a line, the other went to the floor near a drain.  Both valves were still closed.  He walked up to the one pointed at the drain and opened the valve.  The slightly green liquid flowed out.  He turned as a main door opened.  He fired as 2 shots hit on each side of him.  The men at the door retreated as he leaned against the tank by the open valve.  The fluid drained onto the floor into the floor drain.  He had no cover.  Something ripped through his left leg.  He staggered.  Men ran in; he shot as they shot.  Bright lights gleamed at him distorting his vision.  Men fell as he squeezed the trigger.  His right shoulder was hit.  Then, his ammo ran out.  He kept the trigger squeezed as someone yelled “HOLD YOUR FIRE!  HE'S OUT!”.
A man walked up to Zach as he sat leaning against the tank, the last bit dribbling out of the valve.  The man, in full military gear, asked him,
“What the fuck was this all for, old man?”  Zach kept the trigger held with his left hand but let the 'gun' fall.  Zach reached with his right hand into a shirt pocket and fished out a cigarette.  He placed it into his mouth, shaking as he bled.  Zach answered, “It was for freedom, ya dip shit.”
“And just how the hell did you expect to get out of this?”
“Gimme a light, would ya, kid?”  The man produced a lighter and lit his cigarette.  Zach took a full draw, and said, “My exit is already planned, kid.”
The tank on Zach's back said 'Oxygen, compressed.”  Zach still held the trigger open with his left hand.  He knocked the cherry off the cigarette which fell toward the trigger.
The explosion was beautiful.

First Release

Four people stood in the room, watching a 4-foot tall video screen.  One man was Senator Dominus, wearing a simple black suit.  He had a grey goatee along with perfectly sculpted grey hair.  His chest and shoulders were broad, and he stood 6 feet 4 inches tall.  He considered himself the epitome of the Southern Gentleman.  To his immediate left was a man wearing a lab coat.  His name was Dr. Mulvin.  He was tall but not as tall as the senator.  His face was thin; his fingers long.  His black hair looked like it needed combed.  The coat hung slack on him as if it was too big for his frame.  He always hated being in the presence of these non-intellects.  To the Senator Dominus' right was a young man in a blazer with a simple white tee shirt, khaki pants and loafers.  This was Senator Narcy.  He looked to be in his 20s.  His hair was blonde, his eyes blue.  He was the same height as the Senator Dominus but less than half his age.  He calculated his wardrobe; his appearance.  He considered it a very important tool to help him get what he deserved.  These old men really needed to realize that their time was ending and that his was beginning.  The fourth man, farthest to the senator's right was a man in military dress uniform.  This was General Rawmong.  His oriental eyes looked small and beady above large, round cheeks. It was difficult to tell where his chin stopped and his neck started.  He was the shortest of the group by several inches.  He knew that many considered him a “yes-man”, but that was okay; it was exactly what he wanted them to think.  They had no idea how many strings he held.
The monitor showed a mob gathered in front of a government building.  At the bottom of the wide stairs were two rows of policemen in riot gear.  At the top of the stairs were a row of men in grey uniforms wearing helmets.  They were Constables.  They each held a weapon similar to a shotgun, but the end of the barrel had a canister on it.  Tall columns rose up behind them and in the center above the columns were the words “City Hall”.  Directly under those words hanging down was a metal sign with the words “Of the Republic of America”. 
“How about J-8?”, said Senator Dominus.  The General spoke into his hand mic and said, “J-8”.  One of the Constables shot his weapon and a canister landed in a section of the crowd.  Yellow dust came up, obscuring that section.  The rest of the crowd continued yelling and pushing.  Soon, the yellow dust faded out and the section of the crowd that had been hit were standing still, slightly swaying.  Their arms were down; they were no longer pushing or yelling.  Senator Dominus said, “Well, Dr. Mulvin, it does indeed look like Tranquility works.  General Rawmong, shoot another.”
“Senator,” said Dr. Mulvin, “the test is confirmed.  We should now do more testing in a more controlled environment-”
“I said, Shoot ANOTHER!”, boomed Senator Dominus.  The General spoke into his hand mic again and said, “F-4”.  Dr. Mulvin's eyes opened wide and he said, “No!  Not at the front!”
Another Constable shot his weapon at a section of the mob directly in front of the riot police.  The yellow dust billowed up again, obscuring the view of the group and even of a few of the policemen.  As the dust dissapated, the section only stood and swayed.  Some at the edge of the group held their heads.  3 officers also stood and swayed.  Senator Narcy said, “Those officers – weren't they supplied with filters?”
“Not in the budget,” answered Senator Dominus.
A young man with long black hair at the edge of the affected group was holding his head.  He grabbed the shoulder of the young lady in front of him and shook her.  She didn't react.  He moved around her and stood face to face, talking and shaking her.  She didn't speak or move.
The General spoke into his hand mic and said, “Officer F-10, respond.”  A steady voice answered, 
“Yes, sir”
“How do you feel, officer?”  Dr. Mulvin said, “He's not likely to answer a complex question.  Didn't you read my report?”
“Your report?” said Senator Dominus, “I didn't take time to read that long, boring thing.”
“I read it,” said Senator Narcy.  “General, I believe you'll find he'll answer simple yes or no questions, but mainly just do whatever you command him to do.”
“I had that already,” said the General.  
“No, General,” said Senator Darcy, “I mean literally ANYthing you ask him to do.”
“Really?”, said the General.  He then spoke into his hand and said, “Officer F-10, draw your weapon and place the barrel of it in your mouth.”  The officer drew his weapon with his left hand and put the barrel of the pistol in his mouth.  Senator Narcy's eyes widened as he stared at the General.  The General looked at him and said, “What?  I just wanted to prove your point.  Officer F-10, holster your weapon.”  The officer did.  Senator Dominus said,
“Incredible!  Dr. Mulvin, your Tranquility drug looks like it may be worth it after all.  General, take them all out.”
“Constables, target all remaining quadrants.”  Dr. Mulvin opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it without saying a word.  A barrage of canisters flew into the crowd as the yellow dust began to cover the entire mob.  The General then said to his mic “Sanitation, please.  Sanitation, bring in the People Movers.” 
The young man with black hair was working his way through the group of affected people, trying to get a reaction out of any of them and failing every time.  “Interesting,” said Dr. Mulvin, “It looks like we have someone trying to figure out exactly what's going on.”  The senators turned their attention to the screen as Dr. Mulvin continued, “He missed the dust, since he moved between the barrages.”  Everyone in the mob, as the dust disapated, could be seen gently swaying.  The police officers were acting the same way.  Fists that were raised were now open and hanging limply at people's sides.  The officers were now holding their shields down low and were no longer crouched behind them.  The young man with black hair made it to them.  He started pushing his way through; they didn't stop him.  	“General!”, said Dr. Mulvin. 
“Constables!” said the General into his hand mic, “Restrain that man!”  A group of Constables descended the stairs, surrounded and held the man with his arms behind his back.  As he fought back, one jabbed him in the gut with a knifestick and another punched him in the face.  Senator Dominus said,
“General. . .  Have one of our men give him a shot.”
“Senator!”, said Dr. Mulvin, “We shouldn't use a direct injection without-”
“Mulvin, you're not in charge here.”
“Give him a shot”, said the General to his hand mic.  One of the Constables pulled out a shringe and stuck it in the man's neck.  The man's nose was bleeding from the punch to the face.  He grimaced from the shot.  Dr. Mulvin said, “We need more testing on the direct injection.  It operates differently.”
“Well,” said Senator Dominus, “Here's your test subject.”  The General appeared to be listening to an earpiece, and then said into his hand mic, “Alright.  Let him go.”  The Constables let the young man go.  He stood still, dazed.  “Tell him to go back to his group”, said the General.  One of the Constables pointed and the young man turned.  He began walking back to his group, dazed and dragging his feet.
Bright green garbage trucks came up to the outer edge of the crowd.  Their dumpster arms came forward, holding something similar to a dumpster with its front opened.  They began scooping people into them, leaning them backward so the crowd inside had to lean away from the opening in the front.  The trucks would move the open dumpster to the top of the truck and then the bottom would hinge open, sliding the people down into the back of the truck.  Each truck did this several times before leaving, letting another truck come up to take its place.  The mob was starting to get smaller.  Dr. Mulvin said, “The affects will wear off in 30 to 60 minutes.”  The black hair of the young man could be seen entering his crowd.  Dr. Mulvin was watching closely, along with the General.  Senator Narcy said to Senator Dominus, “They won't remember what happened.  As a matter of fact, several minutes before they had contact with Tranquility will also be erased from their memory.”
“Incredible,” said Senator Dominus as he smiled.
“Peaceful”, said Senator Narcy.
“Wait,” said Dr. Mulvin, “Where'd he go?”
“Where did who go?”, asked Senator Dominus.
“The subject.  He was right there a moment ago, and then he disappeared in the crowd.”
“I'm sure you just lost track of him,” said Senator Narcy.
“No,” said the General, “His head suddenly dropped down.  It appears he fell.”  
The group began to part.  In the middle was the young black-haired man, pushing people away.  He started throwing punches at people.  They didn't react.
“What's he doing?” asked Senator Dominus.  Quietly to himself, Dr. Mulvin said “The Apophis Strain”.  Then, the young black-haired man ran up to one of the policemen.  He grabbed his shield and ripped it out of his hands.  The General said into his mic, “Officer F-10!”  The young man grabbed the officer.
“Ye-”, and then silence as the man's head jerked and a reddish grey spray flew out of the back of it.  He shot another officer on each side and then turned toward the crowd.  As he shot into the crowd, some jerked and others simply fell.  No one dodged or reacted.  Then people stopped jerking and falling; the young man threw down the gun and turned around.  He ran toward the Constables as they started running toward him.  
“CONSTABLES”, yelled the General, “SUBDUE that man!”  
“Bring in the CSR Chopper!”, said Dr. Mulvin into his own hand mic.
“Holy Shit!”, said Senator Narcy.  Senator Dominus said, “Kill that-”
“NO!”, yelled Dr. Mulvin, “By the powers of CDC Section 8 paragraph 7, I hereby take possession of the subject!”
“You can't do that!”, said Senator Dominus.
“Actually,” said the General, “He can.  Senator Dominus, you already stated that the man in question was a test subject.  He's now under Dr. Mulvin's jurisdiction.”
“Wait!”, said Senator Narcy, “What are we going to do about the wounded?”
“I want one of them, too” said Dr. Mulvin, “Which you'll find I have authority in the same paragraph of the CDC Code.”
“Why do you want-”, asked Senator Dominus, to which Dr. Mulvin gave a smirk, and Senator Dominus continued, “Oh.  For testing.  Of course.  Always for testing.  Fine.  Go ahead, Dr. Mulvin.  You've earned it.  This shit works great in airborne form.  Find out what the fuck went wrong when it was used as an injection.”
“But what about the other wounded?” asked Senator Narcy.
“Collateral damage,” said Senator Dominus.  A black helicopter came in over the crowd and hovered over the policemen.  The General spoke in his mic and said, “Constables, load up the Test Subject, and one of the other wounded into the cage.”  A cage started lowering out of the copter.  The Constables did as ordered.  Dr. Mulvin said,
“Not 'too wounded', General.”  The General cut his eyes at Dr. Mulvin and then said, “The Doctor said make sure the wounded one isn't 'too wounded'.”

Nathan Norton

Nathan was 17.  He was blessed, but unlike most his age, he knew it.  Nathan was black; that partial milk-chocolate colored black.  He was intelligent and athletic.  Therefore, he was somewhat popular.  He walked in the school parking lot and as he approached a blue sleek sporty car, its lights blinked.  He walked up to the side of it and the driver's door popped open.  He got in, shut the door and when it slammed, it was followed by another slam.
Nathan looked up; it was Brent.  Nathan hit a button and the window went down as the 2 young men looked at one another.  With a smile, Nathan said, “Brent. . . what do you want?”
“Bet you a k I get Jill to go to the game with me.”
“Jill?  Jill Norm?  No way.”
“Then its a bet?”
“C'mon, Brent.  You'll both be there and you'll claim that means she showed up with you.  I need more than that.”  Brent held his hands up in exasperation, and said,
“I wouldn't swindle you-”
“Bullshit.  You swindled Mike”  Suddenly Brent's face went serious and he pointed at Nathan, saying “THAT was a misunderstanding.”
“No bet, Brent.”
“Bet you I'll kiss her at the game.”  Nathan's eyes narrowed, and he replied,
“Well. . . What if SHE kisses YOU?”
“What's the difference?”
“BIG difference”
“Fine.  I'll get her to kiss me.”
“With me present to see it.”
“Sure.  But that's worth 2 k”
“One and a half.”  Brent put out his hand and said,
“Deal.”  Nathan shook it, and said, “See you tomorrow night.”
“You damn straight you will!”  Brent walked off, and Nathan rolled the window up.  He then said, “Blue Baby, take me home.”  A feminine voice in the car responded, “Taking you home, Nathan.”  The car's dash lit up and it pulled out of the parking space.  There was a steering wheel in front of Nathan, but it was recessed into the dash.  A screen lit up on the dash, and the words “Autonomous Capable Vehicle” displayed, with the “A”, “C” & “V” separating out of the words, getting large and filling the screen.  Nathan ignored the windshield and said, “Blue Baby, Smart Net, Hack Man, Chameleon”  The screen blinked with each phrase showing a different menu until it displayed a lizard.  A deep male voice stated “All monitoring will show you watching the game, as you instructed.  Accessing John Norton files.  John Norton copied.  Accessing John Norton present activities.  Playing golf, off network.  John Norton identity available.  Do you wish to continue?”
“Yes.  Bravo Echo Stainless Football.”
“Authorization verified.  You are now your father, John Norton.  Instructions?”
“Enter Lazarus Meeting.”
“Please wait.”  The car pulled onto a freeway on-ramp; a sign said “ACVs Only”.  Traffic on the freeway was busy.  Cars were spaced about 20 feet apart, moving 80 mph.  Nathan's car accelerated rapidly up the ramp.  There was one open space between cars; it moved up the ramp and slid into the open space, joining the line of cars, all going the same speed, all spaced identically apart.  Everyone in the cars were watching their screens.  A different voice came over the speakers; a friendlier female voice, which said, “Welcome, John Norton”.  The screen changed to that of seating in a crowd watching a lecture.  There were people in the seats around him.  To his front right a lady with her back to him reached to her right.  Had she been physically present, she would have poked the man beside her in his side.  Instead, her hand disappeared and came back holding a glass which she took a drink of.  The lecturer continued:
“. . .  And then, of course, there was the Revolution.  The Five Families attempted to control the worker class, but even they disagreed on the proper method.  And so it came to pass that 2 of the Familes were sacrificed for the greater good.  It was deemed necessary to appease the revolution.  The many leaders of the revolution had gained a lot of information on the 2 Families and it was the only way to prevent wide-scale civil war.  The Republic of China assisted with the sacrifice and, as part of the bargain, the new government was formed with their government's help.  Our new government, the Republic of America, worked diligently to streamline expenses.  More people from the previous government were sacrificed to the public, all organized so that the country could start back up believing it had a “clean slate”.  The remaining 3 Families consolidated their power and absorbed that power the 2 sacrificed Families had previously.  But, we all know that story.  All of us in the Upper Classes, that is.
“The question now, as has always been, is how to prevent a revolution from happening again.  There are those philosophers among us that say 'Oppression Breeds Unity'.  The key, of course, is to keep those oppressed from knowing they're oppressed.  It is true that the lower classes outnumber us over a thousand to one.  Recently, as you all know, there has been scenarios showing the likelihood of another Revolution very high.  That is, unless we take action.  The Three Families will protect us; we must trust in them and be ready to do what they ask of us.  They are the only reason we live the lives we do.  Our children go to the safest, best schools; our homes are all in gated, secure neighborhoods and all our foods are kept separate from the common stock.  You will be pleased to know that the Three Families have been working on a safe method to control rioting.  The new agent is airborne, trusted only to the Constables, and has already proven itself effective.  Observe the following video of a riot controlled in part of Detroit.”
The screen changed and showed a crowd gathered in front of a City Hall.  Police stood at the front, holding the throng of people back while farther up the stairs stood a line of people in obviously better gear, wearing helmets and armor.  The video showed the Constables shooting canisters into the crowd, and then the exposed section of the crowd calmed down.  They calmed to the point of simply standing and slightly swaying.  The video snapped to show garbage-like trucks arriving at the edge of the stunned crowd and scooping up the people 20 at a time.  The narrator said, “The participants of the riot were treated with the Tranquility drug in gaseous state.  The drug calmed them and rendered them temporarily open to suggestion.  The crowd was then transported with the trucks and dispatched to the government's private rail station.  Each individual was instructed to ride the subway, and they would awaken later, with no memory of being treated with the drug or of the 2 to 4 hours previous to the treatment.  This new method was developed and tested with the help of the Lotham ruling family.”  The video cut off showing the people waking up as they rode the subway.  The scene went back to the Lecturer.
“As you see, the Lotham family has provided us with a new method to help control the masses.  Testing is still ongoing; the Sterling and Chin families are developing similar methods.  There is no need to worry about your family's safety.  The 3 Families will keep another revolution from happening.  The decline in the stock markets from the conservation of spending is no longer necessary.  You can continue to spend as you always have.  America will stay safe.  But only if you don't let the ignorance of the lower classes scare you.  I, for one, am looking forward to my yearly purchase of a new Chrysler-”  The deep male voice of Chameleon cut in, saying
“Destination Near.  Switching to game viewing.”  The screen switched to viewing a football game, with a different narrator explaining offensive plays, showing them on the screen.  Nathan said, “Chameleon, sayonara.”  Nathan looked out the windshield, seeing the gate for his neighborhood ahead.  His car stopped beside a screen, he lowered down his window and said, “Nathan Norton.”  The gate raised and the car continued into a neighborhood with large lawns and large homes.  To himself, Nathan said, “My God.  They're gassing the workers.  They really think that's more than a stop gap?  Maybe one of the other 2 Families will come up with something better.  And if it wasn't for my computer skills, I never would have known.  I'll get one of my agents working on it later tonight.  Maybe Scott; I think he has connections.”  Nathan's car pulled into a driveway of a large house with a man tending the flower beds.  A girl ran up to his car with his same complexion.  She said, “Well, big brother?  Did he take the bait?”
“Yeah, he did.  Brent took the bait alright.  Tomorrow night we get a little spending money.”

The Infiltrators

He held on to the rod above his head, here in the subway car, crammed with people.  His name was Carlson.  At least, it was here.  His mid-western accent was perfect.  Not an ounce of the Londoner he was came out.  All his credentials were perfect.  It would be impossible to prove that he hadn't been born in Indiana.  Of course, if his computer was ever opened up by someone competent and they recognized the Swedish origin, that alone would get him arrested.  The circuit boards themselves were of a specially made substance that would ignite under the correct circumstances.  Once one part ignited, the immense heat would cause the rest to ignite.  Only the proper sequence of keystrokes several times would allow the cover to be taken off without that occuring.  The cover lock mechanism was German.
Carlson had been here over 10 years now.  All the old vids about 'being a spy' were glamorous; nothing like the life he led here in the Chicago area.  He admitted to himself that originally, he wasn't as committed to the cause as he'd led MI-8 to believe, but after only a few years immersed in the culture, there was no way he could be more committed.
The American people were good people, by in large.  They'd allowed their government to be taken over by power-hungry corporations.  What had been a 'free society' had degraded into a society of part-time slave labor.  Not that many worked part-time.  60 hours a week was the norm.  Despots through history had learned that a society where everyone is busy working doesn't have time to revolt.  The subway slowed and stopped; it was time to get off.
This was the better part of town.  Carlson's position afforded him above average conditions.  At least, above average here.  Being an IT guy was far better than data entry.  It gave him access to information the public didn't know.  Unfortunately, people didn't label their files things like “Evil Plan #37”.  Carlson stopped walking for a moment and pulled his phone out of his pocket.  It had vibrated.  Looking at the screen, it appeared he had a new email.  Nine times out of ten it was something unimportant and boring.  This one was an ad for male body sculpting.  The newest junk mail.  He looked at it anyway and started noticing key phrases:  “Send the women the message-” was the first.  Surely a coincidence.  Reading farther, he saw “=the foxes will run-”.
Carlson gave a small gasp.  Had to check again; had to verify.  Sure enough, the key phrases were there.  He looked up at the people on the sidewalk.  He faked a sneeze, pulled out a hankerchief and dropped it.  Picking it up, he glanced behind him.  Nothing of danger stood out.  He put the phone back in his pocket and continued on his way.  The same way he always did.
When he got to his door, it was locked, as it should be.  When he went inside his apartment, it was empty, except for his cat, as it should be.  He walked to his computer and brought up the news.  A few keystrokes later, a message covered his screen; the word “Secure”.  At least now he was ready.  He warmed up a TV dinner as his cat rubbed against his ankles.  When his dinner was done, he gave the cat her can of food.  Then, the doorbell rang.  His heart pounded in his ears.  He walked up to his door and turned on the screen beside it.  A man in his mid twenties stood outside the door.  He asked, “Yes?”
“I'm here about the painting.”  Carlson had a for-sale ad for a painting listed.  It was an excuse for strangers to drop by.  Could actually be about the painting, in truth.  Carlson unlocked the door and opened it.  The young man walked in and Carlson closed the door.  Carlson said, “Nice weather.”
“Nicer than Wales.”  Carlson smiled and locked the door.  Carlson said,
“This place is clean.  Who are you?  What do you want?”
“My name is Scott.  From France, originally.  Undercover reporter.”
“Must be connected if you found me.”
“You could say that.  I'm working on something; something really big.  And I need your help.”
“What's your source?”
“She calls herself Clarice.  Never met in person; strictly coded communication.”
“Relationship?”
“I've been working with her nearly 2 years now.  She's an insider; a member of the Upper Class.  She used her position to learn some real history, and it opened her eyes.  She's given me valuable information time & time again; things that only the Upper Class people are allowed to know.”
“So, you consider her trustworthy, then?”
“Yes.  I even set myself up in a trap a couple times.  She didn't grab me the first time, and several months later, she even noticed that I was in a position that would be a trap if she wasn't genuine.”
“What do you think of her actual identity?”
“Wife or grown daughter of someone under the Lotham Family.  Likely healthcare.”
“Makes sense.  Quite often those of healthcare are more likely to be sympathetic to the Lower Class.  A holdover from what they used to call 'The Hippocratic Oath'.  So, you say it's something big?”
“As we all know, the Three Families have been working on methods to keep the populace in control ever since the Revolution.  News and Media go a long ways, but this has to do with something more immediate.  It's connected to the medical field, which makes sense that my contact would have some knowledge of it.”
“I hope you didn't go to all this trouble to tell me about the failed drinking water trial.  That was 20 years ago.”
“No, no; not that.  Zach Retter's Last Stand, as I've heard the story called.  The man that stopped the trial.  I'm far more in the know than that.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“This is something airborne.  Can be delivered to a crowd and turn them instantly docile.  The water-bourne system was to make the populace a little more easily malleable.  This turns them instantly docile and completely ready to follow any command.”
“Still sounds like it may have the same source.  Or the same people.  What is it you want me to do?”  The visitor handed Carlson a USB thumb drive, and said,
“There's video footage on here of the actual incident; where they tested it in Detroit.  I need you to leak it onto the Underground.”
“That I can do.  If its as amazing as you say, it'll spread like wildfire.”
“Exactly!  The populace will find out about it, and maybe they can get prepared somehow.  If it becomes known enough, it may cause them to scrap their plans.”  Carlson held the thumb drive up and said,
“You realize this could be just the thing that tips them to another revolution?”
“And isn't that exactly what our European partners want?  To get this country free again; to open up the financial markets and immigration?”
“Yes, it is.  It's a shame that another revolution may be the only way to save this country that was once considered a savior to the world.  That now, much of the world has to work to save it.”
“Quite a shame, yes.  But we know the only way to topple the Three Families is from inside this country.  Militarily, they rule the world.  Like Constantinople, we can't take them by assault.  Infiltration is the only way; to open their people's eyes.”
“I'll get it on the Underground tonight.  It'll take some manipulation of the video feed to change the angles and such; to make sure your source is safe.  I've got to make it different enough from the original to make it look like it's the same event, but from a different perspective.”
“Which is why I brought it to you.  You're the only one with that expertise.”
“Yes, I am.  I will do my best.  Maybe, someday, you'll get to see Paris again.”
“And maybe you'll get to see London again.  Goodnight.”
“Wait- I have an ugly painting you must take with you.”
“Dammit.  I'm French; I don't want second-rate art.”
“I know.  But look at it this way; it will seal any doubts about you.”

Finn

Finn Retter was 28 and happily married.
Well, happily engaged.  Deb was a great gal, but he hated how little they got to see one another.  Life didn't always seem happy.  Ten hour work days, 6 days a week didn't leave a lot of time for life.  Being a forklift driver meant you could always find work, but you knew you weren't ever going to get rich doing it.
But what was 'rich', anyway?  To Finn and his friends, 'rich' meant not keeping track of how much the food at the grocery store cost.  AND being able to afford the healthy food, too.  It also meant being able to eat at a restaurant regularly; the kind of restaurant that didn't sell food in a bag.  He was a little kid when “the Revolution” happened, so he didn't remember much about it.  People 35 and over would talk some about it; the chaos that happened with the military in the streets instead of out in the world.  It was before the Constables; the untouchable domestic military that was seen nowadays on rare occasion.  The Constables were trained specifically in domestic combat.  They were faceless, and therefore, above the law.  He'd known one guy in high school that had became a Constable.  He'd been a bully, and his family was 'connected', so it made sense.
People in their 40s and older would reminisce quietly, in private about the days before The Republic.  Speaking about such things loudly and publicly was considered treasonous.  You would think that in any conflict there was at least 2 sides, and therefore, the side that won would love to talk about it.  Apparently the side that won was the Upper Class, but they didn't talk about it, either.  “Divisive Hate Speech” it would be called, at best.
People in their 60s and older would talk about a time when 'old people' didn't have to work; that they received money from the government and medical care to take care of them in their old age.  It had been called “Socialist Security”, or something like that.  Many said that the drain they had on society had been what had led to the economic & political collapse that became The Revolution.  They would also say things like “Middle Class”, which didn't make much sense to Finn and his generation.  Everyone knew the lucky ones were born into the Upper Class, given the government's permission for birth, and they were smarter, better educated, and worthy of the higher end jobs.
Finn's dad died when he was very young; not long after The Revolution.  He remembered being separated from his mother by The Constables and being placed in another family.  Shortly after that he'd been told that his mother had committed suicide.  No funeral; no explanation.  Just a marker on a wall.
Finn was different, though.  He was musically inclined.  He couldn't help it.  All sorts of things could be turned into a drum set.  His skill had landed him into a few different circles through the years, the latest one being in a band called “The Metal Devils”.  He had a great time practicing every week and they'd gotten quite popular.  It had gotten to the point that bars and clubs would sign them for a show knowing they would draw a crowd.  They actually had a crowd; a following.  It felt really good.  Even if he was “just the drummer”.  The lead singer was a little full of himself, and at 28, he was 'the old one' in the group; the only one married.
Finn sat in his apartment on a tattered couch.  He rolled a joint and looked up at the TV on the wall when the newsman broke into the show.  The screen showed the mob in front of City Hall.  The newsman said:  “We have an update on the chaos downtown Detroit.  A mob of anti-government protestors stormed City Hall.  As the police were trying to contain the chaos, a lone gunman attacked the crowd.”  The scene then showed a short clip of the young man shooting.  “Luckily, our brave Constables were able to subdue him.  The attack caused the crowd to disperse, but not without injuries.”  It then showed a lady sitting in a hospital bed.  She had long neat hair and was attractive.  She said, “I don't know what I was doing down there.  I guess I just got caught up in the propaganda.  And then, that evil man started shooting at us.  If it wasn't for our brave Constables, I'd be dead!  Thank Goodness we have the Constable Security Force!”
“What a load of horse shit,” said Finn.  His door opened and a tall man with a black beard came in.  Finn looked at him and said, “Jimmy!  Have you heard what happened in Detroit?”
Jimmy stood by the TV and looked at Finn.  “Oh, yeah.  I heard.  But wait till you see what I found on the Deep Web.”  Jimmy took a memory stick out of his pocket and plugged it into the TV.  He said, “There was one guy in the crowd with a personal recorder going.  You're not going to believe this shit!”
After Finn watched the gas, the zombie-like state of the mob, and the people being gathered up, he said, “This is some real serious shit, you know.  Gassing the public; making them forget.”
“Yeah,” said Jimmy, “And it gives me a great idea for a song.  We're on for tomorrow night, right?”
“Always, dude.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Human Resources Dept.

The double doors smoothly and quickly opened at the end of the hall.  Two Constables without helmets marched with rifles slung and held at the ready marched in front.  Following them was a gurney, its occupant covered with a sheet, with a man wearing a lab coat pushing.  He was young and the lab coat's shoulders bulged.  Following him was another man, slight of build and greying.  His embroidered coat said “Dr. Hughes”.  A patch on the other chest pocket said “Human Resources”.

He held a computer and some papers. Behind him followed 2 more guards, like the first 2.

They stopped at a receptionist window by 2 other doors.  The guards and the young man ignored the receptionist as Dr. Hughes went up to it.  The man behind the window said, “Can I help you?”
“Dr. Hughes, Human Resources, Acquisitions.  Here to transfer an asset to Dr. Mulvin.”  The man behind the window picked up a phone and said, “Dr. Mulvin, receiving.  Dr. Hughes is here.”  He hung up the phone and said, “He'll be right down.”
Within a few minutes, Dr. Mulvin came through the double doors with a young strong man in tow.  He nodded and said, “Dr. Hughes.  Jacobs here will take possession of the asset.  What's with the guards?”
“High priority,” said Dr. Hughes, and handed Dr. Mulvin a clipboard with paper on it.  Dr. Mulvin frowned as he read it, and then into the second page, perked up.  One eyebrow raised as he regarded Dr. Hughes and asked, “No information extraction?  Is that correct?”
“It is.  We already have all we need.  Pay special heed to the “non-marking” clause.  Special Operations will pick him up at 2am tomorrow.”
“So, I have him for 16 hours, to do with as I wish?  Provided he's not physically marked?”
“Exactly.  Special Ops will pick him up with one dosage of Tranquility for their use.  It would be wise to test it on him first.”
“Of course.”  He signed the papers and as he was doing so, said, “Jacobs, take him to Exam 12.”  He handed the papers back to Dr. Hughes, who then asked, “Do you mind if I look at your file for recent arrivals?”
“Of course not.”  Dr. Hughes, talking to the guards, said, “Men, you're dismissed.”  Dr. Hughes & Dr. Mulvin walked leisurely down the hall.  Jacobs had disappeared with the gurney; Dr. Hughes' guard marched back the way they'd came and his helper quietly followed the 2 doctors.  Dr. Hughes said to Dr. Mulvin, “It's thrilling to see the progress you've had with Tranquility.”
“Yes, it is.  It took a lot of work to refine it from its raw state.”
“The Apophis Strain.”
“Yes.”
“Apparently it has a lot of violent, unpredictable tendencies.”
“Definitely.  Thoroughly alters the brain chemistry beyond repair.”
“Didn't you try a water-bourne variety first?”  Dr. Mulvin sighed and said,
“Yes.  It had very limited success.  'Water' is such a vague term.  Not all municipalities treat it the same.  Different levels of different treatments counter-reacted with it.  Made it useless, more often than not.”
“I thought when we spoke at the conference in the spring you were leaning toward an injectable version.”
“I was.  It would be much more controllable, once refined.  I was, however, overruled.  The Lotham Family wanted it airbourne, so it could be dispersed quickly into a crowd.”
“Is that version working as good as is being told?”
“No.  A small percentage is immune.  However, we've been able to tap into that immunity and we're working on developing an antidote.”
“Frankly, I liked your approach better.  More personal.  To control a specific individual is much easier to deal with; so much easier to clean up.”
“Yes; I heard you're working with the 'Reputation Adjustment' department?”
“On specific jobs.  Take this one, for example, that you've just taken.  Congressman Withers had made himself an expensive nuisance.  The Reputation Adjustment Department has worked long and hard to get things set up just right.  After you're done with him, Special Ops will transfer him to a pre-determined location.  A lot of evidence has been planted.  Congressman Withers won't simply be dead; his reputation will be in tatters, making him an example for any other person that decides to try and reach beyond their grasp.”  The two men walked into an office with “Dr. Mulvin” on the door.  Dr. Hughes sat down in a chair as Dr. Mulvin sorted through a stack of papers and withdrew one, handing it to Dr. Hughes.  Dr. Hughes studied it closely, frowned, and said, “There's two on here that didn't come from Acquisitions.  You're supposed to cross check every admittance with Acquisitions.”  Dr. Mulvin smiled, shrugged, and said, “I guess I missed two.”  Dr. Hughes stood up and pointed the paper at Dr. Mulvin as if it were a weapon and said, “WHO brought the two in?”
“I'll have to look.  I hardly see what the problem is.”
“Every acquisition is CAREFULLY selected.  We don't just pull random people off the street.  We have to make sure they won't be missed; that no one will ask many questions.”
“Couldn't Reputation Adjustment take care of that?”
“They're NOT our clean-up crew.  And there are those that are deemed 'off limits'.”
“I”d notice if it were someone from the Upper Class.”
“I'm not just talking about our people.  There are those in the Lower Class that if they went missing, we could accidentally make them a martyr.  Reputation Adjustment can't fix everything.”
“So, what about those 2?  Are they 'off limits'?”  Dr. Hughes pulled out a small computer and typed.  After a few moments, he sighed and said, “At a cursory level, no.  But I have to look deeper to be sure.”  He looked up at Dr. Mulvin and said, “I don't have Master's degrees in Sociology and Psychology for no reason.”
“And I, Dr. Hughes, don't have MY degrees for no reason, either.  But degrees aside, the Lathoms are quite happy with me at the moment.”  Dr. Hughes seemed to deflate slightly, and said, 
“Yes, they are.  And I would never jeopardize that.  Its just that we are both in positions where we can made one another's jobs easier or harder.  I would appreciate it if you didn't make my job harder.”
“Well, Dr. Hughes, accept my apology for this minor oversight.  I will make a note to be more circumspect in the future.”
“That is greatly appreciated.”  Dr. Hughes turned to leave and when he got to the door, paused, and over his shoulder said, “Oh, and by the way, I'm sure you'll enjoy the Congressman.  It's rare we get to deal with someone who is sure they're higher up the food chain than us.”  Dr. Mulvin smiled as Dr. Hughes walked out. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * Detective Doyle

Detective Doyle stood at the apartment door, looking in.  His head was bald on top with wisps of hair at the edges.  He wore glasses and stood 6 feet tall.  He was sure he was taller when he was 50, and in truth, he was.  He opted for the tan overcoat look; it was a favorite of his.  His blue eyes with their grey eyebrows, nearly grown together, studied the room.  A pornographic magazine sat open on the dresser, a wad of 100s beside it.  Black leather straps were tied to the bed.  A much younger man was studying the floor on the other side of the bed with a special light.  Plastic bags stacked and labeled for the lab sat on the corner of the bed.  More black leather straps and such were at the headboard.  Doyle said,
“And this is where the Congressman died, eh?”
“Yes, sir” answered the man studying the floor.
“Prints?”
“Just his and the prostitute's, sir.”
“Greg?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Anything catch your eye as odd?”  The young man looked up grinning, and said, “You mean beside the esteemed Congressman's interest in bondage?”
“Yes, Greg.  Beside that.”
“No, sir.  Pretty clean cut.  I don't know why you had me look under the bed.  There's nothing there.”
“Nothing?”
“Nope.  Just as clean as the rest of the floor.”
“Tell me, Greg. . .  With that special light of yours, and your special gear, you can even see the lines the vacuum cleaner followed, can't you?”
“Why, yes sir, you can.  I didn't think you liked my special gear, sir.”
“I don't, not really.  But that doesn't mean it isn't useful.  So tell me, Greg, did they vacuum under the bed?”  Greg looked, and said, “Why, yes they did.”  Doyle walked over to one of the corners of the bed, and said, “So tell me, Greg, how did they do continuous lines with the vacuum cleaner with a bed in the middle of the room?”  Greg's eyes squinted, and he said,
“Umm. . .”
“And tell me, Greg,”  Doyle picked up one corner of the bed, and continued, “Did they even vacuum UNDER the legs of the bed, too?”  Smiling, Greg said,
“What the-”
“Which tells us?”  Greg sighed, and said,
“The bed was moved here.  The impressions in the carpet aren't deep enough for it to have been here long.  This carpet isn't just clean; its new.”
“Greg, I guarantee you if you check the next room over, or for that matter, ANY other rooms here, THEY don't have new carpet.”
“You want me to put that in my report?”  Doyle sat the bed down, turned away from Greg and hung his head.  He gazed off into the distance, and Greg said, “Sir?”
“No, Greg.  Do NOT put that in your report.  I made that mistake years ago; its high time you learned from me.”
“What happened?”
“I got a visit.”
“From who?”
“Reputations Adjustment.”  Greg's eyes opened wide, his mouth hung open, and he said,
“I didn't think they were real!”
“They're not.  Some things you just don't mess with.  This is one of them.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Deb

“So, where do we stand?” asked Deb to the room full of less than a dozen people.
They were in a back room of where she worked.  She bartended; she'd had this job for years.  Longer than she'd even been with Finn.  He was a good guy; heck, a great guy.  But this had to be the one thing she kept from him.  He couldn't know about her secret cabal of resistance; it would just put him more at risk.  In truth, it actually made her smile when she thought about just how thoroughly he had no idea that she was in charge.
“It won't be easy,” said George, who, when she was out front and actually working, was her boss.  “I mean, once we get a sample, I can get it to our boys at the lab and they can reverse-engineer it.  The tough part is going to be getting a sample.”
“Leave that to me,” said Shawn.  Shawn was only 18.  He was easily the most attractive guy here.  And gay, too.  That last part gave him access to a different underground.  Being of an “alternative lifestyle” was punishable by imprisonment.  The draconian enforcement had the side effect of making those that were gay, lesbian, or queer a very tight knit group.  They had to keep their 'true' selves in the dark.  Many were married, and their spouses were well aware of their actual sexuality.  But the “gay underground”, as they had came to be called, was a force to be reckoned with.  They had their interior disagreements all the time, which occasionally resulted in a death, but when push came to shove, they teamed together tighter than any other underground group.
“You have someone on the inside?” asked Deb.  Shawn said,
“Yes.  Always.  I've got someone working in the lab of Dr. Mulvin himself.”  This brought a few gasps around the table.  Deb smiled and nodded, saying, “Your reach never ceases to amaze me.”
“What about transport?” said an older lady at the table.  She was tall with a full head of grey and well dressed.  George said,
“Well, Louise, that would be up to you, I'm betting.  Your 'ladies of the night' can be very handy on the ground.  One of my boys at the lab lives in the lower east side.  I know you have people there.”
“Of course”, she answered, and then turned to Shawn, and asked, “But where would we pick up the package?  I'm sure the lab's in the Upper Class district; I have reach into there, but very limited.”
“Dr. Mulvin,” Shawn said, “Often grabs his 'test subjects' from near one of the hotels.  They're on the edge of the Upper Class district, so maybe we can work something out there.  The thing is, my contact never leaves the lab.  He'd have to get someone he works with to help.”
“Dangerous,” said Deb, shaking her head, “This is a very delicate operation.  Its not the time to be involving new people.  We're talking about taking a sample of their newest, most prized accomplishment.  One slip, people die and their security gets even tighter.  We need another way.”
“I may be able to help,” said Barbara.  Barbara was in her 30s.  She dressed very casually, never wore makeup, was short and plump.  She rarely spoke, which means when she did, all attention turned to her.  Which made her uncomfortable, and made her less likely to speak again.  Deb said, “Something techie?”
“Well, yes.  But actually low tech.  It seems a simple delivery drone, with its programming modified slightly, could help.  I'm sure they use some sort of vehicle to fetch their test subjects.  An ambulance?”  She looked toward Shawn, who nodded, and she continued, “Shawn's contact could receive the drone.  When he gets the package, he could place it inside and at some point get it under their ambulance.  Initialize it.  It would attach itself to the undercarriage.  With GPS shadow mapping, it would stay dormant till it gets to the correct part of town.  When the vehicle goes into park, and a few minutes pass (long enough for them to get out and away from the vehicle), it will drop off and drive itself over to the sidewalk.  Then, it can make its way to one of Louise's people.”  Someone else at the table said, 
“I thought those things went out of service because they were so easily stolen.”
“They did.  Which is why we have many of them available.  The later models had an exterior electro-shock built in to stop theives, which the designers thought was brilliant.  They never thought that theives could just throw their coat over it.”  The same questioner said,
“And what's to keep that from happening to this one?”
“Simple,” said Barbara, turning to look at Louise, “We just put a certain logo on the bottom of it.  Since it will be in a certain area anyway, anyone there that sees that logo will know not to fuck with it, hence they be taken care of by Louise's ladies of the night.”  Louise smiled.  Her group had a powerful reputation by people that lived in certain areas.  The Constables were the only ones they feared there, and they rarely went there.  Deb said,
“Well, it looks like we have a plan, then.  It's about time I get back to work.  Finn's got a gig later tonight.”  A large man, wearing a cheap, wrinkled suit with some wisps of hair on his head trying to masquerade as a full head of hair and failing horribly, asked,
“How's that song going?”  Deb sighed.  She said, “Worse than we thought.  It's becoming a popular song of theirs.  One of their fans is starting to sell merchandise specific to the song.”
“What sort of merchandise?” the large man asked.
“Gas masks.”  There was a round of unpleasant sounds from around the table.  The large man said, “Oh dear.  That sort of thing. . .  Well, it becomes a logo.  I'm afraid it won't be long till the media picks up on it.  And although I can tell you what they're up to in the media, I can't stop it or change its angle.  We don't need any attention drawn to ANY of us or to any of those we're attached to.”
“Suggestions?” asked Deb.  A small, thin man in a nice suit said, “We could offer them money.”
“Money?” asked Louise, “Money to do what?”  The thin man, known only as Jones, said,
“Well, to not play it, of course.”
“Won't work,” said Deb, “I mean, their fans want it.  Might work short term.  But they give their fans what they want.”
“Is it a central part of their show?” asked Jones, “Do they open or close with it?”
“No.”
“Then considering their extensive list of songs, the fans may not notice one missing.”  The large man's eyes narrowed and he looked toward Jones.  They were the only 2 at the table that wore suits and had formed a sort of like-attracts-to-like relationship.  There was one man sitting between them; Scott.  He stayed quiet as the large man, Frank, said, “And how, Jones, do you know they have an extensive list of songs?”  Jones smiled.  It was an expression his face wasn't used to, and as such, there was something sinister about it.  He answered, “Why, I quite enjoy their music.  They have their own style, without their songs sounding identical.  I never make it to a concert, though.”
“I do, sometimes,” said Barbara, “And I can tell you they just throw it in the middle somewhere.  I'm really not sure how much it would be missed.”  Deb, eyes wide and mouth agape, looked around the room and said, “Is there anyone else here who listens to my fiance's band?”  About a fourth of the people there raised their hands, and she leaned back in her chair, smiling, and said, “Incredible.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lights danced around the crowded room, guitars blaring as Finn played the drums, wrist bands keeping the sweat off his hands.  He knew Jimmy and Justin well, and knew when to stop the banging of the drums to match their last guitar strums.  Jimmy and Justin were lead & bass guitars, and vocals.  The crowd erupted with thunderous screams, hands held high in salute.  Finn stood up and came up between them, taking a bow to the audience.  This had been a good night.
They went backstage for some quick refreshment and screaming together along with Carmen and Deb, who helped out with the equipment and merchandise.  Deb screamed, “There's a guy back here wanting to talk to you three.  I think he might be some kind of music big shot or something.”
That brought a big “woot” and group hug from the trio.  They went to the room in the back where Jones waited for them.  He was quietly smiling.  He said,
“You boys put on quite a show.  You've really got a lot of followers.”
“HELL YEAH WE DO!” yelled Jimmy.  Oblivious to their enthusiasm, he said,
“I've got a financial arrangement I want to offer the group.”
“FUCK YEAH!”, yelled Justin, “WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS!”  He said,
“I want you to drop a song.”  The three glanced at one another, searching for a translator among them.  Jimmy said, “WHERE'S YOUR STUDIO, MAN?”  Jones smiled, and said,
“I don't think you understand.  I want you to STOP playing a song.”  They all three looked like they'd bit into something that tasted bad.  Finn asked,
“I'M SORRY; YOU SAID STOP?  WHO DA FUCK ARE YOU?”  He answered,
“It's nothing personal.  It's just in everyone's best interest if you stop performing 'Tranquility'?”
Jimmy stepped up face to face with the man and jutted his finger in his chest, saying, “LOOK, SCARECROW!  WE PLAY WHAT WE WANNA PLAY, AND NOT YOU OR ANYONE-”  As he had been talking, Jones pulled a white envelope out of his shirt, and held it up.  Jimmy interrupted himself with a blank stare at the envelope.  The slim man said,
“There's three thousand dollars in here.  This is not a bribe; this is not a contract.  This is just to show you we're serious.  Take it.”  He handed it forward, and the three backed up as if it was contaminated.  Then he opened it and withdrew the cash, dividing it up among the three as he explained,
“We don't care what you do with the money.  My team and I are under the firm impression that you underestimate your impact.  That song has some information in it that doesn't need to be commonly known.  We're working for the same ends, your group and mine.  Its just that our way is safer for the general public.  Please consider my offer, and what the money can do for your group.”
Jimmy, Justin and Finn were each holding a pile of bills, counting them, inspecting them one by one.  A few moments had passed before they noticed Jones wasn't talking anymore.  They looked at one another and then went to look at him, but he'd slipped away.  They looked back at one another, eyes wide.  Finn said, “What the-”
“PARTY!”  Yelled Jimmy,
“YEAH!” Yelled Justin.  They stomped off yelling, while Finn stood there by himself, looking around for the slim man.  With no one around, Finn quietly said, “What the hell is going on here?  Who the fuck was that; who's his team?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dr. Mulvin

Dr. Mulvin walked into his office.  He locked the door behind him and took out his wallet.  One by one, he drew credit cards out and stacked them on his desk, flipping one upside down on top of the first one, turning the next one around and sitting it on that one.  Finally, he took his ID out and sat it on top.  With one finger, he gave a firm press down on the stack.  A section of his ID glowed red, pulsed, and then went to a steady green.  He sat down at his desk and turned his computer on.  The screen came up with a countdown timer.  It soon went to zero, and the view changed to that of one Senator Narcy.
Senator Narcy was in his late 20s and made every effort to look 20.  It worked.  He was clean cut with a strong chin, blue eyes and blonde hair that was perfectly tailored.  A gleam of sweat was on his forehead and he smiled.  Dr. Mulvin swallowed as he realized how many votes he'd won with that smile.  Dr. Mulvin asked, “Are you alright, Senator?”
“Oh, yes, I'm great!  I just won a tennis match.  I've got to get better trainers.  I keep beating them!”
“I'm sure you do.”
“Well, enough with the niceties; you always like to get straight down to business.  Do you have an update on the injectable?”
“Progress is ongoing.”
“Ah.  So, no.”
“Not true.  We're learning what doesn't work.  Testing on the airbourne variety has been stepped up, so there hasn't been as much time to slide in work on the injectable without being noticed.”  The Senator's eyes narrowed, and he asked, “Do you think the Lotham's are accelerating their schedule?”
“No, Senator.  I think the younger Lotham knows his father's birthday is approaching, and he wants to present results to him as a gift.”  The Senator nodded, and answered,
“Benedict Lotham's birthday is less than 2 months away.  His health, unfortunately, continues to be good, by what accounts we can glean.  Gloria Sterling's health, though, continues to deterioate.”
“Well, she is 97, after all.”
“The Sterling Family wishes to keep the peace, whereas the Lotham Family looks at how to fight the mobs after they've already assembled.”
“And what of the Chin Family?  Do you have any intel on them?”
“Still busy in Asia.  Its quite a mess over there.  Beijing and Singapore are neutralized.  Tibet has been cut off.”
“I hope to have a breakthrough soon.”
“Any thoughts on the 'delay' version?”
“Simple.  Flu innoculations are mandatory for the Lower Class.  A protein can keep the virus dormant until the trigger mechanism is introduced.”
“And how would the trigger be introduced?”
“Another virus is the simplest answer.  Something that seems like a bit of fever and congestion which can be fought the normal way.  As its killed, it releases the trigger, and the Tranquility goes active.”
“But there's your problem, isn't it?  That nasty Apophis Strain you refined to get the Tranquility drug to work; it likes to pop back up when you least expect it, doesn't it?  What ratio are you at now?”
“The best we've achieved so far is 3 to 1.”
“So, for every 3 you get to be tranquil and controllable, you have 1 that's a raving homicidal maniac?  That's a 25% failure rate.  The Sterling Family demands far better.”
“There is a positive we've accomplished, however.”
“Which is?”
“We've developed an antidote.”
“And how successful is it?”
“100 percent,” he lied, knowing it was only 96 percent.  But close enough.
“Well, at least THAT is good news.  Get some men mass producing that.  No, wait – that would take away from your current work.  Get 20 samples together, and we'll transfer them to Sterling Labs.  THEY'LL mass produce it.  For our people, of course.”
“I'll get right on it.  I think this is about as long as we dare communicate.”
“Yes.  The Sterling family will reward your loyalty, of course.  As a matter of fact, save some of that antidote for yourself.”
“Why, thank you, Senator.”  You pompous fool.  You really think I'd put YOUR people above myself?  I just started taking my antidote today.  Wish there was a way I could get you just a placebo.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Metal Devils

The second show this weekend!  Jimmy, Justin & Finn thought they'd be wore out the day after the first show, like usual, but with the next show scheduled the very next night, it felt like the adrenaline just kept going.  There was too much to do to get tired.  And it didn't look like their performance was any weaker, either!  The crowd was loving it.  They'd skipped Tranquility on their first show.  There was enough material that it wasn't that difficult.  They talked afterward how they felt bad about it, though.  Sure, the money from the skinny guy was good, but it just felt like a lie, somehow.  Their fans loved them; how could they lie to them?
And there went that snare drum!  It ripped right across!  Justin glanced over his shoulder at one point shortly afterward and Finn nodded toward it so he'd know.  At the end of the song, Justin told Jimmy and they stalled a little, talking to the crowd as Carmen ran on and helped Finn change out the drum.  Jimmy talked up the crowd, the obligatory “ARE YOU HAVING A GOOD TIME?!” speech.  Then, as Finn was tightening the last thumb screw, he heard a chant start in the crowd.  And noticed that Jimmy wasn't talking.  He looked toward the crowd and saw the gas masks raised up in the air.  My God; there must have been 20 or 40 of them being held high!  The chant spread and grew:  TRAN QUIL ITY!  TRAN QUIL ITY!  Justin, Jimmy and Finn exchanged looks and smiles.  Well, you've got to give your fans what they want!  Finn started the bass drum beat. . .BOOM. . BOOM. . BOOM. . . BOOM.    BOOM.  BOOM.  BOOM.  BOOM.  And then the bass guitar, deep, low & ominous.  And then Jimmy's lyrics:

WE DONT NEED YOUR TRAN QUILITY. I WILL NOT LET YOU CONTROL ME. WE DONT NEED YOUR TRAN QUILITY. I WILL NOT LET YOU CONTROL ME. (We are the masses) WE WORK FOR FREE. (We want freedom) FREEDOM ISNT FREE. (We will rise up) WE WILL BE GROUND DOWN (We will rise up) YOU WILL BE GASSED DOWN. (We want freedom) WE WILL BE GIVEN TRAN QUILITY.

It was the highlight of the night, no doubt.  The crowd went wild; the chanted as one.  They knew the lyrics.  At the end of the set, when the band went into the back, Jones was waiting.  Deb was standing beside him.  Jimmy said, “LOOK, MAN, WE HAD TO DO IT.  AND WE'RE GONNA KEEP DOING IT.  THE FANS LOVE IT, THEY DEMAND IT!”
“I know,” said Jones, “I saw.  And I don't blame them.  It's a great song.  But now, its grown too big to stop.”  Deb said,
“Which means, I've got some explaining to do.  I've been keeping something from you.  Especially from you, Finn.  We can't keep the band out of this, now.  This man beside me; his name is Jones.  I've known him for years.”  Finn, eyes wide, said,
“You've KNOWN him?  For YEARS?”
“Yes, Finn.  He's part of a group I'm in.  I authorized the pay-outs to the band.  We didn't want to get noticed by the Families.  But now, its bound to happen.”  Justin asked,
“Are we in some sort of danger?”  Jones said,
“Not likely.  They're too smart for that.  To target you now would make you martyrs.  As a heavy metal group, there's not much they can do to destroy your reputation.  Even if they released invented proof of you performing pop songs, no one would believe it.  Your fans are too devout.  What we've got to do now is take you into our group and offer you some protection.”  Justin asked,
“What kind of protection?”  Deb said,
“We're working on an antidote.  It will be done soon.  We'll be the first ones to get it.  The problem is with the song's growing popularity, the Families may make a move soon.  It just depends on how serious it grows, and how fast.  Which is why we have to be ready.”
“DUDE,” Said Jimmy, “THIS is such a DOWNER.  THERE'S FREE BEER, FOOD AND WOMEN IN THE BACK!  LETS do this SERIOUS shit LATER!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Finn, Reborn

“I don't understand these readings”, said the doctor in the lab coat as he studied the monitor.  Another doctor came over.  This one was older; his labcoat was embroidered “Dr. Mulvin”.  The other doctor stared at the monitor and squinted his eyes.  Dr. Mulvin asked,
“Are you sure you've got the conversion factors set correctly?”
“Yes; I checked that.”
“Show me the subconscious readings.”  The doctor in the chair touched a button and the screen changed.  Dr. Mulvin pointed at the screen and said, “Ah, there you go.  This phenomena here; this set of patterns in these brain waves correlate to an out-of-body experience.”
“But that runs counter to the primary ones”
“Yes, it does.  But we're in uncharted territory here.  This subject took the antidote to the Apophesis Strain.  His body had it over half metabolized and we then injected him with the virus.  I doubt we could replicate this if we wanted to.”
“So, is he infected or not?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. . . to what?”
“He's a Typhoid Mary, of sorts.”
“I didn't think the Apophis Strain allowed a carrier.”
“Neither did I.”
“His altered state; it goes on and off.”
“We know that the Aphophis Strain alters the consciousness of the individual.  Inhibitions are lost; they are much more prone to anger, to attack, and much more prone to a mob mentality.  We have theorized that the altered consciousness of infected individuals cause their brain waves to correspond with other similarly altered individuals, giving rise to the mob mentality.  The original intent of the Aphophis Strain was to remove the consciousness from the body.  It was meant to give that altered state where one is willing to follow any order.”
“Like the well-known 'truth serum' does?”
“Exactly.  It would give control to a mass of people, for a time.  During that time, the mass could be programmed.  The time would wear off, and they'd never know they'd been programmed.  A peaceful means of manipulation, for the greater good.”
“But that was before it mutated.”
“Yes.  The mutation is. . . well, dangerous.”
“That's a mild way to put it, Doctor.  It can create a zombie-like mob, all with a short fuse.  And if one goes off, it spreads through the subconscoius-”
“Yes, yes-”
“So tell me, WHY was this Finn guy infected?”
Dr. Mulvin sighed and said, “What have I told you about the subjects?  Do NOT look at them as people!”
“Well, this 'subject' was infected with his girlfriend.  They were both sedated and injected.  They came to about the same time, both showing obvious signs of infection.  She attacked him.  He killed her.  What we didn't know was that he'd taken the antidote already.  When she died, he stopped.  We expected that.  Her brain waves naturally stopped, so he was no longer affected by her fear.  What we didn't expect was for him to turn BACK.  Because we didn't know he'd already taken the antidote.”
“Which is why he's here.  We had to find out why he turned back.  And now we know.  There's obvious signs of the antidote in his system, but there's signs of the virus as well.  The combination is causing extraordinary affects.  His heart has actually increased in size, along with his adrenal gland.  His muscle mass has became more dense.  It doesn't appear any bigger, but the readings show a much greater density.  He's running a fever.  Some of his brain waves that are normally dormant are active now.”
“Why does he go in and out of the altered consciousness?”
“That's what we need to find out.”  Dr. Mulvin smiled slightly, and said, “I have a theory.”
“Which is?”
“He's looking for a similar brain wave pattern.  When there's 2 or more infected, they feed off one another.  I think he's looking for similar minds.”
“How can we test that?”
“I suggest we bring him someone infected.  When they get within 20 feet or less, we'll see if they turn on.  I'll go get one now.”
Dr. Mulvin made his way to the door.  The doctor at the monitor closely watched the brain waves.  As Dr. Mulvin approached the keypad at the door, the doctor watching the monitor noticed a spike in intensity of some of the brain waves.  After Dr. Mulvin keyed in the code and opened the door, the intensity went down.
“I wonder why it did that?”

Finn laid in the reclined chair.  Heavy straps held his wrists and ankles and another across his throat.  That was the worst one.  This is where he had awoken.  When he first woke up, his mind spun madly.  Excited beeps had came out of some of the equipment he was hooked to.  A blank monitor above him started giving him messages.  A black background with plain white characters.  It said things like “Your name is Finn.  You are subject #V503.  You are restrained.  They will not be removed.  You are property of AmeriCorp Industries.”
He knew the name “AmeriCorp Industries”.  It was the largest Homeland Defense contractor there was.  They were in charge of the Constables, the government security force that was over and above the law.
Finn remembered what had happened.  He wanted to be dead.  He wondered for a bit if this was Hell, but realized his mother-in-law was no where to be seen, so it obviously was not.
His wife was dead.  He'd killed her.  It had been him, but not him.  They knew they were part of a dangerous anti-government enterprise.  They'd never guessed the depths of their sadism, however.  They'd been cooperating with other anti-government agents for some time.  They weren't soldiers, or spies, or anything like that.  They just passed information, and supplies.  Sometimes people.  Things had escalated.  They'd learned of the Apophis Strain, and the government's use of it on civilians.  They had worked to find the truth, then proof.  The next step was to find a way to show that irrefutable proof to the whole of the American people.  The time was nearing; the plan was in action.
Finn didn't know the plan.  He didn't want to; neither did Deb, his wife.  They did score a place on the list for the antidote, however.  The antidote for the Apophis Strain had been found, smuggled, and secretly copied.  Finn and his wife had taken the first dose.  It was simple; 1 pill, once a week.  They had 4 pills each.  If the Big Reveal hadn't happened within that time, and if they hadn't been found out and stopped, more doses would be distributed.
Well, apparently their group had been found, at least to some extent.  It was the only explanation for the Constables luring them and nabbing them.  From what Finn had recently heard, however, the Constables hadn't known about the antidote.  Finn and Deb had purchased their drive-thru food at their regular fast-food restaurant.  Then, things got hazy.
Finn had awoken in a small featureless room.  He found himself strapped to a chair, facing Deb, who was also strapped to a chair.  There was a one-way mirror in the wall.  He saw Deb also waking up.  The speaker had said,
“We know who you are.  We know you're working for the resistance.  You will tell us about the Big Reveal.”
“I don't know anything about that,” said Finn.  Deb pleaded, “Look, you've got the wrong people.  You've got him mixed up with his brother again.:
“Finn's brother is dead,” said the speaker.  Finn found this startling, considering his brother only existed electronically; he'd been created as a way to throw the authorities off of him.  Finn said, “What?  What happened?”
“He was found, tried, and executed last night.  At your place of work.”  A screen came on in the mirror, displaying a sheet being pulled over a body.  Finn recognized the man; it was Davis, a man he sometimes had lunch with at his workplace.  Finn yelled, “THAT'S not my brother!  THAT'S DAVIS!  He had a wife and 2 kids!”  The voice said,
“We learned that 'Davis' was an alias; he provided us with information concerning the Big Reveal before he died.  He said that YOU knew the rest.”
“That's CRAZY!  I barely KNEW Davis!  I've heard rumors of some Big Reveal, but I don't know when or how its going to happen!”
A slot opened in the ceiling above Deb.  Down from it came a round apparatus, shiny and metal.  The bottom of it was circular, with small gears and wheels going around it.  It lowered toward Deb's head.  Finn pleaded,
“What are you doing?  Leave her alone!  She's not involved!”  The apparatus continued its steady descent.  Deb struggled in the chair, which was bolted to the floor.  She could not get free.  The circular part came down around the crown of her head.  The apparatus stopped descending and small motors whirred as plates tightened up around her head, holding it in a vise-like grip.  “STOP!” she yelled, “I'LL TELL YOU!”  The voice over the speaker returned, calmly saying, “We already know you don't have the information we need, Debra.  Analysts have concluded that threatening your husband will gain us no results.  However, threatening you will give us results.”
“I'll TELL you what you want to KNOW,” pleaded Finn, “Just don't hurt her.”  A low hum began, and suddenly Deb sat shocked stiff and tense as voltage ran through her.  Finn yelled, “STOP!”, and a moment later, she fell limp.
“What the HELL did you do THAT for!”, yelled Finn.  The calm voice said, “A demonstration.  Not tell us when and how the Big Reveal is going to take place.”
“Look,” said Finn, “Let her go first.”  The humming started up again, and Finn yelled, “WAIT!  I'LL TELL YOU!”, and the humming stopped.  Finn said, “I know they plan for everyone to see it, all at the same time.  So it must be connected to the government announcement system.  There's no way else they couldn't get everyone to see it all at once.”
“We already know that.  Anyone can figure that out.  The question is how do they plan to hack into the broadcast?  Where is the hack taking place, and who on the inside is helping?  Give us a name, Finn, and this will stop.”
“I don't have a name.  They're not going to share that sort of information with-”  Deb suddenly flexxed tense again, and Finn yelled, “I DON'T KNOW!  I DON'T KNOW!  STOP IT!  PLEASE STOP IT!”  Deb fell slack; a line of blood flowed from between her lips.  Finn pleaded, “God, please stop!  You're KILLING her!” The voice said,
“Your brother assured us you knew the name.”
“DAVIS is NOT my BROTHER!  I DON”T know ANY NAMES!”
Silence.  There was no response.  “Hello?” said Finn, but ther was no response.  “Deb!”, Finn tried to quietly yell.  She didn't respond.  He tried it again, but no response.  Suddenly, the small motors whirred and her head was released from the vise.  The apparatus ascended back up into the ceiling and Deb slumped to the side.  “Oh, thank God,” breathed Finn.  After the apparatus moved into the ceiling and the door slid back into place, a door behind Finn opened and a man in a labcoat walked in.  Finn said, “Oh, THANK God!  DEB!  WAKE UP!”  The man walked up to Finn and grabbed his right arm.  “What are you doing?” asked Finn.  The man pulled a needle out and injected Finn with a bright yellow substance into a vien.  Finn cussed.  The man then walked over the Deb and did the same, as Finn demanded, “Leave her ALONE!”  The man then walked out.
The silence seemed to stretch.  Finn was sweating and breathing heavily.  Deb stirred.  “Deb?”  he asked.  She stirred some more.  “What did you give us?”  The voice replied, “The Apophis Strain.”
Finn's eyes grew wide.  They'd taken their first doses in the morning; they'd been grabbed at lunch.  He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he'd been told 24 hours had to pass before the first dose would work.  How long had it been?  12 hours?  16?  It hadn't been 24 yet!
Deb gasped, sat up straight and opened her eyes.  She focused on Finn, and said, “Honey?”
“It's the STRAIN, Deb!  They injected us with the Apophis Strain!”  Finn felt his mind wandering.  Suddenly, he seemed to be seeing Deb's pupils close up, and then he was back across the room again.  He felt something in his mind.  Something that didn't feel like it was his; like it was in another voice.  It wasn't words so much as feelings.  Feelings of concern; it felt feminine, somehow.
“Deb,” Finn said.  Was that out loud, or in his mind?  He felt her; he was sure it was her.  And she felt like she was somehow slipping away.  The voice boomed over the speaker.  It said, “I want you to kill each other.”
There was this yearning in Finn to please; to do whatever was commanded of him, without question.  But then he felt himself somehow examine the request, and doubt it.  He heard Deb say, “Yes.”
Deb's restraints suddenly popped open.  She stood up.  Everything was fuzzy; like looking through clouded glass and hearing through cotton balls.  But Finn felt himself question the command, and refuse it.  He felt Deb's mind; he felt her will completely gone.  There was no questioning; no emotion.  The voice said,
“Deb, Finn HURT you.  He gave you PAIN.  You HATE him.  You must HURT him; DESTROY HIM.”  Finn felt anger well up inside Deb; he felt a fury.  He felt her making a response, and as she said it, he did, too.
“YES,” they both said, and Finn's restraints popped open.  He stood up as she began to walk toward him.  The anger; the fury from her seemed to flow into him; to permeate him.  He wanted to rip, to punch, to kick and to shred.  He started breathing heavier.  But he resisted.  Deb screamed and charged at him with her hands out like claws.  Her eyes were red and her mouth was snarling.  Finn grabbed her wrists and she threw him to the floor.  She weighed 115 pounds and he was nearly 200 pounds; she'd never been able to do that before.
Before he could even get up she was kicking him.  The rage and fury seemed to find its way into him through the pain.  He found himself fighting back; he grabbed a foot and stood up, throwing her to the floor on her back.  He jumped on top of her and began choking her.  She grabbed at his hands, but he felt strength like never before.  He felt her mind; her hands came off his and she began to reach toward his face.  His arms were longer than hers; she couldn't reach him.  She wasn't trying to save herself; from her mind, he only felt rage.  Then he suddenly realized there was pain, too. He suddenly realized those were HIS hands around HER neck, CHOKING her!  In his mind he screamed “NO!”, and let go of her.
She stopped when he yelled “No” in his mind.  For a moment, there was calmness.  He stood up and looked at his hands, shocked at what they had done.  She laid there for a moment, gasping for air, blinking.  Then the voice came over the speaker again, and said, “KILL!”  Finn felt the urge and was questioning it when stood up, grabbed him and through him across the room, snarling.  The wall was hard on his back; the floor hard on his side.  The pain brought the rage out; the urge to follow the command.  He got to his feet as she walked toward him.  A rational, thinking part of him commanded him to make a fist and swing at her.  It connected to her left cheek with a wet 'crack' sound.  She spun, falling toward a chair, and her head hit the metal arm of it as she fell.  She crumpled onto the chair face first, sliding to the floor.  She laid motionless.  The sound of her mind in his grew silent.  The silence was a shock, and he suddenly snapped back into himself.  He saw her slumped and saw his arms raised, with fists.  “Oh my god,” he said, and jumped over to her.  He held her and turned her over.  Her mouth was askew and there was blood coming out of her forhead from hitting the chair.  “DEB!”, he yelled, and straightened her hair.  “OH MY GOD, DEB, WHAT HAVE I DONE!”
He held her close in his arms and rocked her.  He didn't hear the door open behind him.  He felt the metal barbs shoot into his back and then jerked with the voltage that came from them, shaking on the ground. As he laid on the ground, teeth clenched feeling the searing pain through every part of his body.  He didn't even feel the needle prick, or the substance which carried him to unconsciousness. 

YOU ARE PROPERTY OF AMERICORP INDUSTRIES.
They had done this to him.  They had put them in that room.  They had shot them up with the Apophis Strain.

But this isn't how it was supposed to be.  No one expected this.

Finn didn't know how long he'd been under.  It felt like a lifetime.  He awoke feeling. . . different.  He noticed that with his hearing, he could zoom in on a certain sound and listen to just it, with the exclusion of others.  He could do this with conversation, too.  With his eyes, he could zoom in onto details.  The errant flake of paint on one of the ceiling grids; he could see it clearly from many, many feet away.
He couldn't move.  The restraints on him now were very, very heavy.  There were wires on his chest; on his head.  He could hear the machines around him monitoring him.  He found he could change his heart beat at will.  He knew this from concentrating on it and listening to the sound change.  He'd listened to conversations about him.  He'd heard,
“His genetic disposition; he has a rare recessive gene.  It's interacted with the virus.”
“And the virus interacted with the partially-metabolized antidote.”
“We couldn't have predicted this.  We can't predict how its changed him.  His stem cells; they've changed.”
“The other team is looking at his brain waves.  They've changed, too.”
And now, with some time, he'd realized that he could feel emotions of other people.  He realized he could actually feel their minds.  At times, he thought he could even see through their eyes.  He had to find out all he could do.  At some point, they would have to release the restraints.  He might be unconscious.  He'd have to see if there was any way he could deal with that.  He had to be ready for his one chance.  He had to get out of here.  He had to utterly destroy them.  He had to prepare as much as he possibly could.  He needed every advantage he could get.  He tried to determine just how far he could 'feel' with his mind.  He knew he could feel inside this room.  He could feel them looking at the monitors; talking about him.  He could feel their concern; their confusion.  Once he was out of the restraints, he'd have to deal with whoever was in the room.  And he'd then have to get out of the room.  He didn't know what was on the other side of the door.  He didn't know where this room was; what size building it was in, if it was in the city, or any of that.  Nothing anyone had thought about had given him any clues to that.
He'd have to get through that door.  He needed the key code.  He was starting to learn how to see through the eyes of others.  It was difficult.  Dr. Mulvin was going to get some poor soul for him to torment; to experiment on.  He had to leave the room to do that.  He knew what that mind felt like; Dr. Mulvin's self-centered, sadistic, loveless mind.  He could feel in it; ride in it for a little while.  He could see the door knob.  He could see the code.  He watched him key it in.
V503.