The Experiment (Book 3): Infectious Thinking

by Micah B. Edwards

  "You're a sore on this city! When I kill you, no one will even notice you're gone, except to realize that things have improved! Your malignant presence would stain the sewers! I'll cut your body up and hide it in a swamp just to avoid having any piece of you remain to taint my city!" Tanger punctuates each line with another wild punch to the stomach. The man sags limply, held up by Tanger's guards.

  "Take this stupid mask off, Everton," Tanger pants, his eyes wild. "I want to see the look on your face when I kill you." The man makes no response, so Tanger reaches around to the back of his head, slips his fingers under the edge of the man's mask, and pulls it free.

  "There! Now we ca – what? Who are you?"

  The man smiles weakly up at Tanger. "I'm Brian King. Dan, you owe me big time."

  "Where is Everton?" demands Tanger, crouching to snarl directly in Brian's face.

  "I'm right here," I say, and all four men turn around to see the security guard standing in the open glass doorway, a phone camera trained on the scene.

  "You?" Tanger says disbelievingly.

  "Look, I'd love to do the dramatic reveal," I say, "but this mask doesn't come off without scissors and a bit of effort. So you'll have to trust me. I'm Dan Everton. Some people-person you are, Tanger! Never even acknowledged the guard on your way in. He's just part of the furnishings to you. Even your guards missed me out here filming that whole thing," I say, waving the phone in my hand. "Admittedly, I had the camera hidden for most of it, but still. They never even looked at me."

  Tanger takes a step toward me, hissing incoherently.

  "Ah, ah, ah!" I say, waving the phone. "Do you really want to make things look worse than they already do on this tape?"

  Tanger smiles like a viper. "You and your tape will never get out of here alive. Daniels, Hernandez?"

  The two bodyguards drop Brian, who crumples to the floor, and start to advance on me. I turn the phone screen around so that Tanger can see it.

  "You've got great cell reception in this building, Tanger. Maybe it's the height? Thing is, even if I don't get out of here, that video already did. See where it says "sent" on that email? So Daniels? Hernandez? You're not doing anything too bad on the video, but if Brian and I go missing, you're going to be right in the thick of it.

  "And the really interesting part," I continue as the bodyguards halt, looking at each other uncertainly, "is who it got sent to. See, I had your old phone for a while, which I think you know. And you changed the password on your email so that I couldn't get back into it – but I still had your contacts list.

  "So you know how you said no one would notice I was missing? I think someone might. 'Cause I emailed that video to every single person on your contacts list."

  Tanger's fists are clenched so hard that his hands have gone completely white from the wrist down, while his face has gone an alarming shade of purple. "You did WHAT?" he whispers through bared teeth. I can see his visions of his future all burning away before him.

  "Oh, yeah. Everyone you've done business with? Anyone you talked politics to? Your family? Your friends? Every single one of them just got a copy of that video. A lot of luminaries on that list! I recognized the current mayor's name, and the chief of police. Buncha names I've seen up on building projects, obviously, and some of the old established families around here. And of course, that's just the local people. Some email addresses for big multinationals in there, too! I'm guessing you weren't talking with low-level folks at those companies?"

  Tanger is hissing like a tea kettle, and I have only a second to flip the phone back to record before he charges at me, knocking the phone from my hands. He slams me back into the wall and pummels me with both fists while shrieking, "Die, die, die, die!"

  It doesn't feel great, but I've been hit by construction workers, baseball bats and cars, and Tanger can't hold a candle to those. Plus the callus-suit provides a nice layer of absorption that I don't usually have. So it's not his attack that staggers me so much as the almost simultaneous full-body shudder of my powers leaving me.

  That cringe lasts less than a second, though, and then I haul my fist back and slam it into the side of Tanger's head. It's an awkward hit, since he's almost against my chest, but it sends him stumbling off to the side to crash into the guard's desk. He wheezes there for a moment, catching his breath, and I look his bodyguards in the eyes.

  "If you give my friend a clear path out, we leave right now, and this ends," I say, hand hovering by the butt of my holstered pistol. They exchange glances again.

  "Kill him! You want to kill him!" shouts Tanger weakly, but I shake my head.

  "I suspect that's not going to work anymore," I tell him. "You probably should have asked Dr. A about a money-back guarantee."

  Sure enough, Daniels and Hernandez have stepped to the side, and Brian is hurrying out of the office, bent over slightly with one arm wrapped around his stomach. I hit the call button on the elevator and retrieve my phone from the floor, all the while keeping my hand near my gun and my eyes on Tanger and the guards.

  The elevator doors close on me and Brian, and we start to descend. Brian says, "Dude. You just let him hit me."

  "That part happened really fast!" I object. "As soon as that started, I was up and coming over there. I stopped it as soon as I could."

  "Yeah, tell my stomach that. I'm gonna have bruises."

  "I'm seriously sorry, man. If it helps, it made for great cinema?"

  "Yeah, great. Find yourself a new leading man next time."

  "You got it, dude. Seriously, I'm sorry."

  We ride in silence for a couple of floors, and then Brian says, "Did you threaten them with your gun at the end there? Isn't that just part of the suit you grew?"

  "Yeah," I say, "but they didn't know that."

  Brian starts to laugh, then winces and grabs his stomach. "Ow, it hurts to laugh!" He laughs more, doubling over, and I join in. The elevator doors open at the bottom floor to both of us laughing like lunatics, and we stagger out of the lobby, past the confused guard in the main area, and out into the cool night air.

  - Chapter Twenty-One -

  Brian and I are barely back in his car before my phone rings. Peterson’s name is displayed on the screen, and I eye it with trepidation before answering.

  “Hel-”

  “Mr. Everton.” His voice is tightly controlled, which is usually a sign that he’s mad. “I want you to tell me, as clearly and as quickly as you can, what just happened.”

  “Wha-”

  “The chief of police sent me your email. I need to know who has it, why they have it and what happens from here. In short, as I said yesterday, I need to be in the loop.”

  “Oka-”

  “And I would love to know, as a point of personal interest, what you were thinking.”

  “I’ll tell you, but you’ve got to let me talk!” I burst out. Brian looks at me, concerned. I flap my hand at him.

  “Go ahead,” says Peterson.

  “Okay. Super-short version: hang on, is anyone listening?”

  “You can talk freely.”

  “About…you know?”

  “Yes, about superpowers. Just tell me.”

  “Okay. So like I said yesterday, Tanger was coming after me. You saw his vandalism fliers, yeah? Every one of them was loaded with nanos carrying negative impressions of me. He salted the whole city with them. So how do you win a psy-ops campaign? Better messaging.

  “So I got in there, got him to show his true colors, and sent it to — well, everyone in his contacts list. It’s no city-wide pamphleting, but it’s the best I could do.

  “Oh. And I, um. Ran down all of the fences at the construction site of the new police station with a bulldozer. To get Tanger off-center.”

  There’s silence on the other end of the phone, so I keep talking. “Good news is, it totally worked! He can’t get into people’s minds anymore. Plus his mayoral bid is probably not happening now. So. It’s all good, right?”

  Peterson sighs. “Y
ou have an interesting definition of that word, Dan.”

  A brief awkward silence follows, and I say, “Well. Anything you need me to do?”

  “Nothing. Do nothing. Keep your head down while we clean up what we can. Oh, and don’t go home.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You’re not very popular right now, Mr. Everton. I’m going to try to fix that; I intend to send a press release to the local news explaining that the posters were some sort of prank, which will hopefully defuse much of that situation. But I sent a car to your house when the posters first appeared, and it’s already been vandalized.”

  “Aw, man! How badly?”

  “Broken windows, knocked-over mailbox. Someone spray-painted ‘HOW DO YOU LIKE IT’ across most of the front. You’ll want to call your insurance company.”

  “Maan. Okay.”

  “Judging by the video I just saw, it could have been a lot worse.”

  “Hey, speaking of — Tanger’s still pretty ticked at me. Like, usually this stuff wears off when the powers do, but I feel like he’s maybe going to hold a grudge over this one. Do I need to do something about that? Like a restraining order or something?”

  “Mr. Tanger is going to be the subject of some fairly intense scrutiny. He’s currently our best link to whoever’s behind this, so we’ll be watching him fairly closely for some time. I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that front.”

  “Huh. You guys are investigating this?”

  “Of course we are. What did you think?” Peterson sounds affronted.

  “I don’t know. I thought you were trying to sweep it under the rug.”

  “There’s no point in sweeping everything under the rug if someone’s still tracking more dirt in,” says Peterson.

  “Hey, that’s good. You can be a wise old guru someday with lines like that,” I tell him.

  Peterson sighs again. “Stay out of trouble, Dan. And let me know when you’re not going to.” He ends the call.

  I turn to Brian and say, “So — can I crash at your place for another night or two?”

  “Dude, obviously. I can’t be running around getting my own food and stuff with these stomach bruises. I could have internal bleeding.”

  “Whoa, I didn’t sign on to be a nursemaid!”

  “I didn’t sign on to be a punching bag, either, but here we are!” Brian retorts. I throw up my hands in surrender.

  “Fine, fine. Nursemaid Dan it is.”

  “Hey, can you keep that security guard suit on? I like the uniform.”

  “Dude, no way. I’m getting out of this thing as soon as humanly possible. There is no ventilation at all in these things. I’m swimming in sweat right now.”

  “Better complain to the manufacturer!” Brian laughs.

  “Trust me, man. I intend to.”

  - - -

  It’s not that I ignore Peterson’s request to lie low, exactly. It’s just that I’ve got something I need to do. And yeah, I could probably handle it by phone, but I did steal the guy’s face and trash his worksite. The least I can do is give him the chance to fire me in person.

  So the next morning finds me catching a bus downtown to go present myself to Mr. Steele. I’m not totally reckless; I’m wearing the security guard mask from yesterday, since I doubt that Peterson’s message of “Dan’s okay” has made its way to everyone yet. Even so, my eyes keep flicking nervously to each new person who gets on the bus, checking to see if they’ve seen through my mask. It’s a long and jittery ride for me.

  On the way, I scan the telephone poles and bus stops we pass, searching for any flyers with my face on them. They all seem to be clean, though. Clearly a team’s been mobilized to take the flyers down overnight. I briefly consider what those people must think of me after handling stacks of those infected flyers, and I shudder. I don’t think I’d care to meet them any time soon.

  My heart sinks a bit as I consider the lasting implications of Tanger’s campaign against me. He’s essentially seeded the entire city with a predisposition to dislike me now, and I don’t think that’s going to fade just because he no longer has the power to distribute new thoughts. And since I’m on my way to get fired right now, that’s the sort of thing that’s likely to be problematic in the very near future.

  And, of course, I’m going to have to hire people to fix the damage to my house, and if those people hate me, I’ll get shoddy work done. Maybe I can get the insurance company to suggest someone from out of town, or give them a fake name. Or I could just do the work myself, I suppose. I put up buildings now! I can definitely replace a few windows.

  Plus the money I save on installation will help feed me for another couple of months while I’m looking for work in a hostile environment. There’s a sobering thought.

  The bus drops me off and I walk to the construction site, where bent fences are being laboriously re-erected. I’m momentarily worried that someone here will recognize me even with the mask on, by my walk or clothes or something, but no one even looks twice as I stride across the lot to Steele’s trailer.

  I knock on the door and he calls, “Come in!” I look around quickly, take a deep breath, pull off my mask and step inside, closing the door behind me.

  Steele looks up from his desk, and his eyebrows raise when he sees me. “So,” he says. “Dan.”

  “Mr. Steele,” I respond, trying to hide my nerves. “Um. I kind of figured we had some things to talk about.”

  “Do we?” he says, standing. I measure the distance to the door with my eyes and try to figure out if I could make it out of the office before he got out from behind the desk to attack me.

  He doesn’t make a move, though, but just leans on the desk, palms flat against the paperwork spread out there. “The way I heard it,” Steele says, “you had some personal business to attend to. Isn’t that what the message you left said?”

  “Yeah, but I wan-”

  He holds up a hand to stop me. “I don’t pry into a man’s personal business. My only concern is when something personal spills over into work. Now, as you might have noticed, we’ve got a bit of a mess here.”

  I wince, but Steele continues in a surprisingly mild tone, “Seems someone left the keys in the bulldozer, and some kids took it joyriding. That’s the word I’m hearing from the police investigation, anyway. They promise they’ll look into it, but that’s not going to get the fences back up.

  “Now, I’d be inclined to be much more irritated about this, except that they didn’t do any real damage. I was pretty worried at first when I came in and saw the ‘dozer right up against the big support column, thinking about how much we’d have to jack up or take down to replace that, but it turns out that it barely touched it at all. So isn’t that a stroke of luck?”

  Steele’s staring me down, watching my face and waiting for me to answer, but I’m not sure what he wants. “It sure is,” I say after a moment. Whatever he reads in my face seems to satisfy him, as he smiles and straightens up.

  “Regardless, there’s a lot to be done around here, so whenever your personal business is done, I’d like to get you back on the clock.”

  It takes me a second to process this sentence. “What? Awesome! I mean, thank you!”

  “Well, I’m hardly going to fire a guy just for taking a couple of days off, even if he didn’t clear it first. Not the first time he does it, anyway. You seem surprised.”

  “I thought you’d be a lot more ticked about it, is all. I figured maybe that with the various…personality clashes around here, you’d take this as a good opportunity to get rid of me.”

  Steele chuckles quietly. “Yeah, I thought about that. And if you’d come in yesterday, I suppose I might have canned you. But it occurred to me last night that maybe I wasn’t giving you an entirely fair shake. Saw a video that made me rethink a thing or two.”

  Oh, man. Of course he was on Tanger’s contact list! I emailed Steele the video. Of me impersonating him. Or, well, Brian doing it, but on my behalf. That seems like t
he sort of thing that could tick a man off. Steele seems to be taking it in stride, though.

  While I’m sorting out how to respond, Steele continues, “So it’s possible that Tanger’s not going to feel the same way I do about this, but unless I hear from him, I’m expecting you to be at work tomorrow. And frankly, I’m not expecting to hear from him. The boards of these companies operate like a school of sharks, and once there’s blood in the water, they’re merciless. He’s going to have more to worry about than looking over the employee roster.”

  I smile with relief. “Thank you, Mr. Steele. I’ll be in tomorrow.”

  Steele sits back down at his desk. As I open the door to leave, he says, “Incidentally, Dan, I seem to have lost my lanyard. If you happen to see it somewhere outside, bring it back here, would you?”

  “If I see it, I will,” I say, closing the door. I take his lanyard and badge out of my pocket and hang it over the doorknob, then pull my mask back on and walk briskly back across the site and out into the city streets.

  It’s a beautiful day, sunny and cold, and I attempt to whistle as I walk, which really doesn’t work through the mask. Still, though, the feeling’s there. I’ve beaten my nemesis without destroying a building, so that’s a first. I’m not in the hospital — another mark in the win column. Most of the city might have a vague negative impression of me, but I’ve got people solidly on my side, too. I have a physical description of the guy causing this, so there may be an end in sight. And to top it all off, I kept my job! This last one probably shouldn’t feel like quite so major an accomplishment, but it does.

  I walk off into the early morning sun, still trying to whistle. Things have been worse! Things have been a lot worse.

  - Afterword -

  That’s it for book three! Check out Dan; he’s gotten ahead of the game for once! Definitely a long way from the hapless schlub who started off as a night-time security guard in book one. Still not exactly sure who’s doing this to him, of course, but at least he’s got a lead on that. He’s taken control, and everything should fall into place from here!