Dr. Creepen's Dungeon

S4 Ep177: Episode 177: Social Experiment Horror Stories

‘Social experiments can be scary because they often involve manipulating people's emotions and behaviors in ways that can have unpredictable and potentially harmful consequences. Participants might not be fully aware of what they're being subjected to, leading to feelings of betrayal, confusion, and distress. The outcomes of these experiments can reveal unsettling truths about human nature and societal structures, challenging our understanding of morality, trust, and social norms…’

Duration:: 2h 59m
Broadcast on:: 25 Jul 2024
Audio Format:: mp3

The Takono Music and Spirits Festival returns to Centennial Park, Saturday, August 3rd from 2 to 10 p.m. And it's free! Live music from The Warren Treaty! ♪ Live music ♪ Chris Daniels and the Kings is Callie and More. Enjoy a Spirits Competition, Kids Zone and Fireworks presented by Oxy and the City of Dacono. Admission and parking are free! The Takono Music and Spirits Festival brought to you by Breckenridge Brewery and City of Dacono. Go to thecityofdacono.com for more information. ♪ Live music ♪ Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. ♪ Live music ♪ Social experiments can be scary because they often involve manipulating people's emotions and behaviours in ways that can have unpredictable and potentially harmful consequences. Participants might not be fully aware of what they're being subjected to, leading to feelings of betrayal, confusion and distress. The outcomes of these experiments can reveal unsettling truths about human nature and societal structures, challenging our understanding of morality, trust and social norms, as we shall see in tonight's two tales of terror. Now as ever before we begin the word of caution, tonight's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. Let me start off by saying that I joined the experiment a while ago. I've tried to talk before to people about it, but nobody believes me and I can't exactly blame them. I haven't been able to properly sleep, eat, or live since I made it back home. Played by feelings of tremendous guilt. I hope sharing this will help ease my conscience. Day one. The apartment looked pretty decent. It was small, but had everything I needed. One room with a bed, although pillow and blanket were missing. In the middle of the room was a table with two chairs. Not sure I would need two, as the main part of this experiment was me being alone in the room, isolated from the outside world. In the back was a small food elevator, like the ones you see in old movies. That's how I'd receive my meals. They were big abstract paintings. I had a shortboard to write on, and of course there was a laptop so I could communicate with... with who exactly? They opened the laptop. Everything was wiped away. No internet access, no apps or programs. Only one little icon in the middle of the screen. Social. I double clicked it, thinking it might provide some more information. Social will start soon. Make sure laptop is charged at all times. Alright, I guess I have to wait. I walked over to the shortboard. Somebody must have been in this room before, because it said days, written on top with white chalk. Underneath were ten strokes. I drew a circle around the seven strokes instead of wiping them away. Next to it, I drew one stroke for my first day. It took away my phone. I had no calendar or even clock, so I figured it could get difficult to keep the days in check. I realized I didn't remember if they told me how long I'd be staying. My window view didn't offer much. All I could see were empty fields, and I could tell that I was pretty high up. I tried opening the window to let in some fresh air, but it was blocked. Probably so no one could jump out after going crazy from the solitude. I was the kind of person that loved being alone though. I had a pretty apartment, food being provided for me, decent payment, and I am living my dream. That would have been dumb not to participate. Ding, ding. The laptop was lighting up in neon green lights. I guess things were getting started. The social app was running and the former screen had turned into something that looked like a chat screen. Welcome, John. You're very excited that you are participating in this real life experiment. I am social. Everything you need or what we need from you will be communicated through me. You will not directly talk to anyone else during your time here. Make sure that your laptop is charged at all times. Do you have any questions so far? Hello, social. I am also excited. I haven't received any sheets, pillows or blankets from my bed yet. Could those be sent over, please? That will be up to the other participants, as you will soon learn. Are you ready for the first round? Yes. As you know, you will be receiving all your food and drinks from us. What exactly that will be, however, will be chosen by another participant. For the first round, you can use a meal combination for participant Julie. Well, I was actually pretty excited about this. I was awful at making the right decisions. Probably one of the reasons I changed my major three times. It might be interesting to put my fate into someone else's hands. Let's go down the list of food and drink items. Wondering what Julia might enjoy. There are a number of breakfast items such as pancakes, eggs, bacon, but also a lot of random, disgusting sounding stuff. Raw liver, bull testicles, sausage water, with pretty nasty. You'd really have to hate the other participants to send any of that. Except if you were into power moves. Eventually I picked toast with jam, scrambled eggs and cheese with a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice. Happy with my choice, I sent it in. A minute later, a laptop started ringing again. Julia has chosen your breakfast. Walk to the food elevator now to pick it up. I wasn't too hungry just yet, but I was hoping for something nice to drink. I opened a small gap of the elevator and got the tray out. A piece of bread with something green on it. I picked it up just to realize that the stuff on top was mold. I gagged and let it fall back on the plate. I guess Julia was one of those people that liked power plates. I grabbed the glass next to it. At least she sent me some water. My throat felt extremely dry so I started shoving right away. I really should have smelled it first. When I was drinking there wasn't water, it was vinegar. As the acidy taste filled up my mouth, I couldn't keep it in anymore. I ran to the bathroom and started puking into the toilet. The bitter taste of vial made me feel even worse, but I had no toothbrush or toothpaste either. I wanted to rinse out my mouth, but there was no water. I couldn't even flush the freaking toilet. All this experiment was starting off pretty badly. It was just about to ask social about this when I heard another ringing noise. You just lost 50 social pints. What the hell? What are social pints? During your participation you collect pints. More pints equal more power and more access. During this experiment you have to make many decisions, one of them on who you want to be. Do you want to be nice or gain power? I'm not sure I understand, but I'm really not feeling great. Is there any way I can get some water? It's not up to me, John. You have another decision to make. This time you'll be sending an item to Manuel. Please select one item out of this list, toothpaste, a sharp color, a knife. This list seemed even more random, but this time I really had to think this through. If I sent toothpaste, I'd probably get even more negative points, although at that point I wasn't sure what exactly that meant. The knife sounded like a terrible idea. I figured if I picked the shot color, you could just decide not to wear it. Congratulations. You just received 30 social points. Walk over to the elevator now to see what Manuel sent you. It was a blanket. Oh, I felt like a real dick, but I kept telling myself that this was part of the experiment. Maybe those people didn't even exist. My laptop let out another sound. There was a new icon on the screen, a green circle with a smiley face on it. I pressed it, but nothing happened. Manuel has received an attached the sharp color around his neck. Press green circle to send over shocks. Oh shit. Had I just shocked him without even knowing? No, no, that couldn't be true. They can't purposefully hurt participants. I grabbed my blanket and took a nap. The experiment had only just begun, and I was already exhausted. The taste of vinegar and puke in my mouth wasn't helping either. When I woke up again, it was already getting dark outside. Had I missed lunch. I walked over to the laptop, but there were no missed messages. I was really getting fed up with this experiment. And my laptop made another sound. Dinner time. Pick one meal for Jackie. I scrolled through the list again, but I had no idea what to do. Should I go with something decent in risk-losing points? I went with a safe choice and sent a cup of vegetable broth, something I was really craving myself after throwing up. It wasn't a real meal, but it wouldn't make them sick either. After my choice was sent over, I went to the elevator to see what Jackie had sent me. It was a BLT and a bottle of Coke. "Oh, thank you, Jackie," I shouted out loud. I felt a little bad for only sending her a broth, but at the same time I was so happy to have something decent to eat and drink that would also kill the terrible taste in my mouth. Day two. The sound of an alarm blasting through the apartment pulled me out of sleep. I had no idea where it came from, but it wasn't from the laptop. The sound was followed by a robotic voice. "Score too low. Wake up immediately." I was still dark outside. It felt like it was the middle of a night. I got up from my bed which felt like pure concrete. My head was aching from not having a pillow, but I was grateful that I had at least received a blanket. Oh, it was freezing cold. I realized then that I didn't have any spare clothes. Hadn't I brought any? As I walked over to the laptop, the loud alarm finally stopped. "Good morning, John. Your social score has gotten dangerously low. Increase score now by pressing shock button." "No." As a negative player, you will lose all perks, including nutrition. Remember, more social points equal more power. "I don't care. I don't want more power." The music started blasting again. I felt like my eardrums would explode, shielding them with my hands wasn't helping. As if this wasn't bad enough, a foul smell filled up the room. I thought I'd throw up again. "Oh, fuck this. This isn't real," I said out loud and pressed a shock icon. I took a deep breath and pressed it two more times. Finally, the siren stopped. "Congratulations, John. You are now the highest ranking participant." "Well, yeah, because you can force me to. It is now time to pick a meal for Jackie." I felt bad for only sending her broth last night, so I chose pancakes and orange juice. After a few minutes, I went to pick up my meal from the elevator. This time, I almost threw up by just looking at it. On the plate, I found the head of a chicken, raw and bloody. Next to it was a glass of what I can only imagine was blood as well. I guess I deserved that. I was really fed up with this whole operation. I was hungry, tired and sad. I don't know if money was worth this torture. I want to get out of this experiment now. I'm done. You can't leave. You will stay until the experiment is finished. What the fuck? You can't force me to stay. I never consented to any of this. Yes, you did. You will stay until the experiment is finished. I started thinking about that. Did they give me a contract? As much as I tried to remember, I couldn't even remember what day it was today. Do you remember how you came here, John? I didn't. Do you remember what you did before you came here? I was so certain that I had joined an experiment. They'd offered me payment. But as much as I tried, I couldn't recall how or when that had happened. I remember things as to who my family and friends were. I remember what my home looks like, but not what I'd been doing lately. I started studying psychology after giving up on coding, but when was that? My mind was blank. What the fuck did you do to me? We do not make any decisions for you. Play the game right and you will be leaving the experiment happy and healthy. Who are you? What is this? I am so sure. Time for another decision. You can send something to a participant of your choice. Pick from one of the following items. Be gone. A bottle of water. A death threat. I decided to send a bottle of water to Manuel. It might cost me some points, but if I'd really shocked him, he deserved this. After what must have been an hour, the laptop started ringing again. You just received a video. Press play now. It was a video of a shirtless man, maybe in his mid-30s. He stared right into the camera and I could see the shot collar around his neck. Without a word, he picked up a knife and cut into his palm. With his other hand, he dipped his index finger into the blood and started writing something on his chest. "Merry." "No way," I thought. "This must be a coincidence." I think he tried writing something else underneath. Well, it would have been really hard to recognize what it was with the smudge blood, but I knew exactly what it said. It was an address. One that I recognized very well. It was the address of "Merry." My mother. Day three. I hardly slept through the night. I wasn't too afraid what Manuel might do just yet, considering he was locked in here as well. What scared me, however, was that whatever these people were, they knew where my mother lives. And I had no way to warn her. I needed to talk to social, figure out if they were a real person. Maybe I could have somehow leveled with them. I couldn't contact social if they didn't initiate the conversation, and I didn't know how long it would be until it messaged me about breakfast. So I impossibly walked over to the laptop and removed the charger. The laptop needs to be charged at all times. The robotic voice filled up the room again. I ignored it. I ignored the sirens and the smell and stared at the laptop. In hindsight, I was a pretty big idiot. Instead of going through this in a clever way, I just tried to force a reaction out of it. The smell got stronger, and I started feeling weaker. I could hardly think anymore or move. Everything turned dark. I woke up on the bed. My head was hurting like crazy. It took me a little while to get back to my senses, but then I noticed that the laptop was attached to the charger again. Somebody had been in here. Suddenly an excruciating pain went through my entire body. I felt like somebody was choking me. Panting and shaking, I slowly reached over to my neck where my fingers touched the metal. Not only had someone been in here. They'd given me a shotgun. I slowly walked over to the laptop. Social had been messaging me. I have received information that your laptop isn't attached to the charger. Somebody is on their way to fix the issue. Breakfast time. Please choose one of the following items on the list for participant Josh. Josh, is there a new person? Josh has selected your items. Go to Elevator Now to pick up your meal. Let's choose one of the following items to send a participant Julia, a book, a gun, five minutes of fresh air. The item that Julia selected for you will arrive soon and will be attached by one of our workers. Ahh, that bitch. I didn't even get the chance to send anything because I'd been passed out. Another shock went through my body, even more painful this time. I picked myself up from the ground and got back to my laptop. I hadn't noticed before, but the shock icon was gone. At least the chat was still open. This was my chance to contact social. Social, are you there? Hello John. You've been very quiet today. Remember less activity equals less social points. Were you inside my room? I never visit the participants. I've thought about what to say, and I had to be more careful. Social, are you a real person? I am social. I started thinking that I was talking to a bot. If that was true, I could get some answers out of it as long as I asked the right question. What's my current social score? Your social score is plus ten. You are now the second lowest ranking participant. Who's on top? I am not allowed to share this information with you. I figured it must be either Julie or a Manuel. Josh or Jackie would be the lowest ranking. Why is it beneficial to have many points? Higher points equal more power. Define power. In this experiment we want to see how much it will take someone to get to the top. Getting on top means more options for decisions. Decisions such as getting food, comfort and freedom. Freedom as in being able to leave. Dinner time. You may now choose a meal for participant Julia. I was about to pick bull testicles when another shock went through my body. My hands were shaking, and I could hardly breathe anymore. She was sending me a message. I had to be careful. She had total control over me at the moment. I picked steak, potatoes, beans and a bottle of wine. The best options I could find. I felt awful sending someone that was torturing me these things, especially while I felt like I was starving. But I didn't want to risk getting another shot. I was still hurting from the last one. After a moment I went to pick up my dinner for the night. A chicken sandwich, coffee and a bottle of water. The coffee was cold, but I didn't care. I hadn't eaten anything decent since that BLT, and I was even happier about that water. I took a few sips and decided to ration the rest. I honestly couldn't believe that Julia had sent me something decent. If it hadn't been for the shock collar around my neck, I would have thought that she was actually starting to be nice. At least she didn't shock me again for the rest of the evening. I spent the rest of the evening making up a game plan. I was done just playing it safe. If I wanted any chance of getting out of here, I had to make it to the top. Still wasn't sure if social was trustworthy. Okay, who am I kidding. It definitely wasn't trustworthy, but it felt too calculated in a sense. I don't think it wanted to torture me. It wanted to see how I would get through this. Well, the meal gave me some new energy. I went to the chalkboard and started writing down the info that I had so far. Together with things about myself. Things I didn't want to forget that would remind me that I had a life outside of this. I made sure to keep it vague just in case they came back here. Twenty-five, my age. Kiwi, the name of my cat. Psych, my major. K and F, the first letters of my two best friends. Julia, bitch. Manuel, has leverage and a knife. Jackie, neutral so far. Josh, question mark. My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the laptop. Time for another decision. Pick something from this list to be sent to a participant of your choice. A tower, a death threat. A bracelet keeping the participant from sleeping. I'm not sure what that last thing was supposed to be, but I guess it was another form of torture. I decided for the death threat. If I got the same chance to take a video, then maybe this could be my way to communicate with Manuel. Either way, if he sees that I'm wearing the shot collar now, he might go a milder on me. Um, I want to send a death threat to Manuel. Great choice. Would you like to receive leverage information? Yes. The most important person in the life of Manuel is Sabrina, currently working as a nurse at Central Hospital, always takes a bicycle to work. Oh, fucking hell, Social. A video recording app opened. The microphone was blocked. Oh, shit, I was planning on speaking. I had to get creative, fast. Social would probably check the video and make sure it's an actual threat. Well, I grabbed the glass of blood that Jackie had sent me the day before. Smelling horribly, but I kept it just in case. I started filling up my mouth with the blood. God, I really had to fight, not to vomit. I pressed play and got up to the middle of the room. Looking straight into the camera, I started spitting out the blood, trying to be as theatrical as possible, choking myself, coughing with a freakish look on my face. Recording complete. The video will now be sent to participant Manuel. I could only hope that he understood what I'd done. You just received an item from participant Jackie. Walk up to the elevator now, to pick it out. Hmm. A pack of cigarettes. The Dakono Music and Spirits Festival returns to Centennial Park Saturday, August 3rd from 2 to 10 p.m. And it's free. Live music from The War and Treaty. Christaniels and the Kings is Cally and More. Enjoy a spirits competition. Kidzone and fireworks presented by Oxy and the City of Dakono. Admission and parking are free. The Dakono Music and Spirits Festival brought to you by Breckenridge Brewery and City of Dakono. Go to the City of Dakono.com for more information. An official message from Medicare. A new law is helping me save more money on prescription drug costs. Maybe you can save too. With Medicare's extra help program, my premium is zero and my out-of-pocket costs are low. Who should apply? Single people making less than $23,000 a year or married couples who make less than $31,000 a year. Even if you don't think you qualify, it pays to find out. Go to ssa.gov/extrahelp. Paid for by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Day 4. The day started off with another lovely shock from Julie. I started cursing this person and her evil fucking mind. She was in here to win, showing no remorse. She had to be on top at this point. What reason could she have to shock me even more? I tried to get out from bed. I was feeling extremely weak at this point. My legs were shaking. I was smelling horribly, and I was starving after only having one meal yesterday. Walking around the dry blood on the ground. I made my way to the table. I picked up the pack of cigarettes that I got in yesterday. No, I usually don't smoke, but I thought it could distract me a little. I opened the pack and noticed that it also contained a lighter. Obviously you'd need one, but I didn't think about it until then. I liked it, it could get really fucking useful. I left the cigarettes where they were and put the lighter in my pocket. Social opened the chat to inform me that I could choose breakfast for Manuel. I was already dreading what he'd send me. At least this was my chance to talk to social some more. Social, is there a way to remove the shock color? Only if another participant decides to send it to someone else. Hmm, alright, that's new info. Is there only one of each item, like the knife and the cigarettes? Correct. Choose food combination for Manuel now. Um, oatmeal and tea. Social, how long have the other participants been here for? Manuel has chosen your breakfast. Well, do the elevator now, to pick it up. Oh, for fuck's sake. I had to be more precise with my questions, you know, it gives me a really short timeframe. I walked over to the elevator, expecting something smelly or rotten. I almost cried when I saw what was sitting on that train. Three kiwis. While I was going crazy in the middle of the room last night, I'd made sure that my chalkboard would be in the picture. Just enough for someone to notice if they really paid attention. And he did. Why did he pick three though? Did this mean he'd been here for three days, just like me? I spent most of the day thinking of other ways to send messages. And of course, this could all still be part of the experiment. That thought was always in the back of my mind, but somehow I felt sure that Manuel and the other participants were just that. Participants. Somehow tricked into this nightmare, just like me. Another alarm went off, my room turned red and siren started blasting. Suicide attempt, suicide attempt, suicide attempt. What the hell? I definitely wasn't trying anything like that. I walked to the laptop, but there was no information. And just like that, the alarm stopped again. You are now free to send another item to a player of your choice. Bandage, shock collar, death threat. This is where I made another foolish mistake guided by pettiness, not logic. I should have tried to send another message, or at least get someone the bandage. Maybe there really was a suicide attempt, but even if that's true, I wouldn't know who. In the end, the hate and pain ruled over me, and I sent Julia the shock collar. As I logged in my choice, the collar around my neck snapped open. It must be automated. Move shock collar into the elevator now. At least a better option than being drugged again. I don't think everyone gets the same options because I was sent a book from Jackie. I was so happy that I'd finally have some form of entertainment, but that's before I realized that the entire text was nonsense. I spent a long time going through every single page to see if maybe there was some secret message in there, but I couldn't find anything. Eventually, I gave up. Congratulations, John. You have received 200 social points. Tonight, you may pick your own dinner. Under normal circumstances, I would have been ecstatic about this. Finally, I could get some decent food, some vitamin, some protein, and more water. Under normal circumstances, I would have been proud. But how could I be proud if I got all these points through letting out my anger and frustration like this? That shiver went down my spine when I thought about how painful four shocks in a row must have felt for Julia. That night, I couldn't fall asleep as much as I tried. I kept thinking about everything that had happened. I jumped up from bed as a thought struck me. Oh, please, please let this be true. I mumbled to myself. Jackie had sent me two items today. I couldn't be our coincidence. I opened the first page of the book and held the lighter underneath. Oh God, I remember doing this when I was younger. She must have somehow gotten lemon juice. Help me. I can't take it anymore. I opened another page. This was extremely weird. The message said, "I'm John. Are you real?" Day five. I know that many of the choices that either I or the others made during this experience seem questionable, malicious or just occasionally pathetic. This is no excuse. I'm just asking you to keep in mind that we'd spent days in solitude, hardly sleeping or eating, physically and mentally at the limit. Or at a certain point, all you care about is survival, no matter what the call. Breakfast time. Please choose something out of the list for participant Josh. Breakfast. Apparently the new day had already begun. It was still dark outside. I hadn't been able to sleep at all, kept thinking about everything. Why was there a message with my name in the book? Had I been here before, or was it a way to mind fuck me again? After everything that had just happened last night, I decided both Manuel and Jackie were trustworthy. I didn't trust Julia. She was my strongest competitor and she was ruthless. I want all of us to get out of here safe and sound, but if I wanted to have any choice of getting control, I needed to play smart and gain points. But first, I had to pick breakfast for Josh. This was good, I hadn't had any interaction with him so far. I needed to figure out if he was an ally or a competitor. Social. But before I picked Josh's meal, could you inform me about my ranking? You are currently the highest ranking participant, John. Or can you tell me how many other participants there are? You have had interaction with every object that is participating in this round. This round? Pick a meal for Josh now. I went with a safe choice and sent him oatmeal and water. Nutritious but not luxurious. I was really curious what he would get me, or if I'd get any breakfast at all. Yesterday I wasn't able to send him anything because I'd passed out. A chicken sandwich, coffee and a bottle of water. That's strange. This is exactly what I got yesterday, except this time the coffee was hot. So, Julia probably skipped giving me dinner yesterday, and the things I'd found were from lunch that Josh had sent me. I sent a steak dinner and she decided to give me nothing. I felt a deburged to shock her again. Something inside of me was changing and it scared me. This is if I was just realising that I had a dark side, a revengeful side, God I was hateful. I'd never talked to this person or even seen them, and still I wanted to torture them, just because I could. I stopped myself before actually pressing the button. These people were playing with my mind and I let them. This is probably what they wanted for me to stop caring, to abuse my power. I was at the top. I should be enough for now. It is time to make another decision. You can now choose to send out one of the following items to a participant of your choice. Headphones, bandages, razor blade. I decided to send Manuel bandages. I had no gameplay here. It just seemed like the safest move. Suicide attempt, suicide attempt, suicide attempt, the siren and robotic voice filled up the room. Just the mention of suicide sent a shiver down my spine. My heart didn't stop racing until the siren stopped again. You received a video from participant Julia. It was a young woman, her clothes were dirty and bloody. Manuel had made a rough impression as well, but Julia looked like she'd been here for a long time. She looked tired, but her eyes were filled with rage. This didn't look like the decoy rage that I had acted out in my video. Her shock collar was gone, but I saw the bruises around her neck. That's when I noticed she had a knife. She slowly moved it towards her throat, and her eyes never left the camera. I thought it was her way of threatening me until I saw the blood. She was actually cutting herself. And that's where the video paused. I hadn't noticed it before, but I saw it in that moment. She was sitting in front of a chalkboard, and there was something written on it. Die, John. I felt frozen to the screen, even after the video had disappeared. Tears came to my face. Oh, this was all so much. Not knowing whether this was just a trick, a mind game or whether this girl had been pushed over the edge was ripping me apart. Had I given her the push? Was she really in danger? Was it too late? After a few hours of internalised terror, I calmed myself again. This could or be just a trick. If it was, then it was working. I spent the entire day just jumping around in my room. No decent thought coming out. Eventually the ringing of my laptop got me back to reality. Hello, John. I want to personally congratulate you on how well you're doing in this experiment. I'm impressed by your score and the choices you are making. You are constantly improving. If you keep going strong, you will be successfully completing the experiment soon. We're proud of you here at the social team. As a special treat, you'll be having dinner together with the second highest ranking participant today. And John. Who is this? Social? Hi, John. This was a personal message sent to you by our head of research. Can I message them as well? I am afraid now. Today, participant Josh will be joining you for dinner. The meal will be picked by social. Join me as in face to face. Yeah. I thought I'm not allowed to know how other participants rank. I am not allowed to share information with you. All right, social. Try to give up the illusion this is a legit experiment with all your freaking loopholes. I almost typed that, but decided to delete it. It might just cost me points again. I really didn't trust any of this, but if it meant that I was actually meeting a real human being, I was all for it. I wished it was Julia, just so I could set things straight, but maybe it would be good to meet Josh. Figure out who this mysterious new person wants. Pick up dinner from elevator now. Where's Josh? The other participant will be joining soon. I picked up my meal. Steak, jacket potato, greens, and champagne. This looked pretty great, though I only had one of each. With a walk back to my laptop, I realized what social had really meant by face to face. It was a video chat. On his side, it was still buffering. I made sure to turn my laptop in such a way that the chalkboard would somehow be visible when I sat down. Josh looked like he was about my age. You could see that he was mentally exhausted, but he was not as bad as with Manuel or Julia. So, are you John? I'm surprised to hear a voice for some reason I thought this would be muted. I had to be careful with what I said, though. Well, first of all, I didn't know if I could trust him. Second, social was probably recording all of this. I had to keep up the illusion, and I was still trying, that I was a good participant. So, you are my strongest competitor. Pretty good for someone who just joined last, I said. I had no idea if this was actually true, but maybe this would get me some more answers. Ha! Forced out of a smile. "My honest one," he said and nodded over. I think he was hinting at the strokes on my board. So, I was right about that. I was really nervous. I wish I'd had time to prepare for this. Look, I did something pretty intense to get this high. He looked to the ground. Some participant hasn't been sleeping in days because of me. I could really hear the remorse in his voice. But then he continued. But he must have made some even stronger decisions to be the one on top, I guess. He was trying to get information from me. "If I guess we both know how to play the game," I said and swallowed. And I still felt the guilt deep inside of me. I took a big gulp from the champagne. I guess so. "Well, we're not able to lose a dinner," he whispered. "Do you mean the others are talking as well?" He nodded. "How do you know?" I asked. "Social." Which one of them is the lowest? He shrugged. I guess social really does keep the other ranking secret. I was about to ask him something but the connection was already gone. At least I got some information with Josh could be trusted. I know that some of the other players probably talked today as well. I'd have to ask social about this. See if I can get more insight. And I knew that Josh probably gave someone that bracelet that keeps you from sleeping. I started feeling woozy. And they put something in the drink. I somehow carried myself to the bed and then everything went dark again. Day six. The morning it started off with the usual breakfast routine. I sent Manuel Oatmeal in water. He sent me a glass of blood. Delicious. I haven't had one of those in days. I didn't know how to feel about Josh after last night. He seemed somehow calculated but he made a genuine impression. Well, so far he'd always sent me decent food. The sleeping bracelet feels like something social pressured him to do. He was playing the game to win but he wasn't extremely evil. He was smart though. He'd figured things out pretty quickly and he wanted to have control. Just like I did. That was the only chance to get out presumably. It also meant that he would probably be coming for me now. I'd been here for five full days already. Day six was starting off as awful as always. I tried to look for the book to figure out a way to send a message. It was gone. So were the cigarettes. They must have taken them last night. Luckily, I'd put the lights in my pocket. My hopes of getting out of here in a healthy way were getting smaller by the second and I couldn't let this get to me down. If I started losing hope now, I'd probably die in here. I had to get into survival mode. Ding. Ding. Hello, John. Today we have a very special assignment on the planet. You'll be live streaming the other participants and play a game of choices. There are many points to be gained here. So do your best. Go sit down on your bed with the wall behind you. Four video screens opened up. I recognized Manuel and Josh. Julia was there as well. Alive. I've had a feeling of relief wash over me. I didn't trust her but I didn't want her dead either. The last one must have been Jackie. She looked a little older than the rest of the group. The bags under her eyes let me assume that she was probably the one that hadn't slept in days. Oh, that must really screw with your mind. Welcome participants. All of you have been doing well so far. Some did better than others but don't worry. This game is a chance to change everything. Let's get started. Josh. Choose a participant to fulfill the following task. Eat a raw deer heart. He didn't even seem to think about it. He responded right away. Manuel. Manuel. What did the elevator and pick up the heart now? If you choose not to, you will not receive any food or beverages for the rest of the experiment. I could see him struggle. His eyes were filled with hatred. Eventually he got up. Looking into the camera with tears in his heart, he bit into the dark red organ, finishing it off piece by piece. Josh didn't even flinch and Julia looked more confused than revolted. Next round. John and Josh. You can both decide to either remove a tooth or a fingernail. Choice must be unanimous. What do you choose? Tooth. Tooth. I sighed. If he'd picked nails, we probably would have had to do both. Josh wrapped his shirt around one of his teeth, closed his eyes and abruptly pulled it out. Blood filled his mouth. He held the tooth to the camera. I followed. Normally your mind tries to protect you. Hurting yourself like this takes a lot of willpower. For me, it wasn't willpower though. It was fear. Fear of whatever the alternative to this might be. It was painful as fuck, but still felt harmless compared to what came next. We all went through the game. No questions asked. Nobody dared to disobey. Julia can have a broken nose or all hair burned off their scalp. Manuel, decide which option. Manuel was just shaking his head. His face was still red from the blood and his eyes were full of tears. He was genuinely scared. Julia showed almost no reaction. Something had really broken her spirit. Manuel, send your choice now or lose all your privileges. Finally, he typed. No. Just like that, Julia turned towards the wall and repeatedly banged her face against it. As she turned around, blood ran all over her face. Her nose was completely out of place. Still, she was calm. Not a single tear. Ja, it is time for you to decide. Will Jackie cut off one of her fingers or be prohibited from sleeping for the rest of her time here? I could see the desperation in her eyes. How long can one survive without any sleep? A week? Two. I knew what she would choose if she could. Finger. As Jackie is not in possession of a knife at the moment, one of our helpers will arrive soon to fulfill the task. Jackie looked it around and smiled. You all did very well so far. Your wounds will be treated by one of our doctors shortly. Only one question there. One of the participants has to die. Majority wins. Who do you choose? This couldn't be real. This was a whole new level of fucked up. Well, I hesitated. But I possibly answered this question. Manuel seemed to think the same because neither of us answered. We didn't have to. It's the majority that already made the decision. John. John. John. Participant files. Round four. Participant, John. Round four. Branking. Not applicable. Obedience level. Strong. Subject went through significant growth. But the start decisions were of pure altruistic nature. As personal gain was made transparent, change of tactics. At the end of the round, signs of resignation had become evident. An aid for power and authority was established. After rising to the top on score level, participant John had given up own well entirely. Made deathly choices for a number of participants without signs of remorse. Participant Julia. Rounds three. Branking two. Obedience level intermediate. The subject showed resilience and willpower all throughout rounds two and three. Inconsistent emotional state was almost removed due to repeated suicide attempts. Strong determination to eliminate participant John. At the end of round four, participants showed signs of apathy. Level of obedience is stable at this point. Participant Jackie. Rounds one. Ranking three. Obedience level. Strong. The subject showed occasional competent decision making skills. Started off with a subjectively altruistic mindset. However, would let other participants influence their choices. Interest of future testing. Participant Manuel. Rounds one. Ranking four. Obedience level. We. The subject has poor decision making skills. Let's actions be guided by emotions. Has no explicit benefit for the experiment at this point and will therefore be eliminated. Participant George. Rounds one. Ranking one. Obedience level intermediates. The subject has passed expectations. They grew fast and showed remarkable pattern in decision making. However, level of loyalty needs to be further examined. Day seven. I don't even know how to put into words how I was feeling last night. I didn't sleep at all. For hours, I was sitting on the bed staring towards the door, waiting for my own. Of course, I didn't know if I would actually die or not, but in that moment, the adrenaline was flowing through my entire body. Fear can be a hurry or rush. My mind was not ready to die. I thought about Kiwi who'd been left alone for days. I thought about my mother. I hoped she'd be safe. I thought about my friends, about my childhood, about the summers we went swimming in the lake, about the Sunday mornings watching cartoons with my dad. I was not ready to die. I felt hate. Pure, revengeful, bitter hate. For social, for the experiment, for the other participants. This entire situation was just so fucked up. I wondered if I'd done the same as Josh? Had he been the highest ranking player? Part of me was scared to admit, but I probably would have, if it meant that I was free. I thought about the other two and felt especially betrayed by Jackie. They couldn't have known that I was the highest ranking player. They kept staring at the door, waiting patiently, but nobody came. Maybe it had just been a mind game after all. Maybe last night was just a fox. Ding, ding. Breakfast time. Today you will not have to choose. Go to elevator now to pick up your meal. Prisoners on the death penalty usually get to choose their last meal. No answer. I walked over to see what would be on the tray. Maybe it was some sort of clue. It was a finger. Was this a sign from Jackie? Was the reason she picked me to die because of the choice I'd made for her? I let it fall to the ground and grow down into tears. I lost all hope of ever getting out of this place. The chat window was still open. Social. Am I still the highest ranking player? Currently the highest ranking participant is John. Wait, it's social just given me a name. I never answer questions on the rankings of other participants. Hello, John. I want you to know that I'm very impressed with your progress. I understand that it must feel surprising to see the other participants turn on you. Remember, the only reason they want you dead is because you are a threat. Wouldn't you murder someone if it meant getting your freedom back? We are sad that it had to come to this point, but we have provided something for you to make this a little easier. Make the right decisions. Who is this? Hello, John. You just received another personal message from my head of research. You get to make another decision now. Do you want to continue and accept your destiny or put fate into your own hands? Go to elevate it now to pick up the items sent to you by the head of research. A bottle of vodka and a gun. One bullet. Last night the majority decided for the death of participant John. Oh, if this was making things easier, what was the alternative? What kind of gruesome death that they planned for me? I took a big gulp of the vodka. I didn't even have to think about this. Hey, social. Come and get me. Bring the head of research as well. I'd love to meet them. Well, they could go fuck themselves if they thought I was going to make things easy for them. I grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured it out in front of the door, making a trowel towards the bed where I sat down. I held a gun towards the door. If someone came in, I had one chance to shoot them. My chances weren't great, especially as I doubt only one person would come, so I kept the lighter gloves. If I had to go, I wouldn't do this on my own. I would take them with me. I waited for what must have been ours, but nothing happened. Every time I thought I'd figure them out, every time I thought things were ending, they just pulled another trick. They must have cameras everywhere. How could I have believed that this was it? The laptop started ringing again, the sound of pure misery. Hello, John. We see that you did not decide to use the gun. You just gained a hundred social points. We do not appreciate suicide attempts. What is this? Why are you doing this to me? Please just give me answers. If I have to diet, please let me know what the purpose of all this is. With a majority of three votes, the death of participant John was decided. Do you agree with this choice? No. No, I do not. Adding your social score with the one participant, man, well, you could overrule the majority. What does this mean? What's going to happen now? You have two choices. Team up with participant Manuel. If you can agree on another participant's death without discussion, it will be executed. Keep in mind, participant Manuel could choose John. Well, this was no option. It was too much of a gamble. What's the other choice? You can join another round of decisions, this time you'll be making them on your own. If you gain a thousand points in this game, the life of participant John will be spared. This could only be another round of torture, but at this point, what did I have to lose? First round, give gun to participant Julia, 200 points, or to participant Josh, 50 points. Well, she'd tried to kill herself before. If I send the gun, this could end fatal. But then again, I'd just send it right. The decision was all hers. Julia, 200 points. I moved the gun to the elevator. I hated giving it away, but I doubt it would have been much use anyway. participant Manuel is free to leave and go home, minus 200 points, or he will stay indefinitely, 200 points. Shit. I've really, really wanted him to get out of him, to get back to Sabrina, but even more than that, I wanted to live. Make him stay, 400 points. I felt like such a dick. I just get the only person from freedom that had spared my life. Jackie will lose the rest of their hand, 200, or John will lose a finger, 300. This was a really awful decision. The finger was nothing compared to our whole hand, and it will give me more points, but was I ready to sacrifice something for someone who'd wanted my death? Jackie, 600 points. But if I hadn't realized it before, this game really showed me how weak the human mind is. You do anything some authority ask you to do as long as it perks for yourself. I felt like such a horrible human being, and it got even worse. Josh gets to speak to head of research, minus 100. Or Manuel loses one top. 200. God, I couldn't harm him even more. Josh, 500 points. I hoped I wouldn't regret this decision. You can hand it all now. Julia will be kept from all benefits, including sleep and nutrition, for one week. 500 points. Do you accept? Oh, would she survive that? I didn't know. All I could hope was that she had something to drink saved in her room. Who cares? She wanted me dead. She didn't even flinch when she typed in my name. You'd have to do anything to survive. Yes. Would you like to spare the life of John? Minus one thousand points. Yes. Right after I typed it in, I ran to the bathroom to throw up. This had been the hardest moment of the experiment so far. I'd never hated myself as much as I did in this moment. I hope survival was worth this. Day eight. I woke up lying next to the toilet. The memories of yesterday came back to me, and I felt like throwing up again. Finally, I got up to see if there were any new messages from social. Any sign that this misery would end soon. Dinner time. You may now choose a meal for participant John. Why did this say my own name? Maybe they wanted me to pick my own dinner last night. I didn't care. I should have felt hungry, but the guilt kept me from even thinking about food. What time was it? I hadn't got a breakfast message yet. As if social could read my mind, the laptop started ringing again. The text was not from social though. Good morning. Social. No, I would like to ask a few questions if that's all right. Does it matter what I say? It always matters. Your decisions are what brought you this far. I don't ever remember accepting to come to this hell. What do you remember? If I answer your questions, will you let me go? Yes, Josh. After this conversation, you are free to go home. Do you remember your home? Did they just mix up my name? I did vote for Josh to have a conversation with the head of research. I just decided to go with it. Yeah, I do. I have a little apartment where I live with my cat, but you probably know all about that. And you think the cat is called Kiwi? Yes, I can see that shortboard. How do they know the name of my cat? Yes, Kiwi. What does Kiwi look like? I couldn't remember. There are also letters on there, K and F, Kristen and Finn, right? How do you know that? Do you remember what they look like or what Mary looks like? Do you remember your childhood home? I tried to think of my mum. Blond hair, brown eyes. She was about 50. For some reason, I didn't remember more. What did she look like when I was younger? Why did my memory feel frozen? It was as if I was thinking of a photo, not a real person. Keep thinking. The image shifted. It was a woman with short hair, a kind smile. The hair was black when I was little, but now it had turned grey. A name came to my mind. Margaret? Who was this woman? Do you know who Margaret is? I believe that is your mother. Who's Mary? That must be the mother of John. I am John. Are you sure about that? More memories came up. Kiwi, my dad, my friends at the lake, everything was wrong. They were simply images. They morphed into something else. A college, a woman, a girl, she had tattoo on her arm, a hospital. I started remembering more. I had joined an experiment once at college. I didn't remember much, except that the research was corrupt and evil. After I left that experiment, terrible things happened to me, to everyone around me. I decided to leave and I travelled around Europe for a while, but wherever I went, things went bad for me. They must have found me. Or did I find them? They wiped away everything and gave me false memories. Josh, you did really well here. I realised this experiment has its ups and downs, but eventually you grew to the top. You showed no remorse. You are a true leader. Josh, the social kept calling me John and I just accepted it. How did I forget about my own name? No, I didn't. I only did what you made me do. I did what I had to do. Because of points, numbers on a laptop. You decided to shock both Manuel and Julia. You sacrificed Jackie's hand. You gave Julia a gun even though you knew she was suicidal, although you did spare John's life. Who is John? You got to know him as Josh. We swapped your identity with his and added him as an additional variable. He's on his way to become part of our team. Before this, he'd been torturing Julia and it worked. That's why she wanted me dead. And she probably convinced Jackie too. Why? Why did you do all this? All these people were normal human beings living their lives. Keep them in a room alone and give them power to make decisions and they will lose all sense of humanity. And they are no exception. We have tested this in many settings already. Some humans grow above, however. A very select number get to make rules, not follow them. And John is one of them. No. He had potential, but he is nothing like you. You are the only person that could remotely come close to me, and that is why I need you. You were always one step behind me. I had to make sure you were strong enough to be part of this, to be part of the new life. And now I know. You have everything and that it takes. I am extremely proud of you. You want me to start doing these sick experiments on innocent people? This is happening. There is no way for you to change any of this. Our institution is far more powerful than you might believe. And giving you the option to be on the side that makes the decision. I am not forcing you to do anything. Just think about it. You are free to go home now, but we will see each other again soon. Goodbye now. That was the last thing I remember. I woke up in my apartment, my real apartment. Not the one from my memories, John's, or whatever they made me believe. My memories slowly came back, and I wish they had thought about running away, starting over somewhere far away, but for some reason I think they'd find me. For the same reason that the authorities weren't listening to me, they are powerful. And not just doing experiments, they're planning to take control over humanity or something. Yesterday I received an envelope with the patient files, as well as this postcard. The next round of the social experiment will start soon. Do you want to be an object or a leader? I thought about this a lot. About joining them. Not as a test subject, but as a researcher. I thought about this a lot since I'd been back home. I don't know what will happen next, but this study did teach me a lot about human nature and my own mind. How arbitrary freedom and choice were. I followed them. Blindly followed some authority from made-up points and false promises. I know I have to get back there. Not to become part of the research team, but to save the ones I left behind. I will not accept being this terrible person. I can do better with the knowledge I've gained. The envelope has no return address. So for now, all I can do is wait. [music] The Dakono Music and Spirits Festival returns to Centennial Park Saturday, August 3rd from 2 to 10 p.m. And it's free live music from the Warren Treaty. [music] Chris Daniels and the Kings is Callie and Moore. Enjoy a spirits competition. Kids Zone and fireworks presented by Oxy and the City of Dakono. Admission and parking are free. The Dakono Music and Spirits Festival brought to you by Breckenrich Brewery and City of Dakono. Go to thecityofdakono.com for more information and official message from Medicare. A new law is helping me save more money on prescription drug costs. You may be able to save too. With Medicare's extra help program, my premium is zero and my out-of-pocket costs are low. Who should apply? Single people making less than $23,000 a year, or married couples who make less than $31,000 a year. Even if you don't think you qualify, it pays to find out. Go to ssa.gov/extrahelp paid for by the US Department of Health and Human Services. Part 1. The Checkpoint. The taxi lurched across the snow-blanketed road. The wind shield a wet blur between creaking strokes of the white leaves. The cabbie was nervous, terrified. That much was clear from his refusal to go above 15, despite having the highway completely to himself at this unbearably late hour. It wasn't exactly a blizzard, but it just weren't used to snowing this country. Of course, he was on his third cigarette with the windows rolled up, since the two foreigners had piled into his cab. So much for half and safety. In the back seats, past the metal mesh, sad is fair. Two foreign women named Rebecca and Freya. Rebecca had come to this country to teach English in elementary school. Her flight had been booked weeks before the break-out and long before the nationwide lockdown. Before arriving, she debated with herself in agonising repetition about the dangers and consequences of following through with her journey. As it often did, logic won out. The virus had been around for decades, was only now being over-reported in the news and would inevitably make its way to her own country, where she didn't have any job or prospects. And there was a less than 1% chance of her ever coming within a 20-block radius of an infected tharyon throat. Ah, tharyon throat. Hard to believe that word was now trending on social media, and the images of ravenous, marauding beasts were being broadcast every night into people's living rooms. Plus, there was no way she'd get reimbursed for her plane ticket. Not if she didn't honour her agreement with the school and arrive on the previously agreed-upon date. It was neurotic if a hypochondriac as Rebecca was. She was also cheap. Beside her was the woman named Freya, whom Rebecca had only known for 11 hours. They'd both arrived on the same flight and sparked up a conversation after making their way through customs. Blocked down being as ironclad as it were here, the government had imposed a curfew. No, non-essential travel past night. With all the government checkpoints straining traffic, it was a six-hour wait for a cab. During that interminable malaise, the two had discovered they were heading in the same direction and agreed to split a taxi. Rebecca Palmer, a sickly, petite woman, with lank, mouse-coloured hair and a tectonic, thick bifocals, was used to going unnoticed. So it was of some bewildering surprise that Freya was the one to approach her. Rebecca had noted Freya from afar some time ago. A tall, curvy frame, her tumbling chestnut hair, her olive-toned skin. She looked more like a magazine-colour girl than a child's ecologist. As she told Rebecca was her profession. In her mild and minute-bloviating, not the Rebecca care-to-get-it-word in age-wise, Freya informed her she got in her job and visa to treat young children affected by the recent spread of the Therianthropes in the country. Children who'd been torn from their homes in the fallout and panic have been scarred, witnessing the epidemic in its aftermath. Apparently, she was some sort of an expert back in her home country of Sweden. Truth be told, Rebecca didn't care what Freya's reason for coming here was any more than she desired to share a conversation with this perfect stranger. But seeing the cue for a cab and liking the idea of splitting the fat, Rebecca agreed to braid the snowstorm alongside her. Again, of nearly all else, Rebecca was cheap. With the melting ice on the passenger side window, Rebecca could just make out the dark, vacant buildings, and the black wilderness stretching endlessly beyond the side of the road, unmolested by light. Rolling her fifth cough drop over her tongue, she stared dolly at the scenery, too jet-lagged and too poorly to get. She'd had a bad cough for the past three days and was now feeling the glow of an oncoming fever. When she saw bright lights up ahead, she knew it would be trouble. In the middle of the road, under glaring industrial bulbs mounted on tripods, were two men wearing hazmat suits, each holding something heavy in his hand. On the side of the road, said a large government-issued van and a white tent with half a dozen other men huddled underneath. Rebecca felt her heart drop when the cab ground to a halt. "What's happening?" she whined through panted breath. "It's fine," said Freya in a staid husky voice. "It's a check-stop. We're past curfew." "Curfew?" Rebecca's head swivelled as though stuck on the tip of an oiled pint. She didn't know why she was so surprised. This was a totalitarian common estate with less than inspiring human rights records. "What do we do?" The cabby rolled down his window and began speaking in rapid fire addiction to the hazmat suited men. "Relax," she heard Freya. "It's only a problem if we don't have a valid reason. We just show them our visas and our plane tickets. You kept your plane ticket right." Brandically, Rebecca tore into her gucci bag, tossing aside clouds of tissues, and sighed with exquisite relief upon filing her staff. She then jumped at the patter of knuckles against the window. From the outside looking in, a hazmat suited man gestured with his hand, making a circular motion. Rebecca promptly rolled down the window. The man spoke in the local dialect, which Rebecca didn't understand. He says this is the southeast checkpoint of the Shintong Expressway, said Freya with confidence. "We have to go to that tent on the side of the road." She pointed to the open tent where half a dozen men in biohazardware were congregated around a shabby table. Obviously it was helpful having someone who spoke both a language and English with her. Still, for some reason, Rebecca would have preferred remaining ignorance. "It's fine," said Freya, laying her hand on Rebecca's wrist, reading her thoughts. "They just want to make sure we have a reason to be out past curfew, and that we aren't infected. It'll probably only take five minutes. Ten minutes tops." The hazmat suited man beside her window spoke again. His tone hurried. Freya said nothing but opened the door and climbed out. Seeing no other option, Rebecca followed. A small man wearing glasses and a gunmetal grey park has sat prominently behind the shabby table under the tent awning. On the table, beside his elbow, was just one lumped to be a ledger, on the pages of which was written a list of names. Beside the names were long numbers in the time of their arrival. There were also glibbards, pens, radios, and an assortment of other gadgets, many of which were strewn on top of milk cartons. "You have friend here?" Gray parker spoke in broken English. "You have some friend here you can call. Translate." "I can speak the language," muttered Freya, who then said something that sounded similar in the local dialect. The man nodded indifferently, then began speaking to her. Freya did not interrupt and did not break eye contact either. Fretfully, Rebecca watched on, chewing her bottom lip. Her tongue tingly and sickly sweet from her last cough drop. She stood erect before the ragged desk, standing between Freya and the twitchy pear-shaped camp driver. Man in the grey parker mumbled something, and Freya produced her documents. She then looked at Rebecca, so she knew to do the same. Gray parker scanned the items with lackadaisical concern, like a pawn shop owner examining a rolex. He began writing something down on one of the paper sheets in front of it. Shivering from the frigid night air, Rebecca battled to keep her teeth from chattering, or at least from chattering too loudly. She scanned the faces of the other hazmat-suited men and saw one pair of eyes that looked warmly, sympathetically her way. They belonged to a younger-looking man, who was shorter than the others and seemed powerfully built. His face, which wasn't masked, was pleasantly rounded and soft, like a Harvey comic-book's character. He actually smiled at Rebecca and gave her a little nod, no doubt a feeble attempt to set her mind at ease. Regardless, Rebecca frowned and averted her gaze. Gray parker then said something briefly to Freya. "Are they going to take our temperatures now?" Freya translated. Rebecca looked back at her desperately. "They have to examine your pupils, as well if you have a fever," Freya assured her, reading Rebecca's mind. "This was true, and in fact is very enthroped. I was not only reported to be inflicted with a burning temperature, but also severely diminished pupils, the irises of which gleamed on natural colours for humans." Rebecca watched as one of the older-looking men in a biohazard suit approached Freya. In his hand he had a white plastic device, which looked like a 38 with a flat concave barrel. Rebecca watched him point and then press it to Freya's forehead. The curve of her skull fitting the concave end. After about a dozen seconds, a tinny jingle sounded, and the man withdrew the device. He looked at it, seeing the recorded temperature, and nodded approvingly. Gray parker handed her back her passport and plane to eat. It was now Rebecca's turn to have her temperature taken. Despite the callous chill in the air, she could feel sweat accumulating on the small of her back. The tinny jingle sounded almost immediately. The man looked at the device with visible concern and then muttered something to Gray parker. Gray parker looked up hard at Rebecca. The cab driver then had his temperature taken. Rebecca did not receive her documents. Something was wrong. After the third jingle from the temperature device, the man gave another affirming nod at Gray parker, the same he'd given after checking Freya. Gray parker looked up at Freya and said something Rebecca didn't understand. For the first time, Rebecca read real worry in Freya's exquisite face. Freya said something back to him with an edge in her voice. The man in the Gray parker responded in kind. The record could tell they were arguing. She looked at the cabbie recider, who was now looking at her as though she had leprosy. Her eyes sought out the kinder soldier with the richy rich face. He looked at her so she'd just been sentenced to die. She has high temperature. Gray parker shouted from the table, perforating his local parade with English. "That's not enough to prove she's a Therianthrop," retorted Freya. "You have to check her pupils to be sure." The shouting match in the other language resumed. But abruptly the shouting ceased. Gray parker looked up at Rebecca and pointed. "Go over there," he growled, pointing to where the four other hazmat suited men were standing. Rebecca hadn't noticed until then that each of them was cradling a machine. "What?" bleated Rebecca before being pulled aside by the arm. Her eyes were riveted with terror. She looked up at the three men holding it. Their faces were stony and unmoved. "No," she heard Freya insist. "No, she has the flu. A high temperature isn't enough to prove she has the virus. You have to check her irises. She just has the flu." Gray parker stood, holding the others with an upraised hand. He then addressed Rebecca. "You have money," he asked in his slanted English. Rebecca squinted and cocked her head to the side. "What?" "You have money," he repeated. Freya bought something in the language then in English said, "She doesn't have to pay. A fever isn't proof she's a Therianthrop. You must check her eyes." The two men from the road surrounded Freya, absorbing her from Rebecca's sight. A third man crowded her further. The cabbier, apparently free to go, ran to his automobile. Without hesitation, he hurled both Freya and Rebecca's luggage from his trunk into the snow before speeding away into the night. "Great," thought Rebecca. "Even if we make it through this, we're stranded." Rebecca was then kicked in the leg from behind, forcing her to bend at the knee. Like an accordion, her legs collapsed under her. The barrels of three rifles were pointed above her puny shoulders. Richy Rich stood in front of her. His weapon draped over one shoulder, his mouth forming a small hole. Tears welled up in Rebecca's eyes. She didn't have enough money. Not enough to satisfy what these men wanted. They'd probably just take it off her perforated corpse, anyway. It was then it occurred to her, the reality of the situation smacking her in the face, that she was actually about to die. "They're really gonna kill me," she thought. "Will anybody even find my body?" Gray Parker spoke to Freya over the shoulders of the other men holding her back. "You give money. We spare your friend's life. You give us money, no." Even from her obstructed viewpoint, record could see the cindering glare Freya shot at Gray Parker. Or perhaps, in the palpable silence, she just imagined she had. Gray Parker then turned and said something to Richy Rich. The latter muttered something short with audible trepidation. Gray Parker hollered the same order. This time more sharply. From the sleeted ground, Freya watched and listened to the heated exchange between the two men. Evidently galled. Gray Parker sprinted over to him, pulling out a glock from inside his coat and shoving it into the man's hands. Cradling the gun sheepishly, his chin drooping down like a scolded dog, Richy Rich was silent, listening to Gray Parker squawk and point emphatically at Rebecca's head. The record didn't need to be bilingual to understand this. "Do it. Shoot her. Now. Now!" His eyes almost as moist as hers. Richy Rich looked down at Rebecca, slowly pointed the gun at her chest, accepting her grim fate. Rebecca closed her eyes. She was smelling her late Nana's peach cobbler, hearing the Beatles for the first time, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face while lying in the grassy field of her youth. When her mind was snapped back to the present by an ear splitting scream 10 feet away. She looked in the direction of the noise, seeing that Freya had disappeared and was replaced by an eight foot tall, thousand pound grizzly bear. The scream had come from one of the three hazmat-suited men, and now lay nearly decapitated in a red mound of snow. With two others near it were thrown aside while at locks of hair in the hulking shaggy third monster's wake. The creature's silhouette was silver and quavering, illuminated by the blazing floodlights in the road. Two pimprics of yellow light burned in front of its massive head. They made a lumbering beeline for Richy Rich, who stood paralyzed, the glock almost falling from his hand. Within seconds the bear tackled him to the ground and eviscerated his neck from chin to collarbone with its thrashing jaw. Squirming away her ass dragging across the wet floor, Rebecca watched the creature stand tarryingly on its hind legs, maiming the three remaining men with brutal pore swamps before a single volley of gunfire could sound. The metallic odour filled the night air. Her veins singing with adrenaline, Rebecca turned her head, hearing a shuffling commotion to the side. Behind the table, borrowing in the corner, was Gray Parker hunched over. He was rummaging for something. He then stood and turned, holding his own semi-automatic rifle. At that moment, Rebecca could not place with any reasonable accuracy which outcome she preferred. The monster shot to death or Gray Parker eaten alive. One of the mutant grizzly must have seen what Rebecca had, because he was now charging the man, who just managed to raise the rifle and squeeze off a round, or how many dozen rounds a semi-automatic rifle fires at once. Clapping her palms to her ears, Rebecca ducked her head into her knees, knowing that it was over once the gun fired ceased and the screaming had commenced. The ground rumbled. Peering through splayed fingers, she saw the beyered pin Gray Parker to the ground, was now crushing him with his front paws. There was another thunderous stomp, a wet crackle of bone, and no more screaming. Seeing the creature's back turned, Freya scrambled to her feet, fleeing from the tent and into the nearby wilderness. Beyond the hazy gloom, she could make out the dark woodland, just past the wide field of snow. Once enveloped in the thick foliage, she didn't stop running until her legs burned the way her lungs did, as she could taste copper at the back of her throat, shaking and sweaty. She ducked behind a tree trunk and waited until it was safe. But when would it ever, ever, be safe? The Dakono Music and Spirits Festival returns to Centennial Park Saturday August 3rd from 2-10 p.m. And it's free! Live music from the Warren Treaty! Chris Daniels and the Kings is Callie and More. Enjoy a spirits competition, Kid Zone and fireworks presented by Oxy and the City of Dakono. Admission and parking are free. The Dakono Music and Spirits Festival brought to you by Breckenrich Brewery and City of Dakono. Go to thecityofdakono.com for more information. An official message from Medicare. A new law is helping me save more money on prescription drug costs. You may be able to save too. With Medicare's extra help program, my premium is zero and my out-of-pocket costs are low. Who should apply? Single people making less than $23,000 a year or a married couple who make less than $31,000 a year. Even if you don't think you qualify, it pays to find out. Go to ssa.gov/extrahelp paid for by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Bar two, the ferry on the road. It wasn't long until Rebecca heard the car horn. At first she ignored it. She made it was an alarm or some passing motorist. Then she noticed a pattern. Long beep, short beep. Long beep, short beep. Three long beeps. Pause. Two long beeps. Short beep. More scum. Come out. She listened to the next series of beeps. All safe. The pattern repeated and Rebecca was certain of the message. Come out. All safe. Her teeth were no longer chattering but she was cold. Her feet wet to the ankles. She stood up from behind the tree and patted out toward the noise. Past the edge of the forest, she could tell the sound was from the checkpoint. Could just make out the faint glow of headlights in the distance. She stood where she was, debating her next move. But seeing her fingernails start to turn blue, the fear of freezing to death overcame her terror over the creature. And somehow, standing in a forest, afraid, waiting to starve or succumb to hyperthermia, just robbed her the wrong way. He made her think of a partridge standing in place before being shot to death by a hunter's remington. Arriving at the white tent, she was so repulsed by the splattered carnage, she almost didn't notice the van, and Freya's pale face staring out at her through the passenger window. Of course, it was the van's horn with which Freya had sent out the message. Tilting her head down and squinting inside, she could make out Freya in the driver's seat, beckoning her closer. Again, not seeing any other options, and wanted to get as far removed from the bodies as possible. She obliged. When she opened the passenger door, she could see that Freya was naked, covered only by a thermal blanket, and that she was bleeding profusely from her left shoulder. "Blowed her luggage, then get into the driver's sight," she said in a state voice. "What?" said Rebecca. "I'll shuffle over. I need you to drive, and we need to get out of here as soon as possible before backup arrives. Go on." Rebecca crossed the front grill, retrieved both of their suitcases, and dragged them to the van's open cargo door. She loaded them, and, not seeing any other option, walked over to the driver's side door. Finding the congealing blood on the ignition key, she winced before reaching down and turning the engine. There came a deafening whoosh from the vents, indicating the heat was turned on, but it would feel like AC until the vehicle had properly warmed up. "How? How did you know I knew Morse code?" she stammered, stalling for time. "I didn't," muttered Freya. "I just hoped you'd be attracted by the car horn, or so I figured there was no harm in sending a message just in case." "Where are we going?" "Just drive up ahead." Rebecca observed that she had a first aid kit propped on her lap. Clearly she needed Rebecca to drive. "We'll figure out where we're going as we go," Freya said, opening the kit's lid. "That's not going to work for me," said Rebecca. "I know this is spur of the moment, but so far I haven't made too many mistakes." Freya indicated the bushel of blood-edged papers by her feet on top of a large open booklet. The logs. The only definitive proof the two of them had gone through the checkpoint. Still, Rebecca was unsure. "I don't know," she stammered. "You want to stay here until reinforcements arrive. I just killed eight federal officers. The only reason I was able to save you is because they thought I was clean, and they were paying all their attention to you. If they send more people with guns, which they will, we will not be so lucky." Rebecca stiffened. So it wasn't her imagination. Freya was a fairy enthron. The hideous mutant grizzly bear that has slaughtered those men. Again, not seeing any alternative, Rebecca gradually put the van into drive and peeled out onto the icy road. "Those men," stammered Rebecca, having driven some distance from the lane carnage behind them, "they were going to kill me just for having a high temperature." "They wanted to extort us for money," muttered Freya. "Animals." "Do you think they were bandits?" " Possibly. Not likely, though. There's a lot of corruption that goes on. Government workers don't make a lot of money or under incredible stress and danger during this epidemic, so there are some rogue outfits trying to strong-arm people to make extra cash." "You knew this was happening in this country, and she still came here." Freya shrugged. They drove on in silence. This is the Shintong Expressway, a major highway. We need to avoid more checkpoints. Knowing Freya could understand the local language, Rebecca followed her orders to take a series of back roads, headed in no particular direction. When she dared, she watched peripherally as Freya exposed her bare-blooded shoulder, hissing through her teeth that she did so. She first poured some clear, sharp-smelling liquid over the wound, which caused her to grimace and hiss even louder. The odor of coagulating blood mixed with pure alcohol made Rebecca's head fog, especially in such a close space. Then, with astonishing calm, Freya took out a sheet of clean gores and pressed it firmly to the wound. When the gores was red and soaked through, he discarded it and applied another. She did this three times until the blood flow was stable, then taved the edges to her skin to keep the dressing in place. She seemed to be healing quickly. Was this also part of her power? Squee me shroud any hint of violence or bodily fluids, it was a battle for Rebecca not to faint. With great effort, she managed to keep her eyes on the road. Within an hour, Freya seemed healed, or as healed as one could be, and was wrapped inside the thermal blanket like a cocooned insect. The car had also warmed up, to the point that Rebecca could actually feel herself swept under the armpits. Then, she heard a slight whimper beside her. She peered over and saw that Freya was sobbing quietly, her mouth agape liking some silent scream. Understandable, thought Rebecca. She didn't bother asking what was wrong. Another hour passed, well, beyond midnight before the two spoke again. "So, you have the virus?" asked Rebecca, seeing that Freya was no longer weeping. No reply. "You caught it during the outbreak?" "No," muttered Freya, staring at the misty windshield. "I've had this condition since I was 12." "Twelve?" "That's correct," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. They could see by the unnatural car in a human dilation of my eyes, the fluctuation in my temperature that I had it. They could tell that by the time I was older, I would morph into an animal into a killing machine. Freya spun savagely on Rebecca. "Don't say that," she snapped. Rebecca said nothing. "I don't know how I got it," Freya continued, turning her head forward. "I don't know where it comes from or how you get it." "No one does." "Is it airborne?" "The virus," asked Rebecca. She then felt something crawl up the side of her neck. She smacked at the spots, pulling back nothing in her hand. "It might be," answered Freya. "Is that why those men were wearing biohazard suits instead of Kevlar?" "They were probably wearing Kevlar underneath those biohazard suits." Freya exhaled sharply from her nostrils. "Is it true that you can't fully morph if you're seriously injured?" Needle Rebecca. Freya threw her another sharp look. "An injury like this wouldn't stop me," she answered, a subtle warning. "But yes, if our bodies are deprived of enough blood, oxygen or sustenance, we don't have the energy to morph. Why do you ask?" "No," replied. Visibly vexed, Freya let out another sharp exhale. "I'm not going to kill you," she assured her driver. "If you're worried that it's not like the movies, I can control it." "I sure hope so." "What does that mean?" "Well, I'm not exactly driving you willingly here. I mean, the only alternative I had to you eating me alive was to freeze to death." "Don't say that," said Freya, a damp tremor in her voice. She looked as though she were about to start sobbing again. "You don't know what I've been through." "Huh?" Like I said, I've had this condition since I was twelve. I didn't get bid by some accursed wolf. No covenant of witches put a spell on me. I just woke up one day. There it was. The hunger. The hair. The animalistic car in my eyes when I get scared. Just there, like your first period. "Okay." "My parents disowned me." Freya carried on as Rebecca had learned, was her habit. They would have nothing to do with some freak like me. Can you imagine that? Her own parents thinking you got this evil thing to dispel from their home. Rebecca felt flush, recalling the time her parents had caught her, at age five, trying to suffocate her newborn brother in his crib. She elected not to share that memory with Freya. I was out on the streets for months, continued Freya, starving. But one night at a child shelter, I met a man who worked there as a youth supervisor. He was older, pitch-white hair and gaunt face, steal blue eyes. He had the same condition I have, had caught it at eight years old. Did he live in the same city you grew up in? Yes. So, this virus has not only been around a lot longer than a few months. It's a lot more concentrated and prevalent than I thought. And that it seems to start any time, including childhood. Is this information supposed to set my mind at ease? This man was my master, interrupted Freya. And despite being a fairy entrope, he was perfectly harmless. He taught me that I can control when I morph into my other form. You see, for all fairy entrope's, our transformation is triggered by fear. Fear? Really? That's right. Not a full moon like you see in those god-awful movies. It's an instinctual defense mechanism, like a blowfish enlarging itself for an octopus shooting oil at a predator. You're actually calling the people you mean back there the predators? Why not? They had the guns. Taking a moment to reflect, Rebecca replied with, "Farena." The rash of violence caused by the fairy entrope is connected to a lack of training, a lack of discipline. Fairy entrope's not knowing what they have, and not being able to control their fear. And with the massive unemployment and unease around the world now, it's no wonder they've become so visible lately. People don't know they have it. Sometimes they never find out. It's sort of like a spectrum. My master, the old man from the shelter, taught me how to centre myself, how to not resort to my animal form unless it's absolutely necessary. That's how I was able to go undetected when they checked my temperature. That's how I've been able to function all this time. Despite my condition, I... dambly, afraid I broke off. She wasn't sobbing, but tearing up quite desperately. I should have been able to control myself so as not to kill the fourth one. The fourth one. The young one with the big forehead and the chubby cheeks. The one standing in front of you. You know the one they ordered to shoot you. Rebecca's mind flashed back to Richie Rich. I could tell in his eyes when I charged him when I had him pinned the fear in his eyes that he wouldn't have hurt me. Wouldn't have hurt you if he wasn't being forced. Bullshit, Rebecca demurred softly. He was saying he was just following orders. You didn't hear the words exchanged between him and the commander. The one wearing the grey jacket. Or at least you didn't understand their exchange. He didn't want to go through with it. He was scared. If the easy pull of a trigger weren't so deadly, he wouldn't have been able to hurt anyone. You could tell that. Just by looking in his eyes. Yes. Well, I disagree. He did the right thing. You saved my life. I could have done it without killing him. My master taught me to control my fear, my defense mechanism, even while occupying the body of my other form. The giant grizzly. That's your other form. Yes. So, what's your master's philosophy? Control your fear or your fear will control you. You can't let fear guide your destiny. Some kung fu sensei bullcrab like that. Like from the movies. Fray a stud, tugging the blanket around her shoulders. Not as trite as you put it, but yes, in a way. So, I guess you think these lockdown measures are hysteria. People letting their fear get the best of them. No, not at all. Fear is a tool, a guide if used correctly. If not controlled, it's a weapon harming everyone, including the person wielding it. One half ago. The road ahead had somehow drawn darker. Craneing a neck, Freya peered hard and searched the windows. "Take her right here," she instructed. "On to that path. The dirt road off the shoulder there." "You sure?" asked Rebecca. "There's no light." "Just do as I tell you." Rebecca took the path. It was rough and unpaved. The van rocking and staggering over the sleet and muddy ground. "There's a house up there," Rebecca protested, starting to panic. "Someone lives here. We're going to be seen." "It's probably a crematorium or something," said Freya. Buildings this far out of the way in this country are often for such services, municipal regulations for the fumes. "Well, what are we supposed to do?" "Take the first amenable road from this path that takes us into the wooded area, try to get as far from that little house there as possible." "What if someone sees us?" "If they see us, they'll do nothing. This is a government van in our oppressive totalitarian state. Everyone here will recognize this van as government issues, in which case the people living there will be just happy we didn't bother them." "What if an alert has been sent out for this van?" "That will take hours, probably. Besides, these fans all look alike." "Yeah, but eventually someone might make a sweep of the whole area." "Eventually, yes." "So I'm injured and exhausted. I need at least a few hours of sleep before coming up with our next move. So could you please find us a spot in the woods there where we can camp out for the night so I can get some rest?" Big grudgingly, Rebecca silently conceded for his point. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open herself. She parked the van in a relatively flat spot in the forest. As deep as you could go before the brush was too thick for them to get out. Glutching the blanket to her naked form, prayer clambered into the backcardo, finding and unfolding to paper thin gymnasium mats and laying them flat on the steel floor. "I'll take the first watch," she said to Rebecca. "You get some sleep. I'm going to put some clothes on and then burn the logs I took from the checkpoint. If we're lucky, no record of us was sent out to anyone." "No, it's okay," Rebecca insisted. "I'll take the first watch." "Rebecca?" "You're tired and injured. It's all right. Get dressed and get some shut-eye. I'll go out and burn the files. Really, I don't mind." Rebecca could see in Frayer's smoke eyes that she was too knackered to argue. Without another word, Frayer opened her suitcase, put on a set of pajamas, then collapsed onto the mat. Frayer had been dreaming about her first time at a swimming pool when she was an infant. The time she'd almost drowned after jumping in without water wings. When she awoke, realizing she couldn't breathe. First, her rudely awakened mind couldn't understand it. Has she gone blind? Why couldn't she see anything? Then, feeling the cottony texture against her cheek and smelling dry sweat into mingled with bleach, she realized what was happening. Someone was smothering her, growing more aware of her compromise state. She felt a heavy knee ramming down into her sternum. "Rebecca." "It had to be Rebecca." Bitch was trying to smother her to death, panicked, desperate. She wrapped her brain for alternatives. There were none. There was only one option, more, into the grizzly. Thrashing, grabbing blindly at her assailant, Frayer felt her flesh boil. The dark fiber sprouting from her paws. But she couldn't finish the transformation. There wasn't enough oxygen in her body. That and the loss of blood from her shoulder. No, she had to keep trying. Hope the Rebecca would freak from her partial transformation in a relent her attack. But she didn't. She only matched the pillow down harder into her face. Frayer felt her body grow weaker than weaker. Then, thinking back to the lessons of her master, she realized what she had to do. The fur receding to her skin. Her fever subsiding. She let her body go limp. Limp. Motionless. Cold. Slowly, Rebecca peeled the pillow from Frayer's head and pulled back to a seated position. She then jumped her feet from the cushion being ripped from her hands. Frayer's previously prostate form leaping up before her. Enraged, oxygen flooding back into her lungs. Frayer watched an out trembling woman back pedal to the wall. She advanced, trapping Rebecca, seeing the mortal terror in her eyes, even through those dense bifocals. In the reflection of Rebecca's glasses, Frayer could watch her own feverish transformation as the familiar exquisite pain spread through her flesh. Her mouth elongated into a fang snout. Her fingernails lengthened into claws. Her shoulders rounded, her back hunched and grew further. Her clothes disappeared in shrinking shreds against her darkly thickening coat. Her body mass ballooning with copious homicidal muscle. With an iron wine, a van dipped sideways under her new weight. With Rebecca's flat chest rose and fell, her breath catching in her throat. She tried to make a run for the cargo door but was promptly pinned by Frayer's right paw. Her left forepaw, being injured still, was coiled off the ground near her suit's stomach. Frayer didn't press any more of her weight than was necessary to keep her pinned there. She wasn't going to crush her to death. No, nothing so merciful. Her jaws frothing over, cavernous gullet rumbling, Frayer made up her mind to devour her, starting from the feet. But then she saw something, something glimmering just beyond those dense bifocals, something in Rebecca's eyes that wasn't fear, something that told another story. Through the looking glass of the eyes of her prey, Frayer peered into Rebecca's soul, and even in her voracious animal form, she could see there was no threat. Rebecca no longer appeared to her as that scruffy would be spinsed to her, but instead, as a helpless, dough-eyed girl. The voice of her old master echoing in her skull, Frayer managed to shift her body weight to the floor. She reclined and sat before Rebecca, the frame of the van staggering and squeezing. She could still see that glimmering message in the woman's eyes, the contrite pledge to do no harm. Seated, subdued, and innocuous like a trained circus elephant, Frayer huffed, her hot breath forming tiny mushroom clouds against the frigid night air. Manipulating her drooling more, Frayer strained her garbled voice to produce one word, "Go!" Not needing to be told twice, Rebecca leapt off the wall. She scampered past Frayer, grabbing her bag and suitcase, struggled with the door latch for a few agonizing seconds, then was gone. From the open rear of the van, Frayer watched Rebecca's stumbling form disappear into the forest. Her grisly form beginning to dissolve. She looked on to see the first speckling of dawn, breaking through the foliage. She still had her passport, her visa and her luggage, but didn't know what the day would bring. But whatever it would be, she would meet it head-on and without fear. Part Three of the Bounty Hunter Agent Kwai Su hated coming to the office of the public security minister. Mainly because he hated public security minister Ta-Man, a fat little man in a suit who was decidedly cold, even abusive to his subordinates. Minister Ta-Man was a bully to his staff, and an aschist to the general secretary. In fact, he was an aschist to anyone who could elevate his career or eliminate him from the party ranks. Despite only just making rank, Kwai Su would already learn Mr. Ta-Man's story. He was the son of a party man who had been ostracized in the mid-fifties and had to live out his childhood in obscure poverty. After moving back to the capital as a young man, he'd slowly and quietly minute his way back into the good graces of the Communist Party. And he was now the minister of public security, a lightly shoe-in for next-party leader and thus head of state. Knowing how easily one could fall out of favor to the regime, Ta-Man calculated each move by its potential consequence, always opting for the path with the minutest risk of fame. Given the minister's background and experience, it was a little wonder he ran such a brutally tight ship. Still, being attached to such an ambitious careerist had its benefits, namely being brought along with him in the event of promotion. Sitting in Ta-Man's office, 10 feet from his desk, Agent Kwai Su was not optimistic about the minister's mood that morning. There had been a Therian throat attack 48 hours ago on a southeast checkpoint, not two miles from the international airport. They were dead, all of them federal officers. Also, the supposed Therian throat, or Therian throats, had gotten away. Worse news for the attack had leaked to the media, prompting public panic, putting Ta-Man's ass right on the chopping block. He would need Kwai Su to resolve this problem as soon as possible, as quietly as possible. He'd need to find and kill the Therian throat, put evaded termination, and had killed all those men. As Ta-Man prouted away on his phone, lightly speaking to an irate general secretary, Agent Kwai Su's eyes scanned the room. To his right was a 12-inch flat screen, and he had five feet up the wall, turned off. He then observed either wall in the unoccupied space between him and the minister's desk, realizing there were several gun turrets, with small but lethal barrels pointed his way. If he were infected, if he were in fact a Therian throat, he'd be eviscerated long before coming within six feet of Ta-Man. The room wasn't warm, but Agent Kwai Su felt his brow grow moist. "Yes, of course," General Secretary said, Ta-Man pleaded into the receiver, "I'll see to it at once." Ta-Man cradled the phone. He eyed the Agent coldly, while pouring himself a drink from a crystal decanter. "We've got a word to Agent Kwai Su. He swallowed the drink whole, then poured another. The liquid was colourless. An accurate stench found its way to Kwai Su's nostril." "I assume you've heard," Ta-Man grunted, lacing his stubby fingers over the desk. Not wanting to test the minister's mood, Kwai Su's only nodded. Ta-Man cuffed under his breath and took a lethal pull of his drink. "They're dead. All of them are people at the southeast checkpoint of the Shinto expressway. Forensic said there's no doubt. A Thirianthrope tore them apart." "A new outbreak," asked Kwai Su, testing the warters now. Ta-Man glowed over the rim of his car. "Maybe not," he answered, his voice strained. There were three international flights that came into the air nearby airport that night, the last of which was from Stockholm, Sweden, but then he locked this Thirianthrope is a foreigner. If we can hunt this monster down, we might be able to spin the story so that the blame falls outside of the Republic and outside of this office, my office." Agent Kwai Su nodded, despite the urge to shake his head. "Always about perception," he thought sardonically. "Always is the politics." What was left unsaid between he and the minister was that six of the eight slain men were of some notoriety. In fact, one could qualify their records as disgraceful. The commanding officer of the checkpoint found crushed to death and clinging to a smoking semi-automatic rifle had been transferred to eight different divisions in as many years, had no less than a dozen brutality complaints, and was twice investigated on suspicion of corruption. "We have to find this monster within the week," said Ta-Man, stabbing the desk with his forefinger. "This week," with the media reporting it, "we need to give the public a story that will put them at ease." "I understand, Minister Sun." "Glib, but unhappy," Ta-Man reclined in his chair, his double chin protruding over his shirt collar like paunch over a belt buckle. "My receptionist will give you the passenger manifests of the international flights that might. I want you to run down all of foreign passengers. Track them down and test each of them. If there are no signs of Therianthropy, then go after the rest. Hopefully, that will be enough to catch this monster." Agent Kwi-Sou knew which test the minister was referring to, the Hongwao-Turat-Sop test, a device which checked for unnatural colors in a human's eye, colors belonging to a Therianthroat. It likewise checked for inhuman movement in the pupils. The government had tried in the early stages of the breakout to force mandatory DNA tests for all their people, but with the citizens, both the traditionalist seniors and the democracy pining youths, such an endeavor proved infeasible. The government was likewise in the process of creating a complete DNA database of all their countrymen, enabling the immediate identification should any tissue be left behind at the scene of a crime. This ambitious process was, for the time being, incomplete. "I don't want you to delegate this mission to any agents under your command," Toman continued. "I want you to see this matter personally and to make it your sole priority, but one of your lieutenants in charge of supervising any other pending cases. For the next seven to fourteen days he worked for me on this only, understand." Kwi-Sou grimaced, shifting in his chair. He hadn't been on patrol in years. Ever, actually, and hadn't canvassed a scene in months. It wasn't like he didn't know what to do, it was just that with his rank and immaculate reputation, he'd been insulated from all that, unexposed to the ugly macabre side of the jaw. "Yes, sir," said Agent Kwi-Sou. "I'll track down the offending creature personally and terminate it, and I'll be sure to take a blood sample to compare it to whatever DNA is found at the scene." The Dakono Music & Spirits Festival returns to Centennial Park Saturday, August 3rd from 2 to 10 p.m. and it's free. Live music from The Warren Treaty. Chris Daniels and the Kings is Callie and Moore. Enjoy a spirits competition. Kidzone and fireworks presented by Oxy and the City of Dakono. Admission and parking are free. The Dakono Music & Spirits Festival brought to you by Breckenridge Brewery and City of Dakono. Go to thecityofdakono.com for more information. An official message from Medicare. A new law is helping me save more money on prescription drug costs. Maybe you can save too. With Medicare's extra help program, my premium is zero and my out-of-pocket costs are low. Who should apply? Single people making less than $23,000 a year, or married couples who make less than $31,000 a year. Even if you don't think you qualify, it pays to find out. Go to ssa.gov/extrahelp. Paid for by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. No, DNA matches take too long, time and protesting. We need this solved publicly within the week, and too many of our citizens don't understand DNA. No, I'm going to need you to get bullet-proof evidence linking the monster to the attack. Well, get a confession out of it. Sir? When you go down to the first floor to get your hazmat suit and the manifests, my receptionist will give you a metal briefcase. Inside will be the homo-torout sob device and an audio recorder. Get the creature to confess his crimes and record the confession. His eyelash is fluttering, quite so you tried to process Tarmen's orders. "Sir," he said bewildered, "how might convince a creature to confess his crime when it will know that doing so will mean being put to an immediate death?" "Darmen trunt," offered to make it quick. It was silent for a bit. Quizu tried to exhale lightly, but it came out as a ruthless chuckle. "Look," barked Tarmen, impotently. "Cokes the confession. Light it, torture the forsaken thing if you have to. Just destroy the Theriantrop and make sure we can prove it's the one that killed our man." "Yes, sir," Quizu then nodded, not wanting to see him in subordinate. "Should I visit the sight of the attack first?" Tarmen bore a hideous smirk that seemed to mock Quizu. He reached down underneath his desk. A light appeared in Quizu's peripheral vision. He turned, finding the flat screen was now on, showing a bird's eye view of a middle-aged man wearing a plain button down and slacks, a side holster on his head. He was railed thin and slightly stooped with a concave gut, like an imploded pot-belly. From what Quizu could see, the man was in the reception area, first flown. "You know, Mr. Nee, don't you," grumbled Minister Tarmen. Quizu appeared at the screen, recognizing the figure. "Yes, Minister, sir," he said, turning back to Tarmen. "By reputation only, sir. He's a bounty hunter." "He's a monster killer. He's what he is," Tarmen corrected. "He's going to accompany you on this mission." "Sir?" He tracked and destroyed fifteen of those monsters already. We were going to hire him alone, but seeing as this new variant trope might be foreign, we're sending you along with him. Suggesting this, Quizu nodded. He doesn't speak English then. He doesn't speak English or any language, other amount of the Republic, so you ought to accompany him, help him interrogate this possible variant. Quizu, like so many others in law enforcement, had heard of Mr. Nee, the bounty hunter, or a variant trope killer. He was regarded as ruthless, fearless, and extremely unstable. Nonetheless, what Minister Tarmen had mentioned of his record was true were fifteen successful terminations. There were many ugly rumors about the man and his background, none of which Agent Quizu cared to entertain. "Pardon me, Minister, sir," said Quizu. "His name bristled, knowing your not to contradict a superior." Minister Tarmen's eyes were white. "Would it be preferable for me to work with another party agent, seeing as this Mr. Nee works outside of the party and, if you'll excuse me, has a less than desirable reputation?" Surprisingly, Tarmen did not bite the agent's head off. Instead, he leaned back further into his chair, his hands laying across his ample abdomen. "Where do you meet with Mr. Nee?" Tarmen said. "You'll notice there are many scars on his face. Don't mention them to him," Quizu said nothing, waiting for the punchline. "You know that this is the second wave of therapy our Republic has endured," Hite, Agent Quizu. "The first wave occurred before you were born. We lost over fifty thousand people to those monsters during a three-month stretch." Mr. Nee was an infant during that first wave. He was an orphan in one of the facilities that was attacked by the very undernubs. Somehow, by some grace of the gods, he escaped with his life, despite being maimed and permanently disfigured. Those vicious monsters make up his very first memory. They are why he has all those scars. So, the reason I've hired him, he's got the drive to bring down these stereotypes, because they tore his world apart to begin with. So help him out. Keep him in line when necessary, but don't get in his way. At that moment, it occurred to Quizu that he was hired not for his ability or understanding of English, but for the immaculateness of his reputation. "Of course," he thought, "always the perception, always the politics." Despite knowing he was dismissed, Quizu stayed seated. Seeing this, Tarmen raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Mr. Tarmen, sir," said Quizu, answering Tarmen's look, "I am willing to assist Mr. Nee on this mission, assuming I have tactical command. I am also willing to do my best to see that we find, capture, and kill this offending Therianthrop within the seven-day window you have allocated. I realize that doing so will help your office, and our Republic keep face. But doing all these things will not be without difficulty. Should I accomplish the task in the allotted time, I hope that you will appreciate my efforts and remember what I have done later on." Tarmen leered over his desk, bringing his drink close to his face and sniffing the liquor. "So you'll have ambitions of your own," he said. Quizu reddened, knowing he'd overplayed his hand. "That's all right. I know you did. And you have a floorless reputation in this department and in the party. Perhaps two floorless." Truth is, I want you on this assignment. Not only is he helped Nee with the language barrier, but to offset much of the backlash we'll surely face for having hired such a man, and the shame we already have for letting this attack happen. But don't hold out your hand like that to me again. I'll tell you what, you catch this monster within a week, I'll see you still have your job and rank in this agency when it's done. Therianon. Quizu nodded and rose from his chair, not wanting to dig himself into a deeper hole. After a curt exchange of pleasantries, Agent Quizu and Mr. Nee drove down to the scene of the attack. They drove in painful silence. Mr. Nee's eyes never leaving the windshield, or blinking from what Quizu observed. He didn't even look up when they were stopped at the roadblock two miles from the checkpoint, Agent Quizu having to flash his credentials to get through. Once on the scene, Quizu saw the forensics team in full form. Yellow tape, hazmat suits, tweezers, cotton swabs, photo cameras, and two evidence fans. No ambulance, though. None needed. No survivors. The head inspector approached the two men, wearing biohazard wear. Quizu was likewise suited up, complete with a face screen and Kevlar vest underneath. Given the cutting weather, he didn't mind the luminous plastic overalls. All the heavy rubber boots, though. They took some getting used to. Mr. Nee, on the other hand, only wore a windbreaker over his street clothes. "I'm sure you heard by that," said the inspector, through his face mask. DNA left of the scene and swab from the exit rooms on the body indicates a Therianon throw but that. "Any record of who came through this checkpoint, besides the staff?" asked Quizu. "Oh, the log sheets are gone. There are no embers, no scraps of paper anywhere, which leads us to believe that the Therianfrope or someone with it had stolen them." "Very smart," interjected Mr. Nee. He spoke with a slight lisp, half his lower lip being made up of grafted skin. The two of them looked odd together, Nee being scrawny, hunched and disfigured, and Quizu being slim, fit, and quite handsome. In sharp chin his most prominent feature, at least, when he wasn't decked out in biohouse again. "Did you find anything that could indicate a foreign visit to this checkpoint?" Quizu fished, a passport, an ID card, a plane ticket of some kind. The inspector shook his hand. "We have one possible lead," he told Quizu. "The government man that should have been here is missing. His van, like all government-issued vehicles, has a tracking device, telling us its location should be activated from the control center. My people have already coordinated with the Federals nearby, and used the tracker for that van to find its location. "Jang Song Forest, just 200 kilometers from here." "Is it still there?" growled Mr. Nee. "Yes, our radar indicator hasn't moved in five hours." His shoulders slumping in defeat. Quizu met eyes with Nee. "Probably abandoned," said Nee, reading Quizu's thoughts around. "Regardless," said Quizu with a chipper tongue, "retracing the monster steps is necessary, especially if there were any eyewitnesses." "Do you want me to call local authorities for backup?" asked the inspector. "No," said Nee. "Too hastily." Quizu did a double take and turned back to the inspector. "We mean, yes," said Quizu, throwing Nee a cindre and glare. "Have a squawker follow us to the forest." Whilst the point, Nee barked, sending daggers, Quizu's way. The Therian throat will have moved on. "We don't know that." "If it's smart enough to steal the logbooks to make sure we don't have a name or ID number, or even a time frame from when it came through, then it won't be dumb enough to stay in one spot in the stolen government van. If we're going to seek out eyewitnesses, an additional car will scare them into silence." Quizu and Nee locked eyes in a glacial, staring contest. Quizu then turned to the inspector, forcing a rictus grin of professionalism. "Is there a police station near Jiang Song Forest?" "Yes," saidan Quizu. He answered. "Out of fifteen minutes drive away." "Fine. Tell them not to come to the forest, but to be prepared should we radio them for back up." In neutral compliance, the inspector nodded. Quizu turned to head back to the company issued Qudang, but not before shooting Nee another admonishing glare. They drove together to the Jiang Song Forest without speaking. The stolen van was not deep within the woods. They found it parked at the end of a clearing. As expected, Mr. Nee was right. The van was unoccupied. Worse, there was no evidence anyone other than federal workers had been inside. Searching the surrounding vegetation, they found a burnt heap of cinders buried under a mound of snow. The logbook, or what was left of it. This was a very clever Therian throat they were hunting. Beside the forest, closest to the clearing from where the van had presumably entered, was a pet crematorium. Quizu spoke to the man and woman operating the business to little avail. They hadn't seen anyone and weren't even aware of the van in the forest next to their home. They didn't seem to be lying as neither was any more afraid than anyone else who'd encountered law enforcement in their country would be. With little else to go on, Quizu and Nee returned to the headquarters to scour the passenger lists from the three planes. Silently, Quizu prayed like hell their Therian throat was on one of those lists. Running down the names of the foreign visitors that night proved laborious, but not impossible. Out of the three incoming flights, only 33 passengers had foreign passports, despite 107 foreigners being scheduled to fly in that day. For obvious reasons, the other 74 had either cancelled or didn't show at their respective terminals. But before running down each foreign passenger at random, one name rose to the top of their list. Rebecca, Emily Palmer, from Canada. On the Tuesday after the check point massacre, Palmer was admitted into a nearby general hospital with complaints of a high temperature and a dry cough. She was the only foreign patient admitted that day, so it was easy for Quizu to pick her out. The hospital recorded that she was ailing from nothing more than the seasonal flu and that she was discharged with a prescription for antibiotics. Searching through the immigration records, Quizu found that she had a visa to teach English and was employed at the number 28 elementary school. Not seeing the harm in checking her out, Quizu and me drove down to pay her a visit. Again, they drove together. Just the two of them in their company issued sedan. It was a long track to the school, and Quizu felt obligated to break the silence. "You know, you really should wear protective gear," he said to Mr. Nee. "If you're not going to protect yourself, you should at least wear a mask. You could be a carrier of the virus, even if you yourself aren't a Therianthrope." Nee scoffed, fingering the grooves of his mutilated cheek. "You think it's airborne?" he roused, eyes on the room. "Yes," said Quizu. "It could be, I mean, they're going to make masks mandatory soon anyway. We know it can be transferred without someone being attacked or even touched by an infected Therianthrope." "No one knows." "Well, I mean, no one knows to show." "No one knows, no one cares." "No one knew about me and that orphanage, and why I didn't have a mother or father, and no one can't." "No one knew that the other boys bullied me, tied me to bed posts with my own socks, pissed on my mattress, but worms and tiny pebbles into my morning porridge. No one cared either." "No one knew one of the other orphans was going to mutate into a beast and maraud through my dorm, chewing up children, social workers, caregivers, killing 300 in a home that house a thousand motherless, hungry, unwanted little shits like me, and not one cared." Quizu's gloved hands white knuckled the steering wheels, he tried to block out the other man's voice. "No one knows how this virus spread," Nee carried on, massaging scar tissue. "All I know is that the Therianthrope's can't kill me, but I can kill them." Five years before the second wave, when there were only a few Therianthrope sightings here and there, I worked with two other bounty hunters in the northwest province. They brought along one of those contraptions you got, what's it called, the one used to check their irises for irregular colour, weird pupil dilation. "The Hongmo Triad Soft Test," said Quizu. "Yeah, that thing." We each had pistols on us, one of us carried the Hongmo Triad Soft thing, the other carried a temperature gun. Anyway, we hunted down this old smokehound, hiding out in an abandoned warehouse. The locals had complained about it, said they saw his eyes glowing, that they'd seen him out with his clothes torn, even worse than a regular hobo, and he'd been doused with blood, stuff like that. Also, he was nomadic, had moved from city to city and province to province all the time. Dash had lived in 20 different towns in the space of one year. Anyway, we tracked him down to this old abandoned warehouse, used to store homoplancies or something. Right on the outskirts of the city, nothing there but crackheads, derelicts, runaways, and scrap metal, and closeted Therianthrope's apparently. This building was run down. I mean, a whole stairwell was exposed, like the building was half demolished or something, like those old World War II photos of buildings after an air raid, you know. Wow, we crept up, the jagged stairwell, flashlights burning a path in front of us so we could see, since we were breaching at night. We almost fell through a couple times, but with all the missing steps and the railing's gone. We got up there to the shooting gallery and immediately recognized him from the photograph we've been given. The toothless god old bastard with grey, scraggly hair hanging from his naked scalp, his eyes sunken behind cavernous sockets. When we found him, he was barely conscious. There was a glass pipe smoking by his hip on the floor, the bowel blackened from use. He was slouched down in the corner, a bed of spoiled newspapers beneath him. There were about ten other scabby tweezers like him, all scratching and gnarly off nearby. There were a few candles, so we had just enough light to see. The one bounty hunter, Wang, nudged him awake with his boot. The smoke hound got to his filthy bare feet rubbing his eyes, looking us over like he didn't give a shit, really looking like he couldn't possibly be a ethereal hope, just a junkie. Wang took his temperature, nothing, in fact his body heat was too low with anything. I wasn't convinced, so I insisted that the other bounty hunter, Bao Ho, give him the test to check his eyes. Again, the smoke hound didn't look concerned. He put that contraption onto the smoke hound's head and looked through the lens, checking his red marbled eyes. I saw nothing that shouldn't be that. In a human, I mean, me, I still wasn't convinced, not a bit, so I took out my pistol and aimed it at the old bastard. Taught him I didn't care if he was human or not. I was going to shoot him dead and take his perforated corpse to collect the bounty. And that's when it happened. His pupils contracted vertically into pin bricks. His eye and whites flowed a feel on the yellowing. Through his paws, sprouted thick fibers of midnight black. Before Bao Ho had a chance to get the device off, the smoke hound had transformed into a feral jungle cat. Something manifested from your most primal tent. They poured us away with huge, raised-and-shiled claws. And so I got this scar on my right wrist here. The creature buried his fangs into wang first. We ripped him down to the floor by his neck like a cheetah wouldn't antelope. Had him pinned for less than five seconds before it was done with him. Nothing but a wet, bloody man. That dusky, light animal had torn wang's throat out before Bao Ho could get out his pistol. Then pounced on him before he could defend himself. Me, I hit the dirt, pulling my 380 from my Uncle Hosta, and aimed with deliberation at the creature's worrying head from the floor. See, Bao Ho and wang had never seen a Therian throw before. They hesitated, being awed by the thing. Probably what happened to those eight that were killed at the south-east checkpoints. Well, you're on the truth. Me, I didn't have that problem. I'd seen him ten thousand times in my sleep. Anyway, it was chomping on my partner's throat, giving me enough time to take aim by the lethal headshot. I put five bullets into its skull, tearing off its lower jaw before it was able to make a third meal out of me. I killed it dead and took the whole bounty, which had previously been meant to be split three ways. There was a lull in these story. A deliberate, pregnant pause from speaking. What's your point? Snap quiesuit. His voice was tremulous from hearing these harrowing but credible tale. Marl of the story sneered knee. A, that hung mo throughout the subtest is fallible. B, you want to find these monsters. You need to trigger their fear. C, the Therian throwers can't kill me, but I can kill them. And D, thought quiesuit. You'll let others die to get what you want. They drove the remainder of the way to the school without speaking. The truth was, Agent Quiesuit was not eager to complete this assignment. In his five years as a police officer, he'd never shot or killed anyone. And terminating a Therian thrower didn't seem any less objectionable. Being well-educated and from a good family, he had not slogged through the grit and grime of being a cop, but instead had ridden a desk all the way to an agent's man. He knew successfully completing this mission for a minister with the kind of such enthrman had, meant future advancement, district superintendent, director of internal affairs, replacement minister of public security. But he didn't know if he was up for the violent prize he'd have to pay, or the risk it involved. Number 28, elementary school, typical of such institutions in the province, clock tower, playgrounds, mess hall, a dozen five-story dormitories and school houses. The entire school ground was situated on five blocks behind a steel gate guarded at select entrances by fat, feckless guards waiting out their last years of employment before a pension. That was before the epidemic. Now it was boarded up with only a bare skeleton crew standing by the main entrance, which was all but wired shut. After speaking to the man for a few minutes, Kwisu had the phone number of the coordinator for the international teachers. He called her. After some stubborn resistance on her part, she agreed to meet with them. Seeing her face-to-face at the stoop in front of her tenement building, he showed his credentials and explained the ongoing investigation. She stood thin, lipped and silent. Her arms crossed over her chest. After nearly an hour, the woman relented and gave them Rebecca Palmer's home address. Her apartment was only three blocks from the school. After they pounded on her door once, they were met with a frail young woman wearing a fit-by focal. She was dressed in an oversized white tee with wool pajama bottoms. "Yes?" she stammered in English, clearly frightened. "Miss, I am Agent Kwisu from the Ministry of Public Security," he said, hanging from his right hand was what looked to be a briefcase. Inside was a temperature gun, the homo threw out soft-test, a syringe, and enough venom to kill a herd of elephants. Her eyes shone with fright, her eyebrows knitting with confusion before smoothing out into terrible recognition. She knew something. "We have some questions pertaining to the date of your arrival," he explained further. He saw her frightened eyes, had found Mr. Neat and had promptly expanded. "Maybe, come in," he asked, showering his way through before receiving an answer. The question was only a social courtesy. No one could refuse law enforcement in this country, at least of all a foreigner. There was no such thing as a warrant. Police always had probable cause. The apartment was compact, just a small living room, kitchenette, attached to a bedroom and bathroom. Nean Kwisu stood between the two-foot coffee table and the drab chance to feel. Palmer stood beside the door, her arms curled inward like a pair of broken wings. "You arrived in on Sunday, February 3, correct," Agent Kwisu asked. Palmer nodded feverishly, a grey bun at the back of her head bobbing up and down. "Did you happen to go through the southeast checkpoint on the Shintong Expressway? It's about two miles from the international airport where your flight landed." Palmer cleared her throat. "I did go through a checkpoint, but I didn't know where it was." "You don't know. I don't understand the local language, sir," Kwisu and Nea met eyes. "We understand that she went to the Fung Lu Hospital a few days ago with complaints of her fever." Her eyes were now the size of sauces. "Do you feel any better, Miss Palmer?" "I'd like to talk with Miss Yang," she said, referring to her coordinator from the school. "I'd like to speak with her before answering any more questions." "We have already spoken to your handler, Miss Palmer." "I'd like to speak with her before answering any more questions." Letting out a chesty sigh, his shoulder slumped. He nodded, then watched as Palmer snatched her phone off her desk and dialed. "It didn't take long for someone to answer." "Amy," Rebecca said into the phone, her voice cold and sharp. "Yeah, it's me. I got these two cops, saying they're from home security or something, asking me about my visit to the hospital yesterday." She paused to listen to the woman on the other end. The voice just fairly audible to Kwisu. "What do you mean you gave her my address?" "Yeah, I've already been to the hospital. I'm not infected. I haven't even left this apartment for three days." "Another pause." "Yes, I'm upset. Why would you give these people my address? What do you mean you can't do anything about it?" "I've had no loss in this country. Don't I have rights? I'm a Canadian citizen. Did you think of that? How do you think the embassy will react when I tell them this?" "What do you mean they won't care?" "Cops here can just do whatever they want." "Yes, I said I already am upset. I came here despite that outbreak and the lockdown where most people wouldn't. A lockdown caused by a virus that started in your backwards country." "Don't argue with me, Amy. It's universally accepted. This current wave started here in this country, your country." Kwisu seized, listening to this entitled foreigner, Natoron, into the phone. In that moment, he imagined she was their Therian throat and felt much better about completing their task. "Yeah?" Rebecca barked into her phone. "Well, I'm going to be talking to your boss about this." She then shut off her phone. "I'm going to take your temperature on this apartment," said Kwisu. His lips pressed together into a thin line. His eyes not meeting hers. "They checked me there at the hospital," she insisted, repeating what she said on the phone. "I'm not infected with the virus." "I understand, Miss," said Kwisu. "No, it wasn't unheard of for hospitals to be coaxed into massaging their records. This is merely protocol for public security. Please oblige us." Kwisu laid his case on the coffee table and opened it. He first retrieved the white temperature gun. He approached Rebecca and pressed the barrel to her forehead. "Hmm," mutter Kwisu, after taking her temperature. "You don't seem to have a fever, but your temperature is still high." A single tear rolled down Palmer's cheek. "I'm going to use the home motor at a soft test, that will tell us definitively if you're infected or not." He walked back to open his case and fished out the device. The home motor at soft test consisted of an arching headband meant to wrap around the subject's head, with an electronic scope held less than two feet from the face by an attached metal arm. All contemporary scientific research suggested that the unnatural colors in the irises of the Therian throat would appear within a minute or two, or the unnatural dilation of the pupil. It was also believed that no infected Therian throat could cheat it. Still, there was much they didn't know about the virus. He set up the contraption without issue, besides taking a little while to adjust the headband to Palmer's round diminutive skull. "Steasetil," he ordered in an even voice, for Palmer was trembling. He then switched on the electric lens and examined the eye. After about 90 seconds, he was certain there were no colors unnatural to the human species, and no bizarre movement in the pupil. "She's fine," he said to Nie in their language. Glowing, Nie advanced toward her, putting his hand on his gun. "I don't believe that," he said, unlocking the strap above his pistol grip. Kwisoo then heard a rapid clicking sound beside his ear. Palmer's teeth had begun to chatter. "What are you doing?" said Kwisoo. "She can't understand you." "Check her eyes now," said Nie, pulling out his pistol and pointing at her Palmer. She let out a small, terrified breath that wasn't quite a squeak. Kwisoo turned back to the lens and examined her eye. The sclera had widened, the pupil had delayed a bit, but there was no change in the iris. There was nothing there. "Put that away," said Kwisoo. "She's not infected." Nie lowered his firearm. "Okay, Miss Palmer," he said to her in English, forcing a smile. "You're clean." Kwisoo expected a sigh of relief, but instead the woman stared breathlessly into space while he undid the contraption. Afterward, she fled into the bathroom. Nie and Kwisoo could hear her retching on the other side of the door. While Kwisoo folded up the test, placing it back inside his case, Nie ambled up beside him. "She knows something," he hissed in Kwisoo's head. "Why else would she be so afraid?" "Look in the mirror," said Kwisoo, without making eye contact. In his peripheral vision, he could see Nie cock his head back as though insulted. He then snapped his case shut. "We're done here. Let's go." The Dakono Music and Spirits Festival returns to Centennial Park Saturday, August 3rd from 2 to 10 p.m. And it's free live music from the Warren Treaty. Chris Daniels and the Kings is Cally and More. Enjoy a spirits competition. Kid Zone and fireworks presented by Oxy and the City of Dakono. Admission and parking are free. The Dakono Music and Spirits Festival brought to you by Breckenridge Brewery and City of Dakono. Go to thecityofdakono.com for more information and official message from Medicare. A new law is helping me save more money on prescription drug costs. Maybe you can save too. With Medicare's extra help program, my premium is zero and my out-of-pocket costs are low. Who should apply? Single people making less than $23,000 a year or married couples who make less than $31,000 a year. Even if you don't think you qualify, it pays to find out. Go to ssa.gov/extrahelp. Paid for by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Part 4. Freya. Agent Kwai Su would track down two dozen of the foreigners who'd flown in on the three international flights that night to know of that. Not one of them was his Therian throat, the one who killed eight officers at the southeast checkpoint. Half of them were trying to fly back to their home country, fleeing the nationwide crisis. The other half, like Rebecca Palmer, were teachers, accounted for, staying put to obeying local law. There were little to no leads, and Kwai Su had already been chewed out five times by Minister Tama and over the phone. You fear he'd be lucky to still be an agent for the Ministry of Public Security at all when his was all over. Finally, there was one foreign visitor who caught their attention, a Miss Freya Nielsen PhD, an apparent expert in children's psychology. She'd been hired to help those traumatized by the scourge of Therianthropy in their country. What interested Mr. Nee in Agent Kwai Su was that there was so little information about her own family back in her home country of Sweden. As they did some digging with the help of the Embassy of Sweden, she was identified as an orphan with no contact to a biological mother or father. On the surface, being an orphan meant nothing, but the Kwai Su and Nee was a possible clue to something far more sinister. Her office was on the top floor of a 15-story business tower in the downtown area. Beyond the elevator lobby, the space was welcoming but sterile, colorful yet muted. In the waiting room were a stiff row of jungle pattern chairs, a single table covered with an assortment of out-of-date magazines and a minute children's play area, nestled in the far corner. Her reception room was empty when they arrived, and they caught ahead to make an appointment as her hours of labour varied from day to day. And patient confidentiality must be respected, especially with regard to children, or so Dr. Freya Nielsen had insisted. The stout middle-aged receptionist sitting behind a plexigast shield announced their arrival via intercom. The answer to let them through came instantly. The first thing Kwai Su noticed was the shoulder sling, trailing Freya Nielsen's left arm. There was another clue but from the time being he let it go. She wore a white rubber glove on her right hand. She also wore a blue paper mask which did not distract from her flattering charcoal jacket and skirt combo. Her full chestnut hair was tied back, but still remarkable in its sheen and volume. Secretly, Kwai Su was impressed by her light-coloured eyes and slim, womanly figure. Though half her face was hidden, she had to be the most beautiful woman he'd ever set his eyes upon. He tried his best not to gawk, remembering his duty and seeing Mr. Nee sending darts her way with his eyes. "Her seat, please," she said in a low, honeyed voice, gesturing vaguely to a leather couch and velvet armchair. She spoke to them in their language. Kwai Su had read on her CV that she spoke a total of five different languages. She floated over to the edge of her desk and perched there. Kwai Su and Nee stood like a parasault and pepper shakers five feet from the closed door. "How long have you been in the country, Miss Nielsen?" Kwai Su asked, knowing the answer but wanting to test the waters first. The crinkles in the corners of Freya's eyes betrayed the smile behind her mask. "Kami Freya, please. I've been here for exactly ten days and have been practising for eight." "I see," Kwai Su nodded, "and you receive your visa to work as a child psychologist in this office, correct?" "Yes, I work with Dr. Soon and Dr. Fay. They hired me and dealt with my visa application on this end. And you counsel children currently. Is that correct?" "Yes, children dealing with trauma. Would that include children who've suffered the recent rash of violence, specifically from the etherian throes? In fact, I exclusively treat children affected by the recent epidemic." "Mmm," Kwai Su remarked, feigning surprise, "I was not aware of that. Tell me more." "Well, that's why I have a visa to work here," she giggled, "and you must know Agent Kwai Su. There's an unending amount of orphaned and traumatised children in this country. The damage to these children's psyche, their undermined sense of security, is something I care deeply about. Children deserve to feel safe, to have peace of mind. Hence, why there's a man for specialists right now, even from abroad?" "Impressed, Kwai Su absorbed this for a moment." "Are you suggesting our Republic cannot sustain itself?" Hit Mr. Neil, letting Nielsen hear his voice for the first time. She glanced at him coldly. Her look did not have the same fascination or disgust most had when observing these damaged trains. Kwai Su seized. "Why would he ask a defensive question like that?" he thought. The truth was, Kwai Su, conscious of it or not, was slightly moved by Freya's words. Her empathy for traumatised children, her passion and drive to make them whole again, her selflessness. May have had more to do with the shape of her hips and that skirt than he cared to admit, but he already liked her. And her voice it, did something to him. "Are you aware of the recent attack on a checkpoint near the international airport?" he then asked, trying to move past Nee's idiocy. The southeast checkpoint, off of the Shintong Expressway. "Yes," said Freya. "Very unfortunate, very troubling. You are aware that it occurred the same night that you arrived. In fact, not long after your plane had landed." A dark cloud passed over Freya's face. Something there, something she wanted to say, but she thought better of it. "I am aware of that now," she said innocently. "I wasn't what she wanted to say," thought Kwai Su. "Have you been tested for the virus?" he asked, for Therianthropy. She nodded rapidly, repeatedly, like a bauble hand. "Yes, every child and patient who comes through here has their temperature taken. I have mine taken every time I come in and every five hours if I stay that long." "No other precautions besides that. No protective glass, no weapons." Freya shook her hands. "We practice physical distancing and have various escape routes in store throughout the building, but no firearms. No weapons or means of lethal force of any kind, high insist upon it." Agent Kwai Su turned his hand, trying to hide a smirk he knew was visible, even from behind his face guard. He didn't want to ask the next two questions. "When did you last have your temperature taken?" An hour and a half ago, he was thirty-five degrees. My receptionist outside can vouch for that, if you like. "That won't be necessary, Ms. Nielsen." "Please," Agent Kwai Su. She interrupted. "Call me Freya. If that's too familiar for you, then my proper title is Doctor." "Doctor," Nielsen, said Kwai Su with emphasis. Following a short beat, "I would like to subject you to the Hong-mo-twat soft test, which will examine your irises for any unusual colours that may indicate infection." The crinkles in the corners of her eyes reappeared. "Of course," she then pivoted from the desk, tacitly offering it to Kwai Su. Kwai Su advanced into the room, laying his case down on top of her desk. Within two minutes of staring through the lens, it was clear that she was not there, very enthrone. No colours in her irises that didn't belong to a human eye, no inhuman movement of the pupil. Kwai Su then heard the creaking encroachment of footsteps behind him. He looked over his shoulder, finding Mr. Knee approaching with palpable intent. Making a show of it, he unbuttoned the strap on his holster, then unsheathed his glock, pointing it directly at Freya. "I'll just kill you and take your perforated corpse to the minister of public security," he roused, his voice like glass shards underfoot. "Even if you are not our monster, I'll just kill you and collect the bounty. It'll be my word and my partner's word against one dead sweet." Kwai Su's flesh prickled, his blood boiling. "How dare this man acting such a way on behalf of the Office of Public Security, on behalf of the Red Public? But then he saw a flash of something in the lens, in Freya's iris. Something like that? No, it was just his imagination." Whatever it was, it was too brief. No longer that. Freya, her iris still examineable in the lens, made eyes with Mr. Knee. Evidently unmoved by his flourishing of a pistol. "I'm sure you don't really mean that," she said in a staid voice. Kwai Su's side, his shoulder slumping with relief and utter exhaustion. "She's clear," he said. "Put that gun away me. She's not our monster." Mr. Knee kept it trained on her for a beat, the two of them locking eyes, before retiring the pistol. "Sorry to have bothered you, Dr. Nielsen," muttered Kwai Su, unhooking the contraption from her head. "Not at all," she said, her voice emptied. While Kwai Su disassembled the Hongmo throughout soft device and placed it back into his case, Freya instructed the two men to take a back exit from her office. She insisted they not leave the way they'd come in. "I have a patient come in in the next fifteen minutes. He and his mother have already arrived and are waiting in the reception area. I'd appreciate the two of you respecting their privacy." "Not at all, Dr. Nielsen," said Kwai Su solemnly, his hope to any future in the government dashed. "Please inform us of anything you may think of pertaining to the evening in question." Without another word, Kwai Su and Knee filed out of her office through the back door. As soon as they reached the stairwell, Knee dove down the steps, flying past each flight like a fugitive being chased in a movie. "Mr. Nae?" Kwai Su called after him, trying vainly to keep up. "Mr. Nae, what are you doing?" "There might still be time," he answered, still racing down the steps. "Time for what?" Kwai Su called, his heavy hazmat suit, briefcase, and kevlar vest, slowing his journey, making him waddle, making him sweat. Having reached the ground floor, Knee flew out the back exit and circled around the building with haze. Kwai Su surmised he was headed for the front entrance. "What is your hurry?" Kwai Su wheezed. She said her patient arrives in fifteen minutes. "What?" Fifty minutes. A boy with his mother, that's what she said. They stopped beside the glass vestibule, both of them out of ground. Kwai Su especially. "What was this about, a boy?" His mother asked Kwai Su, gulping oxygen. She said her next patient comes in fifteen minutes of boy and his mother. "So?" "So. They are how we expose Freya Nielsen. She's our Therian throat." Kwai Su rolled his eyes. "Were you not up there just now?" he snapped. Her temperature was reported at thirty-five degrees. We put the homo trat soft-tester her, nothing out of the ordinary. She's clear. "Told you that test is fallible. I know she's the one. How? What possible evidence do you have for that?" She didn't get scared when I pointed the gun at her. When I said I was going to kill her, even if she wasn't in fact. "Yes, and her irises didn't change colour either, Inbasa. Nor did her people show any unnatural dilation. She's not infected." "Don't you get it?" "What?" Her irises didn't change colour because she wasn't scared. She forced herself into being composed, into being fearless. Any other person, like that pomego, would have showed fear. Would have been terrified. The fact that she wasn't afraid shows that she knew she had to keep calm. She has something to hide Kwai Su. She's holding her hand too close to her chest. Kwai Su was silent, digesting these words, running his logic over in his hand. Perhaps he was right. Any other person would have shown fear having a gun poured on them like that. He hated to admit it, but perhaps knee was right. A few people passed them, strolling through the automated doors. Then they spotted what they were looking for. A preteen and his mother, approaching from the parking lot. "Give me your badge, his knee. The couple's still a distance away." "What?" "Just give it to me." Right, swelling up inside him, Kwai Su felt an urge to chastise name, to remind him who had tactical command on this mission. But upon reflection, anticipating Minister Taimen's wrath, especially given that they were now days beyond his deadline, he relented. This was a promising need. The boy and woman stepped onto the curb before him. "Madam," said Mr. Knee, flourishing Kwai Su's badge at lightning speed, "we are with the Ministry of Public Security. I'm afraid there have been some outbreaks related to some of the patients in this facility." "Oh dear," exclaimed the squat, mid-50s woman, an open palm laying against her chest. Kwai Su observed her son, the boy. He was frail and frightfully ashen, his eyes staring off as if he were sleepwalking. He looked only to be eleven or twelve. "Do not worry," Mr. Knee assured her, with candid sincerity. Quietly the play acting on his path thought Kwai Su. We're here to escort any young children to assure their safety. The woman then inquired if she was permitted to escort her child, but Knee insisted that she return to her car. I'm afraid physical distancing is the best way to keep both you and your child safe. Not to worry, madam. We'll escort him safely to his appointment and return him to your prom. "Oh, thank you so much, sir." May I ask? Which floor is his appointment? Of course. Fifteenth floor with Dr. Freya Nielsen. "Very good, madam. Write this way, son," Mr. Knee put a hand on the boy's shoulder and led him inside. The boy went along, seemingly oblivious. Kwai Su said nothing, taking up the rear. Right before they took the elevator. The ever so pale boy stood in front, Mr. Knee directly behind him. As they watched the floor display time from fourteen to fifteen, Knee laid his left hand on the boy's shoulder, while his right griller handle of his gong. He unholstered the weapon before the door's parted, resting the steel barrel against the boy's shoulder blades. Kwai Su's skin crawled, but he did not protest. He was already in too deep. Mr. Knee prodded the zombified boy forward. They brushed past the shrill, protesting receptionist, bursting into Freya's office. Freya looked up from her desk, a pair of horned rim spectacles resting on the bridge of her perfect nose. Her face turned as action as the doll-like boy they were holding captive. "What?" she stammered, seeing her patient in Knee's clutches. "Now," said Knee, with disgusting smileiness, "you show us your true form, or we will kill your patient, this boy." As if searching for reason and decency, her eyes darted to Kwai Su. He looked back at her blankly as blankly as he could muster. His stomach filled with rocks. "You wouldn't," she exhaled, "just audible enough to carry from her desk to their ears." Knee didn't say a word. The metallic snap of his glock-slider, his only response. "No," cried Freya, springing to her feet. In a sudden ecstasy of rage, she flipped over the massive mahogany desk, sending it sailing two feet in the air before it arched back to her. It crashed on its head with a thunderous slam, betraying a weight too heavy for a woman Freya sized to have lifted so easily, especially with one hour. She took a single step forward and then doubled over, grabbing at her abdomen as though seized with searing pain. Her face was instantly beaded with sweat, twisted into a macabre mask of agony. Kwai Su watched what happened next and nearly wet himself. Her shoulders expanded in breath, then ballooned and tore through her blouse and jacket. Kwai Su didn't see what happened to her shoulder sling. Her flesh bristled with brown, shaggy hair that coated her entire body in an instant. Her face rounded then peaked into a dished, urocyte shape. Her once large eyes were now tiny dots that shone a sickly yellow. She grew several feet and expanded hundreds upon hundreds of pounds. As a distinct crackling, like that of bone, as she mutated, underscored by a moan that escalated into her growl. She stood before them in her obscene, beastial form, hunched over, trembling as if fighting to restrain herself. Kwai Su knew that that was exactly what she was doing. They then heard something guttural, which made Kwai Su and the petrified receptionist next to him jump. Kwai Su and his mind then registered the words "the boy" in the garbled animalistic speech. It came from the juddering creatures more. "Yes," answered Mr. Nee. "I mean, not being phased in the least." The otherworldly voice belonging to the fairy and throat resumed. "The boy, I will surrender if you spare him. After this is done you must let him go back to his mother, unharmed." "Promisely." "Not until you meet our demands," said Nee, with astonishing composure. "Promise me." "Yes, fine, we'll let him go. And your receptionist too, but you have to do everything my partner sends." The enormous grizzly throbbed like an open wound, a strand of drool oozing from its nether lip to the floor. Agreed. It snarled out, with agonized efforts. Kwai Su did not hear Mr. Nee called his name the first time. On the second time he snapped back to reality. "Adrian Kwai Su," Mr. Nee barked, trying to revive his partner. "Do the procedure so we can go." Jin Jili, Kwai Su tipped out toward the velvet armchair, his eyes on the trembling monster, snapping his head back and forth from the beast to his work in rapid repetition. He laid his case on the cushion. He cracked it open and searched inside. He first took out a small device about the size of a fountain pen. He pressed a button on its side, causing a red light to appear at the end. "We are now making a record of the destruction of the Ferriathro. He spoke into the mike of the device. He then inched toward the creature. The date is February the 15th. The time is 11.36 in the A.M. Please stage your full name for the record." He extended his arm, holding the device toward the monster. The absurdity of his action, especially a scene from outside his body, did not escape him. "Frayer, Eberhanius, PhD, grow in the creature with audible restraint. Do you confirm at this time that you are infected with Ferriathro. "Yes." And do you now confirm that it was you who attacked and killed eight federal officers at the southeast checkpoint at the Shintong Expressway, near the International Airport on Sunday, February the 5th? "Yes." Kwai Su thumbed the button, the red light vanishing. "That'll do it." He then returned to his case, retrieving his second and third items, a syringe and tiny bottle of venom. With precision, he punctured the bottle's forecam, the needle, pulling back the plunger until the syringe was sufficiently full. He skirted a few drops, flicking the needle point to make it ready. Then, bracing himself, he etched his way right next to the massive, quavering mutant. Kwai Su then let back, hearing the guttural voice beside him bellow out, "Let him go. Now!" contemptuously, Mr. Niskott. "Your receptionist can go. The boy stays until your death. When it's done, I'll keep my word. He will go on harm." The creature said nothing, the silence signaling consent. Mr. Nee turned to the paled receptionist, checking her thumb in the direction of the lobby. Sluggishly the woman turned. She then ran from their sight, her cries of fear and sorrow echoing from the hallway. The Ashen boy watched on unmoved, his eyes glassy and glazed over. In that moment, he reminded Kwai Su of an eerie ventriloquist dot, while wanting to prolong the agony. Kwai Su took a hold of the creature's immense, woolly nape, then buried the needle into the side of his throat. He squeezed the plunger until it was all the way down. The venom having entirely entered the creature's bloodstream. The animal groaned, hoarsely, pitching forward, half morphing back into human form. It then laid on the carpet floor in a heap, a grotesque parody of anything natural, wholesome or decent. Looking down at the destroyed body, Kwai Su realized the error in what he'd done. Mr. Eyed, Kwai Su peered up toward the doorway, finding Mr. Nee. His block was pointed to the floor, his arms hanging by his side. He was gazing down at the destroyed creature, lost in the vile euphoria of the moment. The Ashen boy stood beside him. He had not run off as was his pleasure, as had been negotiated with his psychologist, now deceased. What happened next played out in surreal speed before Kwai Su's eyes. Without warning, the boy dove for Mr. Nee's gun, grabbing it out of his hand and aiming it at its former master. The retort of the first shot sounded, the slug ripping through Nee's thigh. As he turned to face the boy, they're funded a second and third shot, both of the bullets passing through his belly and out of his spine. Nee glanced to the floor like a feld redwood, dead, instantly. On instincts, Kwai Su tore back a fabric flap from the front of his suit and drew a concealed nine-millimeter. He raised the weapon to meet the boy's aim on him. He heard three shots before discovering himself, lying prostrate on the floor, watching the boy's feet scamper off into the reception room and, presumably toward the stairwell. He didn't even notice that an artery in his neck had been opened from a grazing bullet. Nor his own hand, slick with blood, applying pressure to the wood. He didn't realize the entirety of what had happened until he was alone, alone with the body. He could feel the blood gush out of it, his strength fleeting, his consciousness fading. He could smell the noise and beast, which was once that beautiful foreign woman lying beside him. From his supine position, he could just see the scored face of Mr. Nee, his eyes staring silently at the scene. In his last moments before losing consciousness, Kwai Su wondered what would happen to that boy. That pale, pale boy would, presumably, survive to Therianthrop attack, only to be held captive by two officers employed by the Republic, the same Republic that was supposed to protect him. And why had Kwai Su gone along with Nee to advantage those slain officers, to keep his job, to advance his career? None of it seemed just enough. That boy had lived through unimaginable trauma and had now killed a man, seemed to be two men, in cold blood. Nursing his last, evanescent breath, Kwai Su looked over at Nee's dead staring face, and knew, in that very instant, that monsters do exist. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast, where thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories, and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favour of you, wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dream, some bye-bye. The Dakono Music and Spirits Festival returns to Centennial Park, Saturday, August 3rd from 2 to 10pm, and it's free live music from the Warren Treaty. Chris Daniels and the Kings is Cally and More. Enjoy a spirits competition, Kid Zone and fireworks presented by Oxy and the City of Dakono, admission and parking are free. The Dakono Music and Spirits Festival brought to you by Breckenrich Brewery and City of Dakono. Go to thecityofdakono.com for more information and official message from Medicare. A new law is helping me save more money on prescription drug costs. You may be able to save too. With Medicare's Extra Help program, my premium is zero and my out-of-pocket costs are low. Who should apply? Single people making less than $23,000 a year, or married couples who make less than $31,000 a year. 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