Chapt 45
Mr. Al
Zrrkr #1: I'M BACK! I'M BACK I'M BACK I'M BACK!
Teach: Please be very careful who you contact with this. According to that Ivy League big-shot, The Professor, at least five implant wearers, report directly to law enforcement. If law enforcement agencies decide their policy of electro-shock and amputation is ineffective. I'd rather not think about what they'd do next.
Zrrkr #1: You knew?
Teach: Suspected. I kept it to myself for everyone's safety.
Zrrkr#1: Asshole...
Teach: I also suspect The Professor is drastically understating the danger. For god's sake, keep this information to yourself. You could get a lot of people killed.
Zrrkr#1: I'm not completely stupid.
Teach: …
Zrrkr#1: Okay, okay. You know how I got caught. Should have listened to you. Thought I could trust family. Learned that lesson the hard way...
Hey Teach, you know I still owe you one, right? You want someone beaten up? Maimed? Intimidated? Killed?
Teach: Not at the moment.
Zrrkr#1: You know of a boy, a 12-yr-old named Leo?
Teach: Yes. Don't tell him about your return, either. He's smarter than he looks and could be very dangerous.
Zrrkr#1: He's the one who told me. He's the one who helped me get my implant back.
Teach: Interesting...
***
Mr Osmond's lip curled.
An old man he'd tutored for a college exam had given him an implant over a year ago. He never saw the man again, or for that matter, any evidence the old man existed.
As a Mentalist/Rare, one of his skills was multitasking. While spoon-feeding basic algebra to a bunch of honor students, he corresponded with other implant wearers with his implant, using his second skill—Networking.
Leo was becoming a problem.
At present, while the media kept nattering about two starlets fighting, global warming and foreign policy were causing millions to starve and billions to live on a subsistence diet. His country was bombing yet another sad, impoverished nation for daring to question whatever corporation was screwing them over this week, and the young woman who made the video of Senator Bumblin pretending to eat a dog, just died in an unfortunate car crash.
Now, on top of everything else, a 12-year-old boy named Leo Edwards claimed to see into the future and was predicting Armageddon.
Mr. Osmond's third skill was Probabilities. He'd used it for experimental gambling with slight success. The skill was limited by the information he had on hand.
He couldn't help running probabilities for Armageddon, and if Armageddon did happen, how much time before the human race ceased to exist?
He was certain his results were garbage, based on inaccurate information. But the results made him shiver.
Yes. Leo was becoming a problem.
***
Leo knocked on the door. “Hey. Looking for Mr. Al.”
After a few hours of wandering, he'd found the address in a scary part of a bad neighborhood. Unsavory-looking people hung out on street corners selling drugs, and garbage covered the sidewalks and streets. Heavy iron covered the doors and windows of Mr. Al's apartment complex, and every window had been broken.
Leo stood in front of the door and waited, doing his best to look inconspicuous.
The door opened. “Hey, kid. What?” The tall skinny guy had shaky hands, and bags under his eyes. He might have been in his early twenties and looked like he could use a hot meal and a bunch of sleep.
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“I've got some business with Mr. Al,” Leo said.
“What sort of business?”
Leo touched his left wrist. “Business.”
“Come in, come in,” the guy beckoned him into a small apartment.
Leo gagged on the apartment's chemical stench. The place looked and smelled like it hadn't been cleaned in years. Every spare bit of space was filled with flasks, beakers, and tubes with strange smells and unknown liquids doing things far beyond Leo's limited knowledge of chemistry. Mr. Al sat on the apartment's only chair. He pointed at his wrist. “You first.”
Leo raised his left wrist and made it glow. “I'm Leo. No character yet. Working on it.”
The guy made his left wrist glow. “Mr. Al for Alchemist. Obviously. What do you want?”
“I'm trying to raise my stats so I can get a decent character. I was told you could help.”
Mr. Al handed him a small bottle filled with red capsules. “These will raise your Strength and Vitality, but taking more than one a day will destroy your kidneys and liver and kill you. So don't do that.” He held out his left hand. “That will be ten.”
“What about Intelligence? Or Agility?”
“I have a few things that might help,” Mr. Al said. “But they're more expensive, not as safe, not sure what they'd do to a kid, might not do anything, might kill you—so let's stick with these for now.”
“I suppose,” Leo said, disappointed. “Ten dollars?”
Mr. Al laughed, shaking his head. “Ten you know what.” He pointed below his left eye, where he had a small red Demon-Tear-shaped tattoo.
Crap.
Leo had heard of people exchanging Demon Tears, but had never done it himself. “I don't know. Ten Demon Tears is a lot, and I don't even know if this stuff works,” he said.
“Whoa, kid. I'm doing you a favor here. If you don't want it, I know plenty of people who do.”
“I only have seven,” Leo lied.
“Okay, fine, seven, but you're getting a bargain.” Mr. Al said too quickly, holding out his left hand for a second time.
Leo did the same.
A message popped up on Leo's implant. Mr. Al is requesting contact. Yes/No?
Leo selected Yes.
Under Implant Interface. “Contacts” showed up. Under Contacts was a very short list of one person, Mr. Al.
“I've never done this before,” Leo said.
“That's okay, it's easy. Focus on a Demon Tear,” Mr. Al said.
Leo focused on a Demon Tear.
“Demon Tears are granted to implant wearers for individual use. Transferring Demon Tears between two implants is not recommended,” Imp said.
“But it is possible,” Leo responded.
“Possible. But not necessarily safe,” Imp said.
“Of course it's possible,” Mr. Al said, overhearing Leo's side of the conversation. “Just focus on one and move it.”
Leo focused on a Demon Tear, separating it from the rest and moving it to Mr. Al's contact.
He failed. Instead of going through Mr. Al's contact point, it slipped back to its original position.
“It didn't work,” Leo said. “How does this contact thing work? I've never used my implant to communicate.”
“Oh, that might be the problem,” Mr. Al said. “You need to set up your implant for contact, man, and don't use your real name. Police will find you and kill you and stuff.”
“Okay.” What would be a good pseudonym? Back from the Future? No. He shuddered. “Oh. I got it.” Leo pulled up Implant Interface. Contacts. “Imp. I want my contact name to be Future Man..”
"Future Man is already taken," Imp said. "As well as several variations of Future Man, including Future Man #1, Future Man 2, and Future Man! However, Future Man 22 is available."
"I'll take Future Man 10/16. I can do that, right?"
“I suppose,” Imp said.
Leo pulled up Mr. Al's contact. Future Man 10/16 requesting contact.
Mr. Al must have picked Yes, because underneath his request for contact was Request Granted. And for the first time in his life, Leo could feel his interface connecting with another.
Next step. Leo focused on Mr. Al from his contact list.
Leo: Hello Mr. Al. Testing connection.
Mr. Al: Connection all good, man. Send me the Demon Tears already.
Leo focused on a Demon Tear, moving it to his Mr. Al connection. This time it worked. There was one fewer Demon Tears in his inventory. He transferred six more the same way, then picked up his bottle of red capsules.
“Are these steroids?” Leo asked.
“No way, man. They're all-natural, all-natural,” Mr. Al said, zoning out, his eyes looking off into space. “Hey, kid, know what I do with the Tears? I get high, high enough to reach the sky. If you want, I'll show you how.”
“That's okay, Mr. Al. I'll be heading out.” Leo pocketed the bottle of capsules and headed out the door into the crappy neighborhood. A couple of homeless derelicts checked him out as he went by, but left him alone. It was getting late. Mom would be worried, especially since he was supposed to be grounded. He started jogging home.
Did he really want to take these capsules? He'd heard of Alchemists, but Mr. Al was the only one he'd met and the man did not inspire confidence. He had no idea what was in the pills. For all he knew, the capsules might kill him. On the other hand, he was running short on time and options.
The Demon Tears he'd put into his physical development would help, but like Angie said, three weeks was not a lot of time. He ran faster, gasping for breath. Imp informed him he'd gained another level in running fast.
When he got home, Mom was waiting for him.