--II--

I like this pen. It's nice to write with.

It's really long, too.

--

THE WEBWORK

V4

9:03 PM

Status: Unavailable

The man leading the pack looked me over. Between his Vicinity Four accent and whatever he'd been smoking all his life, I could hardly understand him.

"Ain't nobody see James with no permission, little boy," he said. "Get lost fo' ya get hurt, or somebody decides you're too pretty."

I didn't have to be told the meaning of that.

"I have permission," I said.

He half coughed, half laughed. "To get a drug? Look at ya. What're ya, twelve?"

"Seventeen."

"And you here fo' da Smack? You is throwin' yo life away on da hard shit, already? You too young!"

What?

WHAT?

WHAT DID HE SAY?!!!?!?!

Excuse me, sir.

I didn't EVEN HAVE A LIFE TO THROW AWAY to start with, WHAT AN IDIOT.

Thank you FOR ASSUMING I DID THOUGH

Now please, please, PLEASE let me have the antidote so I can cry in peace!!!

I thought these things to nobody in particular, with many exclamation points. Politely, of course.

As always.

Happy place. Happy place.

Happy happy

I touched my fingers to my eyebrows. And then I looked at my hands, and there was no bleeding, and there were no ropes.

I took a deep breath before I spoke again.

"I came here for the antidote," I said. I tried to say it with a steady voice but failed; I wanted to cry, but this was not the time or the place. "Malc-" I choked. "My dad's been poisoned."

You've visited here before, I remember telling myself. You were fine. You were fine, you were fine, you were fine.

Well... I survived, is more like it.

YOU WERE FINE.

A moment's pause. Then the man's stare somehow felt less menacing; his voice somewhat less gruff. Or maybe I was just starting to not feel things.

"New experiment?" he said.

Now, did he REALLY have to go and say that word-

I felt sick.

Did he have to say that word NOW???

Yeah, I know- I actually thought it with THREE question marks.

Did he have to say that word *NOW???!*

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

And then with asterisks, and an exclamation mark. And then with more capital letters, too:

Did he have to say THAT WORD *NOW???!*

No wonder that one publisher guy who was high on crack didn't like the style I had in my mind. It couldn't possibly have been the crack he was high on.

1. Wanted. To. Vomit.

"No," I replied, trying to maintain whatever composure I still had. I minimized my verbal communication; my next sentence was one word. "Mines."

The man coughed- or maybe he was just clearing his throat, I literally couldn't tell- and gave me what almost felt like a sympathetic look. But the green+black tattoo on his neck of a Beckler & Poch MPV5 Zaiofka machine gun was such a jarring contrast to it- it was like I was talking to the big bad wolf except that the big bad wolf is actually adorable.

Adorable, and friendly, and fluffy, and cute. And pettable, like a dog. I mean, that's what the pictures looked like in the library books. Well, to me, that's how they looked.

I think.

I looked down at the man's shoes, which were much less intimidating even though they were twice as big as mine and looked nine thousand times more expensive.

That was when I saw the tattoo of an actual wolf above his right ankle, below the tattered end of his pants, and it literally looked like it was going to kill me and then eat me and/or feed me to its friends after removing my one brain cell, because it tastes like jellybean and bad wolves don't like jellybeans.

Okay I don't like wolves anymore

Sometimes, I think without any punctuation marks. Please sue me for it.

"Shit," the man said. "I'm sorry. 'Sit bad?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I just know he has it."

And then sometimes, I think random words that probably don't even actually exist and probably don't even have any meaning. And I don't know why- they just... happen. I try to keep my telepathic barrier up most of the time, so telepaths can't read or hear it. It would be SO EMBARRASSING.

ORBIPLOSIONS

Like that. WHAT ON EARTH IS AN ORBIPLOSION?

"Hey," the man said. And what he said next would've been scary, except it wasn't in a scary voice anymore. I think he finally believed I was there with permission from James. "Look at me."

I forced myself to look up at him. He had green eyes- a super common physical characteristic of those who are U.S. people from V4- and two scars on his face that were still in the process of healing.

Funny, I had two scars on my face that were still in the process of healing, too.

"Wha'dya have for us?" he said.

I finally had a steady answer, one that I gave to him in a voice as loud as his.

"Files. The ones James wanted? I have them."

I heard people mumble from behind their desks. There was rumbling all around me.

This place is creepy. 8 out of 10 of these people are literally currently on drugs. I want to go home and do some tumbling, maybe get my triple full twist combined with something super duper cool again! And then I'll call it THE MUSHROOM. That's a cool name. Maybe Malcolm has made my favorite French toast. OH, I LOVE FRENCH TOAST SO MUCH! MMM, SO YUMMY.

I licked my lips.

"You?" the man said. "The one who's getting us the info is you?"

"I don't even know what I'm getting you," I said. "But I have it. All I want is the antidote."

--

James had long straight hair, some sort of shade between red and orange. His glasses reflected the light from all the screens in his office as he spoke.

"...should last you about three weeks, maybe four." He unplugged the flash drive from a device I'd never seen before. "Come talk to me before then to get more."

"Will I have to do something similar?"

There was a touch of amusement on his face, a smile in his eyes, which were the same shade of light green as the ice cream Caleb bought for me and Kaylee, the day we graduated from primary school. It feels like it was just yesterday.

Kaylee and I were in the same classes, and we also were in Experiment Nightingale- the only two survivors. It was aimed towards telepaths, intended to hone their abilities further, perhaps cause reactions that gave us more powers, make us more useful. It's unclear if that experiment is why Kaylee can make plants grow from nothing, why I can touch people and take pain from them and leap unbelievably high and far. I wasn't a good enough gymnast to compete anywhere- because I was disqualified before I could get on an apparatus.

James arranged the vials in a box before me on one of his tables.

"Something similar or even better," he said.

I cleared my throat. Between memories of Experiment Nightingale and my thoughts of Malcolm it was hard to stay in the present moment. "I'm sorry," I replied. "What exactly do you mean by 'better?'"

Before Malcolm came along I was prostituted as a child. It happens when you're poor and you come from one of the worst parts of the Overwoods.

"I mean that the experiment was a success!" he said, tapping the US seal on the badge he always wore on a chain around his neck. I had never seen James so happy before. "You..." he walked over and put an arm around me. "Are a success! The Union of Stars' president will be so happy, absolutely ecstatic!"

I wrapped my arms around the box, the vials of antidote that could very well save Malcolm's life. "Can I go home now?"

"Yes!" he said. "Come see me in three weeks."

I made my way towards the door in a hurry. "Okay," I said.

"Oh, Midnight, one more thing-" he said. He was fiddling with papers and envelopes in one of his desk drawers. "This is for you."

He picked up some type of small object, and threw it in a long arc across the room and at me. I caught it with the top of the box.

For a moment I was so worried it had maybe broken a vial or two, but it was surprisingly very lightweight.

It was a badge, with a seal. Just like the one James was wearing. And it landed face up.

I made out the words pressed into the silver material:

"CHRISTOPHER MIDNIGHT. UNION OF STARS. AGENT LEVEL I."

I looked back at him, confused, and so aggravated that yet another person was wasting my time on that day.

"James," I said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing. "This is for someone else. My name is Danny."

He looked at me, and I had trouble reading his exact expression. It was like he thought what I said was hysterical. Like he was about to throw a party because he won the lottery or something. "Not anymore."