~~~

Carl’s was one of those little corner stores that sold a little bit of everything. It was located just a few blocks away from Tim’s house, right in the corner of Blue Street and Gold Avenue on the southeast side of Petersburg. People came at all hours of the day to buy stuff: Coffee, sandwiches, and milk cartons during the morning, one-dollar pizza slices on evenings and afternoons, and prepaid cards for cell phones and long-distance calling at all times of the day.

Kids and teens also came in to buy pirated video games, but Carl’s most definitely didn’t sell those.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, looking dubiously at the disk, elbows resting on the glass-topped counter that showed all manner of sweets and snacks. “I already beat Spacenaut Crisis 2. Is there any point in buying the first one? The second one should be better. Progress and all that stuff, right?”

Mr. Espinoza, a stout Colombian man who believed Carl’s was a much catchier name for a business than Carlos’, glanced up from his newspaper to meet Tim’s blinking eyes. Experience had taught him Tim wouldn’t stop staring at him until he answered.

“Don’t know.”

Didn’t mean his answer had to be good.

“But you sell them!” Tim protested, gesturing at all the disks Mr. Espinoza had brought from the storage. Unlike official games, these ones didn’t have fancy boxes. They were stored in plain paper sleeves. Even the disks themselves were the white ones you could buy in bulk. The only thing that marked them as games were the names written on them with blue permanent marker.

“Sell them. Don’t play.”

“You’re the one who fixed up my Gamma Station so it’d play pirated games!”

“Fix. Don’t play.” Mr. Espinoza glared at him. “Don’t use the P-word.”

“Phosphorus?”

Mr. Espinoza’s glare intensified. Tim raised his arms in surrender. “Kidding. Kidding. But really, you should set up a display or something for people to test the games out before buying them.”

“Too visible. Too much noise. You’ll buy anyway.”

This time, it was Tim who glared at him, mainly because he was right. Mr. Espinoza sold the games super cheap, so it didn’t matter much if one ended up being a dud. He was the entire reason someone like Tim could afford to play video games. Tim’s mom had saved a lot to get him a Gamma Station for Christmas, but the console would be gathering dust if it weren’t for Carl’s.

Non-pirated games tended to be between $30 to $50. That wasn’t the sort of money Tim could throw around anytime he saw a commercial for a game he liked. That was no bueno.

Mr. Espinoza, however, sold them for a tenth of the price, making him a hero as far as every kid and most parents within walking distance were concerned.

“Fine,” Tim whined. He added Spacenaut Crisis to the small stack he had already separated from the other games and pushed it towards Mr. Espinoza. “I’ll be taking these. Also, I guess you don’t sell controllers either? ’cause I broke mine the other day.”

"No can do," Mr. Espinoza replied as he went over the games but only to count them. There would be no scanning done for these.

Tim clicked his tongue. "Eh, it's fine. I still have one."

It was the one with the faulty square button, but he could use it until he bought a new one at the used goods store or something.

“Divi-Quest?” Mr. Espinoza asked, lifting the game in question. “Really?”

Tim nervously looked away. “I thought you didn’t play them.”

“Don’t play. Paul was here the other day talking about all the stuff in it.”

“Stupid Paul,” Tim grumbled under his breath.

“Ain’t you too young for this?”

“I’m sixteen!” Tim protested. “That’s almost seventeen, which is almost eighteen, which is almost a grown-up. I’m almost, almost, almost an adult.”

“Uh-huh.”

“For serious,” Tim said, nodding several times. “I even got a job.”

Internship, really, but that was almost a job, which went well with the almost theme he had cornered himself into.

“Say, speaking of jobs, how do you know if you’re being sexually harassed?”

Mr. Espinoza stared.

Just. Stared.

“You serious?”

“Kind of, but not really?” Tim scratched his head. “Maybe? I mean. It’s hard to tell. This weird thing happened the other day…”

~~~

Papers were unexpectedly heavy.

You wouldn’t think so because paper didn’t weigh anything at all. Tests, exercise sheets, detention slips, etc. All light as a feather. Of course, you’d eventually remember books were paper and realize anything can be heavy if you stack enough of it.

Paper happened to be very stackable.

“Is it heavy?”

“Nope!” Tim said, then immediately cursed himself for it. That totally wasn’t what he wanted to say. “I mean, no ma’am!”

That wasn’t it either!

It wasn’t that Tim was one of those guys that couldn’t admit when they were having trouble lifting something. Sure, Tim totally took pride when his mom needed help opening a jar, but that was because jar opening was super fulfilling. No joke there. It was awesome. Still, that didn’t mean he had any particular pride in his muscles or something. He’d need to have muscles for that.

It just so happened that seeming even slightly inadequate around Ms. Martel felt like a colossally bad idea. It wasn’t because of anything she did or said. Tim couldn’t recall a single time in which he had seen her being mean to someone. Not that he’d seen Ms. Martel all that much since joining Regum, but still. She wasn’t like an ogre or something.

She just felt like one.

It wasn’t that she was ugly like an ogre or something. The opposite, really. Ms. Martel was super hot, which meant a lot coming from him. However, there was something in the way Ms. Martel carried herself. How her eyes never seemed to blink, and she never had a single hair out of place or wrinkle in her suit. It made you feel as if you were standing in front of someone that was just… more.

When she had shown up in front of him and told him she needed him to move a few boxes, the thought of saying no hadn’t even crossed his mind. Bartleby the Scrivener may prefer not to do things, but that guy ended up dying.

Not a stellar example to follow.

“It is good to hear that,” Ms. Martel said, completely ignorant of his mental monologue, her eyes focused only on him. “Once you are done moving those, we’ll start with the ones in the next room.”

“There’s another room full of boxes?” When her eyes narrowed, he immediately added. “I mean, of course, ma’am. Right away!”

He would have saluted if he weren’t carrying two boxes on top of each other. Not that he thought that would help. Ms. Martel didn’t seem particularly impressed. If anything, her stare was decidedly unimpressed.

It was also unmoving.

“Do not treat me as though I were an ogre that would bite your head for asking questions. Asking questions is admitting ignorance. Admitting ignorance is the first step towards learning.”

“I… thank you?”

“You are welcome. As you may have noticed, we are in the middle of restructuring our office. Clearing out old space is part of it, but so is moving documents.”

“But isn’t Ammes scanning all that stuff? Why do you need hard copies?” The question slipped his mouth without him meaning to, but she did not seem to mind.

“There is always a need for hard copies,” Ms. Martel told him as she led him throughout the maze of cubicles. “Paper will always be more reliable than hard drives. Not as convenient but far safer.”

“Safer?”

“Hard drives are surprisingly easy to damage. While we do back-up our data, it is always good to have a hard copy.”

“Makes sense.” Maybe. Sort of. “Where am I taking this, by the way?”

“These boxes will go to the 42th floor. Do not worry. I will be with you the entire way.”

Tim hid his groan by pressing his face against the box.

~~~

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

“... and that was basically my entire day.”

Mr. Espinoza stared at him.

“And the harassment?”

“Oh, yeah. That.” Tim scratched the back of his head as he tried to think of the best way to put it. “It’s just… she kept watching me, you know? I mean, if someone tells you to move a couple of boxes, you’d expect that person to leave you to it while she went and did other stuff, right? But she stayed by my side all the time.”

“She just had that stare, you know?” Tim added when Mr. Espinoza’s look changed from puzzled to thoroughly unimpressed. “Like, really intense stuff.”

He was explaining this wrong. Tim understood that but didn’t know how to fix it. There had been something weird about the way Ms. Martel had looked at him. It had felt like every single move he had made had been under her scrutiny.

Like she was drinking him in.

“So your boss tells you to do something.”

“Yep.”

“You say yes.”

“Yep.”

“Then, instead of leaving you to your own devices, she stays by your side, answers all your questions, shows you what to do. The works.”

“Well, when you say it like that, it makes me sound all bad.”

“You make yourself sound bad. Want my opinion?”

“I kind of did ask for it.”

“Sounds like she just wanted to make sure you didn’t mess up.”

“But why was I the only one who had to move all those boxes?” Tim asked, already accepting he had lost this argument. “I mean, that’s weird, right? There were a lot of them. Usually, you’d put more than one person on that, right?”

“Nah.” Mr. Espinoza waved his hand. “Bosses always pull that stuff. It’s fun. Did it to Joey all the time when he was being a little shit.”

“But I’m not a little shit.”

“You’re kind of annoying,” Mr. Espinoza pointed out. The worst part was it didn’t even seem like he meant it as an insult, just a general observation. Tim sighed.

“Yeah, I am.” He clicked his tongue. “Whatever. How much do I owe you?”

“Thirty.”

Tim rolled his eyes. That was just a thing Mr. Espinoza said. When it came to games, he was open to haggling. He was saying thirty, but Tim knew he could get him down to twenty-five. Maybe twenty-four. He didn’t get why Mr. Espinoza didn’t just charge him twenty-five, so they could skip the whole routine.

“That’s way too-”

The little bell next to the door rang as it opened. Tim jerked his head back to see who’d come in as Mr. Espinoza smoothly hid the games behind the counter.

“Carlos, my man!”

Mr. Espinoza frowned. “Joe.”

Joey was a college dropout that used to work at Carl’s. He was super good when it came to recommending games and always knew the best cheat codes. Tim smiled when he saw him. He was about to go over to him and say hi, only to immediately stop.

Joey smelled. Bad.

His skin was pale and yellowish. His shirt had stains all over it. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but Tim could see how red they were as he got closer.

“Come on, man! It’s Joey!” The older teen said as he put one elbow on the counter. “How many times do I gotta tell you that?”

“Get out.”

Mr. Espinoza’s voice was curt and to the point. His glare did not have a shred of friendliness in it. Joey looked taken aback but only took a moment. He instantly plastered a grin back on his face.

“Come on, man. I just wanted to ask-”

“I ain’t lending you money,” Mr. Espinoza cut him. “Get. Out.”

Mr. Espinoza was not a tall man. Certainly, not an imposing one. At least, Tim had never thought of him that way. Yet, even though he was a full head shorter than Joey, it was as if he had become a giant. His back was ramrod straight, his muscles taut and alert.

“What? So it’s like that?” Unlike Mr. Espinoza, Joey seemed as if a stiff breeze could take him away. He made big gestures with his hands every time he talked, which reminded Tim of a piece of grass stuck on a windshield. “Come on, you know I need to-”

“Get. Out.” Suddenly, there was a bat on Mr. Espinoza’s hands. One Tim had seen a few times behind the counter, but he’d never seen Mr. Espinoza holding it until now. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Oh.” Joey frowned. “So it’s like that.”

Mr. Espinoza did not answer. He just kept staring at Joey.

“Fine!” Joey threw his hands up. “I know when I’m not wanted.” He threw a glance at Tim. “You see how he is? Don’t let that friendly store owner shit fool you!”

“Joe,” Mr. Espinoza warned. The bat gently made contact with the counter. Once. A warning.

“I’m leaving! I’m leaving!” Joey said, pulling the door and leaving as suddenly as he came.

Five seconds passed before anyone in the store spoke.

“If I thought for a moment, he’d use the money to buy food, I’d give him some. Fuck, I’d package some pizza slices and sandwiches for him right now.”

“Sooo…”

“Drugs.”

Tim looked down. “Oh.”

“Tried to get the kid to stop. Wouldn’t listen. Had to fire him,” Mr. Espinoza said. “Sucks, but it is what it is.”

“Oh,” Tim said again, feeling highly uncomfortable. He kept shifting his weight from left to right. “I thought you just fired him because he didn’t show up in time and stuff.”

Joey had been a fixture at Carl’s for about a year, give or take a few months. At first, Joey had been a welcome sight in the store, but his behavior had grown irregular. He wouldn’t show up for his shifts, and when he did, he’d be rude to the customers. It came as no surprise to anyone when Mr. Espinoza fired him.

“Why do you think he didn’t show up in time and stuff?”

What was he supposed to say to that? Tim had a feeling he shouldn’t have been here to see this. Now he felt the need to say something but had no clue as to what.

“Can’t you, like, help him or something?”

The look Mr. Espinoza gave him made Tim immediately regret his words.

“Can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves. That’s Rule #1.”

Tim looked away, hands suddenly in his pockets. “Makes sense. So yeah, I’m gonna-”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

Mr. Espinoza sighed, one hand on his forehead. “It’s not safe. I’ll give you a pizza or something. Free of charge. Just stay for a while.”

“Not safe?” Tim blinked, not getting it.

“Joe is there. He needs money. Wait until he’s left. He’ll get bored. I can call a neighbor to walk you home.”

“Wait,” Tim said, the gears in his brain slowly turning, his head moving back and forth between the door and Mr. Espinoza. “You’re saying that Joey would…”

“He needs money,” Mr. Espinoza repeated, tired. As if he was saying something obvious.

And maybe it was, but Joey was the guy who’d recommended Tim cool games and gave him tips when he was stuck on a level. He’d even given him cheat codes for Virtuous Seven. Sure, he’d never been the best worker, but the older boy had been fun to talk to at times. Cool, even.

The idea that he was now a danger to him was one Tim found hard to wrap his head around.

He wanted to say that there was no way Joey would steal from him.

The look on Mr. Espinoza’s face completely robbed him of any words he could have uttered. It was those eyes. They knew.

They understood.

They were sorry too.

~~~

“What’s up, doc?”

The doctor did not bother turning around as Gerald strutted into his lab. He did not even need to bother looking to know Gerald had strutted. He always did.

“Gerald,” he said, his long, bony fingers typing away at a brisk pace. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Usually, you’d be bothering Morgan at this time of the day.”

“Now, did you really need to say bother?” The handsome man asked as he put down a paper bag next to his mousepad. A quick glance told the doctor it had a croissant inside it. “And here I even brought you some food because you never stop working long enough to take care of yourself.”

“Work one enjoys is work one can devote their life to,” the doctor replied. He took a bite out of the croissant. “I never imagined I’d have an opportunity like this. Now that it is within my hands, how can I possibly look away?”

Gerald whistled. “Ooh, I like that phrase. I hope you don’t mind if I steal it.”

“I’d wager the ladies will be more impressed by it coming from you.”

Not that Gerald had to do anything to impress the ladies. The tall, blond man just needed to stand there.

“Now, come on, doc.” Gerald playfully punched him on the shoulder. Even though he had fists like anvils, he did it lightly enough the doctor barely felt it. “Don’t go selling yourself short. Morgan always talks about you.”

The doctor huffed. "That doesn't make me happy at all."

Gerald’s green eyes twinkled. “How picky of you. But fine, let us not talk about that.”

The ‘for now’ went unsaid. It always did. Gerald was of the opinion he should get out more. He was one of those insufferable outdoor types.

“I take it the process is going well,” Gerald said, peeking over his shoulder.

“Extremely so.”

All Regum employees had nutritional supplements added to their food. This was explained in their contract, though many people never bothered reading such things. To eat in the cafeteria, employees needed to present their IDs. When they did, the system brought up the supplements they required as ascertained by the results of their health evaluation.

It just so happened their test subjects received very special supplements.

“The two have been showing extremely positive responses to the SP Treatment. At this rate, the girl will reach ten percent completion within two days and the boy within three.”

“So she’s really more compatible than him.” The doctor saw Gerald raise an eyebrow through his reflection on the computer screen. “You wouldn’t think so looking at them. The little guy’s been a ball of energy lately.”

“Your thinking is flawed.”

“Oh? How so, doc?”

“You misunderstand what compatibility entails. If she has not shown as many outward signs as the boy, it is not because she’s less compatible. It’s because she’s more so. Her body is acclimating to the changes so well, they have no impact on her daily life. Look.” With a few taps at his keyboard, he brought up a few graphs. “For the past several days, she’s been running every day to burn off the excess energy.”

Gerald rubbed his chin. “So that’s why she doesn’t seem any more energetic than usual at work?”

“Correct. Her mind instinctively understands it needs to do this. Even as her body’s capabilities increase, she instinctively limits herself to carry on without difficulties. The boy, meanwhile, is erratically bleeding energy throughout the day. He has no control over it. Of course, that’s rather interesting in its own way.”

Gerald threw a glance his way out of the corner of his eyes. “I really don’t like the way you just said that, doc.”

“I am merely pointing out that if one of the two were to have an incident that would be fruitful to my research, well, it’d be the subject who can’t control himself, wouldn’t it?”

Gerald’s brow creased. “I’ll have to increase his security.”

“You hadn’t already done that?”

“I had not been given reason to believe that was necessary. Clearly, that has changed. Although if they are already nearing ten percent, I am guessing the process will be complete before the summer is over.” He hummed thoughtfully while rubbing his chin. “Would we be able to begin testing on other subjects by then?”

Ah. Comprehension dawned on the doctor’s face.

“So that’s why you came here. That eager to volunteer?”

“Extremely so,” Gerald admitted without shame. “Don’t get me wrong, doc. The armor you and Morgan made for me is the only reason I’m even alive, but “Silver Knight” is barely cutting it.”

A frown appeared on the doctor’s face. “Please, don’t refer to that thing as my work.”

Gerald laughed. “Still can’t let go of that rivalry, huh?”

“That’s not the point. Regardless, you are not wrong. That you have been as successful as you have been so far can mostly be chalked up to luck.”

Gerald puffed his chest. “And my amazing skill, decision-making, and general dashingness. Obviously.”

“You are human,” the doctor continued as though he hadn’t heard him. “Even if we put you in a suit of armor, your insides are still human. You lack the enhanced physical toughness Exceeds have as a baseline. Were it not for our regenerative treatments, you’d be suffering from severe brain trauma.”

Gerald shivered. “Please, don’t remind me of that. Anyway, that’s why the treatment exists, right?”

The doctor turned to glare at him.

“Contrary to what you may believe, the SP Treatment does not exist to satisfy your battle lust.”

Gerald raised an eyebrow. “But it will, won’t it?”

“Without a doubt.”

~~~