Alcohol has fueled many a drunken domestic, vehicular accident, and devilish inspiration. It was legal, of course. Cigarettes, purveyor of a moment’s pleasure, each dead cinder a dice roll. Which pack would be the one to make your cells mutate in just the right way so it would never die and multiply endlessly? A legal gamble nevertheless. Cannabis, no more ‘natural’ than tobacco, sworn by many of its users to be harmless by comparison. Legal. Alkalova? Only recently made legal.
Some said the legalization of Alkalova coincided a little too well with the Riot of 2025. A literal opiate for masses for when trust in superheroism had begun to wane. Mankind was for man, not demigods. And what use were demigods who could barely protect their wards from a single, insane man and his meteors?
No one would know who it was that planted the idea to legalize Alkalova in a high-ranking government official’s head. It seemed so grassroots, even in retrospect, so innocent that it never occurred to the FBI to perform a psy-op on its own government to search for psychic tampering. Thus, it seemed as though one single move quelled the national unrest, and elevated countless small-time farmers in South America from the poverty of hiding in the tropics, to running water, brick villas, schools within walking distance, et cetera. All under the dime of that powdered white gold, best inhaled with friends, but you could eat it if you liked. It was less addictive than sugar that way. Oh, and as hard as it was to believe, processed sugar was perfectly legal too. Alkalova was nowhere near as lucrative as a business. But it was easier.
All the average Colombian entrepreneur had to do was take out a loan, stake their claim on a piece of land, and build their greenhouse. And don’t forget, let that nice man with the American flag stitched on his shoulder into your home and sign his papers. Salute the F-23 Black Widow that would occasionally fly over your home from that point onward.
Some entrepreneurs wanted to stay independent. Unregulated. Loyal to their own clandestine customers. Officially, their product could not have been trustworthy; it did not pass QA after all. The truth was ‘unregulated’ was just another word for ‘untaxed’. Such entrepreneurs did not stay independent for long, one way or another.
Brayan was an entrepreneur. He was also smart. Smart enough to sign the papers with no resistance. Savvy enough to secure a prime piece of growing land for a ridiculous price. He could hardly believe the deal came with no strings. The previous owner had inherited it from his late father. The owner was a young man who moved slowly, talked seldom unless some detail of the deal needed clarification, and always seemed to be somewhere else. As though he saw the spirits.
Once the deal had been concluded and Brayan’s men moved in to begin setting up their operation, he talked to the young man, asked him why he carried about with so much weight on his shoulders at such a fruitful age.
The young man’s posture loosened. He talked briefly of his interests, his dreams of leaving this country and moving to America. About what his father would have wanted. Then his expression soured, and Brayan wondered if he had done something wrong.
A man in a crisp three-piece tapped Brayan on the shoulder to grab his attention.
“It’s been approved,” he said. “We look forward to doing business with you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Brayan replied in his best English. When he turned around, the young man had left. No doubt to realize his dreams. Brayan could only hope he found peace to the north.
Brayan on the other hand, had beautiful daughters to spoil and drugs to make.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
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After training, Lyssa and Amelia met up with Carrie and Penny. The other two had spent the evening in their respective places of power. For Carrie, the campus pool, for Penny, the gardens. Transitioning to a post high school life meant later nights and jaunts to places that would have seemed improper only months before.
“We didn’t get to last time,” Penny said. “And tomorrow’s Saturday.”
She spoke highly of a place a mile away from the campus on Bayward and Hagan’s. Great atmosphere, semi-dirty tables, creaky seats. The Crossjack, it was called. Penny sold it as she walked backward, dragging them there at her pace.
Lyssa half-listened. Pedestrians tended to look their way. More specifically at Amelia. She must have noticed as well and waved dismissively.
“Our gift is rare, and strange to the eyes,” Amelia said. “I am used to it. The staring is usually out of curiosity, not malice.”
“Hm…”
“Come on, brighten up!” Penny said to Lyssa. “We’re young. This is what young people do. You’re nearly as proper as Amelia before I corrupted her.”
The moth scoffed.
Lyssa shook her head. “The tournament is in half a month. We have two more practicums with Tobias and a CEOR test with Osprey before then and homework from other classes. I’m just-”
“Stressed the hell out?” Penny asked.
“Yeah.”
“Penny is a ‘Ds get degrees’ type girl,” Amelia said. “Do not let her rub off on you.”
“Shut up,” Penny said.
Lyssa let go of the feeling of unease. All the better for her state of mind. Ever since she remembered Mercurial, time tended to slow whenever she was stressed. People moved like claymation. She would have to learn to control her twitchwalk. Walking with her roommates however shortened the mile to a moment.
She had also forgotten how beautiful the city could be. Eighty million people lived here. Highrises and titanic condos and indoor shopping malls and neon. Lyssa could feel the wires sing and the steel’s heavy presence everywhere. The streets were corridors of metal and stone and electricity. New Langshir had all the trappings of a city enshrined in song by any generation’s king of pop. If the crime could be ignored.
Someone is being mugged two hundred yards away.
Lyssa tried to block her out. It had been becoming more difficult. Her voice was clearer, stronger than ever.
Well, little hero?
“I liked you better silent,” Lyssa said in the antechamber of her mansion of thought. The shadow hung over the glass dome, recoiling with mock hurt.
You’ve gone and taken us into M.A.G.E. You put us in harm’s way. Might as well own up to it.
“I’m taking responsibility,” Lyssa said. “The police handle petty crime. They are fine people. And I’m not trained. You’re not a hero until you are one.”
Cute aphorism. You like Lian, don’t you?
“Leave her alone, Bil.”
You think she cares about you? You’re a nutcase. We’re a nutcase. Telepaths love rummaging in our heads. Why do you think most psychiatrists are some kind of psychic? We’re a sideshow attraction.
“You’re the telepath. I’m not.”
We’re the same person. Best wrap our head around that. Telepaths can do a lot for people. Like right now for instance. I can convince that mugger to leave at this very instance.
“Don’t.”
Think about it. We could detect crime before it happens. Convince people to change through the most direct means possible. Save lives without lifting a finger. And yet mindreading is considered somewhere between assault and rape.
“You’re a bad idea.”
He’s taking a knife out, Lyssa. We can stop him right now. What would Carrie think? What if she knew we could help but chose not to? Like she did to us?
“Stop! Get out of her head!”
That poor girl. Such a kind soul. She feels so bad she ignored us in school while the others ostracized us. She wants to be our friend so badly to redeem that past. I can save lives, Lyssa. I can make sure no one lies to us again, or takes advantage of us, or pretends to care about us. All you have to do is let me drive.
“Lyssa?”
Lyssa shrugged off the hand, a little too hard she realized instantaneously. Carrie withdrew quickly.
“Sorry,” Lyssa said. “I got- I was somewhere else.”
“You weren’t responding,” Carrie said.
“I’m sorry,” Lyssa repeated. “I didn’t mean to. What’s going on?”
“We’re here,” Penny said. “You alright? We don’t have to come. I know I can be pushy.”
“Nope. Let’s go in,” Lyssa said. “You’ve been selling this place too hard for us to leave now.”
She grabbed Carrie’s hand and all but barged through the pub’s doors.