《The High & Mighty》 Prologue As Zachary Flemming expected, university students packed Scott¡¯s Brewhouse from wall to wall. The restaurant¡¯s numerous TVs broadcast the school football team as they took on a hapless opponent. The diners chattered and cheered over drinks as they watched the Wolves game. Though he too was a student, Zach¡¯s mood differed from the general levity, and he pushed his way to the bar with a frown on his face. ¡°Hey Zach, good to see you.¡± Harold Jones, the classmate who requested Zach¡¯s presence, raised a half-finished glass. ¡°Make it quick, Harold.¡± Zach climbed onto the stool Harold occupied for him and opened the drink menu. ¡°What¡¯s so important that you¡¯d call me over here at this time?¡± ¡°Well, you know how I''ve been testing those Huntington''s disease drug candidates, right?¡± Harold asked. ¡°I just finished the first trials on our rat models, and we got some really interesting results.¡± ¡°Harold, you know I''ve got a deadline. My thesis is due in two weeks and I¡¯m behind on writing,¡± Zach grumbled. The document was to be the culmination of his four years¡¯ graduate studies. But even though his existing manuscript work exceeded all reasonable requirements for a doctorate, his advisor insisted on further additions. He looked Harold in the eye. ¡°Even if one of the leads worked, it''s still not something to drag me away from the desk.¡± ¡°Yeah, well¡­¡± Harold turned to the nearest screen. ¡°If the results were positive, I''d have just sent you and your boss a summary.¡± Zach put down the menu and ordered a beer from the bartender. Cheers erupted from the crowd around them; the Wolves scored again. ¡°So the results are negative?¡± Zach asked. ¡°That''s even less of a reason to call me out at this time.¡± ¡°Well, yes, they were negative.¡± Harold gave a sheepish grin. ¡°But the reason I called you here is because they were strange, and I mean out-of-this-world strange, with that JCA-152 compound. We need another ten grams to follow up.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Zach groaned. JCA-152 was among the most promising of anti-Huntington compounds Zach had designed for his doctoral studies. However, it¡¯s preparation involved numerous synthetic steps and a ten-gram batch would consume over a week of time in the lab. ¡°Talk to my boss. She¡¯ll have one of the others make it.¡± ¡°I have. Dr. Mitchell said no one else is familiar enough with your protocols to prepare ten grams anytime soon, and that if I wanted it, I had to get it from you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m still writing my thesis. I¡¯ve got no time for lab work.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Boos poured out from the bar crowd. Zach checked the screen and found an official announcing a penalty against them. ¡°I know, I know,¡± Harold said. ¡°But you gotta hear what these results were. If you do this for me, I¡¯ll do anything I can to help you with that thesis, even if it means delivering all your meals.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± Zach leaned against the counter. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡± ¡°Great. Well, I first thought something was weird when I reached for the first rat in the cage,¡± Harold said. ¡°For some reason, its hair was standing on end. But crazy thing is, I got a huge electric shock once I touched it.¡± ¡°So you forgot that static electricity exists,¡± Zach took a sip of his beer. ¡°It has been dry lately.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I thought too, but it gets weirder,¡± Harold continued. ¡°After I tested that first rat and returned it to its cage, I found that the next rat was soaking wet.¡± ¡°Let me guess,¡± Zach rolled his eyes, ¡°its water bottle leaked?¡± ¡°No. In fact, the bottle was still filled to the brim. Normally they¡¯d about half-full at that point.¡± ¡°So where¡¯d the water come from?¡± Zach asked. ¡°Did one of your undergrad assistants spray it with a squirt bottle?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Since I couldn¡¯t weigh a soaking rat, I just cursed at the lost data point and moved on.¡± Harold chugged the last of his beer and sighed. ¡°Now, that¡¯s when things got really strange.¡± ¡°Okay?¡± ¡°I tried to bring the next rat out of it¡¯s cage, but I couldn¡¯t get it out.¡± Harold held out his emptied glass sideways between them, with the last traces of the drink dripping off the rim. ¡°Like, I had my fingers around it like this, but still couldn¡¯t pick it up.¡± ¡°What? It¡¯s a lab rat!¡± Zach¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°They weigh, like, half a kilo at most.¡± ¡°Yeah, was like its feet were glued to the cage. I was afraid I¡¯d rip its legs off ¨C was sure someone sabotaged my trial at that point.¡± ¡°Sounds more like an elaborate prank. Are you sure your undergrad assistants didn¡¯t sneak into the lab to mess with you?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t even have time to think about it.¡± Harold set down the glass. ¡°Once I let go, that rat started walking around like normal. After that, I checked all of the other rats, and there was something wrong with each of them. One rat had a really high body temperature. Another one shrank to the size of a mouse. One of them disappeared completely. I thought I was going crazy, but Dr. Kay came in and he saw the same things I was seeing. We even called in Candace because it was all too ridiculous.¡± ¡°Alright, so you got bad batch of lab rats and need to repeat the experiment,¡± Zach sighed. ¡°That can wait a few weeks, can¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Whoa, it wasn¡¯t the rats.¡± Harold waved his in denial. ¡°The untreated control rats from the same shipment were perfectly normal, aside from the expected Huntington''s symptoms of course.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re saying that¡­¡± ¡°What I¡¯m saying,¡± Harold leaned to Zach¡¯s ear, ¡°I¡¯m saying that all those observations are related. And I¡¯m sure JCA-152 is the key to it all.¡± Chapter 1 Zach watched the blocky grey clock with tired eyes. 11:13. He had about an hour and a half left. Class wouldn¡¯t be out for another two minutes. He leaned back against the tarnished railing, tearing his eyes away from the digital display as he glanced out the window. Outside, in the courtyard below, a handful of students pushed fliers of a particularly garish shade of green into the hands of passerby. Even without seeing their contents, Zach knew more or less what they said. ¡°March Against the BSC!¡± ¡°Justice for Peoria!¡± ¡°Reject the Superpowered Elite!¡± ¡°10 Easy Tricks to Foil Clairvoyants!¡± There were similar fliers pinned up all over the city. It was particularly bad near Zach¡¯s workplace, but campus was even worse. You could barely move thirty feet before running into one. Zach had probably seen dozens, just on his walk into this building today. A murmur drew Zach¡¯s attention back to the door of the classroom he had been watching. The wooden frame was now open, and students were beginning to pour out of the classroom inside. Zach monitored the flood of students from a short distance, checking each face as it emerged. Student after student disappeared down the hallway, none of them matching the description of the student Zach was looking for. Finally, a tall, twiggy student appeared. An olive-colored beanie nearly covered a shock of bright, copper hair. The boy fiddled intently with his phone in one hand as he turned to exit down the hallway. Zach pushed off of the railing, half-jogging as he hurried to catch up to the student. ¡°Hey,¡± Zach hailed the student as he neared his side, ¡°Scott Bauer, isn¡¯t it?¡± he asked, extending an arm. ¡°My name is Jeff. Jeff Casey. I was wondering if you had a minute. I¡¯d really like to talk to you about something.¡± The student looked up from his phone, scrutinizing the man who had addressed him. What he saw was a man of average height. His dark brown hair, almost black, was parted neatly and slicked back. The style matched the formality of the suit he wore, which was entirely black and paired with a black tie. It took less than a second for Scott Bauer to pin Jeff Casey as a government agent. ¡°Sorry, I don¡¯t talk to feds,¡± Scott replied with a frown, as he returned his attention to his phone and turned to leave. Zach smiled and a hint of menace entered his eyes as they met with Scott¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯m not a fed, but I am here to discuss your recent acts of civil disobedience. We can either discuss that loudly on the way to wherever you¡¯re going, or you can spare a couple of minutes and we can find a quieter place to chat.¡± Zach watched as doubt swam through the student¡¯s eyes. There was no way he¡¯d believe that ¡®Jeff¡¯ wasn¡¯t a fed from a single, unproven claim. Right now he was probably trying to figure out if any of his friends had snitched on him, or if perhaps the BSC had used a clairvoyant to find him. Regardless, there was no way the boy would risk the contents of such a conversation being overheard. His expression hardened as he nodded. ¡°Follow me,¡± he commanded, both his tone and expression, hostile. Zach smiled, sliding his hands contentedly into his pockets as he turned to follow the boy. Scott led him down a flight of stairs in a remote corner of the psychology building, and out the same obscure side door that Zach had used to enter it. The two followed a trail of dry dirt that had been carved into the university¡¯s lawn, back behind the row of university buildings and into the treeline that divided the university from a local park. The same trail divided the sparse undergrowth, clearing their path through the thin strip of woods, before emerging behind a gazebo. The gaudy, white structure was some ways from the rest of the park. It was used occasionally for weddings and informal recitals for the music students, but nobody would have reason to visit it this early on a weekday. ¡°Alright, what do you want?¡± Scott sighed, dropping onto one of the gazebo¡¯s many stone benches. Zach looked down at the distraught student for a moment, before beginning. ¡°You and a couple of friends recently vandalized the BSC office on 30th and Pacific.¡± ¡°Look man,¡± Scott interrupted. ¡°It was just a little paint. We can clean it up, if that helps.¡± A genuine grin broke across Zach¡¯s face. ¡°A little paint?¡± he chuckled. ¡°That had to have been buckets! The entire staircase out front was dripping with red.¡± Scott frowned, realizing his failure to trivialize the crime committed by him and his friends. ¡°I got a good laugh out of that,¡± Zach continued. At these words, Scott¡¯s expression changed to one of confusion. ¡°I told you I wasn¡¯t a fed, didn¡¯t I?¡± Zach shrugged. ¡°If you aren¡¯t a fed, then who are you, and why do you care?¡± Scott queried angrily. ¡°How did you even know how to find me?¡± ¡°My name¡¯s Jeff Casey. I¡¯m a person, like you, who opposes the use of superpowers by law enforcement entities.¡± ¡°And what do you want from me, Jeff Casey?¡± Scott retorted skeptically. ¡°I want to help you,¡± Zach said earnestly. ¡°Your stunt with the paint was entertaining, but like you said, it was just a little paint. I think you can do better.¡± ¡°Better?¡± Zach adopted a grave tone. ¡°Our legal system wasn¡¯t built for the existence of superpowers,¡± he sighed. ¡°Any legislation that¡¯s been created, has served only to protect and empower those who already exert power over our society. The scales are too imbalanced. You and I both know this isn¡¯t a battle that can be won within the confines of the law. It¡¯s a battle that needs to be fought on the streets by those who understand that we can¡¯t afford to allow the government to use superpowers to control us. Sure, passing out fliers, and picketing out front of Cypress Pharmaceuticals and dumping cans of paint on the steps of the BSC might help bring attention to the issue, but they aren¡¯t going to win the battle.¡± ¡°What exactly are you suggesting?¡± Scott gasped. Of course he understood the implication Zach¡¯s words held, but he wanted to hear it for himself. ¡°I¡¯m suggesting that a more active stance needs to be taken,¡± Zach stated simply ¡°You want to fight them?¡± Scott asked incredulously. ¡°We can¡¯t fight them. They¡¯ve got guys that shoot fire from their hands.¡± ¡°Yeah, and who says we can¡¯t do that too?¡± Zach shot back. ¡°The cartels have managed to wage an all-out war in South America.¡± ¡°The cartels? The stuff they use is way weaker than what Cypress is cooking up for the BSC. The only reason they¡¯ve been able to last this long is because of their numbers.¡± ¡°That¡¯s fair,¡± Zach smirked, ¡°but, I¡¯m not offering the stuff the cartels use. What I have is the real deal, government grade Trufloxin. Even a little is enough to last for hours, and there¡¯s none of the side-effects you see in the street versions. All we need is a small, carefully selected group of people executing targeted attacks with a little help from Liquid Gold, and we¡¯ve got a solid chance at a meaningful rebellion.¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ¡°Do you seriously think you can pull this off?¡± Scott scoffed. ¡°I already am. I¡¯m simply offering you a chance to become part of it,¡± Zach goaded. ¡°And what if I decide to turn you in to the BSC?¡± Scott threatened. Zach shrugged. ¡°If I thought that giving you my name or face would compromise my operation, I wouldn¡¯t have done so. All you¡¯d accomplish by going to the BSC is outing yourself and your friends as the vandals who sabotaged their office. Still, though, it¡¯s up to you.¡± Scott scowled. ¡°Why should I trust you?¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see that you have a healthy sense of caution, but I have both a plan and the means to execute it. I can give you a real shot at the revolution you¡¯re imagining every time you pass out fliers or toss cans of paint,¡± Zach answered without missing a beat. Scott¡¯s scowl softened and he now seemed to be deep in thought. ¡°Naturally, I don¡¯t expect you to decide right now,¡± Zach added. ¡°I¡¯ll give you some time to think things over. Expect to see me again in a couple of days.¡± The the sharp-dressed man waved over his shoulder as he stepped lightly down the steps of the gazebo. Ducking around back, he returned they way they had come, vanishing into the trees. The second Scott was out of sight, Zach¡¯s left hand was out of his pocket and his eyes were on his watch. 12:07. Only 20 minutes or so left. He was cutting it close, but it should be enough. He heaved a sigh of relief, but before he could take a step, he heard a twig snap some distance behind him. Was it Scott? The dorms were in the opposite direction. Did he have business on campus, after all? As Zach glanced behind him, his eyes met not with Scott¡¯s, but with those of a burly man wearing a suit. Another suit-clad man followed behind him. BSC. Zach broke into a sprint, closing the distance between him and the edge of the woods in seconds. He could hear the men following close behind as he raced down the dirt path and back into the psychology building. Thankfully, this hall was clear of students. He ran a couple of meters along it before stopping. Calming his breathing as best he could, he turned and began walking slowly back towards the door he had come from. Seconds later, the men in suits burst through the door, only to find one student walking towards the exit. A young man in cargo shorts with shaggy and untamed blonde hair stared wide-eyed at the two men. The man in front blinked and looked around, searching for any sign of the dark-haired man they had been chasing. ¡°A man in a suit! Which way did he run?¡± he shouted, startling the youth. He glanced at the men and then back towards the entrance to one of the side-halls that branched off of this one. ¡°One just ran that way,¡± he answered, gesturing towards the side-hall where he had been looking. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he asked, concernedly. The two men ignored his question, instead racing down the path he had indicated. Zach smiled as he watched them disappear. Opening the side door with the heel of his hand, he once again exited the building. Maintaining the appearance of the student, he made his way, this time, towards the front of the building. Mixing in with the other students, he crossed the courtyard in front of the psychology building. As he made his way along the path, a student shoved one of those green fliers into his hands. ¡°This weekend! March against the BSC!¡± he shouted as Zach passed. A glance at the flier confirmed his earlier suspicions. They were advertising a demonstration that a student organization had planned to give the public a chance to voice their dissatisfaction with the Bureau of Superpowered Containment. What a joke. Zach scowled as he folded the flier neatly and slipped it into his pocket. He would have to burn it later. It had his prints on it now, and he wasn¡¯t taking any chances. Maybe next time he made one of these runs, he should wear gloves, Zach thought to himself. He silently cursed his luck. He would have to give up on Scott Bauer. It was especially unfortunate, since he had seemed mostly convinced at the time of Zach¡¯s leaving. It also meant that his Jeff Casey persona was now burned. This was the exact reason why he used a different persona whenever dealing with a contact, but it was still unfortunate. This was likely the first glimpse that the BSC had gotten of any of his numerous personas. An entertaining thought crossed Zach¡¯s mind and he smirked. He wondered if those BSC agents had been able to catch him on photo or video. They probably had. His disguise wouldn¡¯t work on that, but they were gonna be pissed when they realized what he¡¯d done. At a the corner of 30th and Douglas, Zach entered the Skyway station. He pulled a single use ticket from his pocket and fed it into the kiosk, taking care to use the edges of his fingers whenever possible. The light on the turnstile blinked green, and Zach pushed through it, climbing the stairs to the boarding area at the top. He eyed his watch nervously as he waited for the train. 12:21. Fewer than ten minutes were left. He was running out. Reluctantly, Zach decreased his power¡¯s radius, concentrating his remaining energy on those nearest to him. He sighed in relief as the train scudded smoothly into the platform. Immediately after boarding, he made his way to the bathroom. He sighed as the door closed behind him. 12:27. Zach released the illusion of the blonde-haired student, returning to his natural appearance. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and was briefly blinded by light. His hand shot up to the side of his glasses and flicked the switch that would turn off the lights. These glasses were a special model that contained a network of outward-facing LED lights within their frame. They were designed to prevent facial recognition from recognizing their wearer when they appeared in security cameras. They would surely be of use if Zach had been recorded by those BSC agents back on campus, as he suspected he had been. He slid the glasses off his face and tucked them into the folds of his khaki sport coat. It wasn¡¯t quite as formal as the suit that he had worn as Jeff Casey, but it was good enough for work. He ran a hand through his messy, chestnut hair in a futile effort to keep it from falling in front of his eyes. Somewhat satisfied with his appearance, Zach went through the motions of flushing and running the sink before leaving the bathroom and taking his seat. Zach¡¯s eyes wandered outside of the plexiglass window of the train car as the historic brick buildings of Redwood splintered into the shining glass towers of Newton. Zach idly soaked in the city¡¯s sprawling metropolis. He found himself frowning as his gaze ran across the rift between North and South. It was amazing how much a city could change in just a few years. Ten years ago, an outsider could hardly tell Delsin¡¯s various boroughs apart. It took the seasoned eyes of a local to spot the smaller details that built up each borough¡¯s character. Now it was clear at a glance where all of the wealth was. Which districts had succeeded, and which had withered and descended into poverty. Zach remembered the first day he had ever set eyes on the city. Fresh out of high school, the size had overwhelmed him. For the first two months after starting school at Delsin State University, he never left campus. Gradually, as he befriended local students in his classes, he began to venture out into the city. As he discovered the joys of exploration, he began taking strolls through the city on his own, just for the hell of it. By the end of his university years, he knew the streets of Redwood and Newton like the back of his hand. He had even frequented Edgewater, back before it had become the slum it was today. Nowadays, you couldn¡¯t go anywhere near Edgewater without expecting to lose your wallet. It was tragic. No other community had been hit as hard by the changes caused by the Department of Psychical Affairs¡¯ new policies than them. ¡°Now approaching Cypress Square,¡± a robotic female voice rang across the loudspeaker. Zach pulled a plastic badge from his pocket and clipped it to the front of his jacket. The name ¡°Cypress Pharmaceuticals¡± was boldly emblazoned across the top of the badge, followed by a photograph of a noticeably younger Zach and his full name and title: Dr. Zachary Flemming, Scientific Research Lead. Zach exited the station, strolling through the automatic gates and down the stairs to the platform. As soon as he opened the station doors, the sound hit him. Twenty or so protesters bustled along the pavement outside the front of the building. Several of them hoisted weathered cardboard signs above their heads. Zach recognized these protesters as the usual crowd that showed up from time to time to remind Cypress Pharmaceuticals and all of its employees that they were terrible people. A couple of them recognized Zach as he made his way towards the front doors and hurled insults in his direction. Zach sighed and glared at the protesters out of the corner of his eye as he passed through the tall, glass doors. Their hearts were in the right place, but there were so many better ways they could be using their time. It was unfortunate, but by showing their faces in a public setting, like this, they were probably all over the BSC¡¯s watchlists. At this point, marching and chanting were the most they would ever be capable of contributing to their cause. Peaceful protests wouldn¡¯t change anything, and Zach didn¡¯t need reminding that he was a terrible person. Very soon, he would show them what a real revolution looked like. Chapter 2 Inside the observation room sat Roger Malow, a man with graying hair who dressed in a suit of the highest quality. His discerning eyes stared through the room¡¯s window into the neighboring interrogation room. The entire facility was constructed with ability users in mind; the neighboring holding cells, used to detain suspected TF users until the drug wears off, were resistant to most destructive abilities and also shielded against all known transmission-based powers. Out of an overabundance of caution, the interrogation and observation rooms were similarly hardened. A young man sat on the other side of the window, restrained to a chair by several cuffs in the brightly lit interrogation room. His hair appeared disheveled, as if someone had ruffled it without his consent. Marco Francisco Escarr¨¤ knocked on the open door, alerting the BSC branch chief to his presence. ¡°You called me in, sir?¡± Those piercing eyes turned toward Marco, scanning him from his neat black hair and clean-shaven face down past his brand new suit to his glossy dress shoes, as if his worth as a human was measured in an instant. ¡°You¡¯re just in time. Have a seat, Marco. Hideki is about to start the interview.¡± Marco obliged, then looked his superior. ¡°So who is this guy?¡± ¡°Scott Bauer, age nineteen.¡± Roger read off the file on the desk. ¡°Sophomore studying political science at Delsin State University, frequent participant in anti-BSC protests, observed by field agents to be in contact with a suspected undocumented power user. Under temporary detainment for questioning in regards to an ongoing investigation on illegal TF use and trafficking. Or to put it simply, he¡¯s a Harrell witness.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Marco nodded. Harrell witnesses were individuals who held information of interest but couldn¡¯t, or wouldn¡¯t, voluntarily give up that information. Rather than force or entice them into talking, the BSC was authorized under the Harrell Code to utilize its own superpowered individuals in order to extract information from these involuntary witnesses. The door to the interrogation room opened, and a BSC agent of Asian descent stepped in, likewise dressed in a sharp suit. ¡°Good afternoon Mr. Bauer, and thank you in advance for your cooperation.¡± ¡°Release me!¡± Scott lashed out at the man. ¡°You have no right to hold me here like this!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that you are uncomfortable with your current position, Mr. Bauer, but please understand that two hour detainment and the restraints are necessary precautions when dealing with potential trufloxin users, all of which have been upheld in court.¡± Hideki shut the door behind him and strode up to Scott. ¡°I just need some information from you, and you will be free to go.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not answering anything without a lawyer,¡± Scott stated, asserting his Miranda rights, or more accurately his Fifth Amendment right against self incrimination. ¡°That is fine,¡± Hideki reached a hand out toward Scott¡¯s head. Unfortunately, the Fifth wouldn¡¯t be of any help in Scott¡¯s situation. ¡°I won¡¯t ask you to speak.¡± ¡°What!? You¡­¡± Scott¡¯s eyes went wide. He leaned back as far as he could, trying to avoid the approaching hand. ¡°You¡¯re a telepath!¡± ¡°Correct.¡± Hideki pressed his palm against Scott¡¯s forehead. Like most telepaths, he could read another person¡¯s thoughts and memories when in physical contact with a target, making them indispensable for intelligence collection. ¡°You can¡¯t do this!¡± Scott thrashed about, tugging against the restraints as he failed to shake off Hideki¡¯s hand. ¡°You assholes! What happened to my rights!? This is illegal! This is why the BSC should be dissolved!¡± From the observation room, Roger snorted, trying to suppress his laughter. ¡°I remember when I was that naive. Thought I knew how the world worked just because I learned a few things in school, but you¡¯d think a poli-sci student at Delsin State would at least know the Harrell rules.¡± Marco clenched his fist and turned away from the window. The Harrell rules defined when and where the BSC and other law enforcement agencies could use telepath-acquired knowledge as a basis for investigation or evidence. While Roger was correct that this particular approach was legal, that didn¡¯t mean it sat well with Marco. Being forced to watch only heightened his discomfort. ¡°So, why am I here? Sir?¡± ¡°Ah, yes. I need you to look into something.¡± Roger motioned to a table beside them and the backpack on top of it. ¡°For efficiency¡¯s sake, I had these brought in from the evidence locker. I need you to tell me who our witness was talking to. Naturally, you¡¯ll be needing this.¡± Roger held out a small glass vial in an open hand. Marco picked it up and inspected its contents. Written on its side were the words ¡®Cypress Pharmaceuticals¡¯ and ¡®Trufloxin 100 mg¡¯, while beneath its cap was a small, single-use syringe filled with a golden fluid. Trufloxin, the miracle drug. First week on the job and I¡¯m already shooting myself up. Papa¡¯s going to be so proud¡­ Marco took off his jacket and sat down in a folding chair. As he unbuttoned his shirt¡¯s cuff, he realized, ¡°If we already have a telepath, do you really need me? I mean, this stuff¡¯s expensive, right?¡± ¡°What you see is different from what he does,¡± Roger shrugged. ¡°Besides, the evidence we collect from telepathy can only constitute probable cause, and the rules say we can¡¯t use Harrell testimony against the witness. Your psychometry, on the other hand, can enter the courthouse as expert testimony.¡± Wouldn¡¯t either be enough for probable cause? There¡¯s no way we have enough on the guy for prosecution. Rather than retort, Marco nodded and checked the clock on the wall. 2:34, it said. ¡°What time was the subject¡¯s meeting?¡± ¡°This morning from 11:30 to noon,¡± Roger replied. ¡°We know they met earlier, as our observers saw them arrive together.¡± Alright, two and a half hours ago. Marco calculated the midpoint of the meeting. Then, he rolled up his sleeve and cleaned the inside of his elbow with the included disinfectant wipe. After a pause, he uncapped the syringe, exhaled, and jabbed it into the vein. The momentary pain soon gave way to a sense of euphoria, as the drug coursed through his blood and into his brain. Marco put his hand on the backpack and stared at its detail. His vision focused on the bag¡¯s fabric and stitching and the observation room table behind faded out, replaced by a hazy picture which grew clearer and clearer as the drug¡¯s effect peaked. The boy in their interrogation room, Scott Bauer, faced another man with chocolate hair and dressed in a formal suit. The two sat in a gazebo in what appeared to be a park, discussing Scott¡¯s prior activities. Scott, mistaking the man¡¯s identity, offered to clean up the recently defaced BSC branch. So that¡¯s why the entrance square was covered in paint. Marco thought. Evidence for vandalism.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. The man introduced himself as Jeff Casey, then proceeded in an attempt to incite violence against the BSC. Casey even went so far as to say he had a trufloxin source which matched the government grade product Marco just used. Scott appeared hesitant, and the meeting ended as Casey walked away, giving Scott an opportunity to consider the offer. Having ascertained the information his superior asked for, Marco dropped his focus, and the image faded out, returning Marco to the station¡¯s observation room. As he blinked to regain his bearings, Roger asked, ¡°Well? What did you get?¡± ¡°Jeff Casey,¡± Marco said, recalling the details of his vision. ¡°Caucasian with dark brown hair, and green eyes. I¡¯d estimate six foot one and 180 pounds. He claimed to have TF. Government grade, in his words.¡± ¡°Was he wearing glasses, by any chance?¡± ¡°Glasses? No.¡± Marco looked to his boss. ¡°Why do you ask?¡± Roger smiled for the first time. ¡°We¡¯ve been staking out that park for a week, with long range cameras to boot. Bauer¡¯s meeting occurred in full view of those cameras, but the contact¡¯s face and body all appeared as a bright spot in the data. The analyst suspected the contact used high quality anti-facial recognition glasses, but Gary and Stewart didn¡¯t see him wearing any. So it¡¯s definitely TF causing this interference. Best guess right now is that this suspect¡¯s ability interferes with digital records of himself.¡± Marco nodded. Undoubtedly, ¡®Jeff Casey¡¯ was a false identity, as the man had no qualms introducing himself, or revealing his face to a complete stranger such as Scott Bauer. If his ability made him impervious to standard surveillance techniques, then it¡¯d explain how he could recruit so openly. ¡°Now, take a look at this,¡± Roger said, handing Marco a clear plastic bag containing a vial of golden liquid. Marco took a deep breath and stared at the vial, but before the room left his focus, Roger interrupted him. ¡°With your eyes, not your powers. It¡¯s been in storage for days already.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Marco¡¯s powers didn¡¯t work beyond a day. He looked at the vial more closely. ¡°Well if it¡¯s just that, I¡¯d recognize the color anywhere. It looks like someone poured a TF shot into a vial. Why did they do that though?¡± ¡°I wish it were that simple.¡± Roger shook his head. ¡°Rumors about a ¡®Tru-Gold¡¯ formulation reached our ears about a month ago. We were almost ready to dismiss it as unfounded before that vial landed in our lap. That is the sample Stewart pulled off a South Cascadia student last week.¡± The hell!? Marco nearly dropped the container. ¡°This came off the streets? You mean to tell me this Jeff Casey guy¡¯s lifting TF somewhere between Cypress and the DPA?¡± ¡°We eliminated that possibility already.¡± Roger pulled a report out of a folder on the desk and handed it to Marco. ¡°Our forensics team found its formulation doesn¡¯t match the Cypress product. Nor does it match any known government or cartel sourced TF our agency has acquired. Also, it¡¯s only appeared around Delsin so far. No other branch has reported anything like it.¡± Holy fuck, Marco thought as he flipped through the report¡¯s pages before stopping at the final table, which compared known TF formulations. While trufloxin itself was chemically identical regardless of preparation, the other components and trace substances in a sample offered hints to the drug¡¯s manufacturing source, methods, and distribution. The sample¡¯s test results matched none of their previous database values. ¡°It¡¯s gotta be a new cartel product. We¡¯re just the first to see it. There¡¯s no way someone could cook this stuff at home.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t jump to conclusions, Marco. We don¡¯t know yet.¡± Roger shrugged. ¡°With Delsin State and South Cascadia both having world-class pharma programs, the volume of homemade TF our branch sees is far above the national average. It wouldn¡¯t surprise me if a student is brewing it in their kitchen.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t this huge?¡± Marco asked. The impact of high quality trufloxin being widespread was too horrendous to imagine. Yet he couldn¡¯t understand why he hadn¡¯t heard a word on the topic despite his short time since joining the BSC. ¡°Why isn¡¯t anyone talking about this in the office? Who¡¯s investigating this?¡± ¡°You are,¡± Roger chuckled. ¡°Your first formal investigation is to track down the distributor of ¡®Tru-Gold¡¯ in Delsin and find out where their supplies are coming from.¡± ¡°I¡¯m honored, but isn¡¯t this too important a job for a new agent like me?¡± Marco was taken aback. With such a high quality drug, he assumed the task would fall on a BSC veteran with several other agents in tow. Again, Marco paused in his thoughts. ¡°Who am I working with?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll have a partner, Antonio Barbaso, who¡¯s returning from HQ two days from now. We don¡¯t have any actionable material, so the director would kill me if I put any more investigators on this job. Until Tony returns, I¡¯m granting you access any branch resource you need, plus any personnel hours you can convince the others to give you.¡± Roger handed him the manila folder with twenty-some pages still in it. ¡°It¡¯s sparse for how important the case is, but this is everything we have right now. I hate to admit it, but Bauer¡¯s Harrell testimony and this so-called Jeff Casey are the best leads you¡¯ve got right now.¡± Marco thanked the branch chief and returned to his desk to look over the files. As stated, they could hardly be considered leads. Besides the substance analysis on the confiscated TF samples, there was the initiallyreported rumor - statements from an ¡®Informant 19697¡¯ under ¡®Handler: Barbaso, Antonio¡¯ regarding an unknown source of high quality trufloxin leaving local dealers worried for their profits. The remaining files were statements from the user who had been caught, with only vague information on their supplier. Marco accessed the BSC database on known TF dealers and traffickers, but the student¡¯s descriptions gave no clear hits to be useful. Likewise, the name they provided did not match any known identities or aliases of TF users and dealers in the country. He tried including the NCIC database in his queries, only to be inundated with useless or irrelevant results which didn¡¯t match the descriptions nor the man he saw through his psychometry. Before Marco realized it, the clock on his screen read ¡®5:49¡¯, and half the desks in the office were already empty. With a sigh, he logged off his computer session and pocketed his two phones and his wallet. As he stepped out the door, down the front steps still half painted in red, Marco¡¯s personal phone began to vibrate. He checked its display, which announced the caller as ¡®Mama¡¯. ¡°?D¨ªgame?¡± Marco answered the call. ¡°Hola, Marco. ?Qu¨¦ tal tu d¨ªa?¡± his mother asked. ¡°You¡¯re done with work, right?¡± ¡°Yes, I just stepped out of the office,¡± Marco replied as he turned down Pacific Avenue, the street filled withcommuters heading home with the workday¡¯s end. He driftedwith the masses as the crowd movedtoward the station. ¡°And my day went quite well. In fact, the chief put me in charge of an investigation earlier this afternoon. There¡¯s a lot of work to do, and I think it might become something really big.¡± ¡°?Dios m¨ªo! That¡¯s amazing! Your Papa wasn¡¯t named an investigator until he was a two year veteran at the DEA.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± Marco stopped outside the Skyway station¡¯s stairs and looked up toward the western sky before he stepped onto the escalator. ¡°How is he doing?¡± ¡°He¡¯s still bothered with all this new drug business, but you know he¡¯s proud of you,¡± she replied. ¡°I know you¡¯ll be busy, but you should visit home sometime.¡± ¡°Yeah, it might be a few weeks, but I¡¯ll let you know once I can.¡± Marco pressed his wallet against the turnstile¡¯s reader and stepped onto the station platform right as his desired train approached. ¡°I have to hang up now, so I¡¯ll call you back later. Te amo, adi¨®s.¡± As he squeezed onto the train, Marco''s thoughts returned to the investigation. The best leads provided him on potential dealers turned out to be either too vague or dead ends. While he suspected there may be more to the rumors than what the Delsin BSC branch had acquired, he needed help from his new partner to pursue those. So, identifying the distributors would have to wait until he established connections with the appropriate people. What about the drug? Marco wondered. Since the trace components in the sample could reveal its methods of synthesis, they presented an alternative approach toward the investigation. However, he needed an expert able to explain any potential preparation methods to him and their reagents. Thanks to Delsin¡¯s two world class pharmacy schools and the presence of Cypress Pharmaceuticals, such experts happened to be nearby and abundant. In fact, trufloxin itself was first discovered at Delsin State. With passengers jostling around him, Marco looked up the website of Delsin State¡¯s College of Pharmacy. In its directory, he found the public contact information of Dr. Andrea Mitchell, a distinguished professor and one of the two scientists credited for trufloxin¡¯s discovery. The directory also listed her office location in the Drug Discovery Institute at DSU¡¯s south medical campus. Maybe I¡¯ll drop by tomorrow.