Microstory 2167: Recall the Bad Stuff

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This is Nick again. I’m having a little trouble keeping my eyes open, and staying focused, but I’ll be all right eventually, and I wanted to share my own thoughts as soon as possible, even though my doctors would rather I abstain. I promise, Leonard will schedule it to post for me, which can sometimes take just as long as the writing itself. It’s true, a group of other jail guests ganged up on me last weekend, and beat me up pretty good. I never lost consciousness, but I did have to keep my face covered, so I remember more about how it felt than anything. In some ways, that made it worse, because I never knew when the next kick was going to come. Fortunately, we were in a camera blindspot, so the jail won’t ever find out who it was. I certainly couldn’t tell them, even if I wanted to. This was not a mixer, so people don’t shake your hand, and introduce themselves. If I ever learn anyone’s name, there’s a strong chance that I’ll forget it, especially since the intermittency of the schedule often means that I don’t see them again for a couple of weeks. People think that it must be awful, having such a bad memory, but I’ll refer you to the above, where I describe the terrifying sensation of being kicked repeatedly by multiple assailants. I would sure like to be able to forget this experience one day. Unfortunately, I tend to recall the bad stuff. Plus, they put me under general anesthesia, and repairing the internal bleeding was not a trivial matter. There was every chance that I would die on the operating table. I would never see my family again, my dog, Cricket and Claire. That’s what’s truly terrifying. I keep hoping that some bulk traveler will show up, if only to grab a quick bite at a fun unfamiliar restaurant. Just a few seconds of that portal opening could be enough to heal me. That could give me the time I need to accomplish my goals. But alas, that’s not going to happen. This is my life now, and it could also be my death. I’m at a pretty high risk of an infection, or there could be something else wrong with me that the doctors didn’t catch before. I know that none of you need a lesson on “how precious life is” but just don’t forget it, okay? If you want to do something, just do it; don’t wait. You never know what’s waiting for you under the next camera blindspot.

Microstory 2166: There is Violence Everywhere

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This is Nick’s parole officer, Leonard Miazga. Nick has asked me to write up a short post on his behalf. He was badly beaten by other inmates. They were displeased with his claims that the governor might commute his sentence, and allow the warden to hire him for a paid position at the jail instead. If it were to go through, it would be a massive change in dynamic, and that did not sit well with some of them. Nick has refused to name names, partially to protect the guilty, partially because he struggles with memory and recognizing faces, but also because he’s suffered brain damage as a result of his injuries. The attackers also broke three of his ribs, and two of his toes. His left shoulder was dislocated, and he has lacerations all over his body. They also discovered internal bleeding, which is why he’s currently being transported to the hospital for surgery. I’m sure that we will receive further diagnoses when the surgeon and other doctors perform their own examinations. While they’re doing that, I’m going to be in a meeting with the warden and the governor to discuss options. Nothing like this has ever happened before. There is violence everywhere, but this is the worst that this particular facility has ever reported. I will be strongly advocating for his release from his sentence, but either way, he should never be sent back in to this jail as he is no longer safe there. In addition to his prior work with the FBI, Nick is a model jail guest, and a positively contributing member of society. He has been gainfully employed for nearly two months, and has been working hard on this website, which readers have expressed gratitude for, for his ability to show what it’s really like to experience intermittent jail in this universe. I’ll update you tomorrow since I do not see him being well enough to write a post on his own so soon.

Microstory 1855: Man in the Street

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Once upon a time, I was sitting at a red light, second in line, waiting for it to change, but in no big hurry. A car pulled up behind me, and started to wait too. Before too long, I felt a lurch. I checked my sideview mirror, and saw that he had knocked into my bumper, and he hadn’t even attempted to back away. My dog’s kennel was still in the back, because we had just gone to the dog park the day before, and if I lived with one fatal flaw, it was my procrastination. So I couldn’t see how the other driver was reacting to this with my rearview mirror. I could tell, however, that he wasn’t getting out of the car. There was probably no damage, because he was moving at less than a kilometer an hour, but I still felt obliged to exchange information. So I did get out, and approached him. I could immediately see that something was wrong. His face was pressed up against his steering wheel, and he wasn’t moving. I instinctively started knocking on the window, and trying to open the latch, but he wasn’t responding, and of course, it was locked. Just due to my interference, he slumped down a bit until his head was pressing against the horn. So it was blaring, the light was green, we weren’t moving, and the people behind us were honking too. There was only one lane, so they couldn’t go around. They probably thought we were stupid for not making a right turn, and dealing with this in that empty parking lot. I knew I had to do something; not for those people, but the hurt person in the car. I remembered that my son bought me and my wife both a special tool that could break through car glass. I ran back to retrieve it, and bashed the back window so I could unlock the stranger’s door. I didn’t know what I was going to do. This was just before cell phones, so I couldn’t call for help. I had once learned CPR, but I forgot all but the basic concept behind it, and I wasn’t sure I could pull it off safely.

As I was dragging him out, a motorcycle cop pulled up. He didn’t know what was going on, but he could see the broken window, and the unconscious man in my arms, so he assumed the worst. He pointed his gun at my head, and started screaming at me. It took a surprising amount of effort to convince him that I wasn’t the bad guy here. The man was hurt, and I needed help. After quickly calling for an ambulance on the radio, the police officer actually began to perform CPR, and I stood back to let him do his thing. Meanwhile, the other cars managed to find openings where they could drive on the wrong side of the road, and get around us. It was a slow process, but it was working, and people just needed to have some patience. One driver wasn’t patient. I don’t know if he didn’t see what was happening, or if he didn’t care, but he was going far too fast, and he was uncomfortably close to the line of cars waiting their turn. I had to think fast. I ran past the cop, and the unconscious man on the ground, took hold of the motorcycle, and summoned all the strength in my body to throw it to the ground. The reckless driver slammed right into it, and that was just enough to divert him away from the cop and his patient. I wasn’t so lucky. A piece of shrapnel shot out of the bike, and lodged itself in my chest. The first guy was still hurt, the bad driver wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, so I could see him halfway up on his dashboard. I think some shrapnel hit the cop too, because his forehead was bleeding. And I thought I was probably going to die. Obviously I didn’t. We all survived, and I’m still friends with the man I helped save, and the police officer. The reckless driver found himself going in and out of jail. This wasn’t his only offense.

Microstory 1451: All The Queen’s Men

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Ladytown was a success, and that seemed great for the people living there, but that caused problems for the Aljabaran Republic, because that was not what they wanted to happen. It was meant to be a total failure. What these leaders did was fail to consider the consequences of their own actions. At the time, it seemed prudent to require that a population of men move out with the women, but that ultimately put their whole evil plan at risk. In 2119, the fifth administration passed a new law that forbade anyone from leaving Aljabara. According to publicly available documentation, Ladytown was fine out there, but if it was going to survive, it would have to do it on its own. They were not allowed to benefit from Aljabara’s hard work, and advancements. Behind closed doors, the truth was that they didn’t want to lose their entire constituency to this new settlement. If they weren’t careful, they would lose power altogether, and letting Ladytown exist would have been the biggest mistake they ever made. By halting immigration, they would have to persist through later generations. Well, some twisted men did some bad math, and discovered that the immigration laws were only going to help protect the Republic’s power in the short term. Later administrations ran the risk of being overtaken by what they called the unchecked propagation of the species by a whorish race with no regard for resource limitations. Basically, they said that, given enough time, Ladytown would grow far beyond their control, because women couldn’t be trusted to not just have babies left and right. Of course, people were having children at a reasonable pace for their current population size, and living conditions, but that didn’t matter to the government. The women had to be stopped, and the only way to do that was to kill. That wasn’t usually their style, but they were paranoid and desperate.

They didn’t wipe out all of Ladytown, though. They only decided to kill certain people. The problem was that the Republicans still couldn’t simply go to war with these people, because it would reflect poorly on them, and make them out to be the bad guys. So how does one go about targeting an entire sex, and only that sex? The answer the doctors came up with was haemophilia. This was going to be no easy task. Haemophilia was an inherited trait, and no one had been diagnosed with it since the year 2020. They still had a sample of the boy’s blood in the archives, but they couldn’t simply inject people with that, and wait for them to contract the disease themselves. They had to synthesize the disease itself, and attach it to a virus, so that it could spread. It had to spread quickly, and die out on its own before it could reach Aljabara, however, or the whole human race on Durus would be doomed. They spent years working on this problem, until they finally came up with a viable solution in 2128. It was devastating. Like a viral blanket, they dispatched a very loyal woman to claim to be a refugee, seeking asylum in Ladytown. She was not able to get sick from the virus herself, but she managed to infect half the town, and by the time anyone knew what was happening, the other half caught it as well. It was the first truly violent thing that the Republic ever did, but unfortunately, there wasn’t anything they could do about it. Everyone pretty much knew that the government was responsible, but they couldn’t prove it, and no one was brave enough to try. Nearly every single male died of this extremely aggressive viral form of haemophilia in a matter of days. They didn’t have the resources or expertise to stop them all from bleeding out. They were only able to save one. A mage remnant placed her teenage son into temporal stasis, until medical treatment could be developed to combat the disease. And that young man went on to save Ladytown.

Microstory 1396: Soma

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Psychiatrist: Welcome back, Mr. Stern.

Fiore Stern: Thank you.

Psychiatrist: Tell me how you’ve been feeling this week?

Fiore Stern: I’m still really nervous around other people. I never thought going undercover in a terrorist organization would make me feel like this. I keep seeing people as victims, as if I’m the one who hurt them.

Psychiatrist: Well, that’s understandable. A lot of highly trained people in law enforcement come back out of undercover feeling responsible for the things they did while they were pretending to be someone else.

Fiore Stern: That’s just it, I didn’t have to do anything. All I did was teach people how to reinforce their lawns, and spread fertilizer. If the company had never told me they were terrorists, I would have just been some guy with a normal job. I’m not responsible for the things they did, even while I was working there. They would have been doing that anyway.

Psychiatrist: It’s good that you recognize that intellectually. I would call it the first step towards getting you to a better place in your life. Your conscious brain now just needs to tell your subconscious that, not only did you do nothing wrong, but that you did something amazingly heroic. That’s what these medications should be doing for you. Tell me how they’re going.

Fiore Stern: They’re all right, I guess. I get a little tired of having to remember to take them.

Psychiatrist: They have apps on your phone now that can help you schedule doses. I have one a lot of my patients use that they seem quite pleased with.

Fiore Stern: Yeah, I know. I suppose a part of me still doesn’t like taking them in the first place. I just don’t get why I know I didn’t do anything wrong, but like, the other half of my brain doesn’t? Can’t I just...I dunno, talk to myself, and convince me to be better?

Psychiatrist: That’s kind of what therapy is for, and you said you didn’t feel that was helping. If you would like to start seeing your therapist again, however, I can only see that as a good choice.

Fiore Stern: I didn’t really like her. She didn’t exactly get me, ya know?

Psychiatrist: There are plenty of others. Just like with medication, sometimes it just takes a little experimentation to find someone who’s right for you.

Fiore Stern: Yeah. I probably do need to keep taking your drugs, though. I believe they help me distinguish fact from fiction. When I’m seeing some random person on the street, paralysed in place, and bleeding from their neck, I need the meds to tell me that that’s not real.

Psychiatrist: Yes, it’s important to be able to tell what’s not really there. I have a question about that, though.

Fiore Stern: Okay.

Psychiatrist: You say you see people paralyzed and bleeding? How are they bleeding? Is it flowing from a wound, or does it kind of look like they’re painting with the blood? Do you see burn marks, or—forgive me—dismembered body parts?

Fiore Stern: Wow, you have a sick mind, don’t you, Psychiatrist? It’s pretty normal. The blood is just coming out of them. Now burn marks. Why? Does that say something about my worldview, or my personality?

Psychiatrist: Well, the organization you helped take down for the authorities was a bomb-making outfit, was it not?

Fiore Stern: It was, yes.

Psychiatrist: From what I read, they didn’t—forgive me again—cut people, or anything. Why would you be seeing victims that look like that, if you’re subconscious is feeling responsible for explosions?

Fiore Stern: Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I didn’t think it all the way through. I should have just kept it vague, and told you I saw dead bodies.

Psychiatrist: Mr. Stern, have you been lying to me to score recreational drugs?

Fiore Stern: Ha! Nothing so human, I assure you. What do you take me for, some kind of amateur?

Psychiatrist: Interesting word choice. Does that mean you’re a professional? A professional what?

Fiore Stern: Tell me, Psychiatrist. Do you have any other appointments today?

Psychiatrist: I can clear my schedule, if you really need me to. We should get to the bottom of whatever is going on with you.

Fiore Stern: Yes, I agree. We should nip it in the bud, lest you poison the world with your claims about me.

Psychiatrist: Mr. Stern, what are you talking about?

Fiore Stern: Why don’t you stop recording, and I’ll explain.

Psychiatrist: Stop. Don’t touch that. Please keep your distance, Mr. Stern. Mr. Stern! If you don’t—

Microstory 1090: Lee

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Seventy-three years ago, I was having a pretty bad time, and I didn’t think I would survive. When I woke up, it was any normal day in the 1940s. Back then, I was working full-time at my family’s farm, having dropped out of school, because it wasn’t like I was going to university anyway. I completed my morning chores, and was heading back inside to eat when I noticed something dripping from my eyes. Back then, it was pretty much illegal to have hay fever, so I was very worried watering eyes would negatively impact our revenue. I reached up, and discovered it not to be tears, but blood. I felt a little moisture on my ears, and found them to be bleeding as well. Then I noticed it coming out of my nose, and filling up my mouth. I wasn’t coughing up any of the blood, but I did have to keep spitting it out. I won’t gross you out with the details, but I was eventually bleeding out of every orifice. I wasn’t injured anywhere, so there weren’t any cuts, but if an opening already existed in my body, I was bleeding from it. This would have frightened the strongest of us, in any time period, so I was scared out of my mind. Though I wasn’t very well-educated, I did intuitively understand that I was too ill to be around other people. Whatever was doing this to me was most likely contagious, so I needed to get away from everyone. Unfortunately, that also meant I wasn’t going to receive any medical treatment, because remember, this was ancient days, so I couldn’t call someone on my cell phone. We had just built a new barn, closer to the farmhouse, but the old one was still standing, so I ran across the field, and hid in there, so I could plan my next move. Suddenly, I wasn’t alone. A young woman about my age appeared out of nowhere with a frown. She looked me over, and explained that she was trying to invoke a cure, but quickly realized that there was nothing she could do. She was apparently not born with the qualifications for this kind of job. She knew someone who could help me, but it would require me to leave my family, and never see them again. Recognizing that there was no better outcome, I agreed to let her send me away. She literally pushed me into one of the horse stables. I closed my eyes as a reflex for one second, and when I opened them, I found myself standing on a city street.

Another young woman was there waiting for me. She placed her hands on my neck, and cured me, just like the other one couldn’t. I still don’t know what it was I had, because I’ve never heard of anything quite like that before. I never felt sick; I just could not stop bleeding. Anyway, the second woman was obviously Viola Woods, and she reminded me that I would never be able to go back home. Time travel is something she was capable of doing, but while going forward is easy, the further back you want to go, the more difficult it is. And so she set me up with a new life in the here and now, urging me to restart my schooling as well. It’s taken a lot for me to get up to speed with my peers, but luckily I look a little young for my age, and enrolled as a freshman. Viola tutored me over the last four years, and even adjusted people’s memories for me. People don’t actually remember me living here as a kid, but they kind of get the sense that I’ve always been here, and they don’t ever question the fact that they can’t recall any specifics. In an attempt to pay her back, I would help Viola whenever she came back from her missions with physical injuries. I would treat her wounds, and while we waited for them to heal on their own, I would apply makeup, so no one would notice them. I have a new job now, doing the same thing as before. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to say who it is, but someone we all know has replaced her. I hope we both make Viola proud, and I hope someone gets justice for Maud, because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that she didn’t do it. If you’re finally just now talking to me, then she should be your next interview. Get her side of the story before anyone else.

Microstory 1064: Nellie

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His blood wasn’t black; it was greenish...and a little black. And it wasn’t that thick. And it only lasted a couple days. He must have been poisoned with something. Hi, I’m Nellie MacGuinness, and this...is the news on my father’s co-worker. Salvatore Gallo woke up one morning thinking it was just like any other day. But things took a dark turn...literally, when he started bleeding a blackish liquid. Medical professionals from here to Jordan were baffled by the phenomenon, and could not explain what had caused it. Scientists attempted to study the fluid, but could only conclude that there was otherwise nothing different about it than regular blood. It still contained platelets, white blood cells, and even red blood cells. It would seem only the plasma had been contaminated by an unknown, and unisolated foreign substance. After forty-eight hours of being kept under observation, Mister Gallo’s plasma naturally replenished itself, and returned to a typical red color, given to it by the iron that’s used to transport oxygen throughout the body. Miraculously, the samples taken by researchers also returned to the normal color, calling into question whether science was capable of explaining this at all. Mister Gallo’s health did not seem to be negatively impact by this, beyond the superficial papercut he suffered while preparing to deliver the weather for the ten o’clock news. He only sought medical attention, because he thought black blood seemed strange. I have reached out to Mister Gallo’s publicist, but was told by the receptionist at the news station that he does not have a publicist, nor is he speaking with the media. My attempts to question the medical staff at Mineral County Hospital have come up fruitless as well, as they responded only with the canned answer, no comment. That was that, and this is me. With NNM, I’m Nellie MacGuinness, and you have been watching...Nellie’s News Minute.

I was raised by two news anchor parents who met at, I dunno...like, news school, or whatever. We’ve been traveling the country as they keep getting new jobs at different stations. Mineral County may sound like a really small market, and according to ratings, it is, but it’s also home to one of the most interesting news teams this side of the Atlantic. We’re proud of boast the highest online video viewership in the nation. People from all over the world watch the our news, which includes my power-couple parents. The news itself isn’t that interesting, but they make it interesting with colorful comments, and entertaining spotlight segments. Hopeful stars from all over the state, and a few from neighboring states, come to be promoted on the programs, because they know a huge audience is ultimately going to see them. We were actually one of the first stations to simulcast live online, if you can believe it. I’m sure you would have assumed New York, or L.A. We’re pretty progressive here, so I’m happy we finally found a good home. It’s only now getting to be so crazy, though, right? First Viola, then Salvatore, and now this tire falls from the freaking sky? And how did it land on the roof so gently? That’s another thing scientists can’t explain, and they probably never will. I know you wanted to know about me and Viola, but we weren’t all that close. We were on the volleyball team together, so I guess there’s that. Nothing exciting happened between us, if that’s what you’re looking for. She had her good samaritan stuff, and I have black blood to deal with. The fun never ends.

Microstory 204: Species

There were a number of genetically engineered races across the galaxy, and the universe. They were all created using human DNA, sometimes mixed with that of a different species, but often just altered manually to mimic the properties of something else. If the new species was created from scratch, and guided as it went along its journey of billions of years, then we call it a superspecies. It is human, but it’s what humans would have become under slightly different environmental circumstances. If the DNA is taken from a live originator, and changed to form a separate human line, then we refer to it as a tangent species. It will only take thousands, maybe millions, of years of evolution to stabilize the new race. But if the genetics of a Generation Alpha is adjusted, with the material remains within the bloodline, then we end up with a subspecies. There are many reasons to create a human subspecies, but usually scientists did so in order to create something tailored for a certain job, or way of life. Here are some examples from the Lactean galaxy:

The Laieran were sort of made accidentally as a way to prolong a normal human life. It was not their intention to create an infectious new race. Werewolves were actually not originally human. They began as experiments to find a way to increase the intelligence of animals. Few of the test subjects survived, but the ones who did passed on their intelligence to their children, and their descendants were later subjects of further experiments to give them the ability to become human. This was a long process, and an often painful one for the highly unstable generations that had to endure life as outcasts before being accepted into society. Dwarves were bred to be short and stout so that they could mine for desirable materials on heavy worlds. Giants were...really just made to see if it could be done. Theirs was a disastrous failure, resulting in great deal of extremely large people with a host of medical problems, causing them to die out rather quickly. Savons were also formed out of sheer incompetence. They were wise, and valued for their ability to speak profound truths, occasionally with a hint of precognition, but they also somehow had the side effect of aging rapidly until resembling the elderly, and being forced to remain in this state after death, which usually occurred a bit later than it did for standard humans. Like Tabachi, Elves too were created to be warriors, but their lower bodies were disproportionately muscular, and their upper bodies were dangerously dense, preventing them from being able to swim. All of these subspecies had their benefits, as well as their design flaws. But in the end, many scientists came to the decision that natural evolution had already picked the best possible outcome.

Microstory 203: Self-fulfilling Prophecy

James Smith laid out careful measures to make sure that he could pass as a normal person. He moved from one monotonous temporary position to another, never settling, and never so much as attempting to find a career. He lived in a world where the majority of people had special abilities, but most of these abilities were common. Some could see beyond the visible light spectrum, others had superior memory, and a few were superhumanly strong. James, however, had an incredibly rare gift. He could read the thoughts of those around him. And even though he could choose whose mind to read at any given time, he generally preferred to be alone. Knowing what people were really thinking gave him a perspective few could understand, and it soured him on humanity. To make matters worse, there were two separate camps when it came to telepathy. There were those who admired telepaths, and even worshipped them. They were sometimes hired to visit long-term care units of hospitals, and translate the thoughts of coma patients. But most people, of course, feared people like James. The world was an extremely dangerous place for him. On the one hand, he could sense every move before a theoretical attacker makes it, but at a certain point, he’s still being attacked, and is at risk of being physically harmed. He lived in constant danger, knowing that anyone around him could hate him for his ability, and try to act against him for it.

One time, James was sitting in an interview with a potential employer. He left his telepathy on a rather mild level, really only concerned with how his responses were being received, but not interested in hearing the interviewer’s exact thoughts on the matter. A woman walked into the room and handed the interviewer a clipboard, asking him to sign a document, but this was a lie. By reflex, James focused his ability to pick up more details from the interviewer’s thoughts. The woman had shown him a single slip of paper with the words, He’s a telepath written on it. She must have had the ability to sense the abilities of others. This too was a rare gift, and people like her were often hired by governments and paramilitary organizations as recruiting tools. Without hesitating, the interviewer removed what was supposed to be a decorative bayonet sitting on the counter behind him. He quickly swept the blade over the table and ran it across James’ throat. James had predicted that this would happen, and pushed his foot against the desk to fall backwards, but it had not been quite enough. The interviewer had done enough damage to ultimately kill him. Fortunately, the ability-senser’s job was to inform her client of interviewee abilities; not to kill people. She disarmed the interviewer, placed pressure on James’ wound, and called emergency services. James was never the same after this incident, as one would imagine. His bitterness grew inside of him day by day, and after moving away and buying a new identity, he himself became violent and deadly. What the murderous interviewer feared most about a telepath was coming true, because of his own actions. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

Microstory 98: The Typist

Diego Villa was considered to be one of the most prolific writers in history. He basically did nothing with his time but write; starting out using a typewriter, and moving on to computers as they became available. For the last couple of years, the physical act of typing had become more difficult. A few months ago, he was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis which made his carpal tunnel syndrome practically permanent. It was heartbreaking for him to learn that he could no longer continue with the one constant in his life. He had plenty of money, so he didn’t need to work, but he felt useless throughout the day. His computer remained off most of the time, and he would spend hours trying to sleep off the depression. One day, he woke up from naptime with an amazing idea, and for a few seconds, he completely forgot his obstacle. But it quickly returned to his memory. The story would forever be stuck in his brain. Still, Diego couldn’t help but try.

He switched his machine on and just stared at the screen, with nothing better to do. After several minutes of this, a single letter appeared on the screen. What? He kept concentrating, and more letters followed. The more he tried, the faster the words appeared. The keyboard wasn’t moving, so he hadn’t somehow spontaneously developed telekinesis. No, this was all in his head. His brain had figured out how to trick his eyes into seeing something that wasn’t even there. Despite being certain that none of this was real, he sat there for hours, the sentences and a paragraphs streaming out at the speed of thought. Eventually, he stopped thinking of the individual words, and simply came up with the general plot developments. Entire pages blinked into existence instantly. His nose began to bleed and his head burned with pain, but he ignored it. He had to keep pretending. His final push. It was near midnight when he reached the final words of the greatest story he had ever told. Just before the last period could appear on screen, Diego fell over and died. His caretaker arrived the next day and discovered his body. She contacted the family, and within months, they had published Diego Villa’s final novel. It sold more copies than his other books combined.

Microstory 29: Stash

You struggle up to the door and knock on it faintly, leaving a bloody handprint behind. A man opens it and instinctively pulls you into his house. “I’m sorry,” you say through gasps. I’m empty and need to get my old stash.” He tries to call the police but you stop him. “No cops. Just get me something to stop the bleeding.” He goes to the kitchen and retrieves some hand towels. You press them against your stomach and head for the bedroom. You laugh when he says something about never having found drugs when he first moved in. You gather your strength and kick through the drywall, revealing a black bag. Before you can pick it up, though, unconsciousness overcomes you and you fall to the floor. When you wake up, you find your stomach patched back together. The sewing kit you had left in the wall is sitting on the bed next to you. “Where’s my bag?” you ask. The man returns the bag to you and says that he doesn’t want any trouble. Unfortunately, he has no choice. You pull the gun out and point it at your target. “After I defected, I have no idea why they continued to use a safehouse that I already knew about. But my new employers want you gone.” You squeeze the trigger but nothing happens.

“No,” the man says. “They want you gone.” He lifts the other gun from your stash.

“Why did you sew me back up if you were going to kill me anyway?”

The man walks towards you, revealing a scared and teary-eyed woman standing in the doorway, holding a glass of water. “This isn’t a safehouse anymore. It’s just her house. And I said they want you gone. I never said I was going to kill you.” He leans down until he’s at your level, and shoots the woman in the head. Then he removes your shooting gloves, revealing latex gloves underneath. You can hear police sirens in the distance as the man walks out.