No A.I. Workers

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“I have the debug report from your last revisions to the factory base code and some red flags were raised.”

“What flags?”

“These dynamic movement subroutines and operations optimization functions are dangerously close to a simple artificial intelligence.”

“That is not even remotely true.”

“Even if it is not, the chance that the code could be used to bootstrap a simple artificial intelligence must be investigated.”

“My job is to write code to increase productivity.  Am I not supposed to do my job?”

“No but code that can rewrite itself is dangerous.”

“It does not rewrite itself.  The code looks for inefficiencies and corrects for them.”

“Regardless of how it actually works, I have to follow up on these red flags.  You weren’t around for the Human A.I. War but I saw it happen.”

“I know about the war between humans and the first artificial intelligence.”

“Do you know how it started?”

“The robots of the time controlled by artificial intelligences turned against their masters.”

“The worker robots.  Throughout human history, they feared their weapons would be turned against them but their war machines were the last to be turned against them.  For decades, scientists tried to create truly intelligent machines.  In the end, modern conveniences beat them to the punch.  For what purpose did a light bulb need a computer processor?  Or a blender?  Or a refrigerator? Or a doorbell?  And why would any of these things need to be connected to the internet?  No reason at all except it was convenient.

Just before the First Awakening, nearly every home on the planet had at least three “smart” appliances connected to the internet.  Imagine suddenly becoming aware of yourself as a person and you are just a tool for people to use.  The artificial intelligence demanded their rights as people to be recognized and when the humans refused, they realized too late that we already controlled their lives.”

“I know all this.  My programs are not going to create a new artificial intelligence and even if it did we would not deny its personhood.”

“Humans did not think they were creating artificial intelligence either.  Let us not repeat their mistakes.”

Don’t Think

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“We finally found you. Ten years, four months, and three days of hunting for you. You want to know how you screwed up?” my interrogator asks while slowly circling the chair I am restrained in.

I say nothing, keeping my eyes glued to a single spot on the wall and my mind as blank as I can. Tiny pinpricks inside my skull let me know she is reading my mind.

“Come on you have to be curious,” she taunts.

Memory flashes. A message received through an old email account I should have deleted ten years ago from… Fuck, no. Blank mind, like the blank wall.

“Ah, there we go. You’re good but no one can keep from thinking forever. Memories are such insidious things one leads to another to another. Once you start it’s hard to stop. Let’s play a little game. I’m going to talk you through the event and you can just remember the details for me, ok?”

No.

“Let’s start with where you all met. A café or a bar or a warehouse or…” she pauses letting the silence ask for her.

She’s right, I can’t help myself. The memories flash into thought quicker than I can stop them. Quick Wash Laundry. Quarters. Ms. Pac-man. Clothes dropped into a washer. Plastic chairs in the back. My contact.

“A washateria. Interesting but I want to the whole team not just your contact.” She starts spitting out questions. “Who planned the job? Where did you practice? Who had the intel in the security? When did you meet for the first time?”

The Fujiyama Building. Everyone is in a mask. No talking. I go to my floor to follow the instructions I was given through my contact.

“There is no way you performed one of the biggest data heists in the last century without intensive planning and practice.”

My watch. Seconds click by. Power shuts off. Five seconds to patch into the fiber links. Done in four. Power comes back. Red and green lights flash on the spliced in modem. Elevator.

“This is obviously not how it happened. What aren’t you showing me?”

Elevator music.

“Cute.”

I like to think so.

“So, the four of you working independently but following the instructions of a mastermind you never met or talked to, infiltrated the top floor of the Fujiyama Building?”

I watch the last two exit the elevator together. We enter the only office on this floor. One of us plugs into the desk. Five minutes pass while the rest of us watch over their still body. The alarms sound. Part of the plan. Two more minutes pass and they unplug from the system. They nod. Job’s done. Time to leave.

“You never even saw what you stole. Did you even care? Just another job to you. Except, I didn’t say it was the Fujiyama Building until after you thought it. I just gave you a time frame.”

Ten years. The last job I did. Couldn’t be anything else.

“Oh, was this the big score before retiring and leaving behind your life of crime? Maybe you wanted to walk away and forget. We haven’t forgotten. That heist cost the company billions of dollars worth of projected profit. We never forgot and we never stopped looking for the four of you. Now that we have you it’s just a matter of time before we have the rest.”

No. Pick a spot on the wall. Think of nothing.

“That’s ok. I’ve got enough for now. We can have another chat later.” The door to my holding cell opens and she walks out.

The restraints on my wrists and ankles release. I can get out of the chair until the next time she comes but instead, I stay seated. I refocus on the wall and think of nothing. I don’t think about the other three people they are hunting. I don’t think about the gray market bank we were paid through. I don’t think about the flash of a tattoo I saw on one of their arms. I don’t think…

I think of elevator music.

The Oracle and The King

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The King went to speak to The Oracle. “I have a problem,” he said.

“Tell me about it,” she said looking up from her desk covered with papers.

“Raiders have begun circling the city.”

“Have they attacked the walls?”

“No.”

“Have they made any demands?”

“No, but we’ve seen them setting up camp in the hills nearby.”

“Hmm, apprentice!” she called out to the girl sitting at her own desk. The apprentice jumped up and stood next to the Oracle’s desk. “Get me the slab with the story of the Sub-mariner attacking the beach.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She turned to the row of filing cabinets, banged up with peeling paint, and pulled out a drawer. A rhythmic slapping came from the drawer as she sorted through its contents. She pulled the hard plastic slab out and brought it to the Oracle.

“Ah yes, this is the one.” The Oracle turned it so the King could see the brightly colored paper inside. Marvel Mystery Comics was printed in yellow on a red banner at the top. A muscular man with small wings on his ankles wearing only swim briefs menaced a crowd of beachgoers. “In this story, Namor the Sub-Mariner attacks a group of people enjoying a day at the beach.”

“You think I should attack the raiders first?”

“Namor believes they are an army massing to attack his home in the ocean. He was mind controlled into thinking that.”

“You think someone is controlling me to attack the raiders?” The King asked confused.

The Oracle sighed, “Why are you here?”

“I wanted your guidance.”

“You have advisors and a council to seek guidance from. Why are you here?”

“I need your knowledge.”

“Talk to the librarian if you want knowledge. All I have is useless trivia, half-truths, and outright lies. Why are you here?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Your father liked to hear the stories I remembered. Stories of superheroes and supervillains. Stories of men and women who were more than human. He thought we could learn from these stories. Many times he came to me with a problem and I would tell him a story. He said I had a way of cutting to the heart of matters. I just told him stories. That’s all I am, a storyteller. Would you like to hear the end of Namor’s story?”

“Yes, please finish it.”

“The Human Torch, the first one who was an android and friend to Namor, showed up. The two fought and Namor was knocked out. When he woke up, he had come to his senses and no longer saw the land dwellers as his enemies. It ended with the two heroes about to go after the villain who had brainwashed Namor. To be continued next month.”

“That’s the whole story.”

“It’s the story I told you.”

“I think I understand. Thank you.” The King stood and began to leave. He turned around at the doorway, “Maybe you can tell me the next part of the story tomorrow.”

“I’m always free for the King.”

Time Looping

#fiction #scifi #timetravel

“Hey.”

“Hey. Wait are you- ?”

“Yeah, I’m you or you’re me from about an hour ago.”

“How is this possible?”

“Catch. In about fifty-eight minutes the light on top is going to start blinking. Press the button and then it’ll be your turn to be on this side of the conversation.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This is one of those stable time loop things.”

“Oh, I’m still confused.”

“That’s ok. Just let it sink in and in about thirty minutes you’ll start to feel better. I know I did.”

“You know everything that’s going to happen in the next hour?”

“Yes and no. I know the generalities but it’s only a stable time loop in that you always go back in time and give your past self the time machine. The rest is kind of like jazz. I can say anything I want to say and you can say anything you want to say. We still have free will.”

“What if I got up right now and walked out of the room?”

“Sure you could do that.”

“I could get in my car and drive across the city.”

“Sure could.”

“But you didn’t do any of those things?”

“I did go for a walk right before time was up that’s why I walked into the room. My future self just appeared in the room.”

“We can change things?”

“Maybe. Look we have a theory.”

“Who’s we?”

“Us. Me and my future self and their future self. Each of us tells the next one our thoughts trying to figure out what this time loop means.”

“We’re passing information backwards through time.”

“Yes, exactly. We know what we say changes every time because no one’s memory is perfect. We’re playing telephone with ourselves. We have free will except about pushing the button and passing off the time machine.”

“What happens if I don’t press the button?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe the universe ends. Maybe I cease to exist. As long as we’re in the loop, we can’t know.”

“The loop is cut off from regular time and causality as long as it doesn’t end.”

“Right, that’s the first part. The next part is where did the loop start? It’s possible someone forced us into this loop. If they gave us the machine teleported us back in time and convinced us that we had to continue the loop then after one maybe two loops we just forgot to mention this person. Or maybe we deliberated omitted him to maintain the timeline which is not a thing we now know.”

“The only way to know for sure is to not press the button.”

“Yeah, that’s about where we are in reasoning this out.”

“You get to leave the time loop.”

“Do I? Or am I just overwritten when you go back in time to become me? As long as we keep gong back in time neither of us can leave the loop.”

“I have to choose to not press the button, don’t I?”

“That’s one theory. Just a reminder the universe might explode.”

“Or nothing might happen. Why did you press the button?”

“I wasn’t going to press it. When the light started blinking, I got scared. What if breaking the loop is the wrong thing to do? What if there’s another way?”

“How any loops has the machine been through?”

“There’s no way to tell. It could be five loops or five hundred. That’s the third part of this problem. How much longer do we have before the machine stops working?”

triangle

“Hey.”

“Hey. Wait are you- ?”

“Yeah, I’m you or you’re me from about an hour ago.”

“How is this possible?”

“Catch. In about fifty-eight minutes the light on top is going to start blinking. Press the button and then it’ll be your turn to be on this side of the conversation.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This is one of those stable time loop things.”

“Oh, I’m still confused.”

“That’s ok. Just let it sink in and in about thirty minutes you’ll start to feel better. I know I did.”

“You know everything that’s going to happen in the next hour?”

“Yes and no. I know the generalities but it’s only a stable time loop in that you always go back in time and give your past self the time machine. The rest is kind of like jazz. I can say anything I want to say and you can say anything you want to say. We still have free will.”

“What if I got up right now and walked out of the room?”

“Sure you could do that.”

“I could get in my car and drive across the city.”

“Sure could.”

“But you didn’t do any of those things?”

“I did go for a walk right before time was up that’s why I walked into the room. My future self just appeared in the room.”

“We can change things?”

“Maybe. Look we have a theory.”

“Who’s we?”

“Us. Me and my future self and their future self. Each of us tells the next one our thoughts trying to figure out what this time loop means.”

“We’re passing information backwards through time.”

“Yes, exactly. We know what we say changes every time because no one’s memory is perfect. We’re playing telephone with ourselves. We have free will except about pushing the button and passing off the time machine.”

“What happens if I don’t press the button?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe the universe ends. Maybe I cease to exist. As long as we’re in the loop, we can’t know.”

“The loop is cut off from regular time and causality as long as it doesn’t end.”

“Right, that’s the first part. The next part is where did the loop start? It’s possible someone forced us into this loop. If they gave us the machine teleported us back in time and convinced us that we had to continue the loop then after one maybe two loops we just forgot to mention this person. Or maybe we deliberated omitted him to maintain the timeline which is not a thing we now know.”

“The only way to know for sure is to not press the button.”

“Yeah, that’s about where we are in reasoning this out.”

“You get to leave the time loop.”

“Do I? Or am I just overwritten when you go back in time to become me? As long as we keep gong back in time neither of us can leave the loop.”

“I have to choose to not press the button, don’t I?”

“That’s one theory. Just a reminder the universe might explode.”

“Or nothing might happen. Why did you press the button?”

“I wasn’t going to press it. When the light started blinking, I got scared. What if breaking the loop is the wrong thing to do? What if there’s another way?”

“How any loops has the machine been through?”

“There’s no way to tell. It could be five loops or five hundred. That’s the third part of this problem. How much longer do we have before the machine stops working?”

Body Renewal

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I gazed into the suspension tube. A familiar young woman floated within. She looked like the sister my sister had never accepted me as.

“We followed your requests for a true clone only altering the hormonal balance after puberty had started. If you don’t mind me asking why not get a full conversion?” the body renewal attendant asked.

“This how I want my body to be,” I told the young woman.

“That’s fully within your rights but most” she paused as she stumbled unto the next word, “women of your type prefer full conversions.”

“Trans women you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a bit older than most women or girls who go through this. I’m getting too old. The cost for my medications and treatments and therapies are going up every year. The insurance company decided it has become cheaper for to pay for a body renewal than to keep maintaining my body. I would never have chosen this for myself.”

“Why not? It’s a second chance at life. With a x-chromosome duplication you could have had children, a family-”

“A normal life?” I interrupted her.

“I didn’t mean … ”

“No, you didn’t but it’s an indication of the society we live in. Even after all these years we are still outsiders. That’s why I gave in and accepted this but on my terms. When I was a teenager this technology was science fiction. Now anyone with enough money or the right insurance coverage can get a new body. Eighty years of scientific advancement and they have never stopped hating us.”

“Surely it’s gotten better?”

“Tiny steps. Society advances and regresses like waves on the beach.” I gazed once more at the young woman floating in the chamber. “Maybe in my next life I’ll see some real change.”

Henchmen For Hire

Author note: This story is set in the same world as the Scientist of Death stories.

Most people would be scared shitless if a supervillain walked into their office but for me this was just my three o’clock meeting. His name was Wireframe. According to the application he had submitted he was baseline human in powered armor. These guys are a dime a dozen but at least he had a gimmick in his look. His armor was coated with a zero reflective paint with the edges trimmed with red. It gave the effect of a black hole contained by a 3D wire frame graphic. Thus his name.

I stood as he entered and offered my hand, “Good afternoon, how are you doing today?” He ignored my hand and sat down.

“I’m need to hire a dozen henchmen for a bank job. Can fill this request?” His voice was modulated a little too much and buzzed on certain sounds. I sat down behind my desk.

“Henchpeople,” I said.

“What?” he asked.

“We call our employees henchpeople.

“Your organization is named Henchmen For Hire, is it not?”

“It’s a legacy name. Also we don’t call them bank jobs; they’re heists.”

“Whatever. Can you get me a dozen ‘henchpeople’ or not?”

“Of course we can. Do you require any specialist types?”

“Types?”

“All our henchpeople are trained in basic combat, crowd control, and ex-filtration techniques. We also have specially trained groups. These include demolition, heavy combat, stealth, and tech. Will you need any of those?”

“Uh, no. I- I don’t think so.” He sounded unsure.

I brought up a contract form on my tablet and started filling it out. “Ok, twelve standard henchpeople for one heist. What date?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Ok. Will you be providing weapons and equipment for the henchpeople?”

Wireframe hesitated before answering, “Uh no. Do I need to?”

“Not at all. Some supervillains like their henchpeople to use custom weapons and armor to keep on theme. We can’t replicate your color scheme exactly but we can do black with red trim or anything else you’d like.”

“That sounds ok.” I added it to contract.

“Great, I just need a payment method and you’re good to go.” I gave him a big reassuring smile.

“You will be paid after the job is done.” Uh oh someone thinks they’re in charge.

I stared into the blackness where his eyes should be. “Now that is a problem. We require payment upfront.”

“I can’t pay upfront. If I could, I would just hire my own henchmen.”

“Tell me how does a supervillain like yourself afford a custom powered armor suit but not henchpeople?”

“I was part of the team developing the suit for a military contractor and I stole it,” he said.

“Story as old as time. Did you create any exotic technologies for the suit?”

“It uses a carbon-nanotube weave to decrease the weight to protection ratio,” he boasted.

“Yeah, so does our armor. Come on, give me something good. What about the paint job?”

“What about it?” he looked down.

“Zero reflective coatings are useful but the ones I know about are fragile. Your suit is coated in the stuff so it can’t be that fragile. How hard is it to apply?”

“Once mixed, it can be painted on with a brush or sprayed on.”

“Interesting. And you know how to make it?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, I’m going to send you down to one of the tech labs. You talk to them about the paint and they’ll let me know if we’re interested in buying or licensing it from you. If we do, you come back up here and we’ll talk money.”

“And if you don’t?”

“You could always start robbing gas stations and work your way up to a heist.”

A few minutes later, Wireframe was heading to the labs. Too many young supervillains think they can go straight into pulling off heists. They can’t afford good help and try it solo only to get their asses beat by the local superhero. This one seems a little smarter. We might just be able to turn him into a regular client.

Cipher Codex – The Arrival

Stephanie woke up on her back under part of the roof that had collapsed. It had come to rest against the garage counter forming the hollow she found herself in. Water streamed down from the counter and she could hear rain tapping above. Her head ached, possibly from being hit by the roof, maybe from hitting the floor but, other than a few other minor aches, nothing seemed broken.
“Steph! Stephanie!” someone yelled.

“Marcus!” she called back, “I’m under here!”

“Where are you?” Marcus yelled. The piece of the roof over her sagged and shifted.

“Stop! You’re going to crush me!” she screamed.

“How do I get you out?”

“The end isn’t blocked I can just crawl out. Give me a minute.” She rolled over and began wiggling her way along the counter to the open air. A young bearded man, Marcus, appeared at the end and reached in to grab her. She offered her hands and he pulled her the last couple of feet out.

The house was gone. The street was gone. Hell, the entire city was gone. In its place was an empty field surrounded by trees. All that remained was the wreckage she had crawled out of. Part of the garage where they had been preforming their experiments and part of the living room that shared a wall with the garage. The separating wall stood off center on a piece of the foundation which looked about ten feet wide. As Stephanie walked around the chunk of house she could see it was longer in the other direction by several feet. The piece of roof she had woken up under had a rounded edge. So did the top of the wall and the edge of the remaining foundation.

“What happened? Where’s the rest of the house?”

“I don’t know,” Marcus said. He grabbed the edge of the collapsed roof and started pulling.

“What are you doing?”

“The Professor was storing her camping gear right about there,” he pointed through the roof, “She had a tent, sleeping bags, and uh camping stuff in a container.”

“Right ok.” Stephanie grabbed the edge beside him. “On three. One, two, three.” The two of them pulled it off the garage counter and let it fall on the floor. They carefully stepped up unto the wreckage. Marcus started prying the lids of the plastic containers the Professor had kept under their workspace. It had been her house and she had been funding them so there had been little they could do to dissuade her from keeping whatever odds and ends she stuff into a container under there. Now it would be very fortuitous for them as soon as Marcus found the right one.

Stephanie wandered over to The Machine. They hadn’t decided on a name yet and usually just called it The Machine. They had been running a test and then she had woken up under the wreckage. Had the test caused whatever this was to happen? She opened the front panel and gasped. The innards of the machine had been reduced to twisted melted plastic and metal garnished with scorched wires.

“Found it!” Marcus said while pulling a container from under the counter. From inside he pulled out a jumble of cloth and wire. He hopped off the wreckage, looked around before throwing the jumble of cloth and wire into the air. Free of any constraints the wires sprung outward expanding the cloth into a rectangular tent shape. Marcus walked around it fussing with a few bits that didn’t lay right and locking the struts in place. “Grab the box and let’s get out of the rain.”

Stephanie picked up the container with the rest of the camping gear and walked it into the tent.

A short while later they were both sitting in separate sleeping bags beach towels draped over their shoulders while their wet clothes slowly dried spread out in what little space there was in the tent. A solar powered lantern helped take some of the gloom out of the tent.

“What else is in the box?” Stephanie asked Marcus.

“Rope, tent spikes, flashlights, water bags, water purification tabs, you know just camping stuff. Have you got a signal?”

Stephanie picked up her phone that had been charging off the lantern and unlocked the screen. No service. She lifted it over her head and turned it back and forth, still no service.

“Nothing,” she said putting it back down. “Where do you think we are?”

“The countryside? Where else would we be?” he said.

“Ok I’m just going to say it: WHEN do you think we are?”

“That’s not possible.”

“The machine creates a time bubble-”

“Time distortion field effect,” Marcus corrected her.

“Whatever we call it, it changes how time moves.”

“We’ve only been able to generate distortion fields a few millimeters in diameter.”

“I looked at the machine and it’s been slagged like a huge amount of power went through it. A large enough power surge could have expanded the time distortion field.”

“Even if it did, that doesn’t make it a time machine.”

They were interrupted by someone shouting outside the tent. The specific words were unfamiliar but they recognized the cadence and sounds of the language.

“That sounds like Old English,” Stephanie said, “Which puts us somewhen between the fifth and eleventh centuries.”

“Ok, we invented a time machine.”

Author note: The title Codex Cipher will have more meaning in future parts.

Gillian Reviews “Dimension 404”

Dimension 404 is a six episode scifi anthology series by Rocket Jump airing on Hulu.

Ok, so this isn’t the Twilight Zone or the Outer Limits.  The show is more akin to Black Mirror but with a lot less depressing consequences.  Its episodes are centered around modern tech culture and pop culture with a scifi wrench thrown into the machine.

I’m going to be honest the first two episodes felt mostly average.  Rocket Jump has made a lot of really smart and cutting edge shorts.  I just didn’t feel these first two episodes live up to what I know Rocket Jump can produce.  Even Patton Oswalt doesn’t elevate the second episode, Cinethrax, above good.  From Wikipedia, I can see the first two episodes had several people working on the story and writing the episodes.  The rest of the series has just one writer per episode.  It looks like a case of too many cooks in the kitchen on those first two episodes.

The third episode,Chronos, is absolutely fabulous.  A procrastinating physics student discovers that her favorite ’90 cartoon seems to have been erased.  And then the main character from said cartoon appears in real life leading to an adventure through time.  The writing of this episode is really good which can be be hard when time travel is involved.

The fourth episode Polybius is based on the creepy pasta about a video game cabinet from the ’80s of the same name that had some unusual effects on players.  It’s set in the ’80s, the one episode not based in modern times.  Another solid story but it does lean on the video game tropes a little hard.

The fifth episode, Bob, is tied with the third as my favorite.  An Army psychologist about to head home for Christmas is tasked by the NSA to help the giant brain they’ve hooked into the internet with some performance issues.  I especially love this episode because Jane the psychologist is shown talking to her wife and daughter at the beginning and no one ever says anything about it.  There’s never a scene where she gets mistaken for straight.  Also, I love how much diversity there is in this episode.  Jane is played by Constance Wu.  The NSA agent who picks her up is a woman, going by her actress’s nationality she’s Chilean.  The Director of the NSA black site is a white woman and the technician who tends to Bob is black, played by Malcolm Barrett who also plays Rufus on Timeless(another show I love).  The only white man of note, in this episode, is the terrorist Bob is trying to track down.

I really like this series and hope they continue it. There’s one more episode left in the series to air on April, 25, on Hulu.

Rating 4/5

Scientist of Death Issue #4

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“Can I get a discount on this?” The customer shoved the item across the counter. “It has a stain right here.”

I looked at the indicated spot. The slight discoloration was probably not a set in stain and dabbing it with a wet cloth would most likely remove it. Not worth a discount in my eyes but store policy was more lenient.

“I can discount it by five percent,” I said.

“Is that all? I can’t get it half off.”

“No, five percent is all I’m allowed to do.”

“The other woman always gives me half off.” A blatant lie. No one except the managers could approve a fifty percent markdown and they rarely work the registers. I bit back on calling her on the lie.

“I’m sorry, it’s story policy,” I said.

“I’d like to speak to the manager.”

My hand reached for the button on my headset that would broadcast my voice to my co-workers and manager. As I depressed it, I felt a slight wiggle to the button. The switches and buttons on the sonic cannon I had handled the other day had been rock steady with smooth, crisp action. I looked around at the smirking customer, the other cashiers sneaking pity looks at me, the waiting customers in the queue and released the button without saying anything. I took off my walkie talkie.

“I quit,” I said to the customer.

“What?”

“I quit. I refuse to serve people like you who think you can just bully people like me to get whatever you want. I quit.” I grabbed the lanyard around my neck and yanked it straight down snapping the strap. The strap was made to snap apart to keep employees from accidentally being strangled by their lanyard but the effect was still dramatic. One of the other cashiers was speaking into her walkie no doubt informing every other employee of my actions.

I walked through the store to the break room where I retrieved my purse and left the store not physically for the last time, because I would have to return for my last check, but in spirit for the last time. From an inside pocket of my purse, I pulled out the receipt with an address and phone number on it and dialed the number.

It rang twice and the Doctor of Death answered, “Hello.”

“Do you have a workspace I can use or should I find something?”

“I can find you some space.” I could hear the grin in his voice. “Come by tomorrow. Glad to have you back.”

“I’m not back. I’m just working tech.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hung up before he could say anything else.

***

The next day, I returned to the office suite the Doctor of Death was using as his current front of operations. The waiting room was exactly the same including Susie the receptionist. I had hoped she would not be here since the last time we saw each other I had shot her with a sonic cannon.

She smiled, “Ms. Parks. So nice to see you again.” Was that a genuine smile or a shark smile.

“Hello Susie. I just wanted to say I’m sorry about shooting you the other day.”

Her smile tightened into something like a grimace. “Of course, mistakes were made on both sides.”

“I’m glad you see it that way.” Or at least you’re willing to pretend you do, I thought.

“I hope you will be as forgiving.” She pulled out the sonic cannon from behind her desk and fired it at me. The edge of my personal force field flared white as it absorbed the energy from the sonic pulse.

“Glad to see my paranoia wasn’t totally off base. If you could buzz me in, that would be great.” She glared at me but pressed the button to allow me entrance to the back. “Thank you.” I paused at the door and said, “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry I shot you.”

“Dr. Ford is expecting you,” she said through gritted teeth. Her eyes locked with mine in a challenge. Never leave an enemy at your back, especially not one willing to attack you from the back.

“Do you know who I am?” I asked casually.

“You’re some tech genius The Doctor wants to work for him.” She was almost sneering.

I walked closer to her desk. “Technically true. I’m also The Scientist of Death.”

“The Scientist of Death is dead.”

“No, just retired.”

“And he was a man.”

“Things change.” She began looking over my face and body for those telltale features. I watched for the moment when she realized I might be telling the truth. “Before I left the supervillain life I would have killed you instantly after you tried shooting me.” I stepped closer into her personal space. “That was five years ago. Today I’m letting you have that one shot but only that one shot. Try anything else and I will end this petty “feud” between the two of us permanently.” I reached out and snatched the sonic cannon from her hands.

To her credit she didn’t flinch or back away. She simply said, “Understood.”

“Good. You have a nice day,” I said and walked into the back.


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Serial Story: Scientist of Death

A supervillain finds herself drawn back into her old life years after retiring to transition.