Rosalyn Abrams
6 hours until arrest
When you wake back up, it’s to the sound of men in uniform yelling commands. Heart pounding, you jump out of Riley’s lap. Your vision blacks out from the sudden movement, Riley bracing your shoulder to keep you upright while it fills back in.
The security team is a squad of men in black kevlar vests and full-face masks. Each holds an assault rifle in their hands, tense and ready for something to go wrong. An anxiety that spreads like an infection throughout the doughnut shop as they order everyone to get on their feet and to follow commands for evacuation.
“What’s going on with the Chattrnet? Why is it down?” one of the businessmen from the donut shop asks as he follows out the door behind you.
The armed security guard at the door shakes his head. “Stick with the group, please. We’ll have you all out of here soon.”
Security doesn’t know either?
One of the soldiers stops you a few feet out of the shop. “Where’s your mask?”
You freeze up, unable to think of a response as you stare at the rifle in his hands.
“He lost it,” Riley says, answering for you. “We got banged up pretty hard in the panic, if you can’t tell?”
Wrong answer apparently. The guard furrows his eyebrows, irritated. “You’re supposed to be wearing a mask at all times during lockdown. Don’t they teach you anything in that school?”
Riley’s smile cools, lips pressed into a firm line. “Duh. Obviously not, dude.”
He doesn’t have a comeback for that, just narrows his eyes. With a sigh he digs into a pouch hanging from his belt and shoves a mask in your direction.
“Put that on and get moving.”
Your brain remains sleep-fogged, a half-remembered dream of Riley and Brayden’s conversation keeps circling your thoughts and pulling you out of the present. It had to be dream, right? Does Riley actually…? You sneak a look her way, find her presence in the static. Anxious. Afraid. Tired. She sees you staring and cracks a weary smile back. You dart your eyes elsewhere. Face warm again.
It’s a slow march to safety, paused occasionally by the security team knocking on doors or checking windows, adding more evacuees as you go. The group winds their way through the eerily quiet mall, past lockdown gates manually pulled up and back down again as you’re escorted out.
On orders, everyone presses to one side of the hallway as a man in tactical vest pushing a box of medical equipment on a wheeled cart makes his way down the line. When he reaches Riley beside you, he shines a light first in one eye, then the other. Tells her to roll up the sleeve of her uninjured arm, pressing something that sort of resembles a grocery store scanner gun against her skin. A VitaReader? You forget the brand name. Just a faint memory of Rivka refusing to use one, disparaging the quality.
“Alright, you’re good to go,” he says. Gestures for her to get moving as he steps in front of you.
“Seriously?” Riley balks. “What about my arm? And what happened to mandating vaccinations?”
The man runs a hand over his face, irritated. “Listen sweetheart, we’ve got an entire mall to clear. We ain’t got time for all that. If you’re so worried you can check yourself into the nearest Urgent Care. All I care about is that you don’t look sick. Anything else is a you problem.”
“You shined a light in my eyes and called it a day! What if my arm is actually broken, dude! You didn’t even ask– hey!” she shouts, raising her voice as he turns away.
“I have a lot of people to get through, so get moving.” He turns to you, flashlight back in hand. You wince against the sudden glare and he snaps at you to keep your head still. Sucks in his breath as he finally, properly gets to study you.
“Fucking hell, what happened to your eyes?”
“Uh–” you swallow. “It-it-it’s worse than it looks–” you suck in your breath as he gives you a puzzled frown. “I mean it looks worse– I mean–” your voice crumples out inside your throat.
Unmoved by your desire to let the ground swallow you up, he gestures for you to expose your arm. At least you still have the presence of mind to present the one you didn’t carve up earlier. The scanner gun thing feels weirdly cold as it’s pressed to your skin. The electric current humming through it emits a pulse, startling you.
“I said stand still!” the man snaps. He glances down to his tablet again, eyebrows shooting up. Reads your name aloud and then – “There’s a missing persons alert on you. You know anything about that?”
You close your eyes. Fuck.
Next to you, Riley waves her hands, trying to get his attention. “What? Hey, no, sssh–he’s been with us the whole time. Does he look missing to you?”
It’s been days. Rivka just so happens to report you ‘missing’ now?
Is this because you cut out the tracker?
The officer calls for one of the men with rifles to walk over even as he keeps his attention fixed on you. Then, to you: “I’m going to need you to stay here until someone can be spared to escort you to the nearest Security station. They can sort this out there.”
“What? Are you kidding me?” Riley raises her voice in outrage. “You people can’t be bothered to do actual doctor stuff but you’ve got time in a lockdown to play hooky police?”
“Sweetheart, unless you fancy spending the night in a jail cell, I’d advise you to shut up.”
Can feel the eyes of everyone still in line burning on you as you’re forcibly walked over to what probably supposed to be a makeshift command post, laid out in the middle of an intersection at the end of the hall. A pile of military surplus equipment has been arranged like some kind of pillow fort, crates aligned to provide an illusion of cover should something come charging out from the mall.
Riley follows along behind you and the armed guard, unwilling to let you out of her sight. The ‘command post’ boasts a single man, a burly looking guard with a rifle slung over his back and a pistol hanging from his belt.
“Who the fuck is this?” he demands, looking over your head at the other guard walking you over.
“Some rich bitch’s missing kid. Congrats Davis, you get to babysit today after all.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? All hands on deck and I gotta waste my time with this?” On seeing your eyes the equipment guy sucks in his breath. “Jesus christ, what’s wrong with you?”
“Just do what you’re told, or Reggie will find something even worse for you to do.”
You’re given a push towards the other man, set stumbling on your feet. The guard then turns, headed back to the inspection line which has already resumed.
“Assholes,” Riley mutters under her breath as you readjust your jacket.
The remaining guard – Davis – levels a glare at Riley. “Watch that mouth, civie.”
“Can you believe this shit?” Riley asks, switching to sign. Her movements haphazard as she tries to move her injured arm as little as possible. “I can’t believe Jun’s out there somewhere working with these people. They didn’t even ask if we got like, exposed to anything. What the hell?”
“Do you really want them to?” you sign back.
“At this point, no.” She grimaces, waggling her good hand.
At the edge of your awareness you keenly feel the burly man scrutinizing you both. Trying to decide if he should scare Riley away or leave her be. You chew at the inside of your cheek, taking a glance around the intersection.
“I don’t want to stay here,” you sign.
“Makes two of us.”
As soon as they’re both cleared, Brayden and Cassandra beeline straight for you. The guard opens his mouth to complain, only to be interrupted by Brayden.
“We’re with them,” he says.
The guard narrows his eyes, sizing you all up. The edges of a frown leak out from under his face mask. “I’m not babysitting all four of you. You get five minutes and then the rest of you kids need to clear out.”
As soon as he turns around to give a slight pretense of privacy, Riley flips her middle finger at him. Brayden reaches over and pulls her hand down before she can get caught.
“Cut it out,” he quietly chastises. “What’s going on?”
“Rivka,” you state.
“There’s a missing persons notice for Rosalyn,” Riley then explains.
“Thank you for actually answering the question. So… what does that mean? Rosalyn has to stay here?”
You make a face. “Until they c-c-can escort me somewhere else.”
“A Security station?” Brayden asks.
You shrug. He’s not seriously thinking of hanging around, is he?
“Okay… Where’s the nearest one of those?”
Riley barks out a laugh. “Fuck if I know.”
“The Chattrnet is still out,” Cassandra remarks. Holds up her phone to show the endlessly spinning circle on her screen. “How are we supposed to be able to get home like this?”
You check your own phone again. The empty red box where the signal strength should be is still there. Try sending a test message to Riley and it immediately bounces back with a failure to send alert.
Riley shakes her own phone in the air, as if that’ll make the internet come back. “This suuuuuucks. It’s like half my brain is missing.”
“Three minutes,” the burly guard announces.
You’re not staying here. No way.
Especially not alone.
You look at Riley, catch her attention with a tap of your foot against hers.
“I”m going to run,” you sign.
Her eyebrows shoot up but she bites her lip and doesn’t say anything. Tries her best to be subtle about looking in the guard’s direction and fails.
“I’m all about fuck the rules,” she signs, “but is pissing off the guys with guns a good idea?”
You shake your head. “Don’t care.”
Riley sighs. “Fuck me,” she says aloud.
“What? What are you two idiots talking about now?” Brayden demands.
“Two minutes, wrap it up kids.”
You take that as your sign to start running, ignoring the man yelling after you. Make a point to pull over a stack of crates as you go, scattering the contents across the hallway to hopefully slow down anyone chasing you. Just as you hoped, the guards don’t bother running after you very far. Too few of them to begin with, and they have far more important things to do than deal with a delinquent teenager. By the time you duck down a right turn at the next intersection, they’ve already given up.
Your stamina is pretty much shot, pain shooting up the sides of your legs and stomach by the time you reach the next intersection as the ghost of this morning’s exercise routine comes back to haunt you with a vengeance. Forced to stop and lean against the wall gasping for breath at the third.
Not sure what you would have done if they had bothered to chase you for real.
Die, probably.
Your lungs hurt, trying to suck down more air than you can physically hold. With no one else visible down this hallway, you rip the mask off your face and let it fall to the floor. Pain continues to radiate up through your legs.
Shin splits. Great. At least you aren’t feeling nauseous.
By the time Riley and the others find you, you’ve managed to regain your composure, if not your energy. Riley waves you down from across the hallway, bouncing on her feet. You sink to the floor and give a weak wave back.
“Dude!” she yells, hurrying closer. “You couldn’t have given more of a fucking warning!?”
“Sorry,” you wheeze.
“Are you okay?” Cassandra asks.
You give her a thumbs up. A gesture so transparently a lie that no one dignifies it with a response.
“That was fucking hilarious though,” Riley says getting down on the floor with you. “I’ve never seen a grown man so pissed.”
“I have,” Brayden grumbles under his breath, unheard. More loudly, he says, “What the hell were you thinking? They’re not going to honor system it next time Security pulls you aside, you know.”
“I know that,” you hiss. It doesn’t matter. You’re not going home.
Not ever, if you can help it, but definitely not yet.
Riley claps her hands together. “Okay! I know we all just got done surviving the horrors so I gotta ask, we still doing the sleepover tonight?”
Brayden makes a face, turning away. “I think my parents might kill me for real if I don’t show up at home tonight, after all this.”
“I’m just ready for today to be over,” Cassandra agrees. “And I could really use a shower. I’m all sweaty in places that should never be sweaty.”
“Honestly, yeah. That’s fair. I could use a rinse too,” Riley admits.
And–nope. Need to immediately shut down that train of images eagerly running through your head. You adjust your headphones and check the charge level, doing your level best to will the internet to return so you can get your music back. A Ysme Wonder album would be really great to have right about now.
Outside in the real world where everyone is still fully clothed, Cassandra is still talking about the aborted sleepover. “What about this weekend? It’ll give us more time to plan for it anyway.”
“Works for me. Roz?”
A hand waves in front of your face, jarring you out of a vision that inserted itself into your head unprompted. Wow these pants are uncomfortably tight in places you deeply wish didn’t exist.
“Roz? Rosalyn? You home in there?” Riley prompts.
Oh.
Right.
Roz. Rosalyn – That’s you.
“Um– sorry! What?”
“The sleepover,” Riley repeats. Torn between amused and annoyed. “How do you feel about doing it this weekend instead?”
“Th-th-that um, that works?”
“You can still stay over tonight,” Riley rushes to say. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll make it work somehow.”
“Okay.” A buzz of something indescribable reverberates across the inside of your ribcage as you push yourself back up to standing. Intensely aware of it every time Riley so much as looks in your direction.
“We should s-s-still get shots b-b-before we split up though. And Riley– you need th-that arm looked at…”
“Do I have to?” Riley whines.
“Yes!” Cassandra says before you can. “What are you talking about, Riley? You have to get that arm looked at!”
“Ugghhh, fine mother.”
“Don’t be a bitch, Riley,” Brayden snaps.
“But the doctor is so expensive. Dude, I swear, it’s already feeling totes be–aaargh don’t do that!”
Cassandra pulls her hand away from Riley and crosses her arms over her chest in the self-satisfaction of a point proven.
You risk touching her shoulder. The contact alone is enough to give you her full attention. “Riley, please.”
“Um.” She swallows. A quick glance down at your hand. “Okay.”
You let go, fingers grazing the hem of her sleeve on the way down. “Th-thank you.”
The silence that follows is tense.
A gravitational pull threatening to pull something more out of you. Something dangerous that would be better kept under lock and key.
Cassandra, somehow oblivious to it, breaks the spell. “Does anyone know where we are? I… I’m not even sure how to get home from here without my phone working.”
You stare down at the floor, one hand idly tracing the curve of your headphones. Riley’s never been much of an audiophile. Always had this fantasy that you’d finally get her to actually listen to some of your bands. Help her grow a deeper taste than whatever popslop the AI DJ of the day spins up. The two of you could sit together in her room while you explain the symbology of the lyrics to Ysme Wonder’s Unlucky Breaks or maybe…
“Uh, shit.” Brayden stares at his phone in hand. “Yeah, that’s… gonna be a problem for me too.”
Riley laughs, rolling her eyes. “What are you guys talking about, we can just ask the Supes and– oh.”
“Thanks for catching up to the rest of us, Riley.”
“Who lives closest to here?”
Maybe this isn’t the most Ysme Wonder kind of day? Something more industrial would probably better match the day’s events. KillSignal? They’ve got some really strong energy. That might be more Riley’s speed. But which album? They really fell off after Blood Sins of the FatherMachine.
“It can’t be me, our condo is on the other side of the tower from here.”
“It’s got to be me, right?”
Deathmatch is kind of depressing. You need to stay angry or you’re going to fall apart.
What about error message?
“Okay then, Riley, do you know where to go from here?”
“Haha, no way! But M– uh, Rosalyn should have us covered. She’s like a human GPS.” Riley slaps you on the back.
Huh? What?
What’s going on? What are we talking about?
You play back the last few seconds of the conversation in your head. Then, a couple seconds later – “I– I am?”
“Dude, what’s the fastest way to my house from here that avoids the mall?”
“Uh…” You wince. Have to mentally pack up all the music albums you were considering. Have to switch tracks so as to turn over a mental map of the tower in your head. “So… th-th-there’s a transit station about… two? blocks, um,” you point down the hall to the intersection and drag your finger to the left. “That way. Two turns then, um, a right? Yeah a right. That should g-g-get us to the uh, the outer wall t-t-transit hub. Then from there you uh, t-take the elevator down to floor 35 where–”
“See?” Riley says.
“It’s n-n-not that impressive…” you mumble, face warm.
“What about an Urgent Care?” Brayden asks. Disbelieving.
It takes a minute longer to think about that one. All the usual places would have been attached to the mall so who knows if they’re even accessible right now. Not exactly eager to risk running into any more security guards tonight for that matter, either.
“Um… Th-the same floor as Riley’s. I think?”
“You think.”
“No, he’s totally– fuck, she’s totally right,” Riley says. Shoots you an apologetic look. “Sorry.”
“S’okay,” you mumble.
“Uh, anyway, there’s a place just off the intersection from the hub and CoffiJohn with DD’s. I have to pop in there all the time to get this weird special toothpaste for my dad.”
“Is that really our closest option?” Cassandra asks.
You shrug. “Probably. With the uh, the lockdown and everything.”
“Fine, whatever works I guess,” Brayden says. He levels you with a skeptical stare, mouth quirked to one side. “Don’t tell me. This is another one of your ‘psychic powers’?”
You glare at him. “No! I just– I have a-a-a lot of free time.”
Riley covers her mouth, trying not to crack up.
“Wh-what?”
“Sorry, sorry! I just–” she grins, “there’s a masturbation joke in there somewhere but I can’t quite figure it out.”
“Riley.”
“Yes, Roz?”
“I’m going to hit you.”
“Want help?” Brayden asks.
***
It ends up not being quite as simple as you hoped. Everywhere you go, the halls leading towards the mall are locked down. Lowered gates and armed security guards. All facing outward now, you notice, redirecting confused onlookers away. Makes for one hell of an extended detour, ducking back in a different direction each time before you get spotted. The amount of extra work keeps you from realizing the most critical error in your plan until it’s too late.
The static buzzsaw at the sides of your head grow worse and worse as you close in. The edges of the crowd spilling out of the transit hub come into view. Throngs of people forced away from the mall have been left to pack the hallway unsupervised, milling about in groups.
Pressing past and into the hub proper, the size of the crowd makes your heart jump. Like someone took both rush hour crowds and jammed them together at the same time. The static pressure of so many people, so many elevated emotions, all crammed together. Like a ball of pushpins being rolled over your skin.
Fuck.
A hand finds yours, and you jump in surprise. About to wrench yourself loose to punch the culprit only to realize that it’s Riley. Her thoughts, her body, her presence there. Can’t even begin to guess what any of it could mean. Humming away, louder than the crowd around you and – you could do it, you realize. Let what always happens, happen; submerge into it, let it take over. Too much noise. Too much pressure to not want the escape.
But you don’t have to, you realize. Can push back against it mentally. Even as you wait for that moment where everything inverts and you see yourself from the outside, it doesn’t come. The overwhelm doesn’t wash you away. Merely stays there, just under the skin. Like an electric hum.
When and how this changed for you, you don’t know.
But you can stand here. And be here.
And Riley can be there.
And it’s. Okay.
You squeeze her hand and she shoots you a look, one eyebrow raised. Questioning, you realize from the undercurrent of her thoughts. Checking in. She bumps her shoulder against yours, only half-intentional. Jostled by the crowd as the four of you work your way through.
“Hey, don’t forget to breathe,” she whispers. Barely loud enough to hear, and yet you can hear the difference of her voice echoing inside your head.
Force yourself to let go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding.
There, on the far end of the line, a set of elevator doors open and people pile in, taking the car headed down.
Cassandra says something. Riley looks to you for translation help but you shake your head. Can’t parse what she’s saying either.
“Sorry, there’s like, no fucking way I can hear you in this crowd,” Riley answers. Taps her ear for explanation.
Brayden says something too, a curse or a complaint. Both are equally as likely. It might as well be machine noise for all the meaning it holds to you right now. The ground line of Riley’s hand in yours is the only thing keep you from wanting to fold up on the floor right now.
You go along with the pull of her hand as the four of you join the back of the line waiting for the elevators. The inter-arcology train, you slowly manage to put together as the line crawls along, is offline. ‘A safety precaution’ a man in security gear walking through the line insists. One of the few present in the crowd. You try your best not to look like a criminal. Let your eyes skip over and past him. Don’t stare. Look only an appropriate amount of scared.
Someone – Brayden – shoves a phone in front of you and Riley, opened to a text note asking: what about another hub? Brayden looks directly at you. Like you’re the one in charge here. Which. Horrible idea. Don’t.
Riley shakes her head, mouths the words ‘not worth it.’
Have to agree with that. If it’s this bad here, it’s going to be this bad everywhere.
A little too aware of the fact that Riley is still holding your hand.
It’s kind of a novelty really. To be touching someone directly and still be centered in your own head. It’s all still there of course, the promise of it. Just past the line, and if you were willing, it’d wash over you completely.
You don’t. You keep your grip on Riley’s hand tight. Giving over to it means giving up on feeling this. Having this. Don’t want to live the rest of your life always looking at it from the outside. A bad actor in somebody else’s shitty play.
But god if it isn’t hard.
Are you doing it right? Are you making this whole hand holding thing weird? Riley thinks she’s giving you an out from having to deal with this crowd; would she still be holding your hand if she knew what was actually happening in your head? And what are you supposed to do when your palm gets itchy? Does she notice how sweaty your hand is getting? Is it gross?
Can still sort of get an outline of what she’s thinking. Like looking just to the right, over the shoulder rather than the full blast of meeting the eyes.
She’s stressing out over hand sweat too.
“What?” she hisses under her breath, tensing up. Mind racing over what embarrassing thing you might have overheard in her head. “What’s so funny?”
You shake your head. Bite your cheek.
“Nothing,” you sign.
That earns you a suspicious glare which only makes you start laughing again. Riley squeezes your hand harder in protest, and then the crowd moves again. Everyone shuffling forward. The line for the other elevator breaks apart briefly, granting a glimpse of the far wall, lined with potted plants.
There’s someone standing there beneath one of the palm trees, wearing jeans and a half-tucked shirt. Nondescript but for the fact that they’re reaching up to fix something against the wall. Something small and white and – Riley yelps in surprise as you pull her along with you out of line. Charge through the other, towards the figure at the wall. Somehow, despite the surrounding chaos, they still notice you before you can get close. Wide-eyed with alarm, nose and lower face fully covered in a black mask and with it the increasing buzz of feedback.
Another telepath.
They’re already running before you’re anywhere near close enough for a tackle, twisting with ease on one foot and sprinting beside the wall.
Motherfucker.
Riley stares at you, bewildered, but there’s no time to explain. A sharp gesture towards the box stuck on the wall and then you let go of her hand to run after the fleeing telepath.
Whoever they are, they’re faster than you. Better coordinated, unbothered by the static crush that is once again threatening to bring you to your knees without Riley to help buffer it. The other telepath smoothly glides between a family of four and across rows of seating that on a normal day would be only sparsely littered with commuters. Realize where they’re going a second too late as they leap over a guard rail and down the stairwell to the maintenance tunnel under the tram track.
You hustle down the steps just in time for the door to shut on you. Your fingers catch against the metal and you slump against it, panting hard. This has got to stop happening. You need to be in way better shape if running around is going to become a normal part of your day.
“Morgan, what the fuck!?”
Brayden’s voice. Behind you.
Turn to find him, Cassandra, and Riley hurrying down the stars. Riley has the air filter box in her hands. Vibrating in fear. She brought it here, why – no, where else would she take it, idiot? You need to think human thoughts. Not be doggy-paddling in the deep end of a whirlpool. They’re all talking around you, trying to put it together. But there isn’t– there isn’t fucking time.
The criminal is right there! The person responsible for everything is on the other side of this door and they’re getting away!
“Riley–” you start and then think better of it. There’s no way she can hear you in this noise. You gesture towards the door. “Can you open?” you sign.
She stares, not comprehending.
“Imago attacker went through door,” you sign.
That gets through. Eyes widening, she shakes her head. No keycard, she mouths. Of course. Why would she risk bringing it to school? It’s not like either of you had planned on any of this happening.
“Morgan?” Braydan snaps. “Rosalyn – whatever. Why did you– why does Riley have– What the fuck is going on?”
There’s no time to explain anything. Every second you waste is another second for them to get further away. Your hand finds the door latch as your mind pushes against the crushing weight, the cacophony of noise surrounding you, straining to pick out the hum of the door itself. Cassandra is confused, still not fully caught up. Riley is almost as freaked out as you are. Brayden just stands there, getting increasingly pissed off as you ignore him.
One by one, you find the chords in the static, holding them in your mind. Strain atop strain.
Squeeze them tight, same as your hand squeezes the door latch, and pull.
The door’s seal pops. Everyone’s attention shifts as you throw it wide open. A problem for the future, you have to concede. Same as the renewed nosebleed you already feel starting up.
The maintenance tunnel looks the same here as it does anywhere. Dimly lit and grungy, with exposed pipes running along the walls and overhead, ceiling low enough to force you to duck down as you run. Far ahead, just at the edge of the curve, a single light is visible. It turns off as you get halfway there. By the time you catch up, the rest of the tunnel ahead remains dark.
No sign of the other telepath. No indication how far they might have run, or which exit they might have taken.
God.
Damnit!
You were so close!
So fucking close!
Fuck!
You slow your pace, coming to a stop. Lungs aching and legs burning as you prop yourself up, one arm against the wall. From behind, you hear the approaching footsteps of the others. It hadn’t taken them long at all to decide to chase after you.
Continuing to lean against the wall, you turn to watch as they catch up to you. Brayden looks as livid as he’s ever been, but it’s Cassandra that speaks first.
“What the heck is going on?”
The white box in her hands. She must have taken it from Riley at some point. Riley, who seems to be bringing up the rear, slowed by the need to not jostle her arm. A ping of guilt twinges in your chest over that.
“Guy– Box– ran–” you shake your head. There’s a higher priority right now and it’s near impossible to look away from. Point your hand towards the air filter in Cassandra’s hand. “We have to-to-to get rid of that. Right. Now.”
“What? Oh– oh. Ummmm…” Cassandra’s face pales.
With a yelp she tosses it away from her. Brayden ducks under, catching the thing just in time before it can hit the ground.
“Goddamnit! Don’t just fucking throw it! What if it breaks?! Jesus christ!”
“Sorry! Sorry! I panicked! Is it safe? To be this close?” Cassandra’s voice is trembling.
“It’s– it’s um. Probably on a delay? Time or… or waiting for a specific person…? If it-it-it isn’t we’re already doomed.”
No one else seems to be smelling what you can smell right now. That weird itchy feeling under your skin.
It has to be nothing. Stress. Fear. Any other possible explanation.
“Jesus fuck on a cracker, Roz. Why the hell did you tell Riley to grab it?”
That gets you to turn around. “Wh-what? And just leave it there in th-th-that huge crowd? What d-d-do you think would have happened!”
“We should have called security over! They could have evacuated the station.”
“Everyone w-w-would have panicked! It’d be another stam– stam– another mess! You d-d-didn’t have to follow!”
“Like hell I didn’t!”
“Guys, shut up!” Riley finally snaps, voice loud enough to bounce off the walls. “I’m trying to reset my ears here! We can piss our pants later! Okay? Fantastic.”
When no one says anything else, Riley lets out a deep sigh. “Thank you. Cass, can you help me with this? I’m, haha, kind of short handed right now.”
Gesturing her over, Riley shows Cassandra her phone and connection jack, gesturing towards where to plug it into the implant behind her ear.
You find Brayden still staring at you. Unsling your backpack and gesture him over. Where did you… there it is. With your connection cable in hand, you dig out your tablet next and start setting up.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Brayden demands. He rebalances the weight of the air filter box in his hands. Clearly trying to touch it as little as possible. As if it could explode at any moment.
You wrinkle your nose as he gets close. Something reeks.
“Keeping it from k-k-killing us,” you say. Gesture for him to hand over the filter. All too eager to get it away from him, he complies. Drops it into your waiting hand before you’re ready.
Almost drop the damn thing.
“C-c-careful!”
“Sorry!” he says. Actually means it. “Just, fucking – Hold on for a second,” Brayden hisses, pulling at your shoulder.
You glare at him only to have a mask still in its plastic wrapper shoved towards your chest. A brief electric spark as your hands brush against each other.
“Um.”
“Put that back on so you don’t fucking get sick from this thing.”
It takes a second to put the thoughts together and then you’re ripping the plastic off and pressing the seal over your face.
“Th-thanks.”
“Don’t. If you so much as sneeze a weird color I’m punching your face in.”
There we go. That’s more like it.
You find the connection port on the thing, plug it in just as your tablet finishes booting up. For better or worse, it’s the same firmware as the filter Rivka was using. Is that a good or bad sign for her innocence?
You push the question out of your head.
With everything hooked up, it’s as simple as finding the right preference settings and shutting everything down. No filtration, no scent additives, turn off the wireless connection too for good measure.
There’s an itchy, almost burning feeling in the back of your nose, creeping down into your lungs by the time you finish. With what you hope looks like a triumphant flourish you yank your cord out of the device and look back up to Brayden. Smile.
“We’re not g-g-gonna die.”
“You’re sure?”
“Just don’t kick it over.”
His shoulders slump and he staggers back against the wall. “Holy hell.”
“You girls having fun?” Riley calls over. “What did I miss?”
Brayden scowls, flipping his middle finger at her. “Rosalyn turned the thing off.”
“Oh, thank fuck.”
You put your stuff away and zip your backpack up. Turn back to the wall, running a hand over the exposed metal surface.
“We should still um…. We should– If we can get into Zeta we can g-g-get rid of it there.”
You don’t give any of them a chance to protest. Leave Brayden to pick up the filter again as you start down the hall. The further you get away from that spot, the less it feels like you’re going to sneeze. Push through every mental stop demanding you sit down.
The instant you do, you won’t be able to get up again. You just know it.
“Uh, hold on, since when is that the plan?” Riley asks.
“You really want t-t-to leave it out here?”
“…fair point.”
Brayden hurries after you, lowering his voice. “And since when can you just decide to open a locked door?”
“D-d-don’t know.”
“Is this more psychic shit?”
“Don’t know th-that either.”
That earns you a huff, but what did he expect? It’s the honest answer.
“The person who d-d-did this, I think they’re, um, they’re telepathic.”
“How can you tell?”
“I just– I just can? It’s– it’s like. Feedback.”
“Like a microphone?”
“Yeah. That.”
“Jesus Christ, Roz.”
Oh now Brayden’s using that nickname too. Don’t know how to feel about that. Riley gets special privileges but if this starts catching on at large you might have to say something about it. You keep your gaze straight ahead, watching each ceiling light flicker on as you approach.
“Pretty sure he’s not involved,” you finally say.
“Har, har.”
Don’t have far to go to find the door. In the dark, Cassandra finishes helping Riley reset her implant and, in hushed tones, the two sort out what just happened.
Out here in the gloom and the quiet, with only the hum of wires in the walls and the buzz of a mere three other people near you, it’s not nearly as hard to find the currents running through the exit door. Squeeze it just the right way and the latch pops.
Holding the door open, you hurry Brayden and Cassandra through. Riley pauses in the doorway, studying your face.
“I knew it,” she declares. “You know what this means, right?”
“I–” you stop, terror squeezing your chest all over again. “Riley, just because I know computers and can open some doors, that d-d-doesn’t–”
“Tell it to the judge, girl.”