Chapter 1

It worked. John lifted the small vial filled with a clear syrup to the overhead lamp and looked at it. After only two years of research he had been able to accomplish what everyone else had considered impossible. Just then the stainless steel double doors to his lab burst open and a troupe of security guards and the Vice-President to GenenCorp charged in. Not knowing why, John quickly shoved the stoppered tube in his pants pocket and went to greet his boss. "Hello, Mr. Evans. What's going on with the guards?"

"Simple, Mr. Edwards. You're being fired. We have put thousands of dollars into your research over the past year without an inch of progress to show for it. All you have given us were speculative notes on how to create a chemical to make people more susceptible to suggestion and more readily absorb commercials and other forms of mass media."

John had just finished the compound, MC-125, but he never entered its progress in his notes. The stuff was potentially very dangerous in the wrong hands. The formula he created went beyond simply making people more susceptible to commands; it controlled them outright. As a safety precaution he removed several of the key ingredients in it, various salts, and placed it in another vial, the one in his pocket right now. Without those salts, MC-125 did exactly what the company wanted it to.

"Sir, we found barrels labeled MC-125," one of the guards called out.

"Good," Evans said. "Deliver that to Section 28 storage. Well, Mr. Edwards it looks like you have been keeping a few things from us. Your contract of work is hereby terminated. We will give you two months salary as your severance pay to help send you on your way. Have a good day."

And as suddenly as they came into his lab, they left. John wasn't too upset by losing his job. There was a high demand for biochemists at the time and he could probably find another company to pick him up. Besides, working under Michael Evans was getting to be a real pain in the ass. Evans' victory wasn't complete either. The VP forgot about the stock options that went along with his work contract, those were John's to keep. And if he guessed right, then GenenCorp's stock was going to rise once they find out that his MC-125 did work. Most likely they were going to sell it to various food producers with already a large advertising base, chips and soda for one, and make a fortune on it. By firing John, they just slighted him the royalties. John shrugged his shoulders and packed up his things and left.

A year later John was busily cleaning up his apartment when he happened along a vial with thick, clear liquid. The key to MC-125 lay in the palm of his hand. Turns out GenenCorp did sell the chemical he created and their stock skyrocketed. Everyone thought it was their release of a new cold medicine they came out with but John knew better. Almost every major brand of food, soda and chips and alcoholic beverages mostly, now had a microliter of the chemical in their food or drink and no one knew any better. Of course, for the food companies, that edge was only temporary over their competitors because they too picked up on MC-125. John did a quick search on the Internet and figured that roughly ninety-eight percent of Americans had MC-125 in their system. John looked at the vial in his hand and thought of what would happen if the wrong person could control that ninety-eight percent. He made his way to the bathroom, planning on dumping the stuff in the toilet and stopped himself. No, can't do that. Eventually some of it would get into the drinking water supply and then random people will have unlocked MC-125. Only one proper way to destroy it. So he drank it. He poured the thick, salty mixture down his throat and grimaced at the taste. Then he filled the vial with water and drank it down six times. As soon as the salts hit his digestive system they would dissolve and be rendered harmless, he thought. There might be some side effects, possibly diarrhea but other than that he didn't think anything else would come of it. His stomach rumbled in agitation. John looked at the clock. Dinnertime. He scoped out his fridge and found nothing to his liking. He grabbed his favorite leather jacket, hopped on his motorcycle, and sped off to a nice Italian restaurant.

Alesio's was a nice Italian place that he frequented with an excellent chicken Parmesan and a fantastic wine list. Tony greeted him at the door warmly and let him through to the bar where he usually ate and chatted with the bartenders. It was a very classy place but the owner, Alesio, let him in without the long screening process they put through most of their clientele because he was such good friends with Erica, who was the owner's daughter. Erica was there as she was every Friday night, minding the bar and mixing drinks for the patrons. They were old college friends. She was an attractive girl, 5'4", dark auburn hair that billowed out in curly waves when they weren't tucked back with a ponytail, and a lean figure that spoke of hours at the gym. She flashed a smile at him that spoke of long friendship when she saw him and gave him a warm hug over the counter. "How's my favorite buddy doing? Your new job at Pharmtech working out?"

"Yeah, it's not bad," John stated plainly. "Their pay is decent and they've got good benefits. Even their cafeteria food is pretty good."

"That's good to hear," Erica said distractedly. John picked up on her absent attention.

"Something wrong?"

The indecisiveness on her face was plain to see. "Phillip and I broke up."

"Whoa," was all John could say. Erica had been seeing Phillip for the past year and he was certain Erica thought she could hear the church bells chiming, she said as much. "What happened?"

"He... the bastard's been sleeping around behind my back," she spat out painfully. "He said that I didn't put out for him enough and that he found someone else for his needs. I was just a lay to him." There was no anger in her voice; only cold grief and John shook his head in dismay.

"I'm sorry to hear that," John said and tried to smile to give her some support. "You want I should buy you a drink?" The irony of the comment wasn't lost on Erica and she laughed.

"No, thank you," she dabbed her eyes with a bar napkin. "No drinking on the job. You know that."

"Well, it's all I guy can do when he meets a pretty girl at a bar." The two flirted all the time, mostly because they knew nothing would come of it. They prized their friendship too much for anything more. "Well, can I get a chicken antipasto with a glass of your house white?"

"Sure thing."

John watched the dinner crowd as he waited. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for a large, muscular man who seemed to be sitting uncomfortably at a table with another man sporting a cane stooping over his shoulder, whispering in his ear. The large man got up and John saw him gesture angrily at the man with the cane. John watched as an inch of a blade was exposed from the cane. The larger man stopped and ran back to another table, picked up a girl with a vapid expression on her face, and stormed out of the restaurant.

Chapter 2 »