Anarchy Chained: Alpha Thomas Read online

  I’m almost sorry I don’t attract more attention. My superpower has been dormant for so long, I’d like to let it loose. Take it out and see what it can do.

  But the vision screen is still blinking be cautious at me.

  So I don’t.

  I walk past everyone, hit the stairs, and take them two at a time. The adrenaline is pumping through my body now, my muscles primed from the long climb back to the surface.

  The world assaults me. The noise, the traffic, the people. But that assault doesn’t bother me. Nothing bothers me.

  The compass on my vision screen points the way to the laundry facility so I walk that direction. I take in the smell of coffee shops, restaurants, exhaust fumes. I don’t know how people can live up here. I prefer the dark, wet underworld.

  I keep going, leaving the tight city blocks behind until I’m in a more industrial area. I’m still wearing my quasi-uniform, which not-so-coincidentally looks a little bit like the uniforms the people at the laundry facility are wearing.

  There is no guard at the front gate. Just a chain-linked fence—open to allow workers to enter—and dozens of people who look a little bit like me. A man looks at me, his eyes squinting as he tries to figure out who I am and what I’m doing there. But the caution sign on my vision screen is no longer blinking so I take the superpower out and give it a whirl.

  “Jennifer?” he asks, walking towards me. The timer on my vision screen is counting up, letting me know how long I have for this interaction. I glance across the parking lot, find a woman’s face, and change the illusion. “Oh.” He laughs. “Sorry, Lisa.”

  I turn away as he deals with his confusion, letting my face become someone else. It changes every five to seven seconds. If people look at me and see the change, they stop what they’re doing. Wondering how they could see something so… impossible. But then they just shake their head and shrug it off as… what? What do they think when they see my illusions? They are crazy? Not at this level of trickery. They need more coffee? Probably that. It’s Monday morning, after all. People chalk a lot of things up to Mondays.

  My truck is number 219187 and it’s parked just to the left of the main loading dock. The driver assigned to this truck is not here. She’s sick today. I’m not sure why she’s sick—or if she’s even still alive—but Prodigy doesn’t need me to know those details. All I need to know is what she looks like so I can steal the truck and not have anyone know.

  People nod to me as I become who I need to be. Each time I trip the illusion the timer on screen resets. All my interactions need to be precise or the trip wears off.

  But it’s Monday. People are tired and busy. There are dozens of trucks and hundreds of people. So I slip inside, start the engine, and back out before anyone has a chance to realize what I’m doing.

  I wave to a few people on my way out, tripping into the woman who should be behind this wheel instead of me.

  And then I’m free to do my job.

  I head north, up towards Cathedral City Asylum where they are keeping a man called Thomas Brooks. He’s a crazy motherfucker. Really. My vision screen actually says “crazy motherfucker” in the notes section.

  I will have him soon. I will take him back to Prodigy and he will be one of us again. He thinks he got away, but no one actually gets away from Prodigy.

  And once I have him, I’ll get his friends too. I won’t fail. I never fail. That’s why they only take me out for special occasions.

  When you use me, the job gets done.

  Thomas Brooks, Lincoln Wade, and Case Reider will all be mine by end of day.

  CHAPTER THREE - THOMAS

  My room is ten by ten. Bare concrete floor with a drain in the center—I don’t even want to know why. One concrete bed. One stainless-steel sink. One stainless-steel toilet. And one stainless-steel desk.

  This is the new building. It might as well be a prison. I’m not sure if everyone on this floor has a “room” like this, or just the dangerous patients, but this is what I have. There is no window in the door. Just a slot where they fasten the tray of food three times a day. They don’t let me out except to talk with Yasmine, so standing in front of her window this morning was my only chance at seeing the real world.

  I’ve been in here seven days, but I was in a nicer room before that. I spent almost three weeks there. That was before I became… difficult. Now I’m here. Apparently, this is where all the high-maintenance patients go.

  It’s been a little over a month since the Alpha plan went awry. One month of questions, and temptations, and a constant struggle for self-control.

  The suit was a nice touch. I made that deal yesterday. Yasmine was about at the end of her patience with me and I just needed to buy a little time. Plus, the suit felt good—cheap as it was. It felt normal for the few minutes I had it on. That, in combination with the window… well, I could almost pretend things were OK.

  Thing are decidedly not OK.

  The little slot in my door clanks as someone on the other side opens it. I’m expecting a tray of food for lunch, but instead a piece of paper is shoved through and the slot is closed.

  I know they have cameras on me, so I know I’m being watched as I walk over and pick the folded piece of paper up. But I don’t care.

  It reads:

  Be ready.

  I take it over to the sink, waiting for the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. Waiting for one of them to come and take this little message away. But they don’t come.

  I press down on the knob that lets a trickle of water escape the faucet and wet the paper until the ink runs. Then I shred it and throw it in the toilet.

  I have no idea what Be ready means, but I’m fucking ready for whatever it is. I can only assume it’s a message from Case or Linc. Or maybe Molly. One of them is coming for me and hell yeah, I’m ready.

  I’m a patient guy. I can withstand a lot of things. But enough is enough. A month, goddammit. A month is more than enough. And I’m gonna rip Linc and Case a new one when they finally do show up for leaving me here to rot for so long.

  After I finish being grateful, of course.

  Fucking emotions.

  I turn away from the camera so they can’t see me smile.

  Fucking smiles. I never used to smile, now I find everything funny.

  A buzzer sounds out in the hallway. I wait, wondering if that’s what I’m supposed to be ready for. But no. Nothing happens afterward. So I sit and stare at the SpyGlass on the wall.

  It’s disabled. Ever since that shit went down a couple months ago—the same shit that got me locked up in here—they’ve disabled them all over the city. It’s created a mess because Case’s little public alert system was built in almost everything over the course of the last year.

  Now they have to do things the old-fashioned way again. People have to come to my room and use a chart to determine which medications I get. Nothing is automated anymore. No friendly voice comes through that speaker telling me it’s time for food, or sleep, or therapy. They don’t trust us. Of all the people not to trust in this city, me and my friends shouldn’t even make the top five. Top ten, sure. But not top five. And since they do still trust Yasmine and she’s number one on my list, well, just proves how fucking stupid they are, I guess.

  Footsteps. Ah, there they are. A little late, but still paying attention.

  But this time, instead of just the slot opening, the whole door opens. Yasmine is standing at the threshold with three armed guards pointing their weapons at me.

  “Can I help you?” I ask.

  “You have visitors,” she says.

  I nod and walk towards the approaching guards. One shackles my ankles, another cuffs my hands, and the third points his electrodart gun at my head.

  God, they’re a bunch of idiots. They still haven’t figured out that a ToyBox subsidiary makes those weapons.

  I want to tell them they won’t work on me, but eh. They’ll figure it out eventually. And since I’m supposed to be ready,
I’m pretty sure this isn’t the time to fill them in on how ignorant they are.

  “Who came to see me?” I ask, looking Yasmine in the eyes.

  “Your friends,” she practically purrs.

  “I have lots of friends,” I say.

  “Clearly,” Yasmine shoots back. “Since I have an order from the governor to let them have thirty minutes with you today. But you know which friends, I’m sure.”

  I shrug. I’ll know either way soon enough, so whatever.

  Handcuff guy loops a chain around my waist and attaches my cuffs to it, and once that’s done, Yasmine waves me out of the room.

  There is a fourth guard waiting in the hallway. I follow him. The other two are directly behind me, and Yasmine, presumably, takes up the rear. The visitors’ center is actually the dayroom on the ground floor. It’s a nice big room with couches and tables so family members can come play checkers with their crazy aunt or uncle. And a big-screen TV mounted on the wall which perpetually plays daytime television. Not the trashy talk shows. Those get the inmates—excuse me, patients—riled up. They play old movies. Mostly westerns.

  Someone blew up the old asylum last year. It might’ve been my brother Atticus. Or my mother, since they were both escaping at the same time. But maybe not. You just never know in this town.

  But anyway, the whole building is brand new. Bright and shiny.

  When we get to the hallway that leads to the dayroom, Yasmine calls out, “See you in thirty, Thomas?”

  I don’t bother answering. I don’t usually see her twice in one day, but it does no good to wonder about it. If she’s got plans for me after this, nothing I can do about it. Besides, the message said, Be ready. I’m ready to get the fuck out of here so an out-of-the-ordinary second session with Yasmine is not going to happen anyway.

  We move forward to the door where patients enter the day room and one of the guards behind me takes off my shackles, but not my cuffs.

  “Come on,” I say, smiling at him. “Give a guy a break.”

  He doesn’t even look at me. The door opens and I’m pushed forward.

  “Do anything stupid, Brooks, and we’ll set you straight,” one guard says. He waves his electrodart gun at me.

  I find enough will to look properly frightened by his threat, but he doesn’t buy it. If I were the old me I’d say I’m not capable of being frightened. But I’m not the old me. I’m the new me, thanks to fucking Case and that bullshit he shot me up with last spring.

  I’m ticked off about that. But I’m handling it. I’m dealing. I can do emotions. I had them once, I can wait this out. The drug has to wear off, right? Or I’ll get out of here and get back to work on a replacement. Sheila has dozens of trials going back in Linc’s lab. We’ll figure it out. I’m not worried.

  Speaking of Case and Linc, I look around for them, scanning the dozens and dozens of tables and chairs. The couches. But… they’re not here.

  “Hey,” I say, turning towards a nurse holding a clipboard. “I’m supposed to have a visitor?”

  “What’s your name?” she asks.

  “Brooks,” I reply. “Thomas Brooks.”

  “Oh, you’re in there,” she says, pointing to a door on the far side of the room. “Private.”

  “I didn’t call for a lawyer,” I say, irritated. I really was expecting Case and Linc to be here.

  “Not lawyers, sweetie.” The woman says in her practiced, patient tone.

  “Sweetie?” I sneer.

  “You’ll see soon enough. Now I’m real busy, hun. So let me do my job, OK?” She says all this in a sing-songy voice intended for children—or mentally ill adults—then turns her back to me and looks down at her clipboard.

  I walk towards the room with a door. There’s no window, so I’m standing in the threshold when I see who requires a private visit with me.

  “Randy Shits,” I say, mimicking Case’s nickname for the guy. “And Chief O’Neil. Well.” I laugh as I enter the room. “When’d they let you out, old man?”

  “He was pardoned by the governor last week,” Randy chimes in. “He’s back in charge, if you can believe it.”

  “Sit, Brooks,” the chief says. “We’ve got business and even though it’s a waste of time and the governor knows that, we’re gonna check you off our list today so I’m just going to get to the point. We need a statement, Brooks. We know you and your friends are guilty as hell and the governor needs to keep the peace before people start burning things down again. So you’re gonna admit to what you and your buddies did last spring and then we’re gonna cut a deal with you and let you out.”

  “Are you ready?” Randy asks.

  I look at him. Warily. Did he send me that note? God. Please, no. I’ve been patient. I really have. I’ve been waiting for Case and Linc to get their shit together all month, but honestly, I’m about done with this place. I can’t stay here.

  “Tell me what I need to be ready for,” I say. “And I’ll let you know.”

  “Ready to get the fuck out, right? I’m sure you miss the outside. Your SkyEye business isn’t doing too well. Have you seen the stock reports?” Randy Shits laughs. “So just play nice, sign the papers, and we’ll send someone to get your suit.”

  My suit. My own fucking suit. It’s a good start as far as negotiations go. At least for me. I hate these scrubs. I hate that room. I hate these people.

  Well, I hate all people, but these people are at the top of the list at the moment.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I won’t be signing anything today.”

  “You sure about that?” Chief says. “I’m gonna need you to be very sure about that, Brooks. Because if you say no to me now, there won’t be a second chance. Just think of all that money you’re losing while we keep SkyEye shut down. Just think of your future. You can walk out of here right now.”

  “You don’t even have to ride home with us,” Randy says. “I’ll call you a cab.”

  “But the point is,” the chief says, “you will go home. Today. By tonight this place will be nothing but a bad dream.”

  “His answer is no.” We all look up to see Yasmine standing in the open door. “I’m afraid he’s not interested in your little deal, gentlemen. He’s much too loyal for that. But you can tell the governor that I will have what he needs by tonight.” She winks at me. “Thomas and I have a date this afternoon. I tried to do this the easy way, but he’s resistant.”

  “Ma’am,” Randy says, “the governor told us—”

  “The governor told you to try and I told the governor I’d give you one chance. You had your chance. He’s refused your offer. Now it’s time to go and let me finish the job.”

  Yasmine looks like a prowling lioness who hasn’t eaten in weeks. The hunger for me lingers in her eyes, even as Randy and O’Neil go silent, then recover and start peppering her with questions.

  “On whose authority?”

  “We just talked to the governor. He told us to make the deal happen.”

  Yasmine holds her gaze on me for another pregnant second, then turns her head and smiles at them. “You failed. So he’s mine now. Guards, take Mr. Brooks up to my office and prep him.”

  “Prep him for what?” Randy asks.

  I’d like to hear her answer—I’d really, really like to hear that answer—but I’m tugged away just as an alarm sounds, sending the whole day room into chaos.

  CHAPTER FOUR - SADIE

  The brand-new Cathedral City Asylum is beautiful in a way only buildings can be. It’s not tall, only six stories, and stretches out into east and west wings. It’s not institutional in design, either. Even though the front gate leading onto the property is all gothic archway with pitted stones covered in lichen that remind you of ancient battles in places that are much wetter than here.

  It’s last-century modern with long panes of glass near the roofline, accentuated with strips of metal gleaming from a stray ray of sun.

  I stop the truck and wait my turn at the gate, acutely aware of the timer on my vision
screen, ready and waiting to begin counting up once I initialize the trip.

  When it’s my turn, I start the illusion and the timer, but they wave me through, so it only gets up to three seconds before I drop the trip and it resets.

  My power is very limited. Five seconds is the average time it takes a person to do a double-take and reassess what they’re seeing. If I need it to last five seconds, it’s perfect. I can go up to nine if I have to. But anything past ten is almost unheard of.

  It’s a hitch, and nothing more. A moment when you’re looking out across the hot desert and you see… something. But then it’s gone. What I do is not a mirage. It’s something in between hallucination and delusion. Something people want to see. Something people expect to see. But then quickly realize it cannot be.

  It works on everyone except my Prodigy handlers. Nothing works on them. My inhibitor keeps them immune. Each Prodigy child has their own unique inhibitor and mine is coded into my DNA through periodic manipulation. It will last for months before it degrades and has to be reinitialized.

  I won’t be out in the real world for months. I know this. The assignment is scheduled to last four hours and one and a half of those hours has already passed. When I finish, I will be rewarded with bliss once again. The dream in my head will become real. I will shut down, and then everything will be perfect until the next time they wake me for a job.

  But I am special. They almost never let me outside. I like it this way and I’m anxious to complete this mission so I can return to what I do best.

  The map on screen tells me where to park. A worker dressed in the white uniform with the asylum logo approaches me. His name tag says Grant.

  This is when things become tricky.

  Almost any illusionist can manage what I’ve done so far, but no one but me can manage what I’m about to do now.

  The timer starts as I throw the trip. A wave of energy flows out of my head in concentric circles with me at the center.

  My net catches almost two dozen people. And the wave is powerful, something that calls me to attention. But they don’t see me. They see what they want to see. What they expect to see. I open the door at two seconds, smile, but don’t talk to anyone because that will cancel out the illusion, and walk straight for the back loading dock. Some of them call out. “Hey, Jane!” or, “Hi, Mike! Are you going bowling tonight?” One says, “Sarah, you look great today. Is that a new haircut?”