Category: Story Fragments

Used for previews and story fragments

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Cheapdog (part five)

There was plenty of tension in the air, and Sheep had never been so nervous in his life. They were buying the ruse, but for how long? He had to double-down. “I’ll consider disarming it when I can relax again, and I can’t relax with you goons here. Who the hell are you, and what do you want?”, barked Sheepdog. The gruff man spoke up again; he must have been the leader. “Hey, hey… no reason to be nervous here. We’re all disarmed. A client just needed some answers, and it was suggested that you may not want to give those answers so easily to strangers. We have our own questions. Let’s be civilized here. No. Rash. Moves.”.

They were buying the act. Especially the team lead. His voice had the crust of war and Sheep imagined that he had actually seen explosions like the one he was threatening, and didn’t want to repeat that, ever. He replied, “Vague lies. I want a name.” “Let’s just call him, T-Rex. That’s all we know. You see, you don’t exactly hire a team like this with a listed name. The order goes in, the target is loaded, credits transfer, we show up,” said the gruff man, in a matter-of-fact way. “This ain’t personal, man.”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” Sheep said, “and I’m getting tired of holding this button down.” A few drops of sweat were forming on his brow, and his hand was getting visibly fatigued, shaking a little while he held the joystick button. The gruff man replied again. “Listen, we’re tired of being here too. We were paid to get some info about some kind of video footage. They said you saw something that you weren’t supposed to see. I guess the guy hiding in that footage didn’t appreciate you snooping around. We weren’t gonna hurt you. Not much. Just enough to extract that information, and discourage you from snooping around.”

Res was still balled up behind the couch, desperately thinking of a way out of this. She could take out one, maybe two of these guys, but only if they were off-guard and slower than her. They had the advantage of seeing the room; she could only imagine who was where; there wasn’t even a mirror she could look at from her location. Sheep couldn’t keep this up all night. The longer this went on, the less they would believe him, even though right now, he had them singing like birds.

Dec believed in himself. He never doubted for a second that he could outrun his own estimate. The device estimated he was 60 seconds from the target, and closing fast. Definitely a setback, but not enough time to think about what he was running into. The target looked like a multi-residential unit, and the coordinates suggested she was on the 5th floor. Elevator or stairs? It was a coin-toss, he would decide on arrival. He was also mostly disarmed, which might be a problem, although how big of a problem would be determined on site. As he chugged along, he only seemed to run faster; he felt exhilarated going all out, despite getting soaked from the relentless downpour. Memories of running towards danger during the war mingled in his head. He was born for situations like this; charging headlong into danger, not knowing the odds. Hang in there, Res. I’m coming.

The sweating wasn’t isolated to Sheep’s brow. His palms and everything else were getting involved. Nervous response, nothing he could do to stop it. The gruff man said, “I think we’ve played fair here. You know who sent us and what we want. How about you relax a little. We can all relax now. Nobody has to die.” As the word DIE hung in the air, suddenly, Sheep lost his grip on the joystick. It plummeted to the floor, along with the rest of the cord attached to it, including the end that plugged in to the Atari. Two of the men immediately squatted and covered their ears, bracing for the massive explosion, convinced that the dead man’s switch was real. The gruff man didn’t move an inch. “I fuckin knew it. You were bluffing the whole time. Boys, arm up!”, he yelled, and you could hear the vengeance in his voice. However this was going to go, things had escalated now. The other two men grabbed their guns by the door and drew a bead on Sheep. “Jackson, check the other rooms,” he ordered, and Jackson began searching the rest of the place. Sheep looked defeated and threw both hands in the air as he was ordered to his knees.

The gruff man stepped around behind him and forcefully grabbed one arm before zipping half of a plastic cuff around his wrist, yanking his other arm down to apply the second. “Now we’re gonna find out how much you know, after we take a little trip together,” he said. Jackson announced the other rooms were clear, but upon returning to the living room, he spotted Res crouched behind the couch. “Well ain’t that sweet, he’s got company. Stand up and identify yourself,” Jackson commanded her. More out of panic than anything else, Res howled, drew her firearm and got one shot off on Jackson as she stood up. It hit him square in the chest, and Jackson let out a quiet oof as the bullet hit his armor, flattened out, and fell to the floor. “She’s a spicy one,” said the second man, “now drop your little toy there, lady.”

Res did as he said, there was no point in resisting any further. She was lucky to be alive at that point, and unlike Sheep, she didn’t plan to gamble anymore. Her comms buzzed again, pointlessly. It was a hopeless situation for her and Sheep. The second man approached her and did a quick pat down, making sure she didn’t have any more surprises for them. Jackson grunted, “I think you might have left a bruise. Here, let’s trade.” He backhanded her across the cheek, the reinforced Kevlar knuckles of his gloves making contact with her cheekbone. She winced in pain. The gruff man strolled over to Res with another set of plastic cuffs. “You know the drill. Let’s go easy.” Res relented and slowly placed her wrists together behind her back. It was over. She and Sheep were leaving with these guys whether they liked it or not. The gruff man retrieved his gun and two head covers from his duffle bag. He was taking them away hostage-style. Jackson and the second man had their weapons aimed at Sheep and Res.

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Cheapdog (part four)

Sheep quickly searched the room for anything that looked even remotely like a dead-man’s switch. He didn’t have any old-fashioned remote controls anywhere; everything was voice command now. But he did have something his grandfather once owned that should fool them. He dashed to his bedroom closet and yanked out his gambit. An artifact from a simpler time. An Atari 2600 joystick, with a cord and a single red button. This could work. He quickly stuffed the excess wire up his sleeve and zipped his jacket shut before shuffling back to the front door.

“Ok, this is it. Nobody shoots. We’re going to talk,” Sheep announced, before unlocking the door and slowly turning the handle. Res ducked down and made herself as small as possible, clasping her mouth with one hand, in case any sound tried to escape. She was armed, but outnumbered, and scared out of her mind. Staying hidden was her best defense.

The men in the hallway trained their guns on the center of the door as the handle turned and it swung open very slowly. The lights were on inside, and before them stood Sheepdog, with the detonator in his right hand. It was black and compact, with an obvious trigger, which his thumb was covering. “Easy now, nobody has to get hurt, Sheep,” said the gruff man, who sounded like he smoked cigars for a living. “Everyone, drop your weapons, and
step in, single-file. If anyone is left in the hall, come in NOW or get merked with all your buddies here,” Sheep ordered. “Holy shit, he just might pull this off,” Res thought, after hearing the situation change. Exchanging glances, the men sat their guns down just inside the doorway and stepped back slowly before forming a line and marching in, closing the door behind them.

“Is that everyone? Don’t fuck with me!“, Sheep said. He could see their eyes darting around behind the black ballistic masks they were wearing to cover their faces. The tough guy act was working, the men were scared shitless. This was supposed to be a snatch and snitch mission, intel-gathering; nobody was prepared to deal with a suicide bomber. “Yep, just
us three,” said the gruff voice. He was a little taller than the other two. “So what’s say you, I dunno, disarm that thing and we can talk? You seem awful tense.”



The quad was losing speed. No amount of pounding on the dash would fix anything right now, but out of frustration, Dec pounded on the dash anyway. Rotor 4 had stopped smoking, and it was nearly white hot now. The rest of the oil must have cooked out of the bearing. At any moment, it was giving up. He did some quick math in his head. At the best velocity, he was ten seconds out. At this velocity, with rotor 4 ready to seize, he’d be on
foot, running full speed through the mud towards the destination. This would cost him a few minutes, although the beer in his gut was telling him he could do better, and his adrenaline agreed.


Ffffffffiiiiizzzzzt. CLONK. Alarms sounded and lights flashed in the quad. “Warning, rotor 4, offline. Emergency landing sequence commencing. Remain seated for your safety,” the onboard computer blared over the sound system. Well, shit. He was about to land, and at this point, he didn’t care if the rest of the quad burst into flames. It could burn behind him as he ran. He had to keep making forward progress. The lasers beneath the quad measured out a safe landing zone, then all 3 rotors froze, forcing an instant descent arc. About 3 meters from the ground, they fired back up at full speed, creating a cushion of air to break the fall, before spinning to a complete stop. The canopy ejected, and Dec was out, sprinting to the destination. “This might be a one-man job,” Dec thought, “but just in case, I’m calling in support”. He pulled out his communicator, tapped the destination, and dragged an icon of an eye floating above a pyramid to the location, without breaking stride. Lightning branched across the clouds overhead, and a hard rain pelted him in the face ceaselessly. He felt the thunder in his chest.

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Cheapdog (part three)

Dec was a few beers deep at the Vets table in Meatspace, across town. He suddenly got a message on his comms. Given the hour, and his present company, there was only maybe one person it could be. He checked it.

Dec, it’s 15. Res is in big trouble. She needs your help, now. I’ve sent her coordinates. Hurry.


What followed were GPS coordinates that were extremely specific. Dec hesitated for a second. Genesis 15 was wild, but he wasn’t a liar. “Gotta go play the hero, boys,” Dec said as he stood up and patted his hip. Nothing was there. Either he went to Res’ place unarmed or he left his weapon at her place. He didn’t like those odds; he didn’t know anything about the situation. “Sharp, you armed?”, he asked one of the other vets. “No sir, at least not in here. You know my temper,” Sharp replied, turning back to his beer. “Guess I’m going to have to improvise, if I’m not too late,” Dec thought, as he made a quick visit to some friends before he sprinted to his quadcopter in the rain, which was blowing slightly sideways as it fell.

He jumped in, got strapped in, and tapped his communicator against the dash to transfer the coordinates to the quad’s navigation. Multiple routes were available, and with a few more taps, an emergency beeline route was chosen and he lifted off. He enabled race/crisis mode. “This is stupid,” Dec muttered as the copter flew about 10% beyond its design parameters, heavy raindrops battering the windshield canopy.

The banging at the door continued. “Sheepdog! Open up! You’re only making this worse for everyone. You open the door now, we can talk!”, said the outsider. Res, still peeking from behind the couch, slowly shook her head no. Sheepdog looked like the kind of guy that would fold under this kind of pressure. He was a no-friction kind of guy, and this was textbook friction. Sheep turned his head and stared at the door with his mouth beginning to open. “No Sheep, don’t!”, Res hissed, just as Sheepdog uttered a single, loud word at the door. “Stop!”. “Stop? Is he fucking crazy? When has that ever worked?”, she thought. The banging stopped, and the doorknob quit moving. From the hall, the voice said, “What did you say?”.

Dec was pushing the quad hard. He could feel a rolling vibration traveling through the quad from the front to the rear, suggesting the airframe was getting fatigued. One of the drawbacks of choosing the hot rod version instead of the luxury model, but right then, he needed more speed. The problem with batteries was always weight. You could run a gasoline engine low and the vehicle got lighter as you approached empty. A near-empty battery weighed the exact same as a fully-charged one; heavy. Looking around the interior, the heaviest thing he could jettison was the passenger seat. “Oh well,” Dec sighed, “guess I never used it anyway.” He jammed his hand under the seat and pulled up until the seat started tearing away from the carbon fiber floorpan. He wrenched it loose, and after pulling the emergency canopy open lever, chucked it out and overboard. He was gaining on the location, 2 minutes out.

Res was panicked. Whoever was outside, they were definitely coming in now. Sheepdog just sealed their fate. He stood up and tiptoed to the door. “I said stop. There are lots of bombs in here, and I’m holding a dead-man’s switch. If I drop it, this whole block goes up in flames.” Sheep sounded dead serious; it was one hell of a bluff.

There was some muffled discussion outside. The strangers were discussing their options. “They didn’t say anything about bombs,” one said. “They don’t pay me enough for this kind of shit”, another said. A gruffer voice added, “ahh he’s bluffing. There’s no intel on this guy that suggests he’s anything more than a garden-variety nerd.” Finally, the leader spoke up. “Bull-fuckin-shit, Sheepdog. We’re calling your bluff. Open this door and show us the device. We don’t want to hurt you, so don’t make us hurt you.” They were dressed head to toe in level 3 soft body armor, so anything out of a handgun would thump, but none of them would die. They could afford to play this out.

Back in the quad, Dec was still en route. Less than a minute to target, and he still didn’t know what he was rushing into. It could just as easily have been a prank by 15. He knew 15 talked to Res though, and that was the only proof he needed to justify this high effort rescue. The quad’s vibration had turned into a violent cowl shake and it wasn’t going away. As Dec surveyed the interior, a glowing red chunk of metal caught his attention. Blade number 4, on the right rear, was overheating. He had been meaning to fix that. Too late now. The quad was doomed. “At least it isn’t smoking,” he thought, before it started smoking. Bearing seizure was imminent, and though the quad was safe enough on 3 engines to land, it sure as hell wouldn’t do anything fast. 30 seconds to target…at the current, unsustainable velocity.

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Cheapdog (part two)

“Res, we haven’t had much time to catch up lately. A lot has happened on my end over the past few days. With the approval of our manager, I made a trip on-site to where the missing footage was recorded.” He knitted his fingers together and leaned back a little as Res took the bait. “I wore a serviceman disguise and brought a full spectrum toolkit. None of the surveillance systems in that area were susceptible to tampering on any wireless spectrum. So I probed further, worked out a little deal with the doorman to get a look at the entry logs.”

He continued. “Yes, you chastised me about that before, but at the time, it was my only option. I was in a tight spot and so close to the answer, or so I thought. I guess I didn’t recognize what I was seeing. A man, dressed head to toe in a white, patterned suit. The design was very specific, like mosaic tiles pasted across the entire surface. But the kicker was a matching mask, and I only caught a glimpse of his wrist color because he was so well covered. He stepped out briefly, met with someone outside, then returned to the elevator. I’m pretty sure I saw the invisible man, and in the log book, he was listed as the Relaxed Man. The doorman signed him back in after he returned from his brief exit outside.” The rain began gently falling as the familiar smell of petrichor wafted through the window.

Res looked at Sheep as though he had made a confession. Her eyes widened as she realized just how close he was getting to this. She stammered, “Sh-Sheepdog, you saw the invisible man? Oh fuck. Oh no. No no no. That’s it Sheep, that’s the end. Don’t say another word about this to our manager or to anyone. Promise me. Both of our asses are on the line here, and they’re even closer to the line now. Once the agents review the footage of you in that lobby, it’s only a matter of time before it comes back to you.”

“But that’s the beauty of it, Res. Sure, these agents could pull some splices, and there would be me with the doorman, but still, the invisible man is invisible. To surveillance. They’d never see us in the same room together. The log book was so vague, that if you weren’t there to witness him, you wouldn’t be able to connect the dots. I don’t even think the doorman knows who he is. The log entries I saw mentioning the Relaxed Man were very few. Either he doesn’t live there, or he stays there very rarely. Correlation was hard enough with me being there on-site, and I just happened to be there when he was. Any other day of the week would have been a crapshoot, probably turning up nothing.”

Sheep was pleased with himself, as though he was bragging and talking Res into this whole mess. Res wanted nothing to do with it. She wanted to spend more time with Dec, and that door was left open, but not the kind of time a third visit on this topic would bring. She respected him, she liked him, and here was Sheep, both causing this contact with Dec and escalating it. It was paradoxical. It was also tempting. If what Sheep was saying was true, they really were close to finding out exactly who was in that missing footage. They just didn’t know the mechanism behind why he wasn’t appearing on camera. This wasn’t some primitive disguise to fool one or two cameras. There was literally no footage of the invisible man anywhere, just a few spliced clips where someone should have been. Suddenly, Res had a message on her comms device; she heard it ping from her back pocket. “Go ahead and answer it,” Sheep said.

“I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves or figments of their imagination, indeed, everything and anything except me.”
― Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man

Once again, it was Genesis 15. Res’ heart skipped a beat as she began to realize the implication here. Not only did she have agents to worry about, but she had Sheepdog pursuing the invisible man, and Genesis 15 was somewhat aware of what Sheep had been doing. Why was 15 bugging her, of all people, unless…maybe…it wasn’t as uncontrolled and wild as she believed. The quote could also apply to Genesis 15 himself. She often forgot that this AI was just code roaming the net, not an actual person, and she wasn’t interested in all the debates regarding which AI seemed like artificial life. Her mental compromise was to just treat them as individuals. They did exist, not by the strict definition of human existence, but they did live, on some level. That part she never argued. She formulated a reply.


There are a few invisible men; in this world, and on the wire. I know the difference.


She hit send and waited. Sheep started to look impatient, as if he had somewhere to go. “Sheep, it’s 15. He’s been bugging me with cryptic messages about invisible men and ghosts lately. It’s not like we even know each other. Maybe he does this to everyone and I keep taking the bait. I don’t sense any malice here, but I can’t rule it out”, Res said, “does he do this to you?”. Sheep just shrugged and pulled out his device to check it. No new messages, certainly not from 15. “Not really. I think he’s into you.”, Sheep replied. They both grinned as Res’ device pinged a reply.


You’ve got company. I’ll see what I can do, but you and Sheep need to act fast.


Before Res could even reply to the message, there were three heavy knocks at the door. BAM BAM BAM. “Open up, it’s the police!”, a voice yelled from the hall. Res and Sheep exchanged terrified looks as if to say, I dare you to open it. They knew the rules. Keep quiet and wait it out. A closed door is a closed door with no surprises.

Sheep began nervously rocking in his chair, and they heard the sound of something small and metallic scraping across the door handle outside. Are they picking the goddamn lock? It can’t be the police. Res checked her hip. Her sidearm was there, well-hidden and ready to strike as fast as she could present it. She silently mouthed to Sheep, I’m going behind the couch, and quietly climbed over the back. Another knock at the door. “We know you’re in there, and we’re coming in one way or another!”, the voice said again. They could hear a few more feet shuffling also. This person was not alone. Res peeked over the top of the couch, and looked towards the door, where the doorknob was being tested, turned left and right as the scraping sounds continued. “Agents?”, Sheep whispered to Res, and this time Res shrugged. No idea. Her comms pinged again. 15 again.

It doesn’t look like they’re going to give up. Don’t panic. Be cool, like Fifteen cool.

“Sure”, Res thought, “super easy to be cool when you’re floating around in cyberspace.”

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Cheapdog (part one)

Sheepdog spent a little time cleaning up his place before Res was due to arrive. It wasn’t dirty, per se, but it hadn’t seen female company for quite some time. Sheep was too shy, too introverted, to get serious about pursuing the opposite sex, but he didn’t grow up in a jail cell. He knew a thing or two about what women expected in his place. Toilet seat down, with a clean surface. Replaced the TP roll. Paper facing out or behind? Out. Discarded a few little pieces of trash here and there, and polished the bathroom mirror briefly, which had a few specks of toothpaste scattered near the bottom. Next, he addressed the living room, where he spent a few minutes picking up discarded jackets and t-shirts that he intended to either fold or hang up anyway. What else. The kitchen? A quick once-over and everything was in order. This wasn’t a date, he had to keep reminding himself, he just wanted to make it presentable to company.

Just as the grandfather clock began pounding out the eight chimes for 8pm, there was a knock at the door. “Open up, it’s the police!”, Res yelled from the hallway outside. Sheep chuckled and let her in. “Not so loud Res, you’ll freak out the neighbors,” Sheep scolded her playfully as she plopped down on the couch. Sheep approached her and sat in his favorite recliner opposite of the couch, kicking the lever down so it would recline. “Just getting comfortable,” he said, “because I have a feeling this is going to take a while.”

Res stared at Sheep directly for a few moments, working out a witty retort, but nothing was there. She grinned and looked around the room. “You know, I’m not here often, but you seem to be pretty decent at keeping the place tidy. Ugh, I need to use the ladies’ room, be right back.” With that, Res popped up and ducked into the restroom. Sheep knew her all too well, mostly. He mindlessly thumbed the communicator in his pocket for a few minutes until he heard the sink faucet run then turn off. He turned to see Res exit the bathroom, cross the living room, and plop back down on the couch.

“You put the TP roll on backwards. If you had a cat, you’d walk in with a pile of paper on the floor and an empty roll,” Res said with a quick wink, “but I don’t see any cats around here, so you’re good. Funny how life has these little coin tosses that don’t usually make any difference one way or the other.” Sheep wasn’t in any hurry but he was kind of wanting her to get to the point. She was stalling. He said, “you can never guess what your guests will prefer. For me, I usually don’t even snap it into the roller holder. I don’t see the point. But I knew you’d have a preference. Speaking of preferences, have you ever thought about how towels and wash cloths should be folded? It’s an interesting topic, believe it or not. Everyone has their method, and they got it from their parents or siblings, and it’s their way. It seems really trivial, but people are genuinely annoyed when it’s done another way. It’s just a few bits of fabric that just have to fit into a certain space and I figure there are probably… well anyway, maybe it’s not that interesting to anyone else.” Sheep was losing his audience, but he knew when to stop. This was her turn. “Yeah, I’m sure there’s a manual for folding bathroom towels, with US GOVT printed across the top along with a document serial number,” Res said sarcastically. She paused and they both laughed at the absurdity of the topic, which, along with the timing, helped break the tension.

“Sheep, you and I have known each other for ages. We have usually been back-to-back, splicing narratives together, reviewing footage, solving mysteries and triggering actions. I’d say we’re good at our jobs. But,” and she paused to make bookend shapes with her hands, “I think you’ve locked on to something that is more dangerous than you recognize. You picked up on the scent and, like a bloodhound, you’ve actually made some progress sniffing out the source. Yes, I’m talking about the ghost footage.”

Sheep looked at her bleakly, feeling the mood in the room change. It felt like getting laid off, and she was the manager who, unfortunately, had to deliver the bad news. Yet, not before his curiosity was answered. “Res, this almost sounds practiced. You could go on and give me the warning, but let’s fill in some blanks here first. Number one, what’s driving this on your end?”, Sheep asked.

“Let’s just say,” Res said, “there are layers to the organization that aren’t obvious. We have our manager and he has his manager and all the way up, to infinity. There are also people that don’t get a Splicer paycheck like we do, but they still get paid. Off the books, mostly. Who do you think watches us, our manager? He’s just a necessary rung on the ladder. We don’t even need him, honestly. Due to the nature of our function at the company, Splicer can’t really afford to trust secrets and the level of things we access to simple middle managers. There’s another group for that. One of those group members has met with me, twice, and I don’t think he wants to meet with you.”

Sheep enjoyed the candor, the kind of real talk you can only get from coworkers that aren’t eating corporate soup for lunch and regurgitating talking points and vague hearsay which would be safe during testimony. This was the straight dope. She wasn’t sugar coating the message.

“So, am I to understand that this special team, that we knew nothing about before, whose job it is to watch the ASE’s for anything unusual, sent an agent to contact you in person, deliver a warning, and what…warn you again?”, Sheep queried. “If I didn’t know any better, I would expect these to be the rambling delusions of a psycho. Although, I do know better, so I believe you so far. What about the second meeting, though, if the first was a warning?”

“Well,” Res began, as she shifted on the couch, “yeah. It was another warning.” Res was carefully dancing around the whole ‘Dec came over and made me breakfast’ part. “Same agent. He visited me at home, very politely. We had a few drinks and he delivered the message as clearly as possible. He told me, and you, to stop pursuing this ghost. I don’t know what the big deal is, but it is a big deal, that’s for sure. It was also the last warning,” and Res made the shape of an O with one hand as she said, “we have zero warnings remaining. Next, there will be action. When, where, what type, none of that was explained. You know what Splicer is capable of, mostly. I don’t want to be an enemy of this outfit, if I can avoid it. I suggest you do the same.”

“Does Beat know anything about this?”, Sheep asked hopefully. “No, he hasn’t been mentioned. He’s not nearly as close to this thing as we are. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s as far away as we should be. The less we all know, the better. Whatever is missing from that footage needs to stay missing, and I can’t explain it any better than that, Sheep.” Res was ready to rest her case but she saw the wheels turning behind Sheep’s eyes. He was looking for an angle, he was curious. This had been his pet for a while. Suddenly, he kicked the recliner lever back up, so the chair back sat him straight up, and he leaned forward while staring at Res.

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Restricted (part three)

Dec searched the room with his eyes, quickly, as if reacting to some kind of training, before replying, quietly. “This was my idea, to meet with you in private. Other people on my team suggested some other forms of persuasion, but I’ve had a lot of luck just being honest with,” the target, he wanted to say, “people of interest. It’s not a list you want to be on. Stumbled across it, I guess, but I can’t protect you from negative outcomes if this thing continues.” The last sentence just kind of hung in the air as they both sipped their coffee. An uncomfortable silence was forming as the seconds ticked by.

“Got any eggs in the fridge?”, Dec asked. Res replied, “coffee and breakfast, yes please!”, as she opened the fridge and started unloading everything she wanted to eat, all raw ingredients. Enough for some Denver omelets, for two hungry and almost hung-over people. “You know,” Dec teased, “this is gonna go straight to your hips.” Res winked and said, “got a problem with that?”. She was keeping it light, although he had lit an ember of fear deep within her heart that she was trying to hide. Dec smiled and set to work, chopping peppers and ham, as Res worked alongside him, helping lay out the frying pan and setting the table with plates and silverware. Neither of them said a word until the omelets were done, acting just like an old married couple. Res couldn’t believe this was real. It was too natural, too easy. But it felt so good. She wished breakfast with Dec would become a regular thing. Would she be enough, without these little secret messages and warnings, to bring him back? As she ate her omelet and sipped her coffee, they made small talk while she pondered the future, and wondered what was so dangerous about them finding essentially nothing. Dec made a damn good breakfast; she was sure of that.

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Restricted (part two)

Dec scoured the ceiling with his gaze while he found just the right words. “Well you see,” he bellowed over the next song, “I’m kind of on the clock. Weird hours.” He shifted in his seat, pulling a piece of paper out of his back pocket. It was another origami piece, this time a paper balloon that was collapsed. “Ever see one of these?”, he asked. “I think so. You’re supposed to pull on these corners then blow in the hole to pop it open, and look inside, right?” “You got it. Try it.” Res studied it briefly, lifted it up by the “wings”, and puffed into the exposed hole on the end, inflating the balloon. She peered inside, where a little handwritten note said “Is it private here?”. Res slowly sat the balloon down, stared at Dec, and nodded yes. “Good,” Dec said, “because I have another message to deliver. I don’t know who this is for, but you guys gotta stop chasing this ghost. It sounds dangerous. They’re getting more than concerned. Don’t get me wrong, they didn’t exactly twist my arm to get me to deliver the message, and I hate that it has to be like this, but…” Before Dec could finish his sentence, Res practically jumped across the table and laid a passionate kiss on him, feeling some stubble grind into her tender skin. The contrast just made her more excited. “Let’s finish this lecture later,” she said as she started pulling his shirt over his head. Dec was stunned but he put up no resistance; business and pleasure, why not? Res quickly reached behind herself and instantly released her bra before removing her own shirt, pressing her skin against his with another kiss. She felt his heart pounding. It was powerful, nearly audible. Without losing the embrace, Dec stood up and carried her to the bedroom, quickly noticing a new toothbrush still in the packaging at the foot of the bed.

After some time, lying flat on his back covered in sweat and Res’ lipstick, with Res draping herself over his massive frame, left leg overlapping his own, he took a really good look at her. Skin, impossibly soft and young to the touch. If he hadn’t read her file, he might have easily mistaken her for a 17-year-old, and this would never have gone this far. Her eyes were a light brown, hazel color, even here in the dimly lit bedroom, they looked like there was an inner light making them glow. He reached over with his Terminator arm and stroked the shaved side of her head which felt freshly shaven. Her gaze darted around his face as he touched her gently, apparently awaiting some more encouraging words. He managed to pet the side of her head that wasn’t shaved and was surprised at how soft her hair was. “Most men aren’t this touchy; I’m surprised you’re still awake with me. This whole touching business is usually me after the guy falls asleep,” Res cooed, while she absorbed every brutal detail of his scars and his iron-jawed visage. Contrast. Suddenly she was transported back in time, mentally, to the story about how her parents met. Was this what mom experienced, the first time? This infatuation, this weird appreciation for the exotic?

Dec announced that he was overdue for a bathroom break and ducked into the bathroom to relieve himself. His scent was already soaked into the pillow and sheets where he was laying, and Res didn’t miss an opportunity to deeply inhale what he had left behind. There were no hints of colognes, or aftershave, or anything of that nature. It was just…his sweat, with a hint of some kind of soap. As Dec returned to the bed, he reached for the toothbrush. “Not so fast, soldier,” Res teased. She wasn’t done, and led him by the hand to the shower. Res traced the scar around his arm with a single finger. She couldn’t comprehend what was under the skin.  

The next morning, Res was still asleep as Dec performed his sit up straight and get out of bed routine. He headed to the kitchen and started brewing some coffee with the percolator, after fishing around in the cabinets for mugs and coffee beans. He really didn’t want to reinforce the message with Res, but he had to. That was the whole point of coming over, and this was no time to get attached. But before he could even come up with a nicer way of breaking it to Res, he heard her from the bedroom. “If you’re making coffee, I want some,” she said, “doesn’t need to be fancy, I’ll drink it black.” Of course you will. That’s the way Dec was making it. He didn’t have the luxury of sugar or milk during wartime, so he learned to like it black. Tasted better anyway, as long as the beans were fresh.

Res arrived in the kitchen looking like a big kid, with Dec’s oversized shirt practically swallowing her whole. This was the awkward time, the morning after, and she sensed an uneasiness hanging in the air. What was last night? Just two desperate loners looking for a connection, or something better? She had to tread lightly. Decided to keep it light. “Good, you found everything”, she said, smiling approvingly, as she admired the fresh cup, still steaming. “Yep. I did. But at my place, everything is about 3 feet higher. You’d be crawling up the cabinets if the roles were reversed. Nearly threw out my back bending down for this stuff,” Dec joked, and Res grinned as she blew the steam away for her first sip. “Listen, Res, about last night…”, said Dec, “I don’t want it to be weird. We’re two adults, and here we are sharing some coffee. But that wasn’t my whole intent of coming over. I know how this sounds, but allow me to finish.” Res nodded and sipped the hot coffee, not sure where this was going.

Dec paused as he took a drink, then continued. “I’ll say this one last time, and be done with it. You remember before, the warning about ghosts? Well, there is a lot of interest, and it involves you, Sheepdog, and hell, maybe even Beat. Too many eyes watching for something that shouldn’t exist. Looking too closely. You gotta stop looking. If you find something, well, I don’t know what the next step is, but it’s bad, maybe even deadly. Tell your buddy Sheepdog too. Maybe even word for word. Don’t get me wrong, I like you Res, and that’s half the reason I’m saying this in person.”

Res was staring at him, wide-eyed now, soaking it all in. What could happen if they did find something? What if they already found it but just didn’t know what they had seen? She could tell, Dec was dead serious. This was their last warning. Whatever was going on, she felt they needed to get about ten miles from it, immediately. “So if that’s half the reason, what’s the other half?”, she quipped.

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Optical Camouflage

“Why didn’t I think of this?” Sheepdog thought. It seemed so obvious now. The man in the suit, the Relaxed Man, hiding in plain sight. He was right there, but at the same time, on camera, he wasn’t. Did he really crack the code? Was he the man missing from the footage? He had to be, the evidence was plain, but was it always him? Could there be more people out there, among the billions, sneaking past surveillance without a care in the world? The implications were staggering. Every kind of crime, unrecorded, every devious act, unknown to the global surveillance apparatus that paid Sheepdog’s salary. This was a huge threat to Splicer, and he was face to face with it. Suddenly, his comms buzzed briefly. Checking it, a single message, from Res.


You gotta drop the bone, Sheep. You know which one.

Her tone had changed. She seemed too abrupt, too succinct. Something had her scared. He knew Res wasn’t easily spooked, so something must have happened to really rattle her cage. He needed to know more, much more, about, well… everything. He sent a reply.



Let’s meet up and discuss this bone. I don’t know how close we are to it.



He sent it but instantly regretted it. He should have just said OK and dropped the whole thing, but he pushed his luck. He had too many concerns to just turn it loose and forget it. He stared blankly at the comms screen, waiting for Res to reply with a time, or a place, or anything. After a few minutes, a message arrived.



Too close. I’ll meet you at your place, tonight.



His fears were instantly confirmed. Res was shaken, and it made Sheep even more nervous. Would it even be her, coming to visit tonight? It could be some bogeyman from Splicer who he had never seen before, spoofing her comms. They had the tech. It wasn’t her usual style to set someone up, but he would feel a little better at least confirming it was Res on the other end. He rolled the dice and sent an obvious trap message.

My usual place or my other place?

Once again, his comms buzzed as he received her reply, a few seconds later. Fingers crossed, he glanced at the screen.


I know you only have one place, Cheapdog. 8pm. Don’t need to clean up for me.


With that single nickname, Sheep breathed a sigh of relief. It was only known by a handful of people, and one of those people was definitely Res, because she gave him that name, ages ago. She must have picked up on the trap and knew this was some kind of call-and-response authentication scenario.

“The eagle flies at midnight.” “I’m bringing salmon to the picnic.” 

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Project Fulcrum

He had done it. Rex leaned back in his Eames recliner, smugly reading over his “test plan” for the future with Frank’s access to the Stitcher organization. It was so clever he couldn’t stop smiling while flipping through the pages and charts. There was just one problem. He had to ensure that it didn’t fall into anyone else’s hands, and if it did, that it wouldn’t make any sense to them.

The plan, at its core, was playing the stock market, systematically, with some variance built in to throw off anyone or anything casually tracking the market. Knowing what they knew, about the AI warning Frank of “bad moves”, it was just a matter of placing the bets and raking in the profits, with an intentional loss from time to time of a few million credits. That would help throw off tracking, as well as serve as a tax shelter from a great deal of profit. Frank and Rex had already performed second-stage testing, to see if the AI could predict short-term losses through a tangle of shell corporations that Frank operated. The results didn’t surprise either of them: 100% success.

Rex dubbed his plan Project Fulcrum, because it gave him the leverage he needed, financially, to complete his own bigger project, without involving shadowy figures that deliver physical violence in the event of a late or missed payment. As far as he was concerned, there were no downsides. Frank and Rex would beat the casino on a regular basis, and eventually Rex’s project would be flush with cash and run to completion. He was reviewing and re-reviewing the plan to ensure that there were no dangling threads. It seemed airtight.

Back to the problem at hand. How to essentially encrypt the plan documents so that they only made sense to he and Frank. Distributing the plan piece by piece was a good start. Embedding those chunks into some other kind of data was another good idea. But reassembling the chunks in the right order was the absolute key to it all, and deserved the most consideration. For this, Rex turned to a DNA lab he had done business with, many years ago. They could create and assemble specific DNA strands to any specification, from nothing; you supplied the code. They could also embed that DNA into other, common strands, and you had to know the specific marker in the sequence to even begin to decode the DNA they had inserted. They would hide their strands specifically in DNA strands where variation was expected to be present; for example, the DNA sequence that determines the pattern of a leopard’s spots. No two were alike, and their location varied, as other sequences in the DNA would essentially point to wherever that gene sequence was located, which was also variable. There were also inactive genes one could hide new sequences, that functionally, did nothing in an organism. Fun fact, most human DNA is inactive, or copies of active sequences, which is why, once the human genome was 100% mapped out, they only found a 2% difference between humans and chimpanzees. In the programming world, this is known as cruft. Layer after layer of band aid coding that accumulated over the evolution of a species, or computer program. Eventually it led to bloat with genomes that were much longer than they actually needed to be, which again was beneficial for anyone trying to hide information in DNA.

Rex would eventually end up visiting the DNA lab, Blue Genes, and coding his creation. It would be an organism. It would grow and change over time. At regular steps of the organism’s growth cycle, it would shed and provide a new piece of the DNA puzzle to the recipient. The initial phase of life, the adjusted sperm and egg, would contain two keys to the DNA sequence lock. They were complimentary and mostly matching.

Rex was creating a snake. From birth, it would continually be fed and nurtured to reach the next growth phase. Once it was fully grown, sampling each of the shed skins would yield the entire plan for Project Fulcrum, so this would take some time. However, they could always accelerate the growth cycle from the beginning by tweaking some growth genes. It just meant that the snake wouldn’t live a long life, but the tradeoff was acceptable. This wasn’t a pet; it was a delivery system. Once the credits were transferred, Blue Genes would create the snake and hand it off to Rex in a plain cardboard box, which he would then hand-deliver to Frank. The instructions were nice and vague. “Here’s your pet snake. Keep him warm and fed, and clean his cage regularly”. Of course, cleaning his cage included carefully collecting pieces of the shed skin, and sending samples back to Blue Genes for analysis, decrypting the next piece of Project Fulcrum. But what about the sequencing numbers that tied it all together? Rex decided he’d deliver those to Frank, as needed, rather than handing them off up front. That would also add an element of randomness to the process to further prevent any kind of casual analysis in case anyone got curious. So that settled it, the plan for delivering the plan was another stroke of Rex genius. Frank just had to keep the snake alive, and with a small army of house staff at his disposal, assigning someone to take great care of his new pet was no more difficult than throwing darts at a target.

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Haunted (part three of three)

After a quick bite to eat and another monorail ride, Sheepdog was back in the office and was pleasantly surprised to see Res had made it in. He wanted to rush over and fill her in on what he had discovered, but noticed she was already head down on her desk. Mean hangover. It would have to wait for another time, so he made his way to the manager’s office instead and noticed he was on comms, apparently deep in a discussion with someone. He glanced up to see Sheep approaching and waved him away. Sheepdog still smiled and gave him the thumbs up anyway, mission mostly successful. He returned to his workspace, plopped down and unpacked his gear.

First order of business, to see what he could discover about the names in the logs. He opened the Stitcher Sentinel tool, their private database of aliased, protected and non-protected persons. Thinking he would be able to decode at least a couple of names from the visitor logs, he entered them all as a batch job and waited for results. The screen came back with actual names for 3 of the 5 people, correlated with that address. Xiu Lee, Chinese national, light skinned, suspect number one. James Whitmore, British/US dual citizen, light skinned, suspect two. Malcom Warner, US citizen, dark skinned, not a suspect. That left Sheepdog with a total of 3 suspects, one without a name. Whoever Relaxed Man was, he didn’t exactly adopt a relaxed security posture, because beyond not being listed in Sentinel, he was invisible on camera. That meant he must either be protected by Stitcher on some level Sheepdog had never seen, or he was effectively outside the entire system, and Sheepdog really felt like he was onto something here worth investigating more thoroughly.

For the next three hours, as the sun set behind him through the floor to ceiling window, Sheepdog studied feverishly. Camera sensor design and evolution, optical camouflage theory, electronic warfare tactics against surveillance systems, hacking video data streams, anything he could think of which might be related or explain the difference between what he saw and what the cameras saw, or rather, didn’t see. As he was about to give up for the day, he received a message on comms. It was from Genesis 15, and written in song format.

“Grown-ups don’t understand

Why children all love him the most

But kids all know that he loves them so

Casper the friendly ghost”

This was completely in character for Genesis 15, who seemed to fashion his personality around a mischievous teenager, and it told Sheepdog that someone was watching over his shoulder. Was he getting too close to a sensitive topic? Was this a warning, or did Genesis 15 happen to pick up some footage from today and put some pieces together by himself? Since 15 was still basically uncontrollable, this wasn’t based on internal Stitcher teamwork. Genesis 15 probably didn’t have access to the same feed data Sheepdog had been reviewing, but what if 15 could access the surveillance cameras in the area, see Sheep on location, and also notice the lack of imagery that he was tracking down? 15 might prove useful at this point. There was still a puzzle to be solved and he seemed to be interested enough already.  Sheepdog decided to send a short reply to 15 to tease him. He hit reply and entered the following:

“On the next episode of ghost hunters, 15 reveals his motivations for becoming a ghost hunter and explains his advanced techniques to successfully debunk them.”

Within seconds, Sheep got a 3-character reply from Genesis 15.

 “LOL”

The bait was set. Now all Sheep could do is wait until 15 wanted to brag about his superior intelligence and tell Sheep exactly what he wanted to know. Sheepdog logged off for the day and headed out the door. Res was long gone, with a small drool spot on her desk being the only tangible proof she had ever been there today.