Johnny Wagner, 3/17/09 11:57 AM

I don’t know why I came in to work today. It’s not safe here. It’s not safe anywhere anymore. I should have followed my instinct and left town, Max thought he had convinced me not to, but it was really Stephanie.

I’m not sure what exactly she told me anymore, but at the time it seemed to make sense. Now, I’m not sure again. Reaching in my pocket I produce my phone and begin punching out a message to Stephanie. The bell on the door jingles and I flip the phone shut before finishing. I watch the teenager that just entered carefully. His hair is long and greasy and his gut hangs out of his spider-man t-shirt that is just a little too small for him. He doesn’t look government but those bastards are clever. He pays me no mind for now, but I keep my eyes on him as he starts walking through the racks. That makes 4 customers in the store so far. Three of which, including the one who just entered are regulars, and the forth I’ve seen a time or two as well. I eye each of them up and down. How long have these guys been watching me, could any of these seemingly innocent comic book geeks be here to spy on me?

Probably not, but someone did follow me last night, and that sniffles guy… Turning back to my computer I start streaming another video of “Real Telekinesis.” A man moves a metal ball across a table, you can only see one of his hands, and obviously it’s some sort of magnet. I close the video and click on the next link. This one catches my attention right away. A young man sits at a glass table with nothing but a pencil on it. He is wearing no shirt.

“I’m not wearing a shirt so no one can say I had strings up my sleeves,” he seems a little worried, “The table is made of glass, so no magnets. I’m not even going to move my hands I’ll just hold them above my head.” He swallows hard and looks around again obviously nervous. “Don’t get me wrong this scares the shit out of me, I’m not posting this because I think it’s cool or I want to impress people, it’s because I need help, and lately there have been people after me. My name is Jason, and I live just outside of Seattle Washington. If anyone else knows anything about this, e-mail me at the address in the description.”

I watch as the boy lifts his arms above his head. At first nothing happen, but soon the pencil starts to shake. After a moment it slowly rises and flies up and hovers in mid air for a second. I watch the boy’s eyes for a moment, they follow the pencils movements perfectly, and when they look left the pencil flies left, when he looks up the pencil flies up. Jason breaths out and the pencil suddenly drops to the table and clatters agains the glass.

“That’s it,” he says looking back over his shoulder. “If you can help me, e-mail me.” He reaches forward and stops the webcam; the screen goes black. Interesting. Glancing at the time stamp on the video it was just uploaded last night around 2 AM. I bookmark the video and spin away from the computer screen for a second. I’ll have to show that to Max and see what he thinks. He said something about being chased as well. How many people like me are there? Maybe I should start watching the news or something, who knows what else is out there.

The bell jingles as the front door opens and I look up torn away from my thoughts.

It’s Max, but he isn’t alone… my jaw drops a little surprised to see that same preppy guy from the day before walking in right behind him.

Col. Abraham Smith, Central Division Leader, EV Tech 17/3/09 1150 HRS

The previous day’s recon went well and I have filled all my reports and forwarded them to the primary offices in New York. I placed the orders for the taps to be put in place in 084 and 087’s PoR, as well as the comic store. The tech crew should be in route to perform the job now. Mary and Ezekiel have acquitted themselves quite well in their missions to acquire the cell signals of the targets. For that reason I now find myself at a Starbucks, ironically right down from the comic store. I can see our comms van at the comic store, covering as an Entergy maintenance van.

Comms intercepted a call to a Byron O’Dell, designated 079, yesterday from a Jason Peters, a self proclaimed seeker of truth that works for the tabloid Sun. The brief conversation made out that this Peters had some Intel about 079’s past, presumable the incident in Mexico that 079 was involved in during the summer of ‘08. It was decided to tail 079 and put a tap onto Peters to watch them in case something unexpected happened that we might need to step in for. I arrived a little ahead of time to check on 084 and scout the area. At 1200 Peters arrives in an old Lincoln and enters the premises, 079 is late. I make a call to HQ to see how the tags are going and everything is proceeding as planned. The taps have been placed at 087 and 084’s PoR earlier today.

At 1218, 079 skids into the parking lot on his bike, stops at the end of the strip, and throws the kick stand down. I watch him look around, a displeased look on his face and pull his cell from a pocket and dial. I reach over to flip the switch on the decoder.

It rings twice before it picks up. “Hey bro! I thought you were right behind me?” I hear 089 almost yell into the receiver. I check the signal for the placed call. It was made to an Erik Mathews, a known accomplice of 079. From the earlier surveillance he was in charge of scouting the area for the reporter. Apparently he did not complete his charged mission. I shake my head,..civilians.

“Yo, you were supposed to scope the place out and give me a call!” 079 again growls into the phone.

There is a momentary pause, “Oh Right, right, right, right, I forgot man, you know me, I’m still not awake really…”, I listen as Mathews makes a groggy , almost incoherent reply, and turn the volume up.

There is another long pause in the conversation, and 079 barks back, “Well… Can you figure out who he is?!”

“Who, who is?” the Mathews kid asks confused and I decided he will not be a problem in our operations.

The conversation continues for a few more moments, eventually digressing into typical immature drabble and I drone it out and make sure the recorder is playing, just in case it needs to be reviewed at a later time. Finally I hear the cell click disconnecting and look up to see him walking toward the Starbucks. He talks a cursory glance my direction then hesitates and continues to stare at me. I just stare back and push my dark Ray-Ban sunglasses back up. Hmm, this happens too much for coincidence, maybe I need to be less conspicuous.

I have read the files on O’Dell, and know that he is a confirmed ESS, so I know he is not reading my thoughts. The company had suspected him as an EV for some time since we had evidence of his heritage and we know that the genes are genetically passed down generation to generation. It was finally confirmed when our detail that was shadowing him was involved in a collision with the target and the agent had the forethought to take the video in the car. After the issue with the police was resolved and we examined the tape, we saw that he literally tore his way out of the car to escape the wreckage.

After a few more moments, he smiles and turns to enter the coffee shop. My cell rings and I flip it open. It is Arkett.

“Hey, Abe we just got word from the tech geeks that the bugs are up and chirpin', figured you’d like to know.”

I can hear the voice of 084 in the background, “..Ok, are you sure because they’re here now,…yeah the Entergy guy is around back right now.” A pause, he must be on the phone. I need to get back to listen to this in full I can’t make out the voice of the other person.

“Well, ok if you say so. Are you gona be back soon from where ever you are? I kinda had plans tomorrow and I don’t usually work on Wednesdays.” Another pause, “Oh,..ok well I guess so, but only this time,…yeah bye.” I hear the phone drop on the hook and hear Wagner curse.

“Thanks, I am headed back to the office now, I have done what I wanted to here. Tell Henry to instruct Mary to have a team pick up Mr. Peters tonight at his place, we need to have a talk with him about his nosing around.”

“Sure thing, can do, and the nose joke wasn’t fuckin' funny.” Tim makes a sniffing sound, grunts and abruptly hangs up. I chuckle to myself for a moment, and close the phone. I start the ignition and pull out of the parking spot I had occupied. Time for me to get back.

Byron O'Dell, 3/17/09 11:39 AM

Ugh! I’m going to be late! When I went over this with Eric the night before I told him to be ready by 11:00 AM, but here it is almost noon and he still isn’t awake.

I pound loudly on his door; the frame vibrates and groans a bit in response. “Come on man! Get up! We gotta go!”

I groan and pull my phone from my pocket and call his number yet again. It rings several times as I mutter about his mother under my breath. I should have known better than to let him drink so much last night! It clicks over his voicemail and I hang up only to hit redial.

“Come on you bitch, pick up the fucking phone!!”

A few rings pass and finally a groggy voice answers, “Hello?”

“Finally!” I exclaim, “Eric get your sorry ass out of bed and let’s roll this guy told me not to fuck around we gotta be there now!” I bang on his door to add emphasis to my statement so he knows I’m here. I cringe a little at the cracking noise and the small fracture that formed under my fist. I guess I don’t know how strong I am sometimes… Oh well I don’t give a fuck he needs to hurry up!

“Huh? Byron? Oh hey, hold on man, someone’s at my door,” I smack my forehead in disbelief, he’s so fucking dense!

“Dude, it’s me at your door! Remember we are going to the Starbucks?”

There is a drawn out pause as the cogs in my best friends head slowly start to crank, “Oooohhhhh right, the Mexico guy.”

I cringe instinctively at the word Mexico. “Yeah dude that’s the one… lets keep it down on this Mexico shit though until we know for sure what’s going on.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right man, let me grab some clothes real quick and we’ll go,” he pauses and I can hear him sniff himself. “Think I have time to shower?”

I grit my teeth as I speak, “Hell no you don’t have time to shower, get your ass out here now!”

“Jeez alright… I’ll be there in a sec.” The phone clicks as he hangs up and I stand tapping my foot. After a few minutes I hear a crash coming from inside the door followed by a string of swear words. Shortly there after, the front door opens and my friends stands in the door rubbing the back of his close trimmed head. He’s wearing and old Tau Sigma Kappa shirt that’s almost two small for the hulking man, it’s obviously old and covered in old stains. It barely fits him. I raise an eyebrow and look at him.

“What? Everything else is dirty!” he stairs back at me incredulously, “It’s wash day dude.”

“It’s always wash day with you, now come on get in your truck and lets go! I’m gunna be late!” I walk down the steps leading up to his small apartment building and hop on my bike that is sitting on the sidewalk. “Remember you are supposed to go in first and scope out the place, I’ll call you and you let me know which guy you think he is and if you can make anything of it.”

Eric scratches the back of his head and nods slowly, “Yeah I got it man, lets roll.”

He heads for his pick up parked in the lot in front of us and I start up my bike. It’s 12:07. I’m late.

Johnny Wagner, 3/16/09 10:23 PM

I slam the door to my apartment locking both deadbolts and the door as quickly as I can. My eye shoots to the peephole and darts back and forth looking as far as the small portal will allow.

I put my back to the door and slide down to the floor of my entry way, letting my skateboard drop with me and it rolls across the hard wood section of the floor, but stops when it reaches the edge of the carpet. I allow myself to breath for the first time in what was probably almost two blocks finally feeling slightly safer in my own home. I spent most of the ride home looking behind me, and when I thought I saw another black car during the last leg of the journey; I picked up my board and flat out ran.

My lungs burn and my heart feels as though it’s going to beat out of my chest as the adrenaline from the experience continues to course through my veins. After a few minutes, my heart slows and my breathing normalizes. I relax and almost close my eyes for a moment.

My phone dings. I don’t know how to respond at first, my eyes open and I stare blankly at the wall across from me. I soon shake myself out of it and reach in my pocket and grab my cell and flip it open. It’s a text from Stephanie, “R u alive? LOL.”

I’d forgotten I didn’t text her when I left, that’s uncommon for me. I hit reply and start to punch in my response when a loud knock on the door at my back sends me flying to me feet, holding the phone up ready to strike as if it were a dagger.

I lower my arm slowly realizing just how ridiculous the idea of wielding a cell phone as weapon would be and stare a the door for a second. Who the hell would be here? This can’t be good. I quickly finish my text to Stephanie and hit send closing the phone and dropping it into my pocket.

I walk slowly to the door and peek through the peephole. It’s Max, I forgot about him, he seems to be looking back and forth and reaches up and knocks once again.

I quickly turn all the knobs and locks and pull the door halfway open, Max opens his mouth to speak, but only manages and startled yelp as I grab him by his shoulders and pull him quickly inside then shut the door and lock all the locks behind him.

“Hey dude, there was a…”

“I was followed,” I state cutting him off as I peer through the peephole. “I don’t know how safe I am any more.”

I turn around and push past Max walking into the living room and then down the hall and into my room, Max tries to talk again, but I ignore him, and he follows me into my room. I pull the open my top dresser drawer and begin digging through it.

“Followed? Strange, but listen, there was…” He starts again and I cut him of with an exclamation as I find what I’m looking for. I stuff the wad of cash I keep incase of emergencies into my pocket and turn towards my closet.

“Yeah I was followed by a black car of some kind… I don’t know what kind but it looked of government. They are after me.” I walk to the closet and pull a box off the upper shelf to the ground.

“Government? What?... Listen dude that guy from the shop, the sniffles guy he was…”

I shout again and pull a small pocket knife out of the box, I knew it was in here somewhere, I might need it incase im stuck on the road or something. I grab the compass and small survival guide as well then stick then push the box aside, the label “Cub Scout Stuff” now shows clearly. I stand an turn to walk past Max to my nightstand in search of my next items.

“Hey! Would you stop for a second!,” Max grabs me by my shoulders and holds me steady forcing my look him in the eye as he speaks,” I’ve been trying to tell you dude! That sniffles guy from the shop was snooping around outside our apartments!”

It takes me a moment to register what he says. Sniffles? Why the hell would he be here? Unless….

“Sniffles was here? What did he do?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Well he… sniffed! My door, then yours, then he left,” Max shrugs obviously confused.

He lets go of my shoulders and I place a hand to my chin rubbing my 3 day beard growth between thumb and forefinger. He must be an oprative.

“Look Max, I’m sorry, but I may have endangered your life. I think someone is after me because of what I can do. You know me, so they may want to question you or something.

“What you can do? Suck at Halo?,” he chuckles like it’s a joke for a second, but my serious look puts a quick end to it.

“No, this is far more impressive. and I don't suck at Halo! Follow me.” I brush past the stout Mexican and head into the kitchen, Max shrugs an follows. I open the cabinet door and pull a clean glass from the shelf. I brush past Max again, and stand in front of the table. I brush all the papers and magazines littered atop it onto the floor with two large sweeps of my arms. At the very edge of the table I place the glass. I walk around to the other end of the table and stand next to Max.

“You ready?” I ask, a small smirk forming on my lips.

“For what?” He asks a bit perplexed.

“Just watch,” I lean over the table and concentrate on the glass, I hold my hand and arm on the table palm open extended towards the empty container. At first nothing happens, and I hear Max start to say something, but I shush him before he can. After a few seconds the glass clanks a little against the table as it wobbles, I can feel it now, the glass. I reach with all my conscience and beckon it forward.

Suddenly the glass shoots forward and flies into my open palm. I wrap my fingers around it and hold it up and turn towards Max.

He stands there for a second his jaw slack as his eyes dart back and forth between the table, the glass, and myself. His mouth slowly closes and forms that big goofy smile he is so fond of.

“¡Mierda! That was amazing!!” He almost jumps in place and pulls the glass from my hand running to the other end of the table and placing it down. “Do it again!!”

Stephanie Chisam, 3/16/09 10:18 PM

I pull several lengths of my dark brown hair across the front of my face and proceed to chew on the strands as I reread the article.

‘Man Dead, Woman Injured in Shooting,’ not an unusual scene for Southside Chicago, and not one that would usually make me feel so anxious. Had I not dreamt of the crime two weeks ago I probably wouldn't have even read the article the first time let alone the three times I already have. Every last detail mentioned in the story I already knew about, the time, the location, the look of the alley, make and model of the car the two victim’s were found in.

I remember watching the crime as it was committed. I watched as a young couple sat alone in an alley, what they were waiting on I didn't and still don't know. I could tell they were nervous, apprehensive about whatever it was they were doing. A second car pulled into the alley behind the first. This car reeked of evil and misdeeds I knew what was to come. Two men steped out of the car and walked up to the young couple’s vehicle on either side. They knocked on the window and the man in the driver side rolled his down. My own dread mixed with that of the victims as the the two men began talking and eventually shouting at one another. The woman was scared. She wished she had never gotten involved with her much younger lover. Both men outside the car pulled guns; three shots were fired. Two hit the young man, his life was ended soon after, the woman was hit once in the chest, her life started to fade as the two men ran back to their car and peeled out of the alley. I watched horrified as the woman lay in the car bleeding to death. She passed out, but as soon as she did a miracle happened. The bullet lodged in the woman’s chest poped out of her body, the wound closed and shut on its own. I woke up in a cold sweat like I always do after this sort of thing.

The report mention’s nothing of the woman’s strange recovery, just that she was injured and passed out when police arrived. They haven’t caught the shooters yet.

I spit the hair out of my mouth and sigh deciding to chew on the tip of my thumb now. Another one of my dreams came true.

I shudder a bit standing up from my computer chair and walking over to my couch easing myself into it pulling my legs up against my chest in the seat. I straiten my glasses to get a better view as I stare off into nothing trying desperately to think about anything but my most recent dreams. Those horrible red eyes…

I shake my head again, not allowing myself to think on them. I haven’t even told Johnny about them yet and I tell him about all my dreams. These ones are… different, I do things in them; things I would never do. But, some how, deep down, I know I will.

Maybe I should tell him, but then again he would just worry, and he worries enough about his own problems with out me adding my own. He’s been doing some weird things as of late. At first I thought it was all in his head, but I believe him now, I know somehow he is telling the truth.

Where the hell is he anyways? I grab my phone and flip it open. 10:32 and still no word. He almost always sends me a text when he leaves the shop. He’s a bit compulsive about that sort of thing. I send him a message asking him if he’s alive, I tag an “LOL” on the end so he thinks everything’s ok.

I lay back on the couch and grab the remote turning on the TV, I flip through the channels eventually stopping on adult swim. I don’t even watch really, my mind is stuck on those red eyes that have been invading my dreams so much as of late. Those deep red eyes…

I sit up suddenly, startled when my phone chimes. It’s Johnny. His text reads, “alive, not good, being followed, phone might not be safe… Shit someone’s at my door. Will call later.”

Followed? Oh Johnny, what have you gotten yourself into? Or is it all in your head again?

I sigh and start to type out a response, but stop at the last second. I’ll just wait for him to call.

Timothy Arkett, aka "Sniffles," aka “Bloodhound,” 3/16/09 10:07 PM

“Fuck, I hate schools.”

The black lines race around the outline of the metal doorframe of the stairwell in the lower level of the parking garage at University of Houston, and the void tears into reality, I step out in the warm night.

After I left the comic store, I returned to the town and spoke with Abe. Gave him my report and we had a tail put on them pretty quick, don’t get to many opportunities to find three new targets at once. So the hounds followed “popcorn” back to that shit hole apartments and the preppy kid, to the grad students dorm. But the happy Mexican …we had a good bead on him and lost him. They followed him ‘round the back side of a Valero and then nuthin, just a bunch of damn birds peckin’ around on the ground, man Abe was pissed. So Beckie figures he might be a jumper or ‘porter, somethin’. Whatever, I’ll smell him again, and I did, ha can’t believe we got that lucky.

I pull out a small black notepad and flip through the pages and find the description our hounds got on the kids bike, a Red Yamaha FJR 1300 AE. Fuckin’ rich brats, god I hate ‘em. Well at least it shouldn’t be too hard to find. I shake my head in disgust, stuff the pad back into my coat pocket and slink around to the walls, my head turnin’ this way and that watchin’ for anyone comin’ by, very aware of the peering eyes of the security cameras.

It doesn’t take me long before I find a cycle that matches the description we have. The bike sits close to the back stair well, next to an exit ramp on the bottom level, right under a light and camera. Gota say this for the kid, at least he’s smart about where he parks, doesn’t make it easier for me though. I stare for a moment, thinkin’ about whether I really care if I get seen on the security cameras or not,…fuck it, I’ll just have Henry tell one of the tech nerds to scrub the files for that camera for the day, it’ll be fine.

I stick along the concrete walls, my footsteps soft and careful and approach the bike, only a few more feet away, and I get a whiff of the smell. Rubber and burnt plastic, yup it’s the same as before back at the store, god it fuckin’ stinks. I step up to the bike and lean in close and take a few sniffs. Ok it’s confirmed, it’s his bike so now gota figure out where in this brainy box house he sleeps at night. I stand up and hold my head up high and take a deep sniff, tryin’ to catch his scent in the air. It takes me a few moments but I catch the scent and turn to follow it into the stairwell. I step against the wall directly under the camera and make my trace, callin’ the inky void. It appears quickly with a rippin’ sound formin’ to fit into the space of the exit and I leap through it, the portal collapsin’ behind me.

The air is cold and crisp, no breeze stirs; no sound is made; dead silence, only the sound of my heart beat. I am alone. The smooth concrete walls of the parkin’ garage still surround me and the dim soft yellow lights that lit the garage, now seem harsh, glarin’. A smoky mist clings to ground and swirls and plays about my feet, driftin’ up the walls, defyin’ gravity. Colors seem muted shadowy, and dull, everything looks like a gray haze is draped over it. Only a stark and brightly pulsing red mist that trails away from me in a windin’ path up the stairs breaks the monotone and dreary scene. The once straight lines of the frames and bearin’ for the walls appeared warped and twisted. The very fabric of solid space seems to writhe and move with its own subtle life. The far side of the garage and the dorms beyond, once clearly visible are now just a blurry outline, lost in the inky darkness that encompasses everything but the few hundred yards nearest to me. This is my world, my home.

As I take a few steps forward, my direction followin’ the red misty trail, everything shifts and moves, sliding along like oil along water, slippin’ off the canvas. The concrete walls of the garage blur past and disappear into that shadowy haze and are replaced suddenly by an empty stairwell. The stair case itself moves twisting and spiraling’ upward at impossible angles. The red trail that I know as the targets gene pheromones dances and climbs upwards. I continue to follow it onto the stairs. I can see and feel what are people on the other side of my reality, but they only appear as shadowy wisps, like ghosts that silently float by. I barley even register them. Again the reality of the world shifts and blurs, and I find myself at the top of the staircase, a sign, the letters distorted and melting, says Admin Floor. I follow the trail into the hall. After only a few more seconds I find myself standin’ before what looks like a mail room. I can see some kind of idiot attendant sittin’ behind a desk at the end of the hall, but seems very preoccupied with his cell, his voice like a distant echo, hollow and slow. The void opens, and I step back into everybody else’s world.

I stroll past the rows and rows of PO boxes, stopping occasionally to take a sniff and eventually find my way to the one I want. Room 506, Christian Sinclair, the faded label reads. I lean in and take a good sniff to make sure this is the right one. Burned plastic, rubber, and a metallic tang that gets stuck in the back of my throat, yup this is it. I whip out the black note book and pen and scribble down the info and tuck it away. As I turn to go, another scent catches my attention, one of lemons and clean sheets, crisp and airy. The scent is faint and old, but I know I can still track it. I slouch over to the corner, careful of the cameras, summon the void and make my exit. Back in my world, it’s much easier to find the scents, as I enter through the void I can see a very faint hazy yellow trail at the end of the row of the mailboxes. I confidently stride toward it, the hall speeds past me, in just a second I am standing in front of the yellow mist. The mailbox reads Rachel Hardeway, room 307. I take the notepad back out and jot down the name and room number. Fuckin’ unbelievable, we found another one. My job done, I make my way down back down to the garage, knowing that my ride will be here soon.

It only takes me a few seconds to arrive back at the exit ramps by where the targets bike was sittin’, the void disappears in is usual whip crack. I stand at the corner goin’ over the days work. Not to bad of a day, hell I’d even say a good one, but I won’t, just my fuck’in luck it’d start Armageddon. I stand around for a few more moments and fidget with the zipper on my coat. Fuck, come on Abe, god I hate waitin’. Ha, there he is. A black Chrysler 300 rolls into the garage and comes to a stop on the curb next to me. The windows are heavily tinted so I can’t see the driver but I know who it is. I step up to the door, hear the click as it’s unlocked and reach down to open it, a blast of cold air hits me from inside. I plop down into the luxury leather seats, and slam the door closed.

“K, let’s go.” I say, turnin’ the vents to make the air wash over me.

Abe flips his cell closed looks at it shakin’ his head, and looks at me with an annoyed glance “Do not slam the door.” He pulls out of the garage into the street, and turns north, speeding down the night filled streets.

Christian Sinclair, 3/16/09 10:00 PM

“The current time is 22:00 CDT,” The female voice chimes in as always. When MJ agreed to marry me she told me I’d have to divorce to clock first. I have yet to make good on that.

My fiance is probably just now boarding her flight to New York, and I sure don’t envy her. I can never sleep on planes, and it’s dangerous for me to connect to cell networks while flying. I hate being cut off from the web. I feel so isolated anymore when it happens. It’s just so… quiet.

I lean back in my well cushioned computer chair and allow myself to stretch and yawn. Long day today, I’ll sleep soon, once I finish up this line of code. I’ll give AMZ1337-man, a hacker I used to work with back when I was a teenager, a preview of the current build and see what he thinks in the morning. If this thing works I’ll be able to accomplish so much more at once, it will almost be like having a second…

Something odd on camera 13 breaks my train of thought. The camera is part of my dorm’s security grid. I’d been monitoring the dorm’s security feeds like I always do when I’m working on questionable software and hacking databases, just incase someone traces something back to me. Some may think of it as paranoia, but I say it’s being careful. 13 is located within the parking garage. it’s the camera I always park my bike under.

With a thought the video feed of camera 13 fills my monitor. I watch carefully as a young man dressed in a black overcoat leans over my bike. I can’t tell what he is doing and I get ready to call security with the Bluetooth headset over my left ear. I will the camera to zoom in on the scene, and it does, the man starts to look strangely familiar. He stands up strait and turns around showing me his face.

That nose! It’s the man from the comic shop, the one I held the door for. The one who… smelled me? He holds his head up high now and looks about. I notice his nostrils flair and contract as he smells the air. I can almost hear the loud sniffs echo in the car park despite the lack of audio. He looks almost like a dog trying to find a trail, or better yet a lab rat sniffing out the cheese at the end of the maze.

After 27 seconds he walks out of view of camera 13. I shrink the screen and scan the other camera feeds to see where he ends up next. He’s standing in a blind spot. Lousy campus security networks! They need more cameras; I begin wishing this were my warehouse, I’ve made sure there are no blind spots in my network.

Suddenly the kid reappears, but not where he should. I have no idea how, but he is now on camera 47, the mailroom. I make the stream full screen to be sure and it’s him alright, big nose and all, he is examining the PO boxes for each dorm. How the hell did he get there with out passing by any of the other cameras, not to mention past the RA, who by checking the lobby cam is sitting talking into a cell phone as if nothing is going on.

The black clad strange leans in close to the boxes and slowly moves along them, running his nose over each one. He stops when he reaches my box. He holds his nose against it for about 10 seconds before stand up right and producing a pad of paper and a pen from his inside coat pocket. He writes something down and then tucks the pen and pad back inside. He then causally walks off camera again.


I watch camera 45 now to see if the door to the mailroom ever opens, but it never does. After another 15 seconds of searching I find him again, this time on Camera 16 back in the parking garage. Who is this guy? I pull 16 into full screen mode and wait for his next move. He simply stand there and waits. After 32 seconds a dark sedan pulls into view and stops in front of the man. He reaches down, opens the passenger door and gets inside. The car speeds off I watch it work its way out of the parking lot.

"The current time is 22:30 CDT," the atomic clock chimes as the car races out of the lot and thus out of my visual range.

I lean back in my chair. Someone is on to me; this is not good. I pull up the camera feeds on my screen. No time for sleep just yet, I need to figure this out. I start rewinding the feeds in hopes of finding something useful.