“Fuck.” I mumbled under my breath, quiet enough to not make a scene. “Fucking shit fuck… What the fuck… I’m… God I’m so fucked…” Someone—or hell, a whole group of someones knew about me, and I didn’t have a coherent way to react in that moment other than existential panic. Was it government? Some… X-Files bullshit that knew about me? I knew I might’ve fucked up at the bank, but the park? Who the fuck would even know about this, and how?
	I couldn’t stabilize my breathing worth a damn, and while I hadn’t ever experienced a panic attack this had to be the closest I’ve ever felt to it. Whatever emotions were going on in all the coworkers around me were like sprinkles of rain, compared to the hailstorm of dread simmering in my mind. I just put my hands over my face, rubbing my eyes, catching the sweat starting to bead beneath my hairline. I needed to think, and I needed to calm myself down. No matter what happened, or was going to happen, I couldn’t just cower by my desk and wish it all away. I counted down from ten in my mind, breathing slow with each number. When I reached one, I opened my eyes and looked down at the envelope.
	Alright… First things first. I go down to grab my drink, I’m gone for hardly 20 minutes at the most, and when I come back the envelope is here. Whoever set it on my desk, knows where I work and probably has to know where I live. That much was obvious. But depending on when they left it, they might still be in the building. Maybe I just missed them by a minute or two. But even if I did, it took a couple moments to process all of this, so the clock was ticking, every second. I needed to be fast.
	I knew everyone who would normally be on this floor in our office, whether they were remote or not, others that were here would stick out. I started reading, one by one, not digging into anything just verifying who they were, like scanning mental ID badges. A bit Orwellian, but I wasn’t digging around just for the fun of it. It took a few seconds of parsing through, but I at least somewhat recognized everyone who was here on this floor. “Shit.” I whispered to myself.
	Alright, so they’re not here, at least not on this floor. And I sincerely doubt anyone at this office had the resources or the guts to pull something like this off. Regardless, I could tell that nobody was feeling the slightest amount of panic here except for me. But they had to have walked in and out of here, so somebody would have the memory of an unknown person walking in to the office. The most obvious choice was Susan at the front desk.
	Now I was already cutting into the rules I made for myself… I knew her, I’d speak to her every now and then, and even though I probably haven’t had longer than a three minute conversation, this was breaching dangerously into those lines I drew. I looked at the paper again, them knowing who I was, and knowing what I could do. I don’t know what it is they know exactly, or think they know, and I don’t have the faintest clue as to their motivations. I wasn’t going to control anyone, not for this, but maybe for the moment I could read just what I had to and nothing else. I didn’t need to know anything that deep about Susan other than what faces she saw coming in and out of the office for the last half hour I was absent. And that’s all I would look at.
	I hone in on her, less than a stone’s throw across the office, entering that familiar chasm of her mind. This wasn’t surface thoughts or whatever she was currently focusing on… I needed to focus on her recent memories. It’s quite incredible how one’s mind is actually a lot like an operating system when I look at it, just a disorganized one that leaves most of the files on the desktop like a slob. Streams of neon threads, like fiber-optic strung about, pulsing, connecting, and bridged at the strongest endpoints. I wasn’t here to sit down and organize, so my visit felt more ghost-like, floating through the neural pathways. I’d see where the latest strands were being built, the memories formed right now, flashing through, and then I’d run it all back. Once I saw it, I reached out down the line. Not with a hand exactly, I was too brief for any of that, but I could cling to the threads regardless.
	I tap into what she saw and felt at her desk, about 30 minutes ago. She was talking to some older coworker, Cole. He’d basically just come to her desk to talk and flirt as he often would. While I felt through all of the sensations as though I were living through her, all the flickering of emotions that streamed through my own mind, I didn’t care about any of that. I was able to filter through most of the benign sensations, as all I was watching for was anyone out of the ordinary, any figure off in the corner of her eye that I didn’t recognize.

-14-

	Most of the people were walking out, I even watched the backside of myself headed to the downstairs elevator. I’d keep watching and watching, paying attention to faces she probably wasn’t even looking for. But I wasn’t seeing anyone entering. Until… a man in a FedEx suit holding a parcel of various envelopes and letters, approached her desk. He even interrupted the little flirt session, that was definitely more one sided from Cole’s point of view given how she just took it all in jest. “Here, I have a package.” He hands her the envelope, looking a bit perplexed herself, but reading my name and the building address and floor on the back of it, she knew where to put it. “Oh, alright, thank you.” She says as the worker walks away, her getting up to head to my cubicle and drop off the package. It was just some average looking delivery guy. Of course it was.
	I break away from the stream of consciousness with a slight jolt, her blissfully unaware of any probing, but me having a lot more to consider about my overall situation. I didn’t even know if the guy was still in the building, or if he would even know anything. I pick up the envelope again, look at the back which I’d evidently not cared to do before, seeing my name and work address listed. No return address, which would make sense, but I figured I’d double check anyway. There was nothing on the back of the pictures, except the listed dates on the other two from before the bank, I assumed just for clarity.
	Well now would be the hard part, and I wasn’t sure if it’d work given that the longer I waited, the harder this would be. There were several thousand people in this building alone, a few dozen entering and exiting every couple of minutes. Scanning each and every individual to check who they were would take a hot minute, and if the person was about to leave or had already left, the odds of tracking them down would decrease exponentially, as thousands become tens of thousands spreading in a ever-increasing radius outside of the building. My hope was he still had packages left in this building to deliver.
	I closed my eyes again, starting my way down, combing through each mind looking for a unique kind of identifier. Something that people intuitively feel but don’t really analyze. Their own residual self image. It would function like a mental photograph in their mind of what they saw when they looked in mirror, and who they identified with, bridging that picture to themselves. While some cases of dysphoria might contradict it, for the most part all I had to do was compare the face she had seen and try to compare it with the faces that that those other individuals would connect to themselves. If he was still here, I’d probably have a match. This wouldn’t have been the first time I’d systematically went through a building to find someone this way, but it’d been a long while and never somewhere this big.
	From the look of his face that Susan had gotten, I knew he was around 20-something, male, African-American, short black hair. Getting a match with that self image wouldn’t quite be the same as diving in someone’s head to find a memory, it was a different kind of process. I’d still stay mentally right where I was, no visual changes, just the awareness. This was the part of me worked more like a radar, as opposed to dipping into the operating system of one’s mind. This was much closer to how it felt on the street with all that buzzing, the noise of emotional particles hitting the isotopes of my body as though it were gamma radiation that I could smell and taste. But instead of passively feeling, I could focus it, the barrage of emotion forming into focused threads where I could hone in on what I needed. It only took more effort and concentration. I started by eliminating those threads that identified as women, cutting the pool of candidates in half. Then by race, then age, getting a smaller and smaller sample set.
	Because my mind could stay put like this, I was able to comprehend multitudes of these threads simultaniously, connecting to large groups of people. I kept it roughly to the area of the building, which was still a lot, but eliminating those threads that marked as traits that didn’t match, I was able to toss and filter out nearly all of them. Within what felt shorter than a minute, I was left with only around 40 people.

-15-

	One by one, I singled them each out, comparing that self image, looking for something that matched. It took only a minute longer for me to see it, the same person who handed the package off. I opened my eyes, taken in what amounted to a snapshot of information as I came to it. His name was Markus, 24, single, worked at FedEx for a couple years. He really was just a worker and didn’t know anything. My package was nothing special out of the hundreds to thousands he’d deliver for his route today. He was someone I didn’t know at all, and someone who might have at least a bit of information I needed, which was the main ethical hurdle I passed in going deeper. It didn’t absolve me of all concerns, but this felt dire to me and was good enough. I needed to know any information he might’ve had on it.
	Of course he didn’t. Even after diving into that mental space and checking for anything abnormal, he hadn’t any specific information on the package other than it just being on his list, which would make sense with him being just another employee; a middle man to the invasive package. I contemplated that maybe he’d know someone I could track down further, trace it back to the distribution center where maybe he’d know someone who had seen the tracking number on some kind of online system. I went back into his memories while he blissfully continued on his rounds of delivering, swimming through with a determined fury. I flew back to earlier in the day, searching for anyone he’d interacted with—someone who might’ve had some kind of clue as to where the package even came from, regardless of how tiny and insignificant it would’ve seemed at the time.
	Knowing locations was another aspect of this. Technically I could hone in on anyone in the world, if I have some general idea of where that specific person is. I don’t even have to know exactly where, if the spatial information is good enough for a rough estimate. He knows where his route starts from, so that meant I now knew where the distribution center would be. I know who his supervisors are, his other coworkers, and if they’re in that building it’d take mere seconds to trace them to that known location and find them. If I have their consciousness to lock onto, it’s no different if they’re 10 feet, 10 miles, or 10 states away. Excluding the monotonous details of rummaging around the minds of disinterested and busy postal workers, at some point I was able to trace onto a person who may have known something, an Operations Admin who was on site. I had to be careful and slow now, paying attention to the deep dive. Seeing now how their system worked, almost all these packages were automated. Simply having access doesn’t mean they’d actually focus in on any specific package that day, unless there was some kind of issue.
	I searched for any moment, any point where they’d skim over a webpage of transactions, tracking numbers, anything I could spot my name or work address from. There were a few moments, the little times they seemed to actually be doing their job, where they’d have that searchable list open. The problem was, they weren’t scrolling through it, they were just searching for tags, tracking numbers, addresses they already needed to look into. That wasn’t going to help me unless mine popped up, which after a few minutes of carefully analyzing, I didn’t see my work address at all.
	This was a dead end. That is, until the thought crossed my mind of how it wouldn’t be hard to just make her look it up, check the number real quick. But that was a dangerous thought to be crossing into. She had nothing to do with any of this, and even if it was an insignificant moment, it’s not like lives were at stake right now, and this wouldn’t be an emergency for anyone other than me. I’d be more than selfish to take away that autonomy, even for a few mere moments. And that’s beyond the fact that I’d be digging myself into a deeper hole. If I was really being watched like this, if someone really knew about me, everything that I did from here on out could be scrutinized. What if I raised suspicion in simply making some employee look something up for me?
	I never saw those cameras before. The bank would have them, sure, I would expect that despite it not being the focus of my mind at the time. But the park, the subway, I wouldn’t have the slightest clue someone was looking—or looking back at me, somehow knowing what I did when I did it. I pulled away from her mind, severing the connection with my eyes opening wide and losing the breadcrumb trail that took me to nowhere. Furrowing my brow, I considered even if I made her look up the information, find out the date the package was received and from where, I’d probably have to control more than one mind in order to figure out the truth, and as scared as I was I wasn’t nearly that desperate yet.

-16-

	The letter said they’d contact me soon. I didn’t know what that would entail, but I hated not knowing. In a fucked up kind of irony for me, someone knew far more about who I was right now than I knew about them. And even if they didn’t know much, they knew more than enough.
	I shuffled the pictures back into the letter, throwing the outer portion of the manila envelope away and just keeping the inner sleeve. I set the letter in my bag, checking the time to see that barely 15 minutes had passed. Continuing on work as if nothing had happened wasn’t going to sit with me, the level of priority of this monotonous work being so incredibly beneath consideration it seemed like a joke. But, nobody here was going to understand any of that, so I needed to come up with some excuse. I hopped onto my laptop real quick, sending out an email that I’d be taking the rest of the day off, that I’d be at a doctor’s appointment. It was a little early, and they might expect to finish up remote but it was close enough to just stick with it.
	Once sent, I turn my laptop off, shuffle it into my beg, collect my things and start speed walking out of the office. Susan waved me out as I passed by, giving a half-assed wave on my way out, too focused on getting home. Down the elevators I went, escaping from here like a plague had just been unleashed and I was the only one who knew about it. Then again if there was, I would’ve probably been the only afflicted. Once I was out into the lobby my senses were on high alert, feeling every minor emotion like bugs crawling on my skull. I don’t know if I was focusing unwittingly, it didn’t feel like I was, but like my subconscious was in defense mode searching for the slightest hint of danger. It made me want to scratch all over, but the itch wasn’t coming from anywhere physical.
	Back onto the streets crossing the street overpass, I must’ve looked like I was tweaking on something, casting glances at every bystander, checking for any kind of tell. Or maybe it was just that feeling people get when they’re high, where they think everyone knows that they’re high, whether they can tell or not. I thought maybe if someone knew who I was, had some idea of what I could do, perhaps just by me looking at them, that could make them panic a bit, and I might be able to feel it as soon as it seeped out of them. It wasn’t working, or at least nobody I swiped glances at elicited any kind of emotion that I would’ve expected if it worked. There would be brief emotional flinches between random people, but more just the awkwardness one feels when a stranger looks right at them. It was a simple uncomfortability, not genuine paranoia.
	The hot summer air beat down on my black cloth jacket, not exactly a conscious fashion choice as much as it was just a habit I hadn’t broke out of. In the morning, or even by the time I clocked out it could usually cool off to manage. Even the skyscrapers helped by end of shift to shade most of the western sun. But the sweat was pooling with the overhead sunlight hitting me directly, edging too close to noon. A lot of it was probably the stress too, the brisk stroll to get out of here as quick as I could without running. I don’t even know what the hell I’d be running from, someone could be watching me from a mile away and I wouldn’t know. That spidey-sense of mine only seemed to passively work about 50 meters or so. If someone kept their distance I wouldn’t instinctively know.
	I made it back to that carcass of the slain beast, its ribcage splitting the sunrays down onto the little scavengers below. Everyone was darting their way to and from their various routes, the trains stopping for no one. A thought occurred to me that anyone watching me from the outside would lose track of me here, unless they were in here with me. If I felt a panic, a sense of fear, suspicion that I might knew, this would be close enough proximity to tell. I slowed my walking pace down, letting some people pass by me while I took my time feeling everything around me. It was still a buzzing of mixed emotions, rushed, hungry, frustrated—all the usual daily commuter psyches. Noisy and bothersome but nothing out of the ordinary. Until there was a slight tick of something, like a splinter in my foot. Perhaps a slight panic over something?

-17-

	I started heading over towards it, seeing if it would grow the closer I came to. It did, not being aware yet if it was mere proximity, or the actual panicking sensation of a target getting closer to you. The latter they wouldn’t be able to hide. The panic turned more into a fear, an anxiety of someone anticipating the worst. I had them, I was going to look right into the eyes of whoever was sent to watch me, confronting them before they had any additional time to plan or whatever they had in mind. I step through and around the crowds drawing in near before seeing a man looking away from my direction, towards a woman sitting on the bench.
	He wasn’t interested in me, the whole slew of panic having apparently nothing to do with me at all. Her purse was right there at the edge of the seat, more than arm’s length away from her while she talked on the phone, and that’s all he coveted. He was contemplating as to whether or not he’d get stopped if he nabbed it and ran. It was genuine panicking in deciding to go through with it, but he was nothing but a basic purse snatcher. I felt underwhelmed, and questioned whether or not I should just walk away. He was gonna go for it, but maybe this wasn’t the time or place to intervene. Really she just needed to look over briefly, and he wouldn’t have the chance to do anything. Considering that, I thought of an easier solution.
	Shifting the bag and tugging on the weight of it, the bag shuffled ever so slightly closer to the edge without a single touch. It tilted over, falling onto the floor, nothing of note falling out of it, but the sound and peripheral view of it collapsing to the marble floors made her look towards it. The man who was approaching slowed down, a strange relief washing over him as his decision was made by unseen forces to abandon his mission. She reached down and picked up the bag, now moving it closer to herself as she wouldn’t let it fall again. The snatcher continued on walking past, not making any further attempt. Neither had been aware of any kind of intervention, or that I was even here.
	The relief was also my own as I turned my cheek and sauntered off to the station platform. Nobody was following me here, none that were watching my every move, at least not in person right at this second. I was almost certain if anyone was here, I’d feel them. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, if I knew even half of what I knew about myself in their shoes, I probably wouldn’t leave someone like me without eyes on them at all times. So either they weren’t watching, which would be incredibly short sighted of them, or they were watching in other ways I wasn’t keen on. If I were them, they’d be keeping their distance, but that wasn’t closure on my current situation, not even close.
	The train would take a few extra minutes before it arrived, people swapping like an orchestrated ballet of souls, swiping past shoulders and funneling to and from. When I managed to slide my way in, I sat down keeping still keeping an eye out for anything minor. I still got nothing different, nothing out of the ordinary aside from my own conflicted thoughts. The thought occurred to me, what if all the cameras that had live feeds could be monitored? Was I being tracked? Maybe they only needed to watch where I ended up, assuming I’d show up home eventually. If they knew where I worked, they knew where I lived. Then again, what if I tried running? What If I decided to disappear and get away from all of it? The obvious was becoming readily apparent, that aside from the brief intermission periods under the subway, they didn’t need to do anything as long as my phone was in my pocket. If they had the access they’ve already hinted at, everybody including me carries a personal tracker with them every single day.
	I take my phone out of my pocket, no signal at this time, a possibly opportune moment wherein someone expecting me to pop out at a particular stop might just lose sight of me. I didn’t need my phone for anything right now, so I just held the power and turned it off. I didn’t think that would help much, I did still have to get home, but that’s when it dawned on me. What the fuck was going to be waiting for me at my apartment?
	The rest of the ride couldn’t have been any slower. I was alone from prying eyes, or at least eyes that cared to stare over at me. People were still minding their own business as I slipped my hoodie up over my head, covering my face from any cameras above as soon as I reached the station. The dingy mold stained concrete from back to front welcomed me on my trek to my place of residence. I was looking down, not using my eyes as much as I was just feeling my way around, keeping from bumping into others and sensing every fluid silhouette that carried forth their own journey.

-18-

	I knew there were cameras above, being this was where I’d already been photographed, but hopefully I was at least a bit obscured now. Shuffling with the crowd I’d end up on my street, and as the small crowd dispersed and people went their own way, I found myself more alone the closer I came to arriving. It was only a few minute walk, and I’d already been pacing quicker than I normally would. I considered if I should try taking another route, coming in from some back entrance, but I didn’t see what purpose that would serve. The hallway outside my door had cameras, if those were tapped into, they’d know as soon as I approached, if they were really watching. I figured it didn’t matter. Whatever was inside, outside, I was going to handle it.
	Still looking down at my feet, I open the front door to the plaza and head inside. Immediately I was scanning like sonar, feeling for everyone who was here. I only felt a tenant on the first floor, who I recalled having a different work schedule than I did. They were asleep in any case. I’d pace myself up and around the metallic stairs, the low lights setting down on the thin, cheap carpeting as I reached the second floor. Nobody was in the hall, and nobody was in any of these rooms. Mine was the one I was most concerned about.
	Approaching the door, I pull out my keys, and before I stuck them in I hesitate and jostle the handle. It was still locked, thankfully. I continued on, unlocking the door while giving full focus to every inch of that room, feeling for any movement, any whisper out of place. I didn’t memorize every inch of my room but I was still looking for anything and everything I could find. I could hear my heart beat a pulsing thumping into my temple as everything else seemed dead silent, tension you could cut with a razor.
	I paused for a moment, looking around the dark edges of the room, like I was expecting an unseen ghost to pop into my view. I loathed not knowing in a moment like this, at a time where I the tension tore at my stomach and made me sickeningly ill. I flicked on my light and the suspense died in an instant. Nothing but my apartment room and how I’d left it. Slouching inside with a sign of relief, I set my bag on the cheap couch I’d been handed down a couple years ago, puke green and filled with tolerable tears and scuff marks that showed its age. Despite appearances, it was comfortable enough to sit on, which I wouldn’t hesitate to. It’d felt like I walked here on both pins and needles, yet carrying the weight of cement blocks with all the built up anxiety. I needed a fucking drink.
	Taking those few moments to myself, the little brief trip to my open kitchen ensued, parsing through a scavenged fridge that needed restocking. There was still plenty of iced-tea inside however, one of the quick and easy things to make I helped myself to. I grabbed the jug and poured it into one of those plastic promo cups—the dumb oversized ones from some movie tie-in. It was already sweating with beads of water, and it wasn’t until I’d turned back around after putting the jug away did I notice the small black envelope sitting on the corner of the kitchenette table.
	It didn’t register at first, it seemed so trivial, like something I’d forgotten I set on the table. But it was unopened, untouched, and I knew damn well I haven’t received any black letter in any mailbox. Maybe it was denial of being so thoroughly caught off guard that made me redirect my thoughts to believing this was just something I’d somehow forgotten. I pick up the envelope and turn it around, seeing no address or postage stamp. There was an indent of what seemed like the same symbol as before, three inward pointed arrows in the circle, inside of which was a gear, but with a lack of highlighted color that made the symbol more subtle.
	Where I’d found this letter hit me like a gut punch, realizing that this was personally delivered and placed here. Someone would have unlocked or picked their way into my apartment to get this here, and left it for me to find. I felt more vulnerable in my own apartment than I’ve ever felt, and I was barely able to fully process it at this moment. Flipping it back around and carefully ripping open the top of the envelope, I let the folded paper inside fall out onto the table. Opening it showed in hand-written ink, a neatly printed phone number, with the message below “Call when you are ready”.

-19-

	I probably stared at that number blankly for at least five minutes, like there was some kind of clue or angle to explore from it, but there was nothing. It was just a number, an instruction I could follow or ignore, much to me believing it wouldn’t be accepted if I did ignore it. I was now at the mercy of an unseen force keeping their distance, but showing me they knew who I was, where I lived, and enough of what I could do to know better and to stay out of sight. Though, I could only speculate how long that would go on for.
	Letter in hand, I dropped back onto the couch and stared at the powered-off flat screen. I drank my tea and tried to make sense of the catastrophe unraveling in my head. Many different terrors ran through my head, if I’d be on the run for my whole life, if my family was in danger or under threat, many different scenarios of how my life and how it was might be over. I was so pissed at myself, feeling like I fucked up by even intervening. Like maybe I was right all along, and that I should’ve just pretended to be like everyone else in every way I could, even when people were about to be killed or hurt or robbed in front of me. But that stung even more than this new fear. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I let everything happen as it could’ve otherwise.
	Some time had passed, and by this point the emotions of it all had overwhelmed me, a bit of swelling in my eyes that I wiped off into my sleeve. A little sniffle and sharp exhale, and all the mental slaps I was taking to my face to try and snap myself out of it. I did the right thing. I don’t care what government, shady business or whatever the hell person has been looking for me, I wasn’t going to let that change anything. Fuck them if I was gonna be hunted over saving a few people, fuck anyone or anything that expected me to watch someone’s brains splatter on the walls without doing a damn thing. You found me? Fine. You saw me save some people and do a good thing, so what? Kiss my ass otherwise if you have an issue with, it’s not my fault the world fucking sucks.
	A bit of mentally psyching up to myself to regain my confidence back a bit, and I was already booting my phone back up, not caring if I was being tracked. Maybe they knew I was home already, maybe they didn’t. But I wasn’t going to let that have control over me, whoever ‘they’ were. Maybe they’re just hotheads who think they’re tough shit and want something out of me. maybe they haven’t the slightest clue of how dangerous I could be. I never had to prove it to anybody before, but the scenarios had certainly crossed my mind.
	My phone chimed to it’s little carrier intro, and I quickly dialed in the number. I paused for a moment before I hit call, thinking of what I might say. To be perfectly honest I hadn’t really gotten that far in my head. But I was going to force myself to be ready in any case. Fuck it. I hit call, place the phone to my ear to hear the ringing, the longest couple of seconds I’d felt in years, maybe ever in my life so far. The ringing turned into a little abrupt click, and silence, like someone on the other end waiting for me to say something. I gave a sharp gulp, and found the strength to speak. “...Hello?”
	A few more seconds had passed, it felt like days at this point, but the tension was cut like a wire as soon as an artificially deepened and distorted voice spoke back at me. “Is this Samuel Alwyn?” The voice was like that of what a serial killer would disguise their voice with. I didn’t know if they were trying to be mysterious or if they really cared that deeply about protecting their identity. It was off-putting, but maybe not in the way they could’ve intended. “..Yea, and who is this? Did you leave this number in my apartment?”
	The voice continued, a razor thin line to interrupting me at the end of my sentence, like they didn’t care what I had to say. “I presume you have received both letters, is this correct?” I was a bit taken back by the careless yet clinical attitude towards invading my privacy, like it didn’t matter and this was matter-of-fact routine. “..Yea, I got both letters. Who is this?” Right as I ended, they snapped back right to the point, not even an acknowledgement to my own questions. “Mr. Alwyn, as outlined in the first letter we have sent you, we have taken an interest in events that have circulated around you as outlined in the photographs included. We would like to discuss these further with you. When would you available for a possible meeting?”

-20-

	Straight to the point, again. I didn’t know if it was cockiness, arrogance, or if they actually were unironically this serious. I didn’t know whether to be unsettled or pissed off. “...I don’t—what do you mean by a ‘meeting’?” To me that sounded like a setup or an ambush. But then why the hell show me all this? Why even let me know they’re watching? “If you agree to meet, we will have an liaison meet you in a public setting, nearby to your residence. We do not intend any harm, we merely wish to talk.” The ominously distorted voice attempted to reassure through the phone.
	It wasn’t much of a comfort, although that might’ve just been the anonymity of the distorted voice on the other end. The whole thing was a good play by them, adding layers of separation between whoever they were and me. I could read almost anyone from anywhere, if I knew where they were, or know who they are. But over the phone to some anonymous voice, I might as well be talking to a robot with no way of identifying anything. Maybe, even a potential meeting would be just as compartmentalized.
	I paused for a moment, thinking of all things about my schedule, but I really had no genuine intention of going into work tomorrow with this shit consuming my every thought. I’d probably just take the rest of the week off. “...I can meet tomorrow.” I half-mumbled out in hesitation, wondering if I should take time to figure out a game plan in case it all went wrong. “Very well. Down the street from your apartment on the corner due-east, is a coffee shop. At noon, there will be an agent waiting for you. Confirm you understand.” An agent of some kind—I suppose that made sense given the scale of all this, unless they were just larping. “..Yea, I got it.” I responded back. The voice on the other end paused for a moment. “We will see you there.” Click. And just like that, my fate was sealed, whatever that fate might be.
	I sunk deeper into those shitty worn-out cushions, not nearly as deep as my heart was sinking into my guts. This was first time driving behind the wheels, first time moving out to the big city, all that shit and more. Wherever this was headed, I knew it was going to be monumental for me. There wasn’t a single easy way out of this. In that moment, I felt myself regretting every single action I’d taken to lead me here, no matter how steadfast I was in my actions being justified. It wouldn’t make this go any smoother.

	I didn’t eat much that night, and I certainly didn’t get much sleep. I had vivid nightmares, which was not something I’d normally get, as I tend to have complete control of my own dreams or have a heavy influence over them. But this time my subconscious got the best of me, showing me a nightmare of myself being caught by some kind of military-swat team, everyone pointing their guns at me and shouting. I couldn’t read any of their minds, couldn’t stop them, which was more likely a side-effect from it being my own subconscious mind I was trying to read, but it played out like I lost my powers, and thus my ability to defend myself.
	I couldn’t do anything, I could hear them scared and yelling that I was trying to read their minds. They opened fire on me from all angles, and I woke up in a jolt. It wasn’t real, but the fear of it all was deeply rooted. I didn’t know if I could go through with today. I was crawled up in my bed, clothes strewn about without any attention to cleaning up, not wanting to leave. I was tired, hungry, and scared. All of the things that make us at our worst and most dangerous. But I didn’t feel dangerous, I felt helpless, staring at an impending doom. But I still needed to wake up, I needed to get out of these damn sheets. I slouched myself into a sitting position on the edge of my bed, needing to be ready for today.
	I did my normal morning stuff, teeth, pulling the knots out of my long shaggy hair and finding something to wear. I’d managed to call in sick for the rest of the week the night before over email, and I put my phone on do not disturb. As far as they were concerned I could’ve been in the hospital. It wasn’t like I was on anything important anyway. I needed to mute that part of my life for today, figure this other chapter out.

-21-

	I had about 30 minutes to noon, and it was a short walk to the coffee shop at the corner. I threw on my hoodie jacket, my unintentionally torn up jeans, and walked down the stairs and out to the streets. I knew the coffee shop they were referring to, it was more like a gentrified restaurant that served coffee and baked goods in addition to normal food, but it was the only one on that particular corner. I didn’t bother to put my hood up or try to conceal who I was, nor would I concern myself with turning off my phone. It wasn’t going to matter. Someone was probably watching me anyway, from the moment I stepped out of my apartment to the very moment I’d be sitting down confronting whatever I was going to see, if I even made it that far.
	I didn’t feel anything, some people walking by and across from me but not a peep in terms of how they felt. It was just the normal lunch crowd taking a mid day walk to wherever they’d be going out to eat. I dreaded the painful journey with every step, like I was marching right over to my formal execution in the town square. My nightmare played over and over in my head, wondering if something like that happened, what I’d actually do. Maybe I’d just freeze and panic, overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation. Maybe I’d lash out, quickly and suddenly, in a way I probably wouldn’t mean to and would quickly regret, all in an attempt to get away. The bank was a dicey situation, but I was pretty much invisible to a bunch of nobody thugs. Today I’d have crosshairs pointed at my head by people who knew too much about me, even while I couldn’t see them.
	I had finally made it to the little corner restaurant, colorful and modern inside through the windows, outlined by rustic bricks of what must’ve been a century old or more at this point. Aged, but new. It looked like it was at least half full, not the busiest I expected but more than enough to keep the lights running. Soon as I walked in, I gazed around, checking for any eyes on me, but feeling more for the slightest tinge of anxiety. The feeling of looking at a target that you’re tasked with keeping an eye on and talking to. I didn’t feel anything but satiated hunger, something I was quickly becoming jealous of.
	It was self seated, so I located myself to a wall seat by one of the open windows, a bit further away from where most of the other customers were sat. It was the closest I had to boxing myself in a corner away from everyone, but despite that it was still brightly lit and exposed from the afternoon sun. I was a few minutes early, not quite noon yet, but I didn’t really know how punctual they would be. A thought crossed my mind that I hadn’t considered… maybe they wouldn’t even show up. I still didn’t feel anything, and I expected to sense at least a bit of something.
	I saw a couple come in, as quickly as a few others left, the in and out flow of customers. I looked up at them, expecting to catch someone’s beady eyes locked on me or searching for me, but none of them seemed to stick out or pay any mind. Maybe this was a bust, hell maybe I even fucked up and went to the wrong place somehow, or there was a mixup. It’s not like the people on the phone seemed too bothered with my concerns or worries at the time, maybe they didn’t even bother explaining the place I was supposed to actually be at.
	I tensed up as someone walked up to me and passing closely, but then continued on walking to somewhere else behind me. I looked at my phone, it being exactly noon now, I sighed audibly, rubbing my eyes in tired frustration and exhaustion from all of what I’d been feeling. Maybe this shit was in my head. Maybe it wasn’t real in the way I thought it was. Maybe…

-22-

	With my eyes closed I felt the light shift in front of me, and heard shuffling like someone sat right in the seat across from me. I felt their presence, and as I opened my eyes, seeing a woman across from me. She gave a light smile, dressed in a completely inconspicuous casual attire, like anyone you might see on the street walking their way downtown. She placed a leather booklet of sorts on the right side of the table next to the window, keeping her eyes on me. Not with suspicion, but with a casual and calm demeanor. I didn’t feel anything bad from her, not anxiety, not anything but a normal presence. I blinked a few times unable to be sure if this was who I was supposed to be expecting, or if it was just some random person who decided to sit in front of me.
	She looked at me for a moment, gauging my emotions a bit. I bet I looked like a deer in headlights in the awkward silence before she finally spoke out. “Hello Samuel. My name is Dr. Locke, I’m the person you’ll be meeting today.”

-23-