Sunday, 03 March 2019 17:00

Ping Out

Written by Wasamon

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A Whateley Academy 2nd Generation Story

Ping_Out

by

Wasamon

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--WEE-ORRR-- The foghorn bellow of the alarm clock rattled the house, or at least the corner of it belonging to Les Wainwright. It forced its way in through the ears and then refused to leave, echoing back and forth inside his skull. The alarm clock had been programmed to be as loud and difficult to ignore as possible. Dad had been rather proud of his work there. With a groan, he pulled himself out from under the covers and stared at the ceiling. The pin-up poster of Power Salvo, a superhero from nearby Portland, stared back.

"Good morning," he mumbled, and then slid out of bed.

"Lester! Breakfast is ready!" Mom called from downstairs. Bleh, he hated when she used his full name. At school, it was all nerd-name jeers followed by unfunny child-molester jokes. More than her voice, his mom's cooking drew him out of his room. Soon he was seated, still in his pajamas, and enjoying some pancakes.

"You should get dressed first," Mom chided as she handed him seconds. At the other end of the table, Dad nodded in agreement. The two of them were an odd pair. He was full-on Irish, with ginger hair and green eyes. She was second-generation Chinese. Les took after his mother, mostly. Only his nose was really his dad's.

"Move over!" And then there was Clarissa, the ten-year-old bane of his existence. She looked like Mom too, almost a perfect copy except for the freckles. The little twerp was already dressed, and she kicked him in the shins with her boots when he didn't get out of the way fast enough. "Quit hogging the pancakes!"

God, he hated morning people.

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School was a little better. At least there he had friends with whom to share the agony of early morning consciousness. They were all gathered around a desk in their homeroom, waiting for the bell and talking games.

"Everyone ready for the new Shadowzone expansion rollout tonight?" his best friend Jake was asking. Everyone nodded. Friday night was online game night with this crew, and they'd been looking forward to this expansion for months. Les, Jake, Rick, and William, the four musketeers of Laurence Pell Junior-Senior High's eighth grade class. Or at least, so they liked to pretend.

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Beside him, Cameron was doodling in his notebook again. This time it was robots and laser cannons. Despite himself, Les's eyes kept wandering over to that page. It was far more interesting than the lecture.

"Mr. Wainwright!" The only time Mr. Malkin's voice wasn't numbingly bland was when he was angry, and then it cracked like a whip. "Perhaps you'd like to read the next section for us?"

He scrambled to his feet and blundered a bit before he found the right place to start. Everyone else snickered, including Cameron, the jerk. Somehow the kid had anti-teacher defenses like Teflon.

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After school, it was always the same routine. Les and his friends would hang out in some quiet corner for a while until the jocks were safely busy with sports practice, and then they'd go their separate ways. For him, that meant undoing the three locks on his bicycle and pedaling home.

"Hey, Les!" Cameron was waiting for him, which was unusual.

"What do you want?" he grumbled back.

"Um, yeah. Sorry about earlier, y'know?" For all his gawky height, Cameron had a way of making himself seem a lot smaller. "Didn't mean to get you in trouble."

"Nah..." He shrugged. "It was my own darn fault. Shoulda remembered about Malkin's eagle eyes."

"Well, um, I still feel bad. I was wondering if we could, y'know, hang out sometime? The way we used to?" He and Les had been in the same group of friends up till the end of fifth grade. Then Cameron moved to a different school for a year, and when he returned, the whole dynamic had changed. Even Jake and Rick thought Cameron was too much of a spaz now. "Um, whatcha doing tonight?"

"Playing Shadowzone with the guys. If you want, I could get you in on our team session." The others probably wouldn't like it, but he'd get them to agree.

"Er, um, I don't... I don't have that one. Guess I'll have to pass, ha ha." Even his laugh came out a little off, but that was Cameron for you. "Think you could, um, swing by tomorrow? Got some new hardware I'd, um, like to show off."

"Okay. Sure." The two of them used to make things from erector sets and old electronics when they were younger. This could be fun. "Tomorrow, in the afternoon?"

"Sure! Um, see you then!"

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Now that had been a good game, Les thought as he powered down his computer for the night. Shadowzone was an arena-style shooter that had an alien horror style combined with a cool sci-fi aesthetic. The expansion was set in an abandoned city full of weird architecture, and between the exploration and the team versus mode, there was a lot to do. He and the guys had barely touched on a lot of the cool stuff tonight.

He yawned. This was well past his usual bed time, and the thrill of excitement was fading away. Time to hit the sack. Ten minutes later, clothes changed and teeth brushed, he was ready for bed. Sleep claimed him soon after.

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"Good morning," he mumbled with a feeble salute. He needed to be more like the hero, he thought as he slid out of bed. Someone like that would have to be alert at any time.

"Lester! Breakfast is ready!" Mom called from downstairs. Bleh, he hated when she used his full name. At school, it was all nerd-name jeers followed by unfunny child-molester jokes. More than her voice, his mom's cooking drew him out of his room. He made it to the kitchen, finished off a plate of pancakes, and got out just as his little sister arrived to complain that he was hogging the syrup.

God, he hated morning people.

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He was in and out of the shower as fast as was allowed by parental approval, and quickly combed his hair into a semblance of order. It was very much his mom's hair, jet black with a sort of blue sheen in the light. It matched the black irises of his eyes.

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He was in and out of the shower as fast as was allowed by parental approval, and quickly combed his hair into a well-ordered part. It was mostly his mom's hair, but with a bit of Dad's legacy to be seen in there. A reddish sheen was visible in the light. Beneath it all, his tea-brown irises completed the average rating for his face.

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He was in and out of the shower after a few minutes. The water felt nice today. Then he took his time combing his hair until it was just right. It was mostly his dad's hair, but with a bit of Mom's legacy to be seen in there, especially in the texture and shine. Under matching red eyebrows, a pair of green irises twinkled back at him.

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"...and so Lewis and Clark continued their voyage, in spite of the problems they faced..." Mr. Malkin's voice droned on and on, nasal and monotonous. It was sunny and warm outside, so of course inside was turning into a greenhouse full of sweaty and slightly potted students. His nose wrinkled at the smell. It was so strong he didn't need to pinch himself to stay awake, though he still had to refrain from gagging. Les wished the teacher would hurry up a bit and get on to the good stuff. They'd only been on the topic of the Louisiana Purchase for two days now, but it felt more like twelve.

"Mr. Wainwright!" The only time Mr. Malkin's voice wasn't as limp as old toast was when he was angry, and then it snapped like electrical current. "Perhaps you'd like to read the next section for us?"

He scrambled to his feet, found the line in an instant, and read on: "Sacajawea helped to secure safe passage through the Shoshone lands, and it is reasonable to say that without her help..."

The teacher nodded as Les finished the paragraph, and then let him take his seat. Cameron sent him a wink and a thumb's up when Mr. Malkin's back was turned. Les grinned back.

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"How was school today?" Mom asked as she passed a plate of fried rice around the table. He didn't turn down a second helping. Mom'd learned from the best, namely Grandpa Wen and his guys at the Chinese buffet downtown. They kept asking when he was going to come around and learn the ropes for a summer, but he kept putting it off. He was perfectly fine with Mom's cooking for now.

"It was school." Really, what other answer could there be? By definition, nothing interesting or good ever happened there.

"Those boys haven't been bothering you again, have they?"

"No, mom..." He kept his eyes down towards his plate so they wouldn't roll at the question. Those boys, as she called them, were too busy with sports to beat him up on a regular basis, as long as he planned his own movements around their practice schedules.

"What about your friends? Jake, William, Rick, or... oh, what was his name... Cameron? Everything going well with them?"

"Yes, mom..." God, why did she have to be so nosy?

"Well, it's my job to know how you're doing, and if that means being nosy, then so be it." She laughed at the look on Les's face. "And no, I'm not psychic. I just remember how it was in high school. Now, eat your food."

He was happy enough to focus his attention on his food, and leave the conversation to his little sister. Mostly, he was thinking about his friends, though in the context of that new computer game that was currently installing on his computer. Only a few neurons were left to puzzle over Cameron's odd invitation that afternoon. Tomorrow would come, and then he'd see what that was all about.

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"Good morning!" He saluted the poster as he jumped out of bed. A shake of the head was enough to clear it of sleep, and his nose caught the smell of pancakes wafting in from the kitchen.

"Lester! Breakfast is ready!" Mom called from downstairs. Bleh, he hated when she used his full name. At school, it was all nerd-name jeers followed by unfunny child-molester jokes.

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"Leslie! Breakfast is ready!" Mom called from downstairs. Bleh, he hated when she used his full name. At school, it was all nerd-name jeers followed by unfunny lesbian jokes, despite his protestations about inheriting the name from his grandfather. Sometimes he wondered if Grandpa Les had ever hated Great-Grandpa Wainwright for sticking him with that name. His mom's cooking drew him out of his room, and soon he was seated, still in his pajamas, and enjoying some pancakes.

"Need to let the twerp finish up first," he countered. It was only the plain truth. Clarissa, ten-year-old bane of his existence, was already in the habit of hogging the bathroom in the mornings. What was a guy to do?

Well, the first thing to do was get out of the way, which he did, nimbly dancing around the threat of Clarissa's boots. "Bon appetit, twerp," he called back to her as he ran for the shower.

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School was never going to be on his list of best experiences ever, but it was tolerable in the morning before all those classes began. At least there were friends to share in the general grumpiness of early morning consciousness. They were all gathered around a desk in their homeroom, waiting for the bell and talking games.

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After school it was always the same routine. Les and his friends would hang out in some quiet corner for a while until the jocks were busy with sports practice, and then they'd go their separate ways. For him, that meant undoing the three locks on his bicycle and pedaling home.

"Hey, Les!" Cameron was waiting for him, as usual. And also as usual, Les didn't see him coming until he spoke up. For all his gawky height, Cameron had a way of making himself seem a lot smaller and hard to notice. He and Les had been in the same group of friends up till the end of fifth grade. Then Cameron moved to a different school for a year, and when he returned, the whole dynamic had changed. Even Jake and Rick thought Cameron was too much of a spaz now. "Um, whatcha doing tonight?"

"Hey yourself. We're having a game night tonight. Want to join in? It's the new expansion for Shadowzone." Les made the same sort of offer every week, but Cameron always turned him down.

"Um, I don't have that one. Guess I'll have to pass, ha ha." Even his laugh came out a bit off, but that was Cameron for you. "Think you could, um, swing by tomorrow? Got, um, some new hardware I wanted to show off."

"Okay, sounds great." The two of them had always shared an interest in electronics, old and new. They'd even collaborated on their winning fifth-grade science project. "Tomorrow afternoon, then?"

"Sure! Um, see you then!"

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Shadowzone was a decent game, he decided as he powered down his computer for the night. The arena-style shooter combined an alien horror style with a cool sci-fi aesthetic, but the level layout for the new expansion was, well, average at best. He'd been finding goodies right and left, hidden in spots that the designers must've thought were clever, but which seemed glaringly obvious to him. Bolstered by all the firepower he was turning up, his team had blasted through the abandoned cityscape of the game, with all its weird architecture, and were able to confront and destroy the first big boss without breaking a sweat. Hopefully the team versus mode would be more challenging.

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Les barely needed it. Eyes popped open, and fingers sketched a quick salute to the poster of Rocket Rose, a hero from nearby Portland. The poster saluted back, just as it always did. The photographer'd done a really good job framing that pose.

"Leslie! Breakfast is almost ready!" Mom called from downstairs.

He took the cue, jumping out of bed and sliding through the bathroom door just ahead of his little sister, Clarissa. "Too slow, sis!"

"No fair!" The ten-year-old stuck her tongue out at him.

"I'll be quick, promise. Save some pancakes for me."

"Okay, okay..." she grumbled.

He was in and out of the shower after a few minutes. The water felt so nice today, he hated to get out, but a promise was a promise. He wrapped one towel around his head and another around his body, and tried his best to dry off as quickly as possible.

The mirror was one of those new anti-fog types. Dad had it installed because he'd wanted to have a look at the tech, or at least that was what he said. Mom had a different story. Either way, it was fun to pose in front of it after a shower. Thinking of the poster hanging over his bed, he struck a pose...

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...thinking of the poster hanging over her bed, she struck a pose, only to lose her grip on the towel. Thankfully, there was no one there for Les to flash but herself, but even if there were, this hypothetical peeping Tom would be disappointed. Les took after her mother in every way except for her Irish red hair and kelly green eyes, but that unfortunately meant she fit the stereotype when it came to Asians and chestiness. She really hoped she'd inherited something from Grandma Katie, and that it would hurry up and show itself soon. Then she could lord it over Jacqueline at school.

Ten minutes later, Les was dressed and filling up on pancakes. Clarissa had already finished, and was getting out of the shower just as Les was putting her shoes on to leave.

"Hey, wait up! You said you'd walk to school with me!"

"Did I?" she said, feigning ignorance.

"Yes, you did." Clarissa tried to skewer her big sister with her best glare, but it only made her go cross-eyed. That made them both laugh. Les hugged her little sister, then waited for her to finish dressing. A few minutes later, they were on their way together.

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"...and so Lewis and Clark continued their voyage, in spite of the problems they faced..." Mr. Malkin's voice droned on and on, nasal and monotonous. It was sunny and warm outside, so of course inside was turning into a greenhouse full of sweaty and slightly potted students. Her nose wrinkled at the smell. It was so strong she didn't need to pinch herself to stay awake, though she still had to refrain from gagging. Les wished the teacher would hurry up a bit and get to the good stuff. They'd only started the unit on the Louisiana Purchase yesterday, but she felt like she could almost repeat the class lecture verbatim.

Beside her, Cameron was doodling in his notebook again. This time it was robots and laser cannons. Despite herself, Les's eyes kept wandering over to that page. It was far more interesting than the lecture.

"Miss Wainwright!" The only time Mr. Malkin's voice wasn't as dry as a mummy in the Sahara was when he was angry, and then it positively dripped like a sponge full of sarcasm. "Perhaps you..."

"Sacajawea helped to secure safe passage through the Shoshone lands and it is reasonable to say that without her help..." Les kept reading through to the end of the page, and would have kept going if Mr. Malkin hadn't recovered from his surprise by then and waved for her to stop.

Cameron sent her a wink and a thumb's up when the teacher's back was turned. Les grinned and winked back.

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"How was school today?" Mom asked as she passed a plate of fried rice around the table. She didn't turn down a second helping. Mom'd learned from the best, namely Grandpa Wen and his guys at the Chinese buffet downtown. They'd invited Les to come by and learn the ropes last summer, and she'd enjoyed it so much that she couldn't wait for vacation to begin again. She wasn't nearly on a level with Mom, but she hoped to get there someday. For now, she was perfectly fine with Mom doing the cooking.

"It was school," she said. "It's just... so boring these days. I feel like I already know all the stuff they're teaching in class, but they won't move on to the good stuff!"

"I can commiserate, Leslie dear," said Mom. "It's the end of the year doldrums. You'll be okay in a month. Well, either that or go crazy over boys."

"Mom!" she cried as Clarissa snickered from her seat.

"What about your friends? Jacqueline, Wendy, Rita, or... uh, what was his name, Cameron? Everything's going okay with them?"

"They're all fine."

"So when do you think Cameron will finally ask you out on a date?"

"Mom!" God, why did she have to be so nosy?

She was happy enough to focus her attention on her food, and leave the conversation to her little sister. Mostly, she was thinking about what Mom had said about Cameron. As a friend, there was no denying his good points. As a boyfriend... She shook her head. No way.

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--bing-bong ba-dee ba-dong-- The six jingly notes led off the semi-random melody that heralded the end of Les's slumber. The alarm clock had been programmed so that it was not too loud, not too soft, and not so predictable that it lulled the brain back to sleep. Dad had been rather proud of his work there, and Les didn't have the heart to tell him that the randomizer was a huge flop. She tapped along to the tune without even thinking about it. Maybe if she... No. Dad didn't like it when she messed with his tech without asking.

She did her morning salute to the poster of Rocket Rose, a hero from nearby Portland. The poster saluted back, just as it always did. The photographer'd done a really good job framing that pose.

"Leslie! Breakfast is almost ready!" Mom called from downstairs.

She took the cue, jumping out of bed and sliding through the bathroom door just ahead of her little sister, Clarissa. "Too slow, sis!"

"No fair!" The ten-year-old stuck her tongue out at her.

"I'll be quick, promise. Save some pancakes for me, and then we'll walk to school together, okay?"

"Okay, okay..." she grumbled.

She was in and out of the shower after a few minutes. The water felt so nice today, she hated to get out, but a promise was a promise. Les wrapped one towel around her head and another around her body, then inspected herself in the mirror. It was one of those new anti-fog types that Mom had insisted on getting. Dad's excuse was that he wanted a closer look at the tech, and he was sticking with that story. Either way, it was fun to pose in front of it after a shower.

Thinking of the poster hanging over her bed, she struck a pose, only to lose her grip on the towel. Thankfully, there was no one there for Les to flash but herself, though once again she grumbled at the genes she'd inherited from Grandma Katie. They'd kicked in over the last few months, and showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. Already she was almost a cup size bigger than Mom, and that entire stereotype about Asian chestiness was blown out of the water by her burgeoning artillery. The bath towel could barely cover it all.

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Ten minutes later, Les was dressed and filling up on pancakes. Clarissa had already finished, and was getting out of the shower just as Les was putting her shoes on to leave.

"Hey, wait up! You said you'd walk to school with me!"

"Did I?" she said, feigning ignorance.

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School was never going to be on her list of best experiences ever, but it was tolerable in the morning before all those classes began. At least there were friends to share in the general grumpiness of early morning consciousness. They were all gathered around a desk in their homeroom, waiting for the bell and talking games.

"Okay, ladies. Everyone ready for the new Shadowzone expansion rollout tonight?" her best friend Jacqueline was saying. Everyone nodded. Friday night was online game night with their crew, and they'd been looking forward to this expansion for months. Leslie, Jacqueline, Rita, and Wendy, the four Amazon princesses of Laurence Pell Junior-Senior High's eighth grade class. Or at least, so they liked to pretend.

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"Do you ever get the feeling there's something off about the world?" she asked Clarissa as they returned home from school. Her sister's elementary was right next door to Laurence Pell Junior/Senior High, and it was a leisurely stroll when one had company.

"Is this one of those teen things?" Clarissa asked. "Like the boobs and the boy-craziness?"

That earned the twerp a thunk on the head. "Not like that. More like... you know what déjà vu means, right? Well, it's like today was one huge string of déjà vu moments. No surprises. Like, at all. All my classes were perfectly predictable, down to the questions on my math quiz. It's driving me nuts -- short trip!" she shouted just as Clarissa opened her mouth.

"Okay, sis. That's a little freaky."

"Isn't it, though?"

"Well, you know what Mom would say..."

"That it's almost the end of the school year, we're in the academic doldrums, and that freedom's just a month away..." Les rattled off the list of Mom-isms, then stopped herself cold. Just how did she know what Mom would say, and why was she so sure of it?

"Sounds about right." Clarissa was nodding as if everything was still normal.

"Freakiest thing happened this morning, though."

"What?"

"I couldn't find my favorite blue shirt, so I put my red one out on the chair. Then I went to dig up a bra, and when I turned around, the blue shirt was there and the red was nowhere to be seen!"

"Sounds like you need more sleep," said Clarissa. "Maybe another ten minutes or so..."

"And let you grab the shower first? Nothing doing."

"Oh, look. There's your boooooooyfrieeeeeeeeend..."

Les held back a groan. Cameron was waiting near the playground on the corner from their house, standing in the most non-nonchalant manner possible. This sort of thing happened at least once a week, and she dreaded what was going to come next. As a friend, there was no denying his good points, but as a boyfriend... No way.

"Um, hey Les..." Cameron managed to call out her name and mumble it at the same time, somehow. For all his gawky height, the boy was a maestro of being the smallest in the room when it came to presence. Even Clarissa seemed larger. Sometimes she thought it a wonder that the two of them had been friends for so long. Jacqueline and Rita kept telling her to dump the spaz, but Les was always loyal to her friends. Even if he was a total spaz.

"Hey yourself," she said, then looked down at his hands. There was a single red rose held in his fingers.

"Um, for you?" He didn't sound too sure of himself. "I, er, I was wondering if you'd like to go see a movie with me, um, tonight?"

"I'm sorry, I already made plans with the girls for tonight," she said, happy for the handy excuse. "It's our regular game night, y'know, just us Amazons? But I could get you in on a team session with us, maybe?" Jacqueline would hate it, but Les could talk her around. "We're trying the new expansion for Shadowzone."

"Er, um, I don't... I don't have that one. Guess I'll have to pass, ha ha." Even his laugh came out a bit off, but that was Cameron for you. "Think you could, um, swing by tomorrow? Got, um, some new hardware I wanted to show off."

"Maybe. I'll have to check and see if there's anything I need to do." Behind Cameron, Clarissa was making ugly faces as she shook her head. "Might have to babysit the twerp, y'know."

"Er, okay." Whatever kind of answer Cameron had been expecting, that wasn't it. "Um, see you around then, maybe." He turned and fled through the playground, in his slow, bumbling way, with the rose still in hand.

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Now that had been a total flop, she thought as she powered down her computer for the night. She and her friends had enjoyed Shadowzone ever since it first came out, and the expansion had promised a lot with its bizarre, alien cityscape, but the whole thing was so easy she could laugh! The Amazons had blasted through the main event quest, taking out the big bad in record time. Seriously nerfed, the game was. No challenge at all. The only positive lay in the new weapons designs, which had been pretty interesting. She grabbed a notebook to scribble down some ideas. The actual blasters from the game were impossible of course -- they were only bits of code, after all -- but maybe...

She shook her head. No, it was too late to be starting new projects. Dad was always clear on that, though he didn't always lead by example. Eleven PM wasn't a time to paint, draw, write, or build stuff. It was well past her bed time, and so time to hit the sack. Ten minutes later, clothes changed and teeth brushed, she was ready for bed. Sleep claimed her soon after.

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"...and so Lewis and Clark continued their voyage, in spite of the problems they faced..." Mr. Malkin's voice droned on and on, nasal and monotonous. It was sunny and warm outside, so of course inside it'd been turning into a greenhouse full of sweaty and slightly potted students until she'd jiggered with the AC controls right before class started. Now, if anything it was a little too cool in school. Still better than the alternative, though. Her nose wrinkled at the memory of how English class had smelled last period.

Her notebook was out, but there were no notes to be seen. Instead, she'd filled page after page with diagrams of robots and laser cannons. It was far more interesting than the lecture.

"Miss Wainwright!" The only time Mr. Malkin's voice wasn't as dull as the Hal 9000 on Valium was when he was angry, and then it was as shrill as a xenomorph's scream. "Perhaps you'd--"

"Sacajawea helped to secure safe passage through the Shoshone lands, and it is reasonable to say that without her help..." Les kept reciting till she reached the end of the page, without once looking at her text. She'd already read the entire unit while Mr. Malkin was taking roll. She sat down to the sound of silence. When the teacher finally spluttered his way back into the lecture, she was already designing something else.

Cameron sent her a wink and a thumb's up when the teacher's back was turned. Les grinned and winked back.

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"Oh, look. There's your boooooooyfrieeeeeeeeend..."

"Hey yourself," she said, then looked down at his hands. Yup, there were a dozen red roses held in his fingers.

"Um, for you?" He didn't sound too sure of himself, like he was reading from an unfamiliar script. "I, er, I was wondering if you'd like to see a movie with me, um, tonight?"

"I'm sorry, I already made plans with the girls for tonight," she said, not actually sorry in the least. While she could give him points for persistence, Cameron was just being a pest now. How many times had she turned him down by this point? Her brain skipped a beat, then drew a blank. She wasn't sure, but she knew it must have been almost a hundred times...? No, that couldn't be right. That would mean almost every week since the end of sixth grade, and she was equally sure that this was a recent wrinkle in their personal relationship.

She rubbed her forehead. What was going on?

"Um, see you around, maybe." There was the impression now that Cameron would say more, or perhaps should have said more, but hadn't. Instead, he turned and fled through the playground, with the bundle of roses still in hand. He muttered something under his breath, and at first Les couldn't quite catch it. Then there was the oddest sensation, like the world was stretching and snapping back into place, and the words reached her ears loud and clear:

"Can't believe I'm gonna have to reset the damn thing again."

"Wait, what was that you said?"

"... knew I shouldn't have left it automated for so long..." Cameron mumbled on a moment longer before he realized that he was being followed, past the sand box and the slides.

"Excuse me!" she yelled. "What do you mean, reset?"

"Um, just talking to myself. Thinking about, um, the new hardware I just got in the mail. I was, um, gonna ask if you wanted to come by and see it tomorrow?"

"No," she said. "I don't think that's what you meant at all. Something weird's going on. I can feel it and I think you know it too." Behind her back, Clarissa was staring quietly at the two of them. Les shifted backwards a little, keeping her safe from... who? Cameron? Was he really a threat? He was still the bumbling, socially inept nerd she'd always known, but something in her head was rattling around and making her question everything at this point. Something was very, very wrong with the world, and somehow, she knew he had answers. "Seriously. There's been something seriously off about today. What's going on?"

"Today? Today?" For some reason, Cameron seemed to think this was terribly funny. "Today doesn't really exist, anymore than it did the time before this, or the time before that. Ha ha, I can't even, um, call it yesterday, 'cause all we've got is now. And you, um, you turn me down every now, no matter what."

"Okay, you're not making any sense here..."

"No. Er, I guess I'm not. Doesn't matter. You won't remember this now for much longer. Virt-Sys Access Camdon!" he shouted. "Stop the world, I want to get off! Hard reboot!"

And the world seemed to stretch into oblivion....

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And then the world snapped back into place, so suddenly that Les was knocked right off her feet. Reality wobbled like a top in the middle of its final rotations, and she hugged her knees until it all settled down. When she looked up, everything was the same as it was before, but completely different.

She was still a short walk away from home, sitting under the maple trees of the playground. The light was still mid-afternoon, but there was something funny about the way it hung in the air. It was quiet, so quiet... no noises from the road, no sounds of people or dogs or squirrels, or even...

Clarissa was standing exactly where she'd been when Cameron had shouted. The shaking of reality hadn't affected her in the slightest, hadn't moved her even an inch. Looking around, Les saw that her little sister wasn't the only one. There was a kid on the far side of the playground who was stuck halfway down the slide. A blue jay hung in the air, and some wind-blown leaves had stopped in mid-whirl.

"Stop the world, I want to get off?" Had Cameron really said that? Well then, how was Les supposed to get back on? She sat on the ground next to her sister-as-statue and began shaking.

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--- Saturday, May 16th, 2015 - 7:30 PM

No, no, no! What had gone wrong? Cameron Donner lowered the VR set from his head, glad to have the spongy weirdness of its padding away from his face. What was still going wrong? He flipped through the user manual over and over, faster and faster, as if the incomprehensible jumble of letters might work better as a flipbook. The machine was just short of its two-hundredth cycle, and Yanos had said it would all be over well before now.

Yanos. He'd know what to do. Cameron booted up the chat client on his secondary computer, the one that hadn't been partially incorporated into the new hardware, and started pinging like mad.

YANOS: What is it?

CAMDON: Something's wrong with the machine!

YANOS: Do you have the error log?

It took him a moment to locate the logs on the machine's terminal, the mess of electronics that had been his primary computer a week and a half before. It hadn't been turned off in that entire time, and he wasn't entirely certain it even ran the same OS at this point. Translucent blue cables ran out the back and into the... rest of the machine.

-tap tap tap-

CAMDON: Sent.

YANOS: Good. Wait. This may take a while.

So he waited. And waited. Behind him, the giant blue pearl of God-knew-what that was the main bulk of the machine began to lose its luster, turning dull and grey in patches that expanded in creeps and crawls across its curves. On the inside, a vaguely human silhouette was visible.

Les. How had it come to this? All he'd wanted was a sample, a bit of DNA that he could use in the template Yanos was helping him make. But the machine had a mind of its own sometimes, and then it was done and the cycles had started. Yanos had told him it was all for the best, that Les had the optimal combination of starting traits for what he wanted, and in any case, his friend wouldn't remember anyway....

What was taking Yanos so long? Cameron swiveled his chair to check his computers, only to find both monitors dead black. He was still staring at them in horror an hour later when the federal agents arrived.

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++++++??????????it??++++++

She wasn't sure how long she sat there hugging Clarissa's ankles and crying into the girl's sneakers. Time didn't seem to have much meaning now. The light was still coming from the exact same angle, and her watch still said it was a quarter to four.

What had Cameron done to the world? To her? To Clarissa? That last one left her the angriest of all. No one messed with her sister, ever. Why, if she had something to shoot him with right now...

And suddenly, she did. Have something, that is. A long-barreled handgun, sleek and stylized, lay on the grass before her. It took a moment for her to recognize it as one of the new weapons she'd seen in publicity for the Shadowzone expansion, though how it got here was beyond her. Had she... called it, somehow? Les picked it up, felt its weight in her hands, and fiddled with the buttons.

-zap- Well, it worked just like it should in the game, if the patch of sea green slag in the sand pit was any indication. Could she call up anything else? For an endless stretch of now she experimented, summoning anything and everything she could from the ether. Books, food, flowers, random weapons from a dozen games both digital and paper. But no matter what she did, she couldn't get her sister to budge from the spot where the girl stood frozen.

"Okay, world," she said out loud, in the hopes that something out there was actually listening. What was it that Cameron had said, exactly? "Um, Virt-Sys Access?"

-USER ID PLEASE- The words didn't seem to come from anywhere in particular. They just were.

"Virt-Sys Access Leslie?"

-PROCESSING... NEW USER ID ACCEPTED- Huh, now that had been easy. What was the point of having user IDs or passwords if someone could just put themselves in at any time? Or maybe Cameron had never expected anyone else to try this.

"Well then... Virt-Sys, can you tell me how long I've been here like this?" Putting an amount of time to this timeless state would be nice, if only for her own sanity.

Neat digits formed in the air: 07085324. They told her exactly jack.

"Um, separate into time units?" she added.

07d 08h 53m 24s.

"What's the date and time?"

2015-05-16 21:45:21s.

The numbers hung in the air without any real purpose, like a clock hanging on the wall of reality. After an agonizingly long period of time, the seconds digit at the far right end clicked over to 22. If that was supposed to represent real time, then something was incredibly wrong here.

"Can you speed things up a bit?" she asked. "Um, synchronize with real time?" No answer came. Maybe she could try it Cameron's way. "Virt-sys Access Leslie. Stop the world, I want to get off?"

That did the trick, though she wasn't sure what the trick was. There was that funny feeling again, like the world was stretching, only this time it didn't bounce back into place immediately. A rumbling spread through everything at once, and the world around her began to fade away, to dissolve into a pearly blue that was quickly shifting to grey. Trees, birds, items--

Clarissa.

Les held onto her sister, even as the rest of reality was falling to pieces around her. But then even Clarissa was gone, like wispy fog in her hands, and the world had shrunk to a tiny sphere that was barely big enough to hold her at all.

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--- Saturday, May 16th, 2015 - 9:46 PM

The federal agent's badge took up his entire field of vision. It dominated his world, and Cameron couldn't look away if he tried. Partly this was because of fear, but mostly it was because someone was holding his head against the surface of his desk and wouldn't let go. Click, went the handcuffs behind his back.

"Where is Lester Wainwright?" came the question, and his body was yanked upright to give the answer.

His tongue was paralyzed from shock and fear, and all he could do for an answer was to stare at the pod in the opposite corner of the room. It had turned a uniformly cloudy grey, and the figure inside was obscured. The agents followed his gaze just in time to see the first cracks form. Like branched lightning they spread across its surface, and then the entire thing melted away.

And Leslie Wainwright was born into the world.

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---- ARC, Cascades Research Park, Oregon

--- Sunday, May 17th, 2015 9:30 AM

Dr. Francis Polk stared through the glass of the observation room window for a few minutes, then rubbed his eyes and let out a short sigh. There was never enough time in the world, it seemed, which was why he hadn't slept in over thirty hours at this point. His fingers clung to his coffee mug, as if the sheer power of the brown sludge within had welded them closed.

The girl on the other side of that window hardly looked any better, though technically she'd only been conscious for twelve hours or so at this point. There was that "technically", however. Four syllables with four metric tons of meaning attached.

It was dark in his room and bright in hers. Polk was sure the girl suspected that he, or someone like him, was behind the pane of glass, but if she cared then she didn't show it. Miss Leslie Wainwright was too busy speaking to the site psychologist. Their conversation had begun well before dawn.

"How's she holding up?" came the question. The questioner followed his words into the room a second later. Until just before ten the previous evening, the Wainwright disappearance had been Agent Phelps' responsibility. Then had come the devise with its surprise occupant, and a call to Polk's office had followed soon after.

"Amazingly well, all things considered. Cooperative, too," he added, patting the thick file of data collected so far.

"Did your guys have any luck with the devise?"

"No." He sipped his coffee-flavored sludge. "The conventional hardware components are all fried, and the other sort are currently sloshing around in a bucket on level three. The only piece still intact is unfortunately fixed to the back of Ms. Wainwright's skull, which limits our options. How goes the paper trail?"

"Would you believe I've had even worse luck than you?" Phelps poured himself a cup of sludge, sniffed, winced, then drank it anyway. "Everything was delivered two weeks ago, just like the kid said. Got neighbors who remember the odd delivery van that brought it. Kid says the shipping manifest dissolved after about twelve hours. Typical for the UPDS. Not that we'd get anything out of them."

Polk nodded. The United Powers Delivery Service was a relatively recent company, but its reputation for discretion was sterling. That's why his own office employed its services from time to time. Anything delivered to anywhere, no questions asked or answered.

"What about the boy himself?"

"We'll need to keep him under wraps," said Phelps. "He's our one link back to this Yanos person, slim as it is. NEXT manages a juvenile detention facility in Montana that deals with science-minded offenders, mostly underage minions of various science villains, which is as good a place as any to put him. If his parents object, I can always remind them of just how many different federal crimes we could charge him with instead."

On the other side of the wall, the psychologist had taken Miss Wainwright's hand in a gesture of reassurance and consolation. Polk had to wonder who, after this entire debacle, truly needed it most. With dossier in hand, he walked towards the reception room where the family waited. He was about to find out.

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"That..." A finger stabbed towards the video footage of the counseling room. "... is not my son." Mr. Ian Wainwright hadn't seemed to be a man of choleric temperament when Phelps had first met him earlier in the week. Certainly, the man did not have the fiery temper of the Irish stereotype: easily lit and easily quenched. Instead, when he got angry, the results seemed more volcanic in their slow build-up and eventual eruption.

"Technically true," said Polk, in a voice that showed he'd grown tired of the adverb. "That is in fact your daughter. We've run as full a battery of physical, genetic, and psychological tests as we can on site, and they all support this conclusion. Lester Wainwright is now Leslie. And she has no memory of ever being otherwise." He let that last sentence sink in.

"Is there any way to, to reverse the process?" asked the mother, Lyn Wainwright. She was settled into the room's couch, with the family's younger child asleep beside her.

"If -- and that's an impossible if, by the way -- if we had the original devise in perfect condition, and if we could figure out how exactly it did what it did, and if we could duplicate it... No. It would require putting Les through the exact process all over again, which would be illegal, immoral, and unethical." Not to mention the fact that Polk wasn't sure it would even work on Leslie now, given the side effects.

"What are we supposed to do with... her?" Mrs. Wainwright asked. Her pale face was sallow with fatigue. She absently stroked her daughter's hair as she spoke.

"We'll need to test her mutation this afternoon, but if all remains stable then I don't see why she can't go home with you for dinner."

"What's this about a mutation, then?"

"Mr. Wainwright, I am sure you understand exactly what the words means."

"Impossible." The man actually snorted at that.

"It's certainly more likely than a Chinese girl with fire engine red hair and emerald green eyes," Polk replied. "And the genetic tests back me up on this. Leslie is an active mutant." He watched the parents' faces carefully "Is there going to be a problem here?"

"Not with me, personally, but..." The father brushed his hair back nervously. "When I said impossible, I meant exactly that. My office went through NMT-3000 certification two years ago... Oh, don't give me that look," he snapped. "You and I both know it's about as useless as 'gluten-free' advertising on bags of potato chips, but that's marketing for you. And you should already know what it takes to get the certification, right?"

He did at that. Despite the amount of mutant-produced gadgeteering now bound inextricably with the modern tech market, there was still a depressing percentage of the population willing to stick their heads in the sand and refuse to accept anything but technology that was certified as "non-mutant derived." As Mr. Wainwright had said, it was a useless, idiotic demand in this day and age, but that was marketing for you.

"I take it you had your entire family screened for the meta-gene complex then?" That had to be the requirement that Mr. Wainwright was alluding to. NMT-3000 would not allow for even potential mutants to come in contact with the company work. At the most, they might have a smattering of the identified genetic markers, but only because otherwise too many bigots would fail the test.

"Us, the kids, and our parents. Cost too damn much, and now I have to explain this to the CEO tomorrow. Christ..." Mr. Wainwright rubbed his face. "I've been working from home all week. I'll need to clear all that out before we can take him -- her home."

"We can provide transportation if you need an extra car."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Wainwright, holding her daughter close. The girl woke up enough to protest.

"In any case," Polk said, tapping his smartpad and nodding at the notifications, "it appears Leslie is ready for visitors. Shall we?"

As the three Wainwrights shuffled wearily out the door, he tapped in a final note on his pad. Les Wainwright had been a confirmed non-carrier.... This required some extra investigation.

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--- Clarissa

Augh, why was she even here? Clarissa's head was swimming with fatigue, confusion, and several gallons of annoyance. It was Sunday morning! She should be sleeping in today, but instead she'd spent the whole night on a sofa in a waiting room in the middle of... wherever the heck they were right now. Her ten-year-old brain wasn't being forthcoming on the details.

They'd found Les. Yay. He was still alive. Bigger yay. There was something wrong or weird going on with him. What else was new? She'd slept through the details, but how much weirder could the dweeb get, really?

Then she followed her parents into the next room and saw exactly who was waiting for them. The girl standing right there was tall, leggy, and busty, but otherwise looked an awful lot like Mom. Bright red hair fell down to almost her shoulders, and green eyes looked like they'd cried one river already, and were about to cry another one now.

In fact, the tears began flowing just as Clarissa realized that this girl was staring right at her.

"Clarissa!" And then was was being squeezed half to death, again, with no idea why or what or how or especially who. Then her right ear picked words out of the string of sobs: "You're alright. Thank God, you're alright. I didn't know what to do when you and everything else froze up and then you disappeared, and..." The strange girl broke down into even more sobs at that point.

Her left ear, the one that wasn't getting soggy, was free to hear bits of what Science Guy was saying to Mom and Dad: "Les was walking with her sister when the simulation began to decay, and something like that is bound to be traumatic..."

Wait a minute. Les? 'Her sister'? Clarissa flailed around, trying to find a way out of the soppy, sobbing grasp. Weird did not even begin to cover this! Nothing worked, though. The redhead's grip was too tight. Finally, she conditionally accepted the impossible, at least enough to say: "Les?"

"Yeah? -hic-" God, the girl actually responded.

"Let go before you crush my spleen, you dweeb!"

"Sorry!" The pressure let up, but the girl -- who couldn't be Les, seriously! Look at her! -- didn't remove her arms. "It's just... it's just... I thought I'd lost you, and..." The tears flowed freely again. Seriously, there was no way this huggy-feely mess could be her dweeb of a big brother, right?

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Wrong. Two hours later, and it was 'just us girls' in the washroom. Lined up all in a row in front of the mirror like this, there was no way to deny the resemblance. This new Les could have been a younger Mom or an older Clarissa, if it weren't for the hair, the eyes, or the boobs.

Dad had already gone home, but she'd been forced to stick around for the new Les's physical fitness testing. Mostly that was basic stuff like lifting weights or running, though she'd laughed when a guy threw a tennis ball at the back of that mess of red hair when she was focused on the treadmill.

Now that was all done, and Les had a moment to 'freshen up', which for some reason meant they all had to go. The dweeb, she noticed, was hardly sweating at all, even after that workout. A bit of water splashed on the face, and you'd think she was fresh as a daisy. What really weirded Clarissa out was how at ease Les was in the women's washroom. There was no hesitation or embarrassment, no sign at all that this... person who used to be her big brother realized how wrong the situation was. This new Les was just so... so lady-like that it was melting Clarissa's brain all over again.

Then there was lunch, where Les proved that certain things hadn't changed so much -- things like the dweeb's appetite and table manners. The cafeteria food wasn't so bad, but it didn't rate going back for seconds, much less fourths.

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And now it was four hours after lunch, and Clarissa was bored out of her skull. The rest of the power testing had been a dud, honestly. No fireballs, lightning, explosions, nothing. Les had failed most of the tests in five minutes, which was still longer than it'd taken for his last history test, she'd heard. But then the testing guys had put him/her/whatever into a big room with lots of electronic junk, and that was three hours ago.

Clarissa'd spent most of that time watching a Mutant High series marathon. At least this place had basic cable. She snerked as that idiot Beemer nearly destroyed the gymnasium with his omicron particle eye beams by accident, again. Too bad they couldn't send Les to a place like this. The dweeb would fit right in.

"Oh, Clarissa..." She cringed at the sound of her own name, sung sweetly in that oh-so-girly voice. The worst part was that the dweeb was sincere when she said it.

Les was at the door, holding a... something or other. It was sort of tear-drop shaped, with a tapered point that curved up to a clasp for a chain or necklace. There was a bluish crystal framed in the center like a dragon's eye, and the entire thing could fit in the palm of her hands. "This is for you!"

"Er, thanks. Um, what is it?" No way she was touching it until she knew.

"It's an MP3 player. You were wanting a new one for your birthday this summer, right?"

Yes, in fact she had, though how the dweeb knew was beyond her. She took it gingerly, half-expecting it to blow up in her hand. Instead, the crystal flashed, and a huge holographic display popped up before her eyes.

Les caught the thing before it could hit the ground. "Sorry about that. I should've warned you." The weird girl then activated the player again and gave Clarissa a tour of the controls. "See, it's got all your favorite songs on file already. Someone down in IT has a huge cache of MP3s on a back server. Anyway, you can arrange them in any order you want. Alphabetic, by artist, album, publisher, genre, length, or your choice of numerological system. It can also stream any podcast you want, or play TV shows and movies with full buffering. The case is made of this new cermet alloy they had on hand, and the screen,"tap-tap-tap, "is actually a cultured sapphire lens. It's completely waterproof, can withstand any level of pressure you can, and should be good up to temps of at least a thousand degrees Kelvin." The dweeb finished off this spiel like it was something impressive, but it was all scientific gobbledegook to Clarissa.

"Er, wow," was the best response she could come up with. "Um, how do you plug it in?"

"It works off of body heat and kinetic motion from walking."

"...of course it does..." God, her dweeb of a big brother was now her geek of a big sister. How was she supposed to live with this?

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--- Ian Wainwright

It was just past six o'clock when he got home from the office. The past few hours had been a hurricane of activity as he removed everything even slightly work-related from the house, loaded it into the station wagon, and carted it off. Twice. The man at the security gate had thought it very amusing, the jerk.

People would be asking questions tomorrow, and he dreaded having the answers. With the results of the previous genetic screenings and the ARC report on what the Donner boy had done to his son, it was almost possible he might keep his job, despite the NMT-3000 requirements. That hope was dashed the moment Lyn texted him the official testing results, however.

Gadgeteer. There were a couple of other abbreviations on the list -- both beginning with E, oddly enough -- but that first one by itself was enough to end his career at Puritech Solutions, Inc. Everyone in the industry knew what trained gadgeteers could do, and no one but no one would ever trust a single thing to come out of any project he was involved in. It was guilt by association with genius, unfortunately.

He did his best to banish the negative thoughts as he pushed open the front door to greet his loving wife and daughter...s. Leslie was smiling and waving at him from the kitchen, wearing an apron over her borrowed ARC jumpsuit. He'd seen that expression on his wife before, knew the way her body was posed. During their dating years, he'd jokingly referred to it as "wokking out". Lyn herself was watching with a bemused and confused look on her face.

The question was, when had Les learned to cook?

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It had to be the mutation, he surmised much later on a happily full stomach. Gadgeteers were supposed to have an instinctual grasp of how systems worked, right? Perhaps that could be applied to cooking. Then Dr. Polk's explanations returned to him, with things like "feedback loops" and "forced neural overwriting". His son, now his daughter, had been reprogrammed from the basic memory on up, and with that evidently came the ability to cook.

His stomach was not-so-happily full now.

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--- Lyn Wainwright

Culture shock was an odd thing, Lyn Wainwright knew. She'd experienced it enough on those family trips to Hong Kong in her youth. The big things, the big differences were easy to prepare for because they were so big. You could see them coming, or could hear about them from those who'd traveled before you. It was the little stuff that tripped you up, though, the little differences that cropped up where you felt most comfortable.

It had taken her most of the day to come to grips with even the most basic facts of her child's transformation. The afternoon had been spent with the ARC site's resident psychologist, discussing possible issues and emotional landmines, but much of what they had to work on was based on people who knew they'd changed genders for one reason or another. Despite everything, her older child was thoroughly convinced she was a girl. Even so, Lyn had thought she had all her bases covered, and even managed not to cry when Les... Leslie commandeered the kitchen as soon as they got home, acting like it was the most usual thing in the world. Neither of them were prepared for the actual problem to come.

"What the heck happened to my room!?"

Dr. Polk had said that the mad science machine, the "devise" as he called it, had worked off of Les's own memories, altering them slowly to fit the changes it was making to the rest of him. Apparently this included the details of his bedroom, as Leslie made it perfectly clear that this wasn't her room at all.

"My poster! What happened to Rocket Rose? Power Salvo is such a poser!" The girl was buzzing around the room like a disturbed bee in a bonnet. Nothing was right, to hear her complain. The bed, the decorations, the books on the shelves, the clothes....

"We already knew you'd need new clothing," Lyn tried to comfort her new daughter, who was on her knees and sobbing. "Is the rest really so bad?"

"My picture of valkyrie Brunhilde. The one I drew last summer. Where is it?" The question broke at the end with a tiny hiccup.

"Your..." She wasn't sure what the girl was talking about. Lester drew and painted on occasion, but as far as she knew he'd never finished anything. Most of his attempts were stacked in the back of his closet, and that was the first place she checked. "Is this it?"

The piece she pulled out was only the bare bones of a picture, with the outline of a person, a few smudges of charcoal pencil, and not much else. It could have been almost anyone, but Leslie took it carefully into her hands and nodded. "I thought... I thought I'd finished..." There was another hiccup, followed by a sob.

"Your art supplies are in the garage," Lyn said carefully. "You can do it again."

"Th-thank you..." Leslie looked so lost in that moment, like she'd just now realized what a strange new world she was thrust into. All of Lyn's maternal instincts were screaming that the girl needed all the hugs and love she could provide, and so she did, wrapping her arms around Leslie and holding her tight.

She could only hope it was enough.

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---- Monday, May 18th, 2015 6:25 AM

--- Clarissa

She didn't have an alarm clock -- had never needed one, in fact. The dweeb's was loud enough to wake the dead, and its foghorn bellow vibrated the wall between their rooms every morning at 6:30. She was used to it by now, to the point that she now woke up five minutes before it went off. So when it erupted into its usual WEEE-ORRR, she wasn't surprised. When it got cut off in mid-WEE, followed by the crash of an alarm clock against the wall, that did surprise her.

But what absolutely astounded her was how Les beat her to the bathroom, sliding through the door ahead of her with a "Too slow, sis!" When had it become a race? The old Les was a total grump in the morning, so she'd never had to hurry. That too had changed, grumble grumble.

Grrr... She hated having to wait in the morning.

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When Clarissa finally did get out of the shower, the dweeb was waiting for her. Why, she couldn't figure out at first. Les was dressed up in a combination of her brother's old clothes and some of Mom's hand-me-downs, and Clarissa would never admit how jealous she was of her new sister's looks. She had to say something, though.

"What?" When in doubt, be surly. That usually worked with him

"Hey now, usually I'm the one who feigns ignorance here." Leslie kept going in the face of Clarissa's blank stare. "You know, how I always pretend to forget? About walking with you to school?" There was a long, awkward pause between them. "I do walk with you to school, don't I?"

Clarissa didn't know what to say, so she just shook her head slowly. She'd gone to school on her own for the past two years now, ever since Les started at junior high. Once again, her big sister's memories were out of sync with reality, and she watched as the older girl deflated before her eyes.

"Um, I guess you could walk with me today," she offered. "I mean, we can't say who you really are, obviously, but you could be my cousin or something. If anyone asks." And oh, would people be asking...

She'd never seen someone literally light up from happiness, but that head of red hair was practically glowing now. Clarissa rushed off to get dressed, just to escape the weirdness of the moment.

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---- 11:00 AM

--- Ian Wainwright

"... and that's the situation, sir." He'd spent the last fifty minutes explaining the weird circumstances of the past week, which was thirty-five minutes longer than he'd ever spent speaking directly with the CEO of Puritech Solutions. Depending on how the next ten minutes went, it may also be the last time he saw the man.

Mr. Maxwell Devlin, "Call me Max" to his employees, was lacking his signature good-natured smile now. The manila file before him was open, with all the data that ARC could share laid out upon his desk. "This is a difficult position for the company to be in, Ian."

"Yes, sir. I'm aware of that, sir. I'm sorry..."

"Don't beat yourself up over this, Ian. This isn't the sort of thing anyone can plan for, unfortunately."

Mr. Wainwright nodded and waited for the other shoe to drop.

"I thank you for moving your work materials in such a timely manner as well. Legal has already informed me that, regardless of the circumstances, we can keep our NMT-3000 status intact for now. The problems arise when it comes to renew the certification in August..."

And there it was. He could read between the lines as well as any man, and that had the sound of a boss giving an employee two weeks' notice. Ian was glad he'd updated his CV last night.

"Understood, sir. I've already given my project notes over to Brian, just in case."

"Thank you, Ian."

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No, that will be all. Take the rest of the day off, be with your family, get your things in order."

"Thank you, sir." He took his leave, not trying to decipher the look on his soon-to-be former boss's face. There was nothing good behind it, he was certain.

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---- 1:00 PM

---Lyn Wainwright

It was good to see that Les still had her usual appetite, Lyn thought as she watched her new elder daughter wolf down slice after slice of food court pizza. Every point of commonality mattered, because she desperately needed something to focus on besides what had changed. Most of the day so far had been one long example of that. Old Les needed to be dragged into a department store, kicking and screaming, in order to get a new set of clothes each year. New Les practically had to be dragged out. It was yet another of those moments where her child truly was a stranger to her, and it left her chilled to the heart even as she faked enthusiasm over her daughter's purchases.

The girl actually had a good sense for fashion, if a bit more conservative than Lyn had expected. Leslie knew how to dress up, but seemed to avoid anything overly sexual without even thinking about it.

"How was your walk this morning?" she asked, looking for sanctuary wherever she could get it.

"It was good. Just... odd, y'know? Going all the way to school, but not going in."

"Did you see anyone you know?" She'd worried a little about that, but it wasn't like anybody knew about Les's changes yet. No one would ever see Lester when looking at Leslie.

"Not really. None of my friends hang around in front. Only the jocks and the cool kids meet there. A couple of guys tried to flirt with me, but I just kept on walking." The girl smiled at that. "Funny, they never did that before."

"I find that hard to believe." Really, she did. Ian was already talking about getting a shotgun to fend off all the boys who were sure to come sniffing around.

"Nope, really. Never been on a date, never even had a guy flirt with me before."

"Not even with your friends?" Lyn asked. "Jake, Rick, or William?"

"Who?" There was that look again, the one she'd already come to dread. There was another reality mismatch moment building up.

"Why don't you tell me about your friends at school then?"

"Well, there's Jacqueline. She's like, the leader of our gaming group. Likes to complain about how she can't get a boyfriend, and how she wishes she were, um, built more like me." Leslie blushed a little, glancing down at her own cleavage. "Then there's Rita. Her dad's a big gaming nerd, so she's got most of the source books we use for our tabletop stuff. And Wendy's more an outdoors gal. We were talking about going camping at her family's ranch after exams. Oh, and then there's Cameron, the spaz." Leslie grimaced at that. "Still can't believe he tried to ask me out."

Her mother could believe it. The Donner boy had an end-goal in mind when he set up the devise, even if he claimed Les's involvement was accidental. And if the thing was going to produce the perfect girlfriend, it wouldn't do to have her be attached to anyone else in her memories. So all of Lester's friends turned into Leslie's girl-friends, and the high school hunks kept their distance, just so Les would think no one would ever want to date her.

Oh Lord, was the girl going to be in for a surprise.

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---- 6:00 PM

--- Clarissa

Clarissa scribbled down the last answer on her math worksheet, slammed her textbook shut, and let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a groan. Numbers had never been her thing. She'd left that sort of stuff to the dweeb. Only now, the dweeb had memories of helping Clarissa with homework from time to time. So, did she break down and ask for help, or continue trying to avoid weird situations?

This morning's walk had been bad enough, with Miss Bright and Cheery holding up most of the conversation, but of course everyone in her class had to see the two of them together. It'd been non-stop questions all day. A few were even from the school next door, passed on by younger brothers and sisters. God! This was getting so annoying!

"Clarissa, honey! Time to go!"

That perked her up, at least. She was down the stairs in a flash. Mom and Dad were waiting for her, along with (sigh) her big sister. She suffered having to sit with the dweeb in silence, which Les unfortunately decided to fill with chatter about the big shopping trip today. Who wanted to hear about that, really? Not Clarissa. It was a long drive to Grandpa's.

The Hong Kong Buffet was the oldest and best Chinese restaurant in town, at least in her educated opinion. They are there at least twice a month, and Grandpa always had a special table set aside for them. Idly, she wondered if anyone had warned him to expect the weirdness.

"Grandpa Wen!" And the dweeb was off like a shot, running right up to the old man who was waiting in front of the building.

"Leslie!" he called back, with only a half-second pause. Huh, Mom must've called ahead of time. "Nǐ hǎo!"

"Nǐ hǎo!" She joined her big sister on the chorus. That was about the limit of her Chinese, though Grandpa always encouraged them to learn more. Case in point:

"Nǐ yào xiē chá ma?" All she could tell for sure was that it was a question.

"Yào, xiexie!" the dweeb squeaked. Of course Les knew how to reply properly. Of course. What was one more bit of weirdness on top of the rest? At least Grandpa looked happy.

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--- Ian Wainwright

"Truly, seeing is believing," his father-in-law said quietly to him while Lyn and the girls loaded their plates at the buffet line. "Her face could be her mother's at that age."

"Be thankful you had plenty of warning," Ian whispered back. "We're all still in shock. I'm not even sure what we'll do with her right now. Can't even send her back to school, not in this state."

"Why not let me keep her busy here? My daughter told me Leslie believes she worked here last summer anyway. Why not put the truth to her memories, at least a little?"

He looked at that face, only now starting to show signs of age. Eventually his father-in-law would be a stereotypically wizened old font of wisdom, but for now his face was as round and jovial as the happy buddha statue on the counter by the register. The wisdom, however, was there regardless.

"Are you sure it'd be alright?"

"She's family, so there are no problems with her being underage. She believes she has experience, which might help. She has an interest in learning Mandarin, so it would be educational as well. And of course," the old man added with a twinkle in his eye, "she'd look quite charming in one of our waitress outfits."

"True enough." Damn, this would be convenient... "We'll think about it."

"Good, good. Now, to dinner!" The ladies were returning with laden plates, and man, did it smell good. Thank goodness he'd always loved Chinese food. He'd certainly eaten enough of it over the years.

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---- Friday, May 22nd, 2015

--- Grandpa Wen

Jiang Wen had seen many strange and wonderful things in his life, many of them in the years since his immigration to the Land of the Free in his youth. He cherished the memory of these things, keeping them in a special place close to his heart. First and foremost among them were sweet remembrances of his daughter and grandchildren.

Sweet little Lyn, who at the age of five had insisted on helping in the kitchen.

Smart little Clarissa, taking her first steps and saying her first words within the same week.

Clever Lester, always trying to build or draw, even if he often lacked the patience to finish....

And now Leslie, so like Lester and yet so different. He watched her now, dressed in a form-fitting blue China dress with her hair up in the traditional ox-horns. There was a year's worth of surprise and wonder right there. Seeing her with the customers, she seemed completely natural, completely at ease and as serene as the goddess Guanyin on her pedestal in the front of the restaurant. Sometimes, he imagined the Buddhist deity, herself of ambiguous gender, approved of his new granddaughter's grace and courteousness.

Leslie was at the cash register now, and his eyes narrowed. The buttons were hidden from the customers' view, but not from his, and a moment after the hungry family moved on to the buffet line, Grandpa Wen moved to his granddaughter's side.

"You forgot to use the buttons again," he whispered.

Her face turned red. Another wondrous thing, that was. Somewhere in the mix, Leslie had acquired a thoroughly Irish blush reflex. "I'm sorry, grandfather. Um... Gěi nín tiān zhème duō máfan, zhēn guòyìbùqù."

"Bù kèqi, granddaughter."

"It's just so easy that..."

"It is okay, truly. But you must learn to be more careful. One of these days someone else might notice how you work the machine without touching it." She nodded, all serious, and he grinned. "Now, the clock tells me that it is time for your break. Why don't you go in the back and actually rest for a change?"

The girl was more than ready to bounce away, though he knew she would never sit down long enough to actually rest. Leslie had all of Lester's cleverness and imagination, with the addition of a good deal more focus and energy to back it up. So far this week, she'd rewired the old refrigerator in back, increased the power of the microwave oven, and built her grandfather a new computer out of spare parts that his son-in-law had provided. Then she taught herself how to use the restaurant's accounting software, and organized the recipe database while she was at it.

Grandpa Wen understood that none of this was normal, but where others might react with fear and hatred, he merely rejoiced in the strange and wonderful experiences that life had to offer. Such was this world. Such was this time. Only a fool would not appreciate the beauty of miracles.

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---- Saturday, May 23rd, 2015

--- Harry Treatner

There were few boys at Laurence Pell Junior / Senior High who were as thoroughly average as Harry Treatner, and that was pure calculation on the eleventh grader's part. He'd found the sweet spot of coolness and attention, just enough to be there and be a part of all the action, but not so much that people tried to take him down a peg. An active member of the football team, but never MVP. Passing all his classes, but never so well that people called him a nerd. It was a comfortable level of studied non-accomplishment. It was just enough that everyone knew him, and he knew everyone who mattered.

Well, almost everyone. Rumors had been flying around school all week about the new girl at the Chinese place. Danny, Trey, and Patrick had all eaten there this week, and they'd all raved about what a looker she was. There were dozens of stories floating around as people tried to learn more about her. The only thing anyone could figure for certain was that she was related to that dork in eighth grade who'd gone missing two weeks ago, and that was only because she walked with the dork's sister every morning.

"Go on, dude," said Wyatt. The linebacker nudged him while the others grinned. The six of them had decided to stop by the Hong Kong Buffet after morning practice, to scope out the lay of the land. And unless he missed his guess, there were vast tracks of it under that cute little dress she wore.

Grinning back at his teammates, he sauntered over to the register where the girl was standing.

"Nǐ hǎo!"

"Um, yeah. Knee how." His pronunciation must've been awful, but it got a giggle out of her, so it was all good. "So, ah... Leslie, right?" Her name was right there, pinned to her chest, and he was more than happy to check it a few more times to make sure he had it right.

"Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked.

"Your phone number?" he replied with his most trustworthy, shit-don't-stink smile.

"In your dreams, Mr. Anonymous."

"Oops, forgot to introduce myself, didn't I. Harold Treatner."

"But everyone calls you Harry, right?"

"Everyone who matters, in my opinion. Well, if you want to keep yours secret, go ahead, but here's my number anyways." He scribbled his digits on a napkin and left it on the counter. With a smile and a bow, he left the restaurant. His friends were waiting outside.

"How'd it go?" Wyatt asked.

"The hook is baited and the fish is nibbling. Just a little time, and I'll reel it in," he said with a smirk. Leslie was interested; he could tell as much. This would give him something to look forward to the run-up to finals week.

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---- Friday, May 29th, 2015

She'd taken the bait, Harry was happy to say. Leslie messaged him that first night, keeping it innocent but curious. She had all sorts of questions about his school, and he was glad to tell her. His own accomplishments he may have exaggerated, but only by a little. They'd texted into the early hours that night and the next, and for almost every night this week as well. He'd asked about calling her directly, but she turned him down there. Apparently she was the type to be busy at all hours, and texting was most convenient. He wasn't complaining. Their evening conversations made his homework time bearable.

He was starting to feel bad for what his friend Wyatt Devlin had said about her.

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---- Saturday, May 30th, 2015

--- Grandpa Wen

"Is it okay if I take my break outside?" his granddaughter asked that day. The request came as a surprise; normally the girl was happy to stay inside and tinker more. But if she felt the need for some fresh air, who was he to say no?

He nodded his assent and watched her dash out into the late afternoon sunshine. Then he turned and nodded again, this time to Johnny Tsao, the heavyset cook who handled the kitchens for him most of the time. Johnny took the hint, slipping out the side door as quiet as the breeze. Doubtless, the man had at least one cooking implement of a sharp and dangerous nature on his person.

Jiang Wen trusted his granddaughter implicitly. It was the rest of the world he treated with suspicion.

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--- Harry Treatner

"Nǐ hǎo!" And there she was, right on schedule, his exotic little fish on the line. After a week of texting, it didn't take much to get her on a date, if that's what they could call this.

He was sitting on a park bench not far from the restaurant, with two drinks and some sweets in a bag. "How's your day going?" he asked.

"Good as ever. Staying busy, y'know?" She slid onto the bench beside him, until they were sitting hip-to-hip. Damn, how he'd wished for a girlfriend like this in the past. Smart, sweet, stacked, and yet so innocent. Life was just weird like this. It gave you what you wanted, but at the worst possible times.

"Care to walk a bit?" he suggested, pointing to the path that led deeper into the park. "It's a beautiful day, after all."

"Sure!"

He could have taken her down the wrong path. He should have taken her down the wrong path. In years to come, he'd reach the conclusion that this was one of the great mistakes of his life, that he didn't lead Leslie away from the spot where Wyatt Devlin and a half-dozen friends were waiting. He'd been taking orders from higher in the pecking order for so long, that even when his heart was yelling 'No,' he still kept going.

"Lookie here, boys," came Wyatt's self-assured drawl. Then it was too late for regrets. The greater bulk of the school's football team popped out of hiding, and they were surrounded. "The freaky fish on a hook, well and caught."

"What...?" Leslie whimpered, clinging to his arm in surprise and fear.

Harry's sense of chivalry, vestigial as it was, stirred his heart and placed words in his mouth: "Wy, there's got to be a mistake. No way she's what you said. Just look at her."

Seriously, in this moment it was impossible to imagine Leslie as anything but a scared, innocent girl, one who was staring at him with pleading eyes, like she was begging for all this to be some strange joke. He wished it were. It wouldn't hurt so much if it were. Harry shifted his weight, shielding her from his own teammates.

"Wise up, bro." Wyatt's voice matched the sneer on his lips. "Got the info straight from my dad, who got it straight from his dad." The young man stabbed a finger at Leslie to emphasize the pronoun. "That's Lester Wainwright, not-so-disappeared after all, so shake that freak off your arm, Harry. He wants to play a girl, then we teach him how girls get treated."

"No." The syllable flew off his lips before he could really think about it.

"Think with your brain, not your balls, bro. I admit, Lester makes an awful hot chick, but you run with us and we don't accept fakes, ever."

"Leslie. Her name is Leslie." What the hell was he doing? a small part of his brain demanded to know. It wasn't connected to the part that sent a fist straight into Wyatt's face.

Oh. Hell.

"Fuck, bro!" Wyatt had a hand over his nose, trying in vain to keep the blood from flowing. "Mutant bitch must have mind control or something," the linebacker said to his friends. "Beat some sense back into him!"

The problem with being a shield was that you took all the hits. Harry was used to getting pummeled on the field, but there he had pads to absorb some of it. Here, under the fists and boots of his own teammates, he could feel the bones cracking in a symphony of pain.

Then the music started.

It was the weirdest combination of bleeps, bloops, and Top 40 tunes, and the only reason he even noticed it at first was because the beatdown stopped for it. Part of this oddball orchestra was coming from his own hip pocket, accompanied by the various devices everyone was now pulling out. He could barely make out the words that came next, and only because each phone produced the exact same phrases:

"911 emergency services. We received a call from this number..."

"Help! Some guys are beating up my boyfriend in Bryce Park, maybe ten minutes from the Hong Kong Buffet!" Leslie's voice rang loud and clear on the line, but Harry couldn't actually hear her nearby. He couldn't see her, either, but his head hurt too much to really look around. All he could do was listen as she gave a detailed description of the attackers, complete with names. Said attackers were now desperately trying to cut the connection, but to no avail. Their phones weren't paying attention to their frantic swiping. Mitch Thompson actually threw his to the ground and jumped up and down until it was in pieces.

"Where'd she go?" yelled Wyatt, barely understandable around his busted nose.

Harry would've laughed if he dared. These idiots -- he couldn't really call them his friends anymore -- had been so focused on beating him up that they must've taken their eyes off Leslie, and she'd split. How she was doing the thing with the phones, he didn't know, but if she really was a mutant then anything was possible.

The last thing he remembered seeing before he passed out was Leslie running back into the clearing, followed by a police officer and a very large Oriental guy. He hoped he wasn't just hallucinating.

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---- Saturday, June 7th, 2015

--- Leslie Wainwright

She stared at the phone like a cat keeping watch over a mousehole, daring it to light up with a message notification. The hunk of glass and plastic refused to do anything but sit there on her desk. It'd been a week since Harry was sent to the hospital, and the phone hadn't beeped once since then. The hospital staff wouldn't let her see him when she visited, either.

Maybe they hadn't given him his phone back yet. Maybe his dad had forbidden him from contact. Mr. Treatner was none too happy that his son got beaten half to death in defense of a mutant.

Maybe -- and this thought caught in her throat, making her sob -- maybe Harry didn't want to see her ever again? It was possible. He'd helped Wyatt set her up, even if he did switch sides when it all went down. She desperately hoped that the Harry she thought she knew was the real Harry, and not some act. Her life was full of acts and facades as it was.

Everyone wanted her to be something else. The annoying big brother, the dutiful son, the loser dork, the victim, the mutant menace, something, anything. She couldn't even count on her own friends because they didn't exist anywhere except in her memory. The only person willing to take her on her own terms, on her own memories, was Grandpa Wen, who seemed to accept each day as it came, and her as well. Grandpa -- and maybe Harry too. Whatever the original reason for asking her out, he'd treated her like the girl she was, not like some weird thing that couldn't fit in.

-peep- Her phone buzzed into life for just a second. She closed her eyes, reading the message as it arrived in a burst of data: "Hi, Leslie. I'm doing okay. Surgery's over. Doctors say I'll be in therapy for a few months. Miss our chats. Harry."

Without bothering to open her eyes, or even touch the phone, she sent a message back: "Miss you too..." They texted back and forth for a little while longer. She told him that Grandpa Wen promised him a free lunch anytime he might stop by, and how Wyatt and his buddies were the centerpiece of a big display explaining exactly why they were banned from the premises for life. Any other punishment would have to wait until the courts did their thing. Since a mutant was involved, that could take a while.

Harry finally had to sleep, so she went back to her current project: family photos. Dad had scanned hundreds of snapshots from Lester's past and put them on a flash drive for her to look at as she wanted. It was a trip down Misery Lane. Often she recognized a place or event, except the details were slightly off. Above all, there was that other face, that other Les, staring back at her accusingly.

It wasn't her fault. She hadn't asked to take over his life like this, but now here she was, a stranger in a strangely familiar land. The current photo was from her, or rather his, last birthday -- a big smile over a bigger cake. Leslie narrowed her eyes, and the image slowly altered. The cake's motif changed from military camo to fantasy pastels, and while the big smile stayed the same, the eyes and hair that went with it wavered and shifted colors.

"I reject your reality, and substitute my own," she whispered, a challenge to the world.