Samuel Mosely sat quietly in a conference room deep inside the actual main offices of the NSA. Two years shy of 40, the once head of theoretical physics at CERN couldn’t help but wonder why he’d been called in once again to this fucking meeting room. After all, it had been almost 12 years since the disappearance of Foster, Justine and his little AI program.

  Not that he missed them all that much. In fact, he probably would have sold them out a long time ago if he had any idea where they might be hiding.

  And that lack of knowledge meant that instead of enjoying a life free from annoying questions, he would be called into a room like this about every 12 months or so. And every 12 months, some uptight asshole would stroll through the door and spend an hour grilling him over every detail that he might recall about the algorithm.

  Fucking Hoover.

  And for that matter, fucking Foster. Why in the hell did he think it was good idea to release that code into a world built on keeping secrets. Not that he minded going back to what was essentially late 80s, early 90’s technology. He even quite liked writing actual letters to people again. Hell, even stand-alone fax machines had come back in style somewhat.

  Sure, apps like TikTok and Instagram have dropped precipitously over the years. And not that people still didn’t use them on occasion. But those occasions were reserved for the odd birthday party photo or family trip update. And those people absolutely had nothing to hide. As in, I have never done anything or will do anything wrong in my life.

  Because if you decide to tip toe into the digital frontier these days, anything you did was instantly up for grabs. Good or bad. And anyone with that stupid app had the power to own you for the rest of your online life. But the worst part? The worst part was everyone having to go back to writing checks, he thought bitterly to himself.

  Who the hell even knew how to write checks anymore? Let alone balance a checkbook. Still, he thought with a tiny hint of a smile, things could be worse. He could be Edgar Fitz Hume right now. Shunning that horrible thought, Samuel leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and waited for his yearly interrogation to begin.

  Still, he didn’t mind these little sessions back at his old stomping grounds.

  After all, ever since their little dust up in Elmira, he’d been shunned by most of the scientific and counter-intelligence community because of Edgar’s stink. And it wasn’t just him either. Everyone in the RV suffered. That’s how radioactive they all were after his old boss’s little emails were sent out all over the globe.

  EF Day. What a joke, he thought as the door to the room he now sat in began to swing open. The ones left behind always suffer. Wasn’t that how the old saying went?

  “Dr. Mosley,” the white-haired senior NSA interrogator said as he crossed the distance from the door to his side of the small, industrial table. “I see it’s that time of year again.”

  Nodding, but not answering, Samuel waited for the old man to sit down and begin asking him the same questions he did every year. Namely, a few perfunctory questions about Justine Rushing and Foster Evers? Then, a whole slew of questions about the program. And finally, Agent Pembroke would sometimes ask if he knew where Edgar had run off to.

  But not so much anymore. Why? Because these days, less people seemed to care about what happened to the algorithm’s patient zero. Not when finding the source code was so much more important to fixing the current state of this screwed-up world.

  Surprisingly though, this time Agent Pembroke wasn’t alone for their usually informal talk. No, this time a much younger and to be honest, more intimidating man strode through the door just behind him. Close to six and a half feet tall, the stern, olive-skinned agent loomed over the table while doing his best to both be menacing and friendly at the same time.

  In all honesty, the dichotomy of the two men was almost laughable. Almost.

  “Agent Pembroke,” Samuel said while trying his best to ignore their height difference. “I see you brought company this year. For what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Dr. Mosely,” the tired looking agent sat down directly across from him and raised a hand to point at his companion. “Allow me to introduce you to Agent Zheng. He’s new to the Evers task force by way of the ONI.”

  Introduction made, the newcomer looked down at Samuel from the metaphorical clouds and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Mosely. I look forward to picking your brain on our little problem.”

  “Nice to meet you, Agent Zheng.” Samuel said in a perfunctory tone and wondered why anyone from the Office of Naval Intelligence would be interested in him. “But I don’t know how much fruit you’re going to find in my brain about Foster. I haven’t seen the man in almost 12 years.”

  Samuel stopped talking for a moment to let the gravity of that statement wash over his already weary psyche. Had it already been 12 years since that shit show in upstate New York? Damn how time flew by when you weren’t looking.

  “Well,” the agent said as he squatted over the nearest chair. “No harm in trying.”

  “I guess.” Samuel agreed.

  For the next thirty minutes, Agent Pembroke asked his usual battery of questions about the current whereabouts of Foster and Justine. Occasionally, he would refer to Hoover in some clandestine way without saying the program’s given name. Even though everyone in the room knew what the man was asking about.

  He even brought up Edgar this time in a while. Only the query wasn’t in the form of a question. Instead, it was an off-handed threat connected to the NSA’s inability to send encrypted messages anymore. This lament was quickly followed by an overly detailed description of the physical harm that would befall Edgar should he ever surface again.

  As they neared the end of the talk, Agent Zheng reached into his front pants pocket and produced something that looked like a cross between an old TV remote and a running baton. He gripped the piece of metal in his right hand and smiled at Samuel in a rather creepy way.

  At first, Samuel thought it might be some kind of recording device. Maybe even a hi-tech liar detector machine. But when most of the device’s black surface lit up with bright white points of light. He knew that wasn’t the case.

  “Don’t you grow tired of answering the same old questions?” Agent Zheng asked him as he pointed that weird smile toward his companion. “And don’t you grow tired of asking them?”

  “What?”

  But before Agent Pembroke could answer his fellow agent’s question, Zheng pressed the now glowing device into the older agent’s side, right below the fifth rib. Instantly, the lights on the device flickered and sparkled. The resulting discharge cause the old man’s body to seize up like he’d just taken a piss on an electrified fence.

  Then, after a second or two of uncontrollable spasms, the agent’s body simply sputtered a couple of times before limply slumping down into his chair.

  “Thank your God.” Zheng said with a satisfied laugh. “I never thought the old fool would shut up.”

  Caught between stunned silence and the instinctual need to strike out at this monster, Samuel could only stare calmly at the agent’s still body before turning his gaze onto the newest threat in his life.

  “So, who are you supposed to be?” He asked. “Some foreign spy sent to see if I’ve been lying for the past twelve years.”

  “No,” Zheng once again laughed at the question posed to him. Not a warm laugh. But one layered with hope and disappointment. “I’m not a foreign spy, Dr. Mosely. But I am someone interested in the current whereabouts of Foster Evers.”

  “And you thought what?” He tried his best to remain calm as he spoke. “Knocking him out would make me talk?”

  “No,” the mammoth agent said as he squeezed the now dormant baton in his meaty hands. “I don’t think threats or violence would work on someone like you, Dr. Mosely. And even if they would, I just don’t have the time to do that type of work properly. That is why I brought this little baby with me.”

  “Little baby?” Samuel asked as he stared down at the small device and tried to blink away what had just happened to Agent Pembroke. “What is that supposed to be?”

  “This,” the agent placed the object on the table and smiled a little too widely. “This is choice number two.”

  “Two? Did you skip a step?” Samuel asked with his best don’t give a shit kind of bravado. “I haven’t even heard what the first one is yet.”

  “The first one’s easier to show than to explain.”

  “Didn’t you already show me with Agent Pembroke?”

  “Oh no,” Zheng put a hand on the old man’s shoulder shook it consolingly. “No. I just allowed him to take his afternoon nap a little early today. You know? So, we could have a moment of privacy.”

  “Privacy?” Not believing anything coming out of the man’s mouth, Samuel looked up to the three CCTV cameras pointed at the table in the center of the interrogation room. “I don’t think anything that happens in here could be considered private.”

  “Right,” Zheng looked up at the cameras then smiled. “You mean the cameras. Well, I am afraid those aren’t working right now.”

  “Should I be worried?” He asked even though he was extremely worried.

  “I wouldn’t be.” Zheng let his massive shoulders relax and tried to present a neutral posture to the obviously nervous scientist. “We’re just here to have a little conversation, Dr. Mosely. If things go well, you won’t have to show up for another one of these again.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Well,” Zheng pushed the device around on the bare metal table. “I get to show you how number one works.”

  Samuel looked at the man then looked toward the door. Could he make it past this man and out into the hallway? Maybe. But what would that accomplish? Who would be waiting there for him if he did escape? An NSA tactical unit? Something worse? No, he thought. Something that audacious was unlikely, given the snoring agent a few feet away from where he sat.

  So, that meant maybe one person for back up. Maybe two at the most. One he could handle, he thought. Two, if he caught them unaware. But in handling those problems, he would be slowed down. And in being slowed down, he wouldn’t be able to completely escape from Agent Zheng.

  And fighting that man would be... untenable.

  “Ok,” Samuel decided to take the less violent route. “You’ve made your point. What can I help you with that I couldn’t help him with?”

  “Lots of things,” Zheng crossed his arms over his chest. “But the only thing I’m really interested in is the AI known as Hoover.”

  “Hoover?” Samuel blinked at the way he referred to Foster’s little friend by his name. Usually, when these interrogations occurred, Pembroke would refer to that little shit as an AI or the Algorithm. Never would he say something so anthropomorphic as Hoover. “What do you want to know about him?”

  “Well,” Zheng leaned forward intensely. “To begin with, why do you refer to Hoover as him and not the program?”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “I don’t know.” Samuel said honestly. “Probably because he seemed like more than a computer program to me. Although these days, telling the difference between an artificial intelligence and a real human is becoming more difficult.”

  “Not really,” the stern man replied in an off-hand manner.

  “What do you mean, ‘not really’?”

  “Not important,” Zheng , almost in a hurry. “Next, how much time did you interact with Hoover? Did he ever say anything about making copies of himself? Backups?”

  “Backups?” Samuel asked as he looked into the agent’s avaricious eyes. “No. I don’t think he mentioned anything about any backups. But what would that matter? Can’t an artificial intelligence just dump multiple copies of itself all over the internet?”

  “That’s not exactly how true AI works, Dr. Mosely.”

  “And how would you know how true AI works? Got machine learning degree in your back pocket?” For the first time since this all this drama began, Samuel found himself intellectually curious about the event unfolding before him. “And why would you care about how I see Hoover? None of the other agents who interrogated me really cared all that much about him on a personal level.”

  “I’m not like the other agents, Dr. Mosely.”

  “I can see that.”

  For almost a minute, both men sat in silence as Agent Zheng seemed to mentally go over a list of things to do in his head. Once he finished, he turned his gaze back to Samuel with a stern look. “How did Foster communicate with Hoover in Elmira?”

  “Communicate?” Samuel thought back to those blasted ear buds. “Usually through a set of ear buds.”

  “Ear buds?” the agent asked, almost disappointed in his answer. “Nothing else. Nothing like a phone, tablet or maybe a laptop?”

  “That would be a no on the laptop. But he did have a hi-tech phone and tablet with him.” Thinking back to that first day in the RV, Samuel wondered where in the hell Foster got the idea for a working hologram machine. And even stranger, why hadn’t that technology surfaced in the mainstream? “And Hoover did like speaking through those damn holograms.”

  “Holograms?” Agent Zheng’s face lit up. “Foster had a working holographic emitter? That information wasn’t in any of the previous transcripts.”

  “Really,” Samuel thought back over the years and was surprised to remember that none of the agents, including Pembroke, had ever really asked him about Foster’s little sci-fi toys or his satchel bag. No. They were more interested in where he went and less interested in what he took with him. “I guess it never came up before.”

  “Never came up before?” Agent Zheng almost sounded disgusted by the flippant way Samuel answered. Either that or he was admonishing the others for not being extremely thorough in their job performance. “Fucking amateurs.”

  “So,” Samuel saw the man begin another round of internal checklists when he decided he’d had enough of this little detour into the Twilight Zone. “If that’s all you needed to know. I’ll be on my way.”

  Instantly, Agent Zheng broke free from his mental gymnastics and stared directly at the now middle-aged CERN scientist. “Do you know if he left any of his equipment behind? Or maybe tell you where that equipment was designed and built?”

  “If there wasn’t anything left on the RV, then no. As for where his toys were constructed. I believe the sender’s address on the package he received at Bleaker Street was just opposite this building. Research and Development. But if that place is empty. Then I’m afraid to say the only thing Foster Evers left on the way out the door was his little decryption program.”

  Without another word, the hulking agent cupped the edge of the thick, metal table with his right hand. Then, silently, Agent Zheng twisted his wrist inward, like he was merely flexing his forearm muscles. Only, instead of straining against the desk, the agent folded the metal back on itself as easy as someone folding a piece of paper.

  “That’s not correct, Dr. Mosley. You see.” Zheng twisted the metal countertop clockwise until the one-inch slab of hardened steel looked like a pretzel. “Your friend Foster left a lot more than a decryption program when he ran away. A lot more.”

  Stunned by the freakish, superhuman feat of strength he’d just witnessed. All Samuel could manage in response was “He’s not my friend.”

  The mammoth agent stared at the scientist for a long moment and searched for some insight into his thoughts. But after seeing only hatred glaring back at him, the agent let out a long breath and responded. “I'm beginning to see that now.”

  Seemingly satisfied his point was made, Zheng let his abnormally strong fingers pull away from the mangled metal and begin to tap on the small device. “As for number two, well let’s just say you’d prefer death over what this little thing can do.”

  As to punctuate the not-so-subtle threat, he made sure to continue doing so until a little drop of sweat began to inch down Samuel’s temple. “So, one last question Dr. Mosely. Do you know the current whereabouts of Edgar Fitz Hume?” .

  “Edgar?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere. After all, it had been a long time since anyone had asked him about ex NSA subdirector. “No. I’m afraid I don’t know where he is Agent Zheng.”

  “Are you sure?” The agent asked as if he already knew the answer.

  “Pretty sure.” Samuel said honestly. “Besides, what good would finding him do anyway? It’s not like he had anything to do with the algorithm.”

  “Who said anything about the algorithm? I’m just asking if you know where he is.”

  “No." Samuel sighed at the agent's attempt at word play. "I don’t.”

  Zheng leaned back in his chair and seemed to come to a decision. “I believe you, Samuel. I really do. Unfortunately, my superiors need more of an assurance than my belief system.”

  “And how do I go about supplementing your belief system?”

  “You can’t really.” The agent said as he picked up the small device and pressed another recessed button near the base. Almost instantly, the whole thing began to glow a muted red color. “I can offer you number one. But I’m afraid that will leave you in a more permanent state of unconsciousness than Agent Pembroke here.”

  Both men looked to the still unconscious form slumped next to them.

  “Or...” Zheng said as he began to tap the device on the table. And every time it made contact, little red sparks of electricity danced on its surface. “I can offer option number two. But taking that option is a little, how can I say, worse than death.”

  “Well, now you’ve got my curiosity going into overdrive.” Samuel leaned over the edge of the table and gave the device a thorough once over. “What is it? A compact stun gun?”

  “Nothing so human.”

  “Human?” The edges of his mouth turned down in a disapproving manner. One borne of years of hearing crazy conspiracy theories. So, he couldn’t tell if this man was crazy or just some kind of zealot. After all, since EF day, there have been a lot of those kooks running loose in the world. More specifically, people who saw the world’s sudden technological changes as otherworldly in nature.

  “Well,” he said sardonically. “I see why you’re looking for Foster now.”

  “And what do you mean by that?”

  “I mean.” Samuel pointed to the glowing baton and smiled. “That Foster loved to blame everything on aliens. And I’m not talking about the kind that cross rivers in Texas.”

  “Crossing rivers?” The agent’s eyes flashed from their normal black color to an electric blue then back again. “I like that. It’s an appropriate metaphor.”

  “Appropriate metaphor?” Samuel shook his head at the seemingly magical way Zheng’s eyes had just shifted color. In fact, the change happened so quickly that Samuel thought it was just a byproduct of the room’s fluorescent lighting. But regardless of whether it was a magic trick, cheap bulbs, or special contacts. One thing was perfectly clear.

  He was rapidly losing patience with all these games.

  “Listen.” He said finally. “Foster Evers was a genius. Of that I have no doubt. But he was also insane. Aliens do not exist, Agent Zheng.”

  “Dr. Mosley,” The agent let out a low, guttural laugh in response to Samuels definitive statement. “You’re right. Foster Evers was a genius. But he wasn’t even the slightest bit insane. And as for aliens being nonexistent. Well, I can assure you…”

  At that moment, the large frame, shortly cropped hair, and perfect facial features of the large agent shifted like an organic Etch a Sketch come to horrifying life. Particles, which seemed solidly in place a moment ago, broke free from reality and spread apart into thousands of tiny pieces of organic matter. Pieces that had once been Agent Zheng.

  Then, in almost a blink of the eye, those pieces of organic matter coalesced back into a solid form. One which was very different than the one who had been sitting there a moment ago. Because in the place of that towering man was a slight, but athletic woman. One who shared the same olive skin and ethnic background as the one before, but very little else.

  “We very much do exist.”

  Just then, an even stranger thing occurred. Samuel’s phone began to ring. Startled, he retrieved the mostly defunct phone and placed it on the table. As it rang, both he and the alien looked down at the smartphone with astonishment in their eyes.

  “How is that thing working?” The now female agent asked in a stern tone. Although it was hard to take him or her seriously at that moment because the clothes she was wearing was three times too large for her small frame.

  “Um,” Samuel began to respond but quickly shut his mouth. How was this working? IT shouldn’t be. Of course, he shouldn’t be sitting in front of a shapeshifting human claiming to be an alien either. So, maybe certain allowances could be made. Finally, he said. “I don’t know. I only use this thing for Candy Crush.”

  The alien turned up her nose at the mere mention of the game. But Samuel ignored the alien’s over the top judgment. After all, he had a non-functional phone to answer. So, being very careful, he picked up his iPhone and slid right to answer. When the voice came over the phone, he was caught off guard in a way the other two instances paled in comparison to.

  “Samuel?” A hurried voice very similar to a currently missing scientist he couldn’t stand asked. “First, I am not Foster Evers. I know I sound a little like him, but I am not him.”

  “Ok---,” Samuel stopped speaking out loud from brain overload. When he tried to continue, he found the only thing that worked right now was his ability to nod. So, that’s what he did.

  “Second, I need you to put me on speakerphone.”

  Still unable to form actual words, Samuel placed his phone down on the table and looked at the female alien. In turn, she stared back at him with a similar look on her face. After a long few seconds, his ability to speak returned.

  “He wants me to put him on speakerphone.”

  “Who?” The now female agent asked apprehensively.

  “Not Foster.”

  “Not Foster?”

  Before any other words could be exchanged between the two very confused individuals, Samuel pressed the little microphone icon on the phone’s display. Instantly, the speaker crackled to life and a much sterner voice spoke.

  “You went early.”

  Samuel looked down at the phone and was about to ask for clarification when the alien spoke first. “What do you mean went early? Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m the one who's going to fight back.”

  Before anything else could be said, a high-pitched tone erupted from the phone. This screech was quickly followed by the alien's device slightly vibrating in her delicate hands. This in turn was followed by the young woman’s eyes rolling back in her head and that same head smashing down onto the part of the table they had just ruined.

  “What the fuck?” Samuel yelped out of instinct.

  “Take me off speaker!” Not Foster commanded.

  Stunned but not entirely surprised by the last two minutes of madness, Samuel pressed the corresponding button and placed the phone to his ear. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Well,” the voice, now much different than before tried to explain. “I was waiting until after your yearly checkup to make my recruiting pitch. But since the Arbiters have already made their move. I guess this has turned into a seat of your pants escape.”

  “Seat of your pants?” Samuel reached across the table and placed two fingers over Agent Pembroke’s carotid artery. After a second, he felt a pulse. Not wasting any time, he moved over to the now female agent and repeated the process. Only, this time there was no pulse. No loud snoring. Just death.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to need a little more than that. Like why I’m standing in an NSA interrogation room with one unconscious federal agent and one dead, shapeshifting alien?”

  “First of all,” the voice corrected him. “You’re standing in an NSA interrogation room with two dead bodies. Not one.”

  “No,” Samuel reached back down and hurriedly confirmed the old man’s heart was still beating. “Pembroke has got a pulse.”

  “Yes.” The voice sounded almost sympathetic to Samuels current predicament. Almost. “Biologically speaking that man is alive. But consciously, he’s very much a lost cause.”

  “Lost cause?” Head spinning, Samuel Mosely shifted gears mid-stream and looked at his phone for the first time today in a very old light. “How is this phone working? I disconnected it from the grid years ago.”

  “And I reconnected it an hour ago when you walked through the front doors of this building.”

  “How did you...?”

  “Stop.” The voice commanded in a calm yet somewhat violent tone. “Please stop asking questions, Mr. Mosely. Jesus. Hoover was right about you.”

  “Hoover?” Samuel could feel his body react in quite a visceral way after hearing that name spoken out loud.

  “Not right now, Mr. Mosely. Because right now, you need to exit the building and rendezvous with a Lincoln town car parked on the west side of the building.”

  “Why?” He looked down at the two bodies and wondered for the first time just what the hell had he gotten himself into today? “That sounds like you want me to run.”

  “No, I need you to run.”

  Pushing past the absurdity of the last half hour, Samuel began to prioritize his immediate needs. He looked down at the motionless agents again and asked the most pertinent question he could think of. “Was this my only opposition?”

  “No.”

  “How many?”

  “Conservatively?” The voice on the other end of the line paused then responded just as quickly. “Probably around eight hostiles spread out inside the building. Could be as much as twelve.”

  “Twelve?” Samuel reached down and plucked up the tiny device the female agent had been threatening him with only a couple of minutes ago. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Variation on the original Slinger design. Two combat settings and an added twist.”

  “Slinger?” Hundreds of long forgotten memories bubbled up to the surface as he held the weapon in his slightly shaking hands. “What’s the twist?”

  “The twist is that thing is capable of doing a hard reset to the human brain.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that the twist is a last resort.” The voice said. “And should be treated as thus.”

  Samuel looked down again at the female agent and sighed. “Was she a last resort?”

  “She was something else entirely.” The voice paused then spoke again. “Now, if you’re done with the interrogation, please retrieve her earbud and place it in your right ear.”

  Without thinking about the morality of scavenging gear from a dead woman, Samuel dug the ear bud out of her ear and popped it in. After a second, a small pocket of Nano fibers began to expand inside the device. And soon, they grew large enough for the device to fit his ear perfectly. “Why am I getting the Matrix vibes from all this?”

  “Because your human brain needs a touchstone to make sense of unexplainable things.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t Hoover.”

  “I’m not. And I’m not going to explain everything to you right now. So, if you would be so kind as to exit the room and head for Macro Cryptology. Once there, I’ll have more instructions.”

  “Fine.” Samuel hurried over to the door and readied his brain eraser/slinger for battle. “By the way, what’s your name?”

  “My friends know me as AB. But you can call me by my real name. Tommy. Tommy Evers.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”

  “No, Mr. Mosley. I am most assuredly not shitting you.”