4

January 12, 2026
6:11 p.m.
Boston, MA

The ride downtown passed without a word. Alison sat cross-legged, spiraling through scenarios in her head, her right leg springing up and down uncontrollably. Sam stood next to her, his arm wrapped around a metal support pole. He scrolled through his phone, quietly absorbing whatever was on the screen. They were alone in the subway car, save for their own distorted mirror images dancing off the windows in pale fluorescent luminescence. A stilted electronic voice announced each new station, always accompanied by a jarring halt and turbulent restart. The locomotive continued through the dark underground as Alison counted down the stops that preceded their own. Finally, the robotic announcer broadcast their destination, and they disembarked into the dungeonous terminal.

Hurrying up the stairs and out onto the sidewalk, Alison and Sam shivered, the cold night wind cutting through their coats. A couple of blocks away, Jorgensen’s building shone like a beacon in the dark, its windows aglow with warm lamplight. They practically ran to it, pushing through the revolving doors and flashing their credentials before shuffling past the main reception desk into the elevator area. Inundated with a mix of anxiety and odd excitement, Alison pressed the Up button and waited.

Sam tapped his foot nervously. The sound filled the empty room, rebounding off the tall marble walls and melting into a continuous low clamor. “When we get up there...”

“Follow my lead,” Alison uttered from the side of her mouth.

“Dr. Emery, I...” he hesitated. “I really think I should be the one to record the interaction.”

“No, Sam. This is on me,” she said firmly.

“I should do it,” he protested. “He won’t suspect me.”

As Alison mulled it over, the elevator bell sounded. The soft, synthesized chime somehow soothed her, reassured her. The golden doors glided open and they stepped inside.

“Okay,” she whispered, slipping him the phone as the doors slid closed. He started a new video recording and tucked it into his shirt pocket under his green wool sweater.

“How does it look?” he asked as the elevator began to ascend.

“Hmm... try taking the case off,” she suggested. He fumbled under his sweater and removed the case, nervously watching their current floor number rise on the display.

“Better?”

Alison nodded. “How does the video look?”

Sam reached under his sweater and retrieved the device. Quickly skipping through the recording, he gave a thumbs-up. Everything appeared to be visible, albeit shrouded in a verdant mist of wool fibers. A second later, the pleasant tone rang out again; the elevator had completed its climb. Sam turned away from the doors as they opened, hastily jamming the phone back into his shirt. The two of them walked out into the reception area, trying to remain inconspicuous.

The floor felt different at night; safer somehow. Far fewer people, much less hustle and bustle. It was nearly empty, but Alison was sure Jorgensen would still be there, conducting some important business in his office. The reception desk was vacant, so the only thing separating him from them was the door marked by his name.

Alison took a deep breath, turning to Sam with muted dread in her eyes. “Are you ready?”

He slowly tilted his head down, and then back up. They lingered there for a few seconds, neither of them wanting to act. Trying to forget everything other than the current moment, Alison raised a fist and rapped on the heavy frosted glass three times.

“Just a minute,” his muffled voice rang through the door. Alison did not want to wait. She grabbed the handle and pushed it forward forcefully, stepping into his office with ferocity. Sam followed quickly behind her, making sure the camera in his pocket had a clear view of the man sitting at the desk. Alison planted her feet and glared at him, her face completely still.

Jorgensen’s demeanor reflected aggressive indifference, but somehow his voice was still ingratiating. “Alison! So nice of you to stop by. And who’s this you’ve brought, one of your team members?”

Sam stepped forward and stood next to Alison. “I’m Sam Wilkins.”

“Of course. A reinforcement, hm?” Jorgensen muttered, sizing him up and smirking.

Sam swallowed, trying to stand up a little straighter. “We would like you to reconsider your plans for tomorrow.”

“We will not leave until you do,” Alison added.

Jorgensen rolled his eyes. “I already told you, there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing I can do. The launch is already in motion.”

Alison exhaled. “We’re not going to give up, you know. Our evidence is compelling. We already built another five-dimensional visualization disk.” She pulled the disk out of her purse and pressed the button, careful not to bring it too close to him. The ghastly red rodent floated up from the surface, the particles of its head circling one sparkling yellow dot.

Jorgensen pushed his chair back and rose, the affability vanishing from his voice. “Listen, it’s too late. Maybe we can talk about it after tomorrow.”

“No,” Alison stated calmly. “You need to listen. This thing could be killing people! Dr. Silberman...”

“Oh, yes, I was so sorry to hear of his passing,” Jorgensen lamented.

“I’m sure you were,” Alison spat. “You know, he never actually believed us about our discovery. Not that it mattered. He was the smartest man I’ve ever met, but I think you might actually be even smarter.”

“I’m no genius.”

“Maybe not, but you’re smart enough to believe us. You must believe us, you must, and yet you still refuse to care?”

“I...” Jorgensen started, but Alison cut him off.

“I don’t understand how you could do this. What is wrong with you?!”

“I told you, I was doing what was best for...”

“What was best for the project,” Alison repeated scornfully. “Of course. I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to hear any of it. Just tell me. Just admit it. Admit that you believe us, that you know the technology could be killing people, and that you don’t care.”

“I...” Jorgensen began. “I don’t...” he faltered, hanging his head morosely. For a brief moment, Alison thought she detected a modicum of humanity peeking through his hollow gregarious exterior. The notion disappeared entirely when he lifted his head and looked at her. His countenance eviscerated any trace of benevolence she had imagined; his eyes were dark and empty, his mouth a twisted wet sneer of malignant levity.

“I don’t think you understand how much influence I have,” he said, staring at Sam and Alison as he ambled out from behind his desk. “You really think you have any power in this situation? I own this technology. I own the media. I own the press. I own you, and you,” he enounced, pointing at each of them. “I will own this entire country, this entire world. You say I must believe you? Of course I believe you. You say thousands of people might be dying, and you ask if I care?”

He shook his head, chuckling quietly to himself. “It is not a matter of carelessness, it is a matter of priority. And this?” He snatched the visdisk from Alison’s hand, brandishing it as if it were an empty can. “This is not a priority.”

He flung the metal gadget down to the floor. For the second time, Alison watched the pieces fly in all directions as it shattered. This time, though, a sly glint of satisfaction flashed across her eyes; their plan had worked. They had all the evidence they needed.

Sam stood shaking in silence, his torso still awkwardly positioned to face the action. He turned to Alison dubiously, opening his mouth as if to speak. She looked at him and nodded before he could say a word.

“I think you just made it a priority,” she professed, a slight smile adorning her lips. “Sam has been recording this entire conversation. I don’t think a prosecutor will take kindly to the willful destruction of evidence demonstrated here. If you don’t stop the launch, tonight, you’ll be in handcuffs by tomorrow.”

Jorgensen frowned and sucked his teeth. “You have all of this on tape?” he asked in a matter-of-fact mumble.

At this cue, Sam reached under his sweater and revealed his phone, quickly playing back the video for Jorgensen to see. “You’ll have to take us seriously now.”

Jorgensen inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Slowly, he reached into his left breast pocket and pulled out two latex gloves. Alison and Sam stared at him, still and speechless as he pulled the gloves onto his hands. Without saying a word, he reached into his right breast pocket and removed a small, glistening black object.

Alison heard the sound before she realized what was happening. She saw Sam, a look of concern on his face, waver back and forth and eventually slump forward onto the ground. She saw the smoke rising from the black thing at the end of Jorgensen’s outstretched arm, softly dissipating into the air. She saw the dark crimson liquid pooling on the floor, seeping into the fibers of the carpet. She could not believe any of it, could not comprehend it. She looked at Jorgensen in complete denial, praying that she would wake up from this impossible nightmare.

His face was expressionless as he extended his arm back and threw the object toward her. In her state of shock, in her complete absence of mental awareness, she reached out to catch it. It may have been some primordial instinct bubbling up from the annals of her reptilian brain, or perhaps muscle memory from her youth, when she played catch with her father, or maybe something else entirely, some unknowable deterministic force. Regardless of the cause, the effect was immediate. She gripped the pistol tightly, holding it for a moment before letting slip through her fingers onto the ground.

Jorgensen pulled the gloves off his hands and stuffed them back into his pocket. A second later, two armed security guards burst through the door, their guns pointed at both Jorgensen and Alison.

“I... I don’t know what happened!” Jorgensen shouted, performing a plausible impression of a terrified murder witness. “She just started threatening me, and... and then she shot him!”

“No, it was him!” she retorted hysterically, pointing at Jorgensen. “It was him! He’s going to kill all of them! Oh, Sam...” She darted toward the inanimate heap of flesh on the floor, desperately grasping at it. One of the armed men stepped in front of her and pushed her back to the wall before she could reach. She fell to the floor, a blubbering mess of helplessness and fear. The room faded into her periphery as she cried, seeing and hearing nothing other than her own mind, cycling through the moment again and again and again.

“I’m going to call my lawyer, I’ll contact the press, I’ll call the police!” she screamed as the security guards fastened zip ties around her wrists. She tried to struggle, but she was no match for the two guards. After a few minutes, she submitted to her fate and slumped forward, a crumbling frame of exhausted desperation.

“I’ll call the police,” she repeated weakly, her vocal cords raw from exertion. Jorgensen squatted down next to her, bringing his lips so close that they almost grazed her ear.

“The police are already on their way, and they won’t believe a word you say,” he whispered.

She knew he was right. He had been right all along. He had too much influence. She never should have tried to stop him. As he stood up and walked out of the room, any remaining fight she had in her dissolved into nothing.

She stared at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window, blank-faced, numb. She saw herself in the choppy grey ocean again, her ghastly image hovering above the water. This time she wished she were out there, floating in the frigid sea.