Keith wasn’t alone in the prisoner trailer this time, he had some help in the form of two young researchers, one a short broad man with wire rim glasses and another a tall woman with long black hair. Additional equipment had been brought in too, littering the trailer and making it very cramped except for the skeleton who still had the same space afforded to him. I had no idea what the equipment was doing, but it felt like a hospital room in there, the two helpers only giving me a glance as I came in before turning their attention back to their work.

Whatever they were doing, it must have been very interesting. They didn’t have the same blazing passion Keith had, but they seemed pretty excited nonetheless.

As soon as I entered, Keith greeted me by shouting my name enthusiastically and grabbing my hand to drag me forward.

“Greg! I’m so glad you came.” He practically yelled, pulling me up to the glass like yesterday to look at the lonesome skeleton. I reluctantly let him and focused on the scene he eagerly wanted to showcase to me.

…

It was pretty bizarre.

A large television had been set up inside and was playing teletubbies, the bright lights and characters contrasting with the somber naked skeleton. I could hear the muffled sounds coming through the wall, clearly the television was playing rather loudly.

The skeleton was paying it no mind though and instead was staring straight at me, proud and focused, a big difference from the depressed skeleton of yesterday.

I could see a murderous intent in his hollow sockets, the shadows dancing with the flashes of color from the screen.

I swallow hard and ask, “Why are you playing teletubbies to it?”

I sense Keith lean in next to me to get a look at the TV as well. After a moment he looks back and asks, “Charles?”

Charles was already up and on his way over, moving around the tables.

“Right,” Charles said with a grunt, moving up next to me with a tablet in his hand. “We were testing the skeleton’s audio and visual receptors. We wanted to see what kind of stimuli he reacted to. These kids shows are meant to stimulate kids with the colors and sounds, it was perfect material.”

I decided not to comment on the absurdity of it, but accept the cold hard logic of data crunchers.

“What did you find out?” I asked curiously.

Charles shrugged, “It’s hard to give any conclusive answers, but so far the skeleton has shown zero reaction to the television. It might as well not exist, it seems. Considering it doesn’t have eyes or ears, that makes sense, but…”

I roll my eyes and finish his sentence, “Then how is it looking at me?”

Charles gives me a grin.

“Of course, the answer is magic.” Keith interjected, taking the tablet from Charles for a second to look at a data point. He looks at me and continues with a smile, “But just because it's magic, doesn’t mean it's unfathomable. I’m not going to write off all of our questions with just the notation, ‘its magic’. I won’t be able to tolerate it, not to mention my boss would fire me on the spot.” He gave out a loud laugh at his last words.

I give Keith a grimace, “what can you do then?”

“First of all we can describe, “ Keith replied easily, pointing at the skeletons. “What does it do? What are its effects? Are there consistent reactions towards certain variables? It’s only a surface level look at the problem, but once we do that we can start limiting what it can do, understanding the boundaries of what we are seeing. Then we can start defining it and try to understand it.”

“You really think you can do that? There must be so many different things you don’t know, how can you even begin to try to do that?”

“Observing is easy,” Keith replied good naturedly, “we can record tons of data from just that and start drawing some conclusions. As for the rest,” he added motioning over to the last person in the trailer. She looks up at us at the attention, “Clarissa here decided our method on proceeding forward.”

At the clear cue, Clarissa replied brightly, “I read the transcript of your debriefing and was struck by the system you described. Like you said, in so many ways it functioned similarly to the games we have. The structure we have in our games are programs, lines of codes, and algorithms that make up the game and control the universe created inside of it. Programmers can make the games do practically anything inside, but its all bound to and limited to the programing and logic. For instance, the amount of mana you had increasing 20% at each level up. We should be able to deduce the structure of the phenomenon if its built up with logic at its core.”

…

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

“It’s basically the same thing you did with your own abilities,” Keith replied happily, seeing my confused face, “but with not so many words. You were able to grasp the limits of your own magical abilities through experimentation and find the logic of the system in order to solve your way out of the problem. We’ll just do something similar. For example,” he said, facing the skeleton again, “Skully here can see us perfectly despite this being a one way mirror. What does that suggest to you?”

…

It means he’s not seeing with eyes like we understand them to work. No refracting light for him. If we are going to stick to game explanations, then he probably using some sort of soul sight. It would explain why he’s not interested in the silly bouncy teletubbies.

...

Magic, like I said. But not omniscient magic. I know they can’t see me when I am further away, only the blasted zombies could do that. But close by these creatures had omnidirectional sight.

“Skully?” I ask instead, making my voice as incredulous as possible. “You realize this creature would murder you at first opportunity. You shouldn't get attached to it.”

“That’s what I said,” Charles added, with a scowl.

“Please~,” Keith, replied, waiving it off, “At my father’s farm we would name all the little piglets in the spring, then butcher them and eat them gladly in the fall. Besides, as interesting as all this is, this is not why I asked you over here. Do you notice anything different about Skully today?”

Deciding to follow Keith’s whims, I study Skully for a few moments. Then I shake my head. “Besides looking four hundred percent more evil today, no, he looks just the same.”

“His right arm has grown back two centimeters!” Keith bursts, as if christmas had come early.

I look back and sure enough, it looks like his arm has grown back a little. Wow, two whole centimeters. Woopidoo.

I give Keith an unimpressed look.

“What?!~I thought you would be interested in that, your report mentioned nothing like that in it.”

“All of our fights were to the death,” I replied irritably. “I never left wounded alive if I could help it. Only that bastard guardian skeleton appeared to have healed; I thought it was the mage that had healed it. But now you are telling me these things are self repairing? Why would that make me happy? It just means the skeletons in that lake probably aren’t going to degrade down there, but remain a public menace until we can fish them out. It's not amazing at all. It’s just magic.” I flare up my hand, its golden light illuminating the small room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the skeleton flinch back and look away.

All three people stare at my hand with different expressions, Charles with wariness, Clarissa with squinting skepticism, and Keith with an eyebrow raised curiosity.

Keith says after moment, still staring at my hand, “you are taking the phenomenon for granted already. Remember, the rest of us are just mere mortals.”

The comment leaves me feeling oddly punctured.

After a moment, I dispel my flare and clear my throat. I want to go back home, back to my bed. I feel exhausted, it doesn't help I haven’t been able to sleep well.

“Was there anything else you wanted, other than to show me Skully?”

“Yeah,” Keith replied, perhaps sensing the sudden awkwardness in the room and jumping at the chance of a change of topic. “We have some more questions, if you have time?” He motioned to Charles who handed him another tablet, apparently filled with questions they had prepared for me.

“Sure” I reply with a sigh, taking the seat pulled out for me. Clarissa hands me a water bottle which I gratefully take. I have a feeling this might take a while. Another recorder is placed on the table.

In contrast to my interrogation yesterday, this one was much more friendly and primarily focused on the skeletons and my experiences with them. It seemed they were still focused on trying to interrogate Skully. I thought it was a useless effort and told them so, but they were undeterred.

“Your ill-disguised but understandable hatred for them notwithstanding,” Keith had said, “The skeletons were capable of following orders, and even issuing orders, in the case of the guardian skeleton. Didn’t you say that the guardian and the ‘mage’ conversed with each other?”

“The guardian was different,” I said, irritated again, “that guy was special, unique. He even got resummoned with his memories intact. Also, I don’t hate the skeletons.”

Keith waved my words away with irritating ease. “That only goes to show that they are capable. The guardian was a higher tier with higher abilities, to be sure, but that just means that Skully might be able to communicate too, if only to a lesser degree.”

I spoke with them for an hour and answered all their damn questions. When we were done they seemed convinced more than ever that they would be able to figure out a way to speak to the skeletons, if not with Skully than maybe the higher tiered archer or armor types.

After pouring out all my experiences with the skeletons to them and then leaving them to their wares I turned again to Skully. The creature had stopped looking at us after my exhibition of my flare skill, but he hadn't lost his spirit. He looked to be carefully inspecting the room, subtly though, as if trying to find a way out.

…

What had changed since yesterday that seemed to give Skully so much… hope? Somehow, I don’t think that getting back two centimeters of arm is enough for such a turnaround. Was he just happy to figure out that he could regrow it back? Or was there something else going on? What does he know that we don’t?”

…

Suddenly, Keith’s desire for interrogating no longer seemed so outlandish.

“Is there any word on the remaining skeletons?” I ask out loud, not looking back.

“No,” Keith said, “I know the boys are trying to work out something, but I don’t know what. None of the other ones have so much as poked their heads out of the water.”

I let those words sink in a for a few minutes. Then I turn to leave. “If that’s all, then I’m going to go to bed now. I feel dead tired.”

Keith lifts up his eyes curiously and asks, “your not going to stay for the results of the test?”

“Errrr.” I say uncertainly, “what test?”

Keith just gives me an evil grin and looks at his watch. “In fact, it’s about time now. Let’s head over to the house, the colonel should be there.” At his words, Charles and Clarissa pack up some items excitedly and move out of the trailer to go to the house.

…

My house.

Keith must have seen the look on my face because he gives me a chuckle and pushes me out the door in front of him.

“I never did thank you for letting us use your property, Greg.” Keith says, half pushing me to my house. Every single light inside the house is on and then some, lighting up the neighborhood as the sun sank below the horizon. The electricity is still in my name, damn it.

“I’m getting paid for it,” I say through gritted teeth. Jeffrey joins us immediately as we step out of the trailer, not speaking a sound.

“Yes, you are,” Keith responds evenly. As we cross the heavily trafficked lawn Keith asks, “How was work today, anyway? In all the excitement, I forgot to ask.”

“It was hard,” I reply bluntly, not in the mood for politeness.

“I can imagine. What happened?”

I shrug, “Besides everybody wondering what on earth happened to me to make it look like I had been malnourished for months over a single weekend? I should have listened to you Jeff,” I add, turning to our companion, “I should have taken the day off.”

“I can imagine,” Keith said again. “It must be hard trying to fit in. Frankly I am surprised they let you go at all. After a traumatic experience like yours Greg, they usually hold you back with counseling before releasing you into the wild. Do you have a counselor now or have you considered getting one? There are some on staff we can let you speak to. I’ll put in a word with the colonel.”

“What?” I ask, taken aback, “no, I haven’t. I’m fine, I don’t need to speak to a counselor.”

I realize that’s what somebody who needs a counselor would say and Keith gives me a knowing look. We reach the door to my house and he stops and looks me in the eyes.

“I think you are holding up remarkably well,” Keith praised, his blond hair glinting under the harsh light above, “If even only have of the things you said are true. However, if you do need help, putting up a front will only get you so far and it will eventually crumble. You’re a good guy, Greg, and I’d hate to see you hurt if we can help it.”

“I’m fine” I stress again, scowling at him, “Look, I’m grateful for your attention, but I am fine, I’m just having trouble sleeping is all,” He gives me a raised eyebrow at that statement, but I power through it, “and I was just thinking about all the people at work who have medical issues. I never really thought about it before, but now that I know I can heal them with a touch, I kind of felt overwhelmed. I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Ah,” Keith replied, looking enlightened. To the side I see Jeffery is still standing there dutifully, waiting for us to enter my house. I bet he’s just listening to what I am saying and reporting it all to the colonel or somebody. I probably shouldn't blab so much in front of him.

Keith looks thoughtful for a moment before shrugging and giving me a smile. He says, “After all this is over, maybe you should open up a wellness clinic and charge outrageous sums of money to heal people. You’d be a quick millionaire, I think.”

I snort at him, “I’d like to actually help people, not cater to the rich.”

“Good luck with that then,” Keith replies sarcastically, “Once it’s known you have a miracle cure, rich and powerful people will start flying in from all over the world to have themselves or their loved ones fixed, and they won’t take no for an answer. And then, desperate people will come flocking to you to, thinking they have nothing left to lose but try. Migrants are flocking to our southern borders now just for a chance at a better life. How much more so will that be for a chance to escape certain death?”

…

Ouch. That puts the problem in perspective.

…

The only other person I know who could possibly have been in a similar spot as me would be Jesus Christ who miraculously healed people. He was always surrounded by crowds of people and one time desperate men dug a hole in a roof in order to lower down a sick friend to where Jesus had been eating in an attempt to get their buddy healed. There were times when even Jesus had to get away from the crowds for some alone time, and he was the son of God!

Plus, it didn’t end well for him. Betrayed by his disciple and then executed by the Romans when the powerful figures in Israel realized they couldn't control him...

…

I certainly don’t want to go that route.

...

Seeing the look on my face, Keith slaps me on the back and says, “Cheer up! Maybe there will be good news inside!”

We walk in, but I am not cheered up, instead I am in a much worse mood. The likelihood of me being able to help people on a large scale is looking more and more remote each second as I try to grasp the full measure of what my abilities mean. I only stop my musing when I notice the inside of my house.

Judas Muade, what did they do to my home? Why did they feel the need to make it a command center, couldn’t they have just used a super trailer for that or something? My beautiful house, they’ve turned in into a monster!

Monitors hang on basically every open space on the walls, cords are everywhere, carefully wrapped in bundles to prevent tripping and several extra desks have been brought in along with an army of chairs. The place is packed with people, while before I would have had a hard time being able to imagine hosting anything over a dozen people in my house at once, now they have managed to squeeze them in like sardines. What work are they actually all doing here?

Feeling at a loss, Keith just guides me over to a corner where a young man is setting up some new equipment for whatever God knows purpose. I just stand there in a trance wondering what my life has turned into. Keith strikes up a conversation with a passing soldier but I tone it out. On the other side of the room I see Charles and Clarissa standing next to a wall, tablets secured by their sides. They seem to be in anticipation for something, they look anxious and excited.

…

Who’s keeping an eye on Skully if we are all here?

…

Surrounded by this organized chaos, I give a big regretful sigh. I just want to go to bed and end this day already.

The guy next to me gets up after plugging in certain cords and cables from down below, brushing off his fatigues, and I get a good look at him.

He has short cropped hair as per military standard and brown eyes with a clean shaven face. He’s built like a tank, although a little shorter than me, and he gives a quick look as he notices me watching him before turning back to his work, setting up a monitor on the desk.

His left face is bandaged up with white cloth, his left eye completely covered. His neck is partially bandaged too, red angry skin is visible below that, running around his neck to his back and shoulder. It looks painful but the man doesn’t cringe at all as he moves around fluidly.

After a moment, I can’t help but ask, “What happened to you?”

I realize right after I said it that I was being very rude and he probably would have preferred to be left alone.

The man gave me a quick once over with a frown before mumbling something I couldn't catch and then saying with a grunt, “Training accident.” He didn’t elaborate but instead got back to work, finishing up his preparations.

…

Why is this guy here? Shouldn’t he be resting in a hospital or something?

I feel a pair of eyes studying me and I turn to see the colonel looking at me passively from across the room, even as three adjuncts gab at him all at once, trying to push tablets into his hands.

…

Is this a test? Is he testing me? Did he purposely put an injured man in front of me to see how I will react? Well, screw him!

…

I turn back to the man and ask curiously, “What kind of damage do you have?

The man sits back with a sigh and finally gives me his full attention. After a small scowl he says openly, “burns all around my face and back, that’ll leave significant scarring. Its my eye they are really worried about, though, they are not sure I’ll get that back. Maybe partially, but there will be a significant loss of sight in it either way. It will take weeks or months to heal.”

He stares at me, as if challenging me to ask more about it. Instead, I give him my own frown.

“Would you like me to heal you?” I ask bluntly.

He looks at me like a crazy man for a second. “What?” he replies incredulously.

I can feel the intense gaze of the colonel on my back but I ignore it. Instead, I bring my right hand up and cast flare on it, my most showy skill. I stare down the man and ask again, “Would you like me to heal you?”

Realization seems to dawn on the man as he stares agape at my hand. He replies horcely, “You’re Greg Tyler?” I simply nod and the man swallows hard. He asks again, his eyes flitting around in panic, “Right here?”

“Right now.” I reply sternly. That’s what the colonel was intending anyway. I end the skill on my hand to stop wasting mana.

Gulping, the man asks quickly, “Will it hurt?”

I shrug, “You’ll feel an uncomfortable icy sensation, like dipping your arm into ice water, but that will probably feel nice to you, after getting burned like that.”

The man simply stares at me, not making a move.

…

Geeze, what’s it take?

…

I give him an annoyed look and ask, “you want healing or not? It'll only take a few moments.”

Suddenly, the man nods his head frantically. I reach out to grab his face and he flinches back for a second before calming himself down and squeezing his eye shut. I roll my eyes at him. “What’s your name?” I ask, gently placing my hands on his face.

“Private Johnson,” he answers with a shaky voice.

I activate heal and watch the soft glow infuse his face spreading down his neck and back. Johnson gasps at the sensation at first, but holds still. Twenty seconds later, my mana only a quarter depleted, I finish and take my hands off of him.

He doesn’t move or open his eye, so I probe my my finger. “Well?” I ask irritably.

He starts, feeling his neck with his hand before rubbing his bandages. Presumably, when he feels no pain, he suddenly starts fumbling, trying to pull them off. I watch with an amused glance and soon his face is uncovered.

…

It’s not a pretty sight. I may have healed his wounds, but the leftover puss, salves, and other gross stuff is still on his face.

“Uhhhh,” I say, looking away, “you should wash that off.”

Johnson was elated though. Opening his left eye fully, he gives me a look of pure joy before gushing loudly, “Thank you very much.”

…

Go and sin no more.

…

Just kidding, go and wash your face.

“You’re welcome,” I just say, “Seriously, the bathroom is around the corner, go and wash your face.”

After a few more heartfelt and attention grabbing thank yous, he does just that.

He left his task incomplete though, the monitor is still not up and running. I hope he doesn’t get in trouble for that.

I sigh and look around, Keith is eyeing me with bright frightful intensity and Jeff with an odd glint. Other than that only a few others noticed the commotion and understood what happened, the place as so loud and busy as it was. They too, eyed me with weird looks.

I intentionally avoid the colonel’s gaze.

Keith says after a moment, “That was very kind of you.”

I try to shrug it off and ask, “what are we here for again?”

Its Jeff who responds, speaking for what seems like the first time, “They are testing a tactical nuke right now.”

…

Holy crap, are you kidding me?

“Isn’t that a little too soon?” I ask nervously. “It's only been a couple days.” I mean, I know I wanted it to happen, but…. holy crap.

Jeff just gives me a wicked grin. Keith answers my unasked questions, “They are testing it out on a sphere out in the ocean by Hawaii, labeled SP-151, or Spirit, if you will. They encircled the thing and have been making tests on it all day.”

No kidding.

“What have they learned?”

Jeff reaches over and hands me a tablet with a report on it. The label on it TOP SECRET causes me to pause, but I try to ignore it. Keith fills me in with the details as I try to read.

“While the membrane absorbs any material it comes into contact with as it expands, purposeful penetration of the membrane with drones and other items have all failed, at first.”

I look up at him curiously, giving up for a moment to unravel the complicated data in front of me. “What do you mean? What about those five people who ran into the one in LA?”

“We had the same thought,” Keith replies sagely, “The sphere in LA, SP-052, Spook, certainly did have that happen. Alternately, due to the rural nature of that sphere we haven't been able to run as extensive tests as we could otherwise on it. We’ve been able to insert drones into that one on seemingly random occasions. We’ve never got any data back from the drones, but besides that, we needed to figure out the conditions for being able to insert material into the spheres.”

“Like bombs.” I say flatly.

Keith nods. “The answer turns out to be relatively simple. As far as the data shows, if there are humans nearby the sphere will accept penetration. Other animal and organisms don’t seem to count.”

…

Wow. That’s kind of ominous.

“Once they figured that out, they’ve been able to run tests on Spirit.” Keith then adds as an afterthought, “other countries are doing the same to their spheres.”

…

Interesting.

I turn back to the data in front of me, scrolling past the meaningless jargon to get to some results I can understand.

…

Looks like they have tried everything they could think of and two conclusions stand out. One is that nothing gets out, no energy readings of any kind. Drones, bombs, and even live animals have been inserted with no reportable results. Once something enters, it might as well have never existed. Secondly, as they progressed through bigger and bigger explosives, they came to the conclusion that radical measures could be taken. Hence the tactical nuke.

In theory, all they need to do is destroy the core. Even if they kill off everything inside the sphere, as long as the core is still intact it can continue to grow.

…

Time to start praying for the nuke to work then.

As we waited, I continue to read the report. When humans aren't around, the membrane of the sphere acts like an impenetrable force, rejecting any kind of intrusion. Even the hardest of objects and toughest of pressure was like throwing eggs at a wall. Once humans were in the vicinity, though, the membrane becomes malleable, but, so far, still not breakable. Once an object touches the membrane it gets inexorably sucked in, the only way to stop it is to cut the object in half. So, if a human hand touches it, you had better chop off the arm.

The rate of absorption varies depending on the size of the object and the force at which the object contacts the membrane. Bullets get absorbed almost instantaneously while large crates slowly get pulled in.

While it appears that the rate of growth is decreasing as times goes on, the truth is far different. The growth is actually completely constant, growing consistently at about a cubic foot every ten seconds.

…

It’s a scary thought. Even though that is pretty small, eventually, way down the road eventually, it will mean that it will consume the earth.

...

Also, LA will have serious problems before that happens.

...

As I studied the report, Private Johnson returned, looking dazed and out of it. He casts several quick glances at me as he returns to his station and I do my best to ignore him.

Eventually, something seemed to get the better of him and he leans over to me and whispers, “My sister has stage four lymphoma. Would you be willing to…?” He didn’t finish his sentence but the pleading in his eyes was real.

I stiffen at his words and watch his apprehensive eyes.

…

So this is how it starts.

After a moment, I ask him softly, “where is she?”

“She lives in Maine,” Johnson replies back. That’s a long ways away.

Suddenly, the noise level in the house drops drastically as everyone seems to stop talking at once. I give Keith a questioning look and he says to me in a hushed voice, unwilling to break the sudden silence, “The nuclear warhead just made contact with the membrane. It should be a couple of minutes before it gets wholly sucked in and should go off a few minutes after that. They are evacuating the area around Spirit now.”

There is no particular monitor everybody is staring at, so I assume there is no live feed. I hear a controlled voice over a speaker somewhere narrating the events. On one of the screens I see a large countdown. Soft whispered voices are scattered across the house as the tension builds.

I stare at the timer too.

“If you can get her in front of me,” I whisper back to Johnson, “I’ll do what I can. You understand you must keep this a secret, though” I look over at the timer, a bad feeling settling in my stomach. I add after a moment, “you had better make this sooner rather than later. Things will get crazy around here soon.”

Johnson nods back with steely determination. I have no idea what her condition is or how he will convince her to fly out over here, but that’s his problem, not mine.

A voice sounds out over the speakers, “ten seconds till complete insertion.”

A total and palpable silence covers the room.

I watch the timer and ten seconds later the voice calls out again, “insertion complete, countdown till detonation, two minutes.”

I wait with baited breath for an immediate response, but nothing comes.

…

God Damn it. It's a failure. I don’t know if they forgot about the time dilation or not, but if it worked, we should have seen results immediately, two minutes or not.

Nobody says anything, so I don’t either, shifting my weight as I struggle to understand the implications of this failure.

The silence lasts for the full two agonizing minutes and eventually the timer ends. Everybody looks around at each other with concern until the voice comes back on over the speaker. “No reaction toward detonation, I repeat, no reaction to detonation. Spirit is still standing.”

Angry and disappointed muttering spreads across the crowd and I hear a loud sigh from Keith next to me.

“Damn,” he says, scratching the back of his head, “not enough.”

No kidding. At this point, I don’t believe that kind of method will work anymore. The spheres are set up like games, and games are meant to be played a certain way. It’s not going to accept work arounds. They are going to have to go in, guns blazing.

…

Damn, I’m going to have to go in again, too, aren’t I.