The descent into the basement of the PEP Center felt like a trip to hell. When the elevator opened, Hank's world filled with noise. Central to the area was a cafeteria-style waiting room, its front half harboring a small stage with auditorium seating. A scattering of people lounged back in the chairs, facing a man onstage who presented information about the PEP. Most of them paid scant attention to him, choosing to rough-house and chat, as the man seemed as disinterested as his audience in what he was saying.

He paused to stare at Hank, causing others to do so as well. The drop in volume was noticeable.

Hank couldn't control his thoughts. God, I hate this place.

He approached a drippy mess around a self-serve soda pop machine. As he poured a Misty Dew, he stared at a half-empty rack of chips and processed bakery goods that no one seemed to want, using the time with his back to the crowd to calm his anxious mind. During his last visit, ten long months ago, less than half as many people had been in the room. The crowd had also been more pleasant—people who minded their manners, rather than the rowdy bunch here now.

The place had also been cleaner. Hank made a face at the rack of chips to express dismay, when a woman behind him spoke.

"Ooh! You must be something special!" she said to his rear.

Go away, Hank thought, not turning to look.

"Joseph up there on stage recognized you right away. Your results must be off the charts!"

Why did I come here?

"I doubt that's the case," Hank said, his back still to the woman.

Upon turning with his Misty Dew, Hank noticed the woman was the ringleader of a horde. They stood beside her and behind her, gawking at his face.

"We're here to take our first PEP Test, but I bet you're here for your second," the ringleader said.

Get me out of here!

A member of the horde spoke next. "That guy really likes you. What kind of Genius do you think you'll be?"

"Go away!" Hank said unintentionally, speaking much too loud.

Everybody within earshot turned again to look. A second later, a loudspeaker blared Hank's name. The nosy woman leading the horde took note of his reaction.

"Ooh. Yep. You're blessed, all right. Joseph moved you to the top of the list."

"Yeah," Hank grumbled to himself, walking towards Room 101B. "If I'm so freaking special, why isn't Anna my girlfriend?"

When the rubber hood for the PEP Scan machine came down over Hank's head, he felt more at peace than he did claustrophobic. Mercifully, the technicians let him keep his hair, although one of them clucked disparagingly during the exam, perturbed by its length. Her sour face was the last thing Hank saw before darkness fell.

"Okay," another technician said. "This will prick a bit."

Actually, it pricked a lot. The probes for this test were sharper, and more plentiful, than the ones before. Also, the hood was stifling. But the probes were also coated with an anesthetic, and when fresh air began circulating in the hood to help Hank breathe, he relaxed and closed his eyes. He waited for the electric pulse that would signify the start of the test.

Hank's reaction to the pulse was not like the first time at all. Instead of inducing euphoria, it hit like a drug. A drubbing grew in his stomach, like rotten food being digested, coursing poison through his veins. When the poison reached his brain, he lost consciousness. But instead of blacking out, he fell into a dream.

A vision of horror. A nightmare. People burned alive before his very eyes—first a few, then a hundred, then a thousand.

A hundred thousand.

A hundred million.

The stench of their flesh was unbearable, their screams never-ending. Hank wanted to tear off the hood, but his hands felt glued to the chair. He tried to scream along with the victims, but the rubber hood crawled into his mouth, flowing like melted butter.

It writhed inside Hank like a serpent, until he became a monster. The hood turned him inside out, exposing his guts to the flame. He stretched his serpent head high, until it felt as if it were ripping from his body, to survey the scene below. Beyond the dying masses lay a peaceful garden—empty, idyllic and beckoning. Ashes of flesh from the victims became butterflies when they reached the garden. Hank willed the ashes to go there, to be free, and to stop all the screaming.

The pulse in the hood changed. Now instead of burning, the people were shaken by an earthquake, so much so, the ground liquefied. They sunk in to their waists, then their necks and then further, as Heaven opened up to pelt them with hailstones. The hailstones became boulders, killing those they struck. Without any hands, Hank unhinged his serpent jaw to catch the boulders in his mouth, in a vain attempt to protect the people.

When he looked down upon them again, the earth had turned to sea. People now were drowning in filthy freezing water. The wreckage of a city flowed toward them on a tsunami, smashing from all sides. Hank descended from Heaven to guide people to a safe shore. He called for them to swim faster, but instead of words coming from his mouth, beasts flew out instead.

Sharks and piranhas and barracudas. They shredded the people to bits, their flesh becoming rose petals.

Hank tried to control his creations. Stop it! Leave them be!

The beasts paid no mind. Once every last person had been slaughtered, the beasts attacked Hank, sinking their teeth into him. The Universe grew heavy, starless and bible black, until its weight fell down, crushing everything to the thinness of gossamer wings.

Let me go!

Instead of taking the subway home, Hank chose to walk. He needed time alone to collect his thoughts, and the rush hour crowd now on the subway wouldn't afford him that luxury. As he passed a street near Asok's, he decided to check in at work. Still in a daze, Hank slipped on his apron over his gray and black hoodie, leaving his official work shirt hanging on a hook in his locker.

It was as if he'd never left, save for one obvious difference. The fine-pored, white alabaster skin of his face was covered with red PEP Dots. Mr. and Mrs. Satō were back in the store, as if they too had never left, speaking with the owner.

The three of them caught sight of Hank. They glared at him silently. Mr. Satō approached, leaving his wife to berate the owner alone.

"You ruin food!" the man said, pointing a finger at Hank. "Smash bread with the casaba."

Hank didn't know what to say. He barely remembered having packed the Satō's groceries, much less what they'd bought. The owner made his way toward the fray, bowing to Mrs. Satō often, as she positioned herself between him and her husband in order to continue complaining.

"What's going on?" one checker asked another, calling across her lane.

"Hank's in trouble," the other replied, making a face to express disgust.

The first checker shook her head. "Serves him right, I suppose," she said.

"Hank?" the owner asked. "Can we talk?"

"He ruin everything!" Mr. Satō replied.

Hank's mind reeled, as his PEP test nightmare returned. He'd never been the center of so much attention, nor in so much trouble. Typically, he was the one who solved problems for people, and not the one who caused them.

"You're not supposed to be here, are you?" the owner asked. "Go home now. Okay?"

"Yeah!" Mrs. Satō said. "Go home!"

Hank offered no resistance. Without hesitation, he walked out the front door. He took off his work apron and placed it on a table, one of several along the sidewalk meant for people to sit outside and eat food. He headed not towards his flat, but down the street where he'd seen Anna approach when she came to the store. He had no idea where she lived, nor even where he was going, but it felt good to be walking.

The crowd outside was thin, practically nonexistent, as darkness soon would fall. The breeze kept getting colder, causing those who were in it to hunker down. It was for the best, because the few who did look up while passing gave Hank's polka-dot face the stink eye. He wondered if he'd smashed their groceries too, or if perhaps they somehow knew that they would burn in Hell.

It didn't matter much to Hank, one way or the other, because the crap feeling in his stomach returned. He thought about throwing up, to see if it would help, thinking perhaps he really did have food poisoning. He paused to contemplate barfing beside a tree near the sidewalk. Unfortunately, the crowd had thickened, so he looked to see if there were less people down a small side street.

As if following some sort of ritual, the crowd on that street parted, all going in opposite directions. It didn't become deserted though. A dog the size of a laundry basket, with green eyes and black ears, and a pointy white nose, stood at the curb across the street, lolling its tongue at Hank. It's forepaws were also white, along with a chest of fuzzy fur. It sat down and gave a grin, wrapping its poofy tail around its tiny paws.

Hank blinked repeatedly, standing alone across the street from the dog. It didn't look real, but more like an anime drawing. Its eyes were too big, and also too green. Its mouth was human-like and as it sat there, happy as a clam, a pool of drool formed on the sidewalk, dripping from a tongue which was cotton candy pink. It wriggled and danced on its toes for a moment before leaping in a half-circle to run away. It stopped at the next crosswalk, another block away, and let out a bark before sitting down again, to curl its tail and face Hank.

"Okay," Hank said, disbelieving.

He crossed the street and approached. When he got to within ten feet, the dog wriggled and danced again before racing across the street, to sit at the next crosswalk and wait. Hank noticed its stubby legs looked like little blurs when it ran, as if the artist drawing it did so to signify cartoon motion. Hank again approached to within a few yards, when the dog again turned and ran. This continued, block after block, until Hank found himself someplace unfamiliar.

Nobody else seemed to notice the dog, and they paid no attention to Hank. The city became less urban, and more pastoral. A boulevard crossed two streets at an unusual angle, creating a triangle island of tall grass and low scrub. There were no crosswalks here, and when the dog disappeared in the undergrowth, Hank sprinted after it. He caught a glimpse of it for a moment on the other side of the boulevard, running pell-mell on its blurry legs down a path made of bricks that curved through a well-kept, wooded lawn.

Although Hank had lived in the city for his entire life, and enjoyed exploring it, he'd never seen this property. He lost track of the anime dog, but he didn't mind, as he marveled at the estate. It seemed to be a private garden, or an arboretum—impeccable, spotless and trimmed. The path passed through a towering white security gate made of iron, set in brick balusters. Growing on either side were impenetrable hedges that stood even higher, stretching for hundreds of yards.

The gate stood open, and Hank walked in.