somebody ; minsung

XV ; power up

Our trip on the skytrain becomes a ride by bus. The skyscrapers are halved in height, and soon the city has shrunk into a bright, bland suburbia, rows of identical houses on either side of the road, each with a lawn of turf and red-flagged mailboxes.

The bus lets us off under a glass shelter on Pine Avenue. Jisung promptly starts down the sidewalk and I follow. He turns up a pathway leading to a pallid house, presses a number into a keypad and the handle-less door slides open.

"This is your college friend's place?" I say.

"Yeah. Try to be quiet, the maintenance droids are programmed to call the police if they find unauthorized people inside the house."

The door closes behind us. The lights automatically turn on above our heads. Jisung leads the way down the hall, checking around each corner before passing.

"How did you know the passcode?" I whisper.

"I've been over before. Bandi has a home laboratory on the top floor, it's a good facility."

"Huh." I didn't expect him to be so close to the guy he only refers to by his last name. "Does he have a family? Wife, husband, something?"

He turns to give me a look. "Why do you want to know?"

I just shrug.

He looks away again. "This shouldn't take too long if we both hurry. Like I told you, before we start I'll need a sample of—"

I catch a glimpse of a droid coming around the corner. I grab Jisung's arm and pull him through a doorway, into a closet stuffed with coats. I peek out — the droid has turned into the dining room, rolling its cart of cleaning supplies behind it.

"Good one," Jisung clears his throat.

"Is it okay to go now?"

"Yeah, quick, to the stairs."

We move out and climb the spiral staircase. It peaks with another door and another keypad. Of course Jisung knows the passcode.

The lights flicker on in the windowless room. Bulky machinery, half-finished experiments, a clutter of bits and pieces — it reminds me of the labs at Oracle. The door locks behind us.

He walks over to a machine as big as a fridge, splays his hands and a keyboard appears in front of him. He types as he speaks.

"This is a high-density section laser. I need you to activate your elastin, stretch your hand as thin as you can get it, then place it in the slot."

I'm trying to be a good sport about it, though I'm nervous to be a guinea pig — not to mention an intruder in someone else's house. "Yeah... right."

I lift my arm. My particles stretch and strain till my hand is just a dull-edged stake, lengthening as it narrows, thin as a chopstick.

"Aim for cornsilk, Minho," he says absently, like he's telling me to say 'ahh.'

It feels wrong, like stretching your toes and waiting for a cramp. An alert is flashing in the corner of my eye, telling me to cease activity. I let my toothpick-sized arm fall in the egg-shaped slot in the middle of the machine.

"Now, do it."

A flash of light. Numb pain reverberates through me and my armour snaps back into place. The tip of my index finger is sparking, stretched thin over the grey core.

"Is it supposed to look like that?" My voice shakes. "Is it okay?"

Jisung takes my hand, squints down at it. "It should be fine, don't mess around with it. I took as little a sample as I could, I just need enough to conduct my experiment."