The FIZZ

Ravings were heard the world over about this pop-up soda bar. Why do you ask? The Fizz, as it was dubbed, served soda creations capable of giving someone superpowers temporarily. Which I must admit, I was entirely skeptical about, but I figured I would give this shop a whirl and worse comes to worse, I find a new flavor of soda I love. Luckily, the shop was a twenty-minute walk from my apartment, and so after work, I showered off another long workday, dressed comfortably, and took a leisurely stroll through the warm August evening to The Fizz. And wow, believe me, it was not hard to find; the warm glow of the neon signage could be seen a couple of blocks away. Finding myself hypnotized by its glow, I wandered closer and closer like a moth to the flame. Upon arrival, the storefront was classy in its presentation, like one of those old rockabilly diners.
I enter through a black-handled, glass door with YOUR FIZZ AWAITS Est. 2023 emblazoned in a rockabilly font across the glass, make my way across the black and white, checkered vinyl floor, past the red booths with black inlay to the white counter seating myself at one of the empty, glitzy-red cushioned stools at the counter. A waiter comes to take my order like an old barkeep. Behind the barkeep, a colorful array of glass bottles of what looked like concoctions straight out of some mad scientist's wet dream.
Gesturing towards the empty diner and back to the wall of beverages behind him, he proclaims, "Welcome to The Fizz, young man! Where your fizz awaits! Each fizz grants the drinker a special ability for one hour only, up to three beverages per visit and careful not to mix any of our beverages."
With eyes wide like a kid in a candy store, I gulp down my excitement, asking, "What would you recommend for my first try?"
As if he knew the perfect one to start with, he cracked open a bottle of what appeared to be root beer from a brand I knew nothing of and poured three fingers into a short glass.
"On the house for a first timer," he said graciously, gesturing to me to try it. After taking my first tentative sips, and then guzzling down the rest because the taste was phenomenal, I felt a tingle race along my nerve endings leaving my mouth with a momentary numbness.
"Pull out your phone and watch or read something in an entirely different language," he said once he was satisfied the soda took effect.
Shrugging, I pull out my phone, scrolled over to YouTube and pulled up a Portuguese influencer peddling some new waterproof fabric. The video looked cool enough except for the first time since saving this video, I understood every word like it was being spoken in flawless English. I mean there may have been more in the way of details about the product, but I was completely blown away by how well I could understand everything the influencer was saying. Exiting the app, I called a friend of mine who spoke Mandarin flawlessly and after he picked up the call, I begged him to speak to me in Mandarin. Humoring me because that is what friends do, he told me he's always had feelings for me.
"Hahaha! Wait, what?" I asked bewildered, hoping he misspoke or maybe I had misheard him.
"I-I..uh...did not actually think you would understand that. Umm...any chance you could pretend I was just kidding?" he rambled. You could hear a pin drop with how awkward this was for us both. In this moment, there was little doubt we both wished he could have reeled those words back, but the cat, as they say, was out of the bag. I had to head him off at the pass to keep the proverbial can of worms at bay.
"It's okay...really! Don't worry about it! Later! Byeeee!"
I ended the call before any more was said. I buried my head in my hands, a swirl of emotions plaguing me. That was going to be a long talk I was not sure I was prepared for. Our friendship was so amazing and knowing this would change things in a way I could not stomach. But for the moment, this flavor of soda made me a polyglot. And it has proven quite fruitful, if not a little problematic. I cringe at how the call soured the experience for me. Shaking those thoughts loose from my mind, I square my shoulders and ask the bartender when this was going to wear off.
"Any moment now," he says, checking his watch. "You only consumed enough for its effects to last a few minutes. However, once you consume a bottle's worth, the effects last one hour precisely," he states matter-of-factly.
"Hmm," I hum to myself, pondering what flavor I'll try next. A lightbulb went off in my head. "Bubblegum!" I blurted out.
The barkeep nodded his approval and, from behind the counter, produced a glass bottle of pink fizzy goodness. With a flourish, he peeled the cap from the bottle, and set the bottle on a napkin in front of me next to my empty glass tumbler. Like a kid at Christmas, I grabbed the bottle and guzzled down half of it before a mighty belch climbed its way out of my throat. The barkeep set the timer on his watch and leaned back to watch the show I presume.
Fireworks race up and down my spine, and my fingertips go numb for a moment or two. And then, magic happens. I concentrate on what want to do and attempt to execute the maneuver. I stand and face the door, clench my fist as I chamber my arm for what would be the most epic moment of my life.
With a smirk and a hearty giggle, I proclaim, "Gum-Gum!" as I launched my arm at the door handle more than ten feet away from where I stood. My arm shot out, and my hand quickly caught ahold of the door handle. It all happened so fast; I nearly missed my mark as I stood stunned at the fact that it worked. It happened. I was freakin' Plastic Man!!! Well, I fancied myself more Reed Richards, but that's arguing semantics at this point. Releasing the handle, my arm returned to me quick as a whip crack, and in complete fascination, I inspected my arm to see if my arm had any signs of damage, but none were there.
"Wow," I breathe as childlike wonder colors my voice. Still looking at my hands, I ask the barkeep, "An hour you say?"
"Yes sir, one hour. Well..." inspecting his watch before replying, "more like fifty-six minutes and twenty-seven seconds until the effects wear off."
Carrying on like a boring drug commercial, not caring if I paid the slightest attention to him, "We here at The Fizz are not responsible for any injuries sustained or crimes committed while under the influence of our specialty beverages. Enjoy, and, as always, sir, your Fizz awaits!" Finishing his statement with an exaggerated flourish.
Gulping down the rest of my soda, a rather loud belch escaped from the pit of my stomach. Blushing furiously with a quick apology to the barkeep for my rudeness, I reveled in the feel of fireworks dancing across my skin as I quickly paid the man and headed home. But, with only fifty minutes to go, did I really go home? Curiosity unfurled in my chest, and caused me to perform the most cartoonish, about face and headed in the direction of my Eric's apartment. Excitement for my newfound abilities outweighed any awkwardness I was feeling towards him now. Besides, something made me want to share this with him and maybe much more.
"Hmm, two birds, one stone," I muse as I bounced and bounded my way across town towards an unknowing crush and one memorable experience courtesy of The Fizz.
***
The barkeep was all nerves as he switched off the open sign above the door. He looked miserably at the direction in which the kid took off into the night. He prayed the kid got to at least have one good night before... His thoughts trailed off as his melancholy took hold on the way to the breakroom at the back of the store. He let out a heavy sigh as he took the phone from his pocket, dialed *666*, and slowly put the phone to his ear, waiting through three rings. He hoped, or rather prayed to God, the call would not be answered, but as it would seem he would not be granted that mercy.
"It's done. We've closed for the night. We had a good run on our first day. All totaled, we had seventeen customers today," the barkeep said in a dry monotone voice that may as well as have been talking about the weather.
Silence greeted him, and for a moment, he thought the call had dropped off, but the unmistakable sounds of chewing, slurping, and gulping could be heard low in the background. The barkeep on some level since making the 'voice's' acquaintance, had a deep atavistic dread towards whatever the voice belonged to, but he developed a creeping suspicion. In the truth, knowing what he had gleaned thus far gave way to a thought that horrified him. What the hell was he eating and drinking? He violently shook the thought away as bile rose in his throat.
"Yes?" asked the voice. The sound of this voice had so far made him feel dirty. Like there was not enough Purell in the world that could wash that feeling away.
"Well..."
"Yeessss?"
The hiss in their answer felt close, much too close. It may as well have been an inch from the nape of his neck. The barkeep's skin goose fleshed as he raked his brain for the words.
"The last subject tried one of our newest flavors, uh, bubblegum. I am aware it was not entirely ready for consumption, and for that I beg your forgiveness. But I guess I got overzealous, a-and he was the first customer to ask-"
"Good. You did good. The customer is always top priority. However," the voice praised with a note of displeasure.
The barkeep's mood deflated at the last word. His heart dropped and sweat pooled at his back at the note of disappointment in the tone of the voice. He caught his lip between his teeth to keep from chattering on and rambling. He waited in silence for the other shoe to drop.
"You know full well, approval must be given before a new flavor is ever tested. Rules are rules for a reason. While initiative is to be praised, insubordination will not be tolerated," the voice chastised, adding, "Step out of line again at your own peril."
"Yes, sir. I-I merely wished to show my commitment to the program," the barkeep said contritely.
"Noted. Now, monitor the previous subject's progress more closely. What can be expected in terms of fallout?"
"Loss of vitality in their skin's overall health, cellular degradation to the point of loss in elasticity, in other words, flabby or hanging skin, basically."
"Mmmm...delicious..." said a voice satisfied. The pleasure the voice took in this gruesome detailing of the side effects was unsettling. As if each detail brought them closer and closer to orgasm. The barkeep shifted uncomfortably with the phone in their hand and awaited further instructions.
"Your orders are as follows: report back soonest on the side effects of bubblegum, work out the bugs in the formula, and begin phase two for that flavor."
"Yes, sir, I-"
"At what stages are the other flavors?" the voice said, cutting him off and changing the subject.
"Much further along to where the side effects will be minimal and semi-permanent."
Whoever the voice became heavy and breathy as he delivered the news, and it was more than his life was worth to interrupt or call attention to whatever may have been happening on the end of the line. The barkeep swallowed their revulsion at this, and stayed silent while they worked through...whatever it was they were working through. Once the breathing on the other end of the line leveled out, they spoke plainly and coldly.
"Good. I am most pleased. Proceed as planned. Follow your orders. And as always, any failures on your part...well, we wouldn't want your daughter to become my pet as penance for your slip-ups, now, would we?"
"No, no sir! Please, leave her out of this! I have already proved my commitment to the program-"
"And it is for that reason, not a hair on her head will be touched," the voice chuckled heartily upon that insinuation.
"You are a monster," the barkeep said meekly.
A gruff cackle was all he heard in response to this, causing him to stiffen with fear.
"My dear boy, if only you knew," the voice said slyly before cackling into the receiver.
The line went dead as the barkeeper felt on the inside. His soul had not been his own for many years now. He was owned, body and soul save but for his daughter who remained unmolested provided he did as he was told. Since he was shanghaied into the Organization, every decision made, every choice hoisted upon him was made for the sake of his daughter and her soul. A fate worse than death awaited her should he ever disappoint the Organization. And so, he clocked in every day, served those 'sodas', called with daily updates, and clocked out to go home to his daughter. He did all of this with a practiced smile so as not to alert the only thing he had left in this world to the fact that her soul was up for grabs in the worst way should he ever fail. The only thing he feared in this world was whatever was on the end of that phone. For that's all they remained on the other end of a phone that dialed one horrible number, a voice.