Blackout Experiment 1.0

Prologue

Prologue

Little Rock, Arkansas, January 3rd

Perhaps if Mark Witt had gotten the right coffee order that one fateful day, none of it would have happened.

Mark was a small man, with squinted eyes and a crooked mouth.

He had degrees in psychology, sociology, and anthropology. He'd studied hard for years to observe human behavior and predict how different traits would change in reaction to alterations in their daily lives. At least, thats what his degrees were meant to be used for. In reality he was observing the different behaviors of a local high school, one with a particularly high rating in crime, like an average psychologist.
They were ungrateful, idiotic, little, deadbeat teens, and the school was wasting their time on these kids.

He was the cheapest, most convenient, person in his field in the state.

"One week left." He sighed at the thought of only having to see those 'spoiled little nuisences' ever again.

He was where he was every morning. The local coffee shop. It was a nice sized, green building called 'The Junior Senior Cafe'. It wasn't that he enjoyed the quaint nature of it, or the free wifi; it was simply the closest shop with the best black coffee.

The line was short, which was rare, and within 10 minutes of walking through the door, he was ordering from the red headed, pimply teen at the counter.

"A number three with extra sugar." The boy absently nodded, staring down at his phone screen.

Getting out the amount he would need to pay, Mark waited impatiently.
The teen, still staring at his screen, handed Witt the cup, took the money and on went business as usual.

Looking aroung at the other customers, Mark saw that the majority of them were teens, getting their caffiene fix before school, with a few adults doing the same before work.

About ten to fifteen people were crowded into tables, milling around and sitting outside.

More than half of them were watching the television at the front of the room, the others were tapping away on their their phones or their laptops.

Rolling his eyes, he took a sip of his coffee. And gagged. His tastebuds were invaded by the light taste of something that was most certainly not his order.

Marching up to the counter, he slammed his cup down with such a force that its contense splashed onto his hand, burning him, not that he cared.

"This is not my order. This... I don't even know what that is!" Truthfully, Mark was overreacting. A lot. But it was the last straw. The drop that tipped the scale.

"What?" As the casheir finally glanced up from his phone, Mark realized something.

The problem wasn't the teen, or the coffee, or himself. It was the phone. But not just the phone. It was the television. The computers. The internet. The electricity.

And with that, an idea was born. A horrible, terrible idea. An idea that starts out story.