[Silence]
[ Noise]
. . . They're out there somewhere; can't let them get me . . .
"Good afternoon sir, how may I help you?" He had progressed up the line to the customer service officer.
"Uh yeah, I've go a problem. My uh, thing, doesn't work properly." This wasn't going as he'd rehearsed it. "I mean my gun. It's not working." That's better, that's why he was here. He looked around nervously.
. . . They've got to be close, they know I'm here, I've got to get away . . .
"What seems to be the problem sir? Have you checked the troubleshooting guide in the instruction manual you received with our product?" Her smile was nauseating, false.
. . . She knows who I am . . .
. . . she knows who you are . . .
He jumped, startled. "Uh yeah, I did, but I couldn't fix it." He looked at her, the smile had left her eyes. Something was wrong. Would she alert security? "I, uh, don't have the necessary tools."
. . . That was stupid, now she knows for sure . . .
"That's okay sir, lots of customers have that problem. Under the terms of your warranty you have two repair vouchers left, you just need to go to the maintenance room out the back and give them one of your vouchers. Then maybe sir would like to visit the showroom and --"
He had turned. Everyone was in his way, they all knew.
. . . They all know . . .
He shoved someone out of his way, started running.
"Sir, wait. Sir!?" The customer service lady was screaming. When had he pulled out his gun? The guards would be here soon, he had to get away.
. . . I've got to get away . . .
. . . You wont get away . . .
What was wrong with him? Why was he thinking so strangely? Why was that person in his way? Is that a gun in their hand?
He slowly brought up his gun, a lovely replica Blitzer(tm) that he had saved for months to get. Once again he noticed the custom tool work on the muzzle, designed to his specification at his request. He felt a surge of pride. This was his gun, he just like an Operative. Focusing his gaze on the person he began to aim.
. . . Naughty naughty . . .
What was that? He stopped, confused.
. . . Who are you? . . .
. . . laughter . . .
. . . Who are you dammit! Where are you? . . .
He was scared. Someone was running at him; he pulled the trigger.
[Nothing]
[Bang]
[Pain]
. . . Where's my gun? . . .
He hurt. He didn't hurt. He didn't know anymore; it was all so confusing.
. . . Relax . . .
Yes, that's it. It was stress. He would just lay back, relax. He felt so cold.
. . . I wish it was warmer . . .
. . . It will be, soon . . .
It was hard. So hard. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone.
. . . It's too late for that . . .
. . . I know . . .
The crowd had been removed from the scene, a Shiver crew detailed to clean up the mess.
::begin transmit::
"That's it sir, we got him, and all the evidence we need."
::end transmit::
::begin receive::
"Excellent; you did seem to be in his mind for some time . . . was something amiss?"
::end receive::
::bt::
"No sir, nothing wrong. I just had to be sure that the Waster really was messing with the poor guy's head. The commercial indoctrination was easy to see, but that Waster was good. It wasn't until the shopping centre that I was able to distinguish between the thought processes of the Waster and the victim."
::et::
::br::
"At least now you understand why you were recruited. Our organisation needs people like you, people who can help from the inside. You didn't give anything away did you? You weren't noticed?"
::er::
[Nothing]
::br::
"Hello, are you there?"
::er::
[Nothing]
A figure moves into a white room somewhere. On a short, sturdy bed lies a man, breathing calmly, eyes open but unseeing. He had had the dream again, but his pills would fix that. The figure, we can't say other than that for the image seems blurred, gently bends over the man on the bed, and tenderly gives him his medicine. Everything's okay now, the man will be going home soon . . .