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Dec. 4th, 2018 09:06 pmHe could hear them laughing. Poor dumb Brit, didn't even know how that banks had machines to count coins.
The first bank he visited wouldn't count the coins without him opening an account, which he didn't really want to do with a bunch of fake ID and no address. The second bank was rather more helpful. The clerk at the desk listened to his predicament.
"Is there anyone whose address you could use for your mail? A church for example?"
Vyvyan hesitated. That preacher he stayed the weekend with probably wouldn't mind. He gave Reverend Sanderson's address and made a mental note to go and tell him when he got the chance.
"All right, Mr Cornetto, let's see about those coins."
He helped the clerk lug the sack of coins. She poured them into a sorting machine, which took quite a while.
"I make that eight hundred and sixty dollars." she said.
"I have more."
After dragging another ten bags of coins to the bank, he had just enough to go back to the garage and give them a cheque for repairs of his van. There was fifteen dollars left over.
"Where are you going to sleep?" the clerk asked him, as she explained to him how to write out a cheque and helped him with the spelling. "If you live in the van."
"Dunno." Vyvyan said. "Tree, probably."
"In a tree? In December?" the clerk looked alarmed.
"I was joking." Vyvyan lied. "I'll stay with a mate."
As he dropped the van off, he collected the large backpack of essentials he'd had prepared for a while. He'd always known that if he lost the van for any reason, he'd be in trouble, and would need shelter quickly, so the bag contained a tent, a small gas camping stove, and a couple of essentials. And of course Duster, who was getting used to pretending to be a lamp.
Once he was out of sight, he teleported to Don's drug den. Don would probably let him join the party for one night even without taking any drugs. He'd never been inside before but people seemed to be having a good time, or at least, they kept coming back for more, stopping at his van as they came and went to buy ice creams and condoms and coffee.
As he approached the door, he hesitated. The door knocker was growing eyes and a mouth; a puppet-like effect that tended to happen to objects in Vyvyan's presence.
"I wouldn't, if I were you." the knocker said.
"Why?" Vyvyan asked.
"Look upstairs." the knocker told him.
It was usual for inanimate objects to talk around Vyvyan. It was far less usual for them to say anything useful. He put the bag down, and teleported up to the roof, then lowered himself down on the drainpipe to look through the window.
It wasn't a party in there.
By the time Don heard a noise and opened the door, Vyvyan had long gone.
***
"We have a new lead on Weapon V."
In a dimly-lit room full of computer screens sat a man with wispy brown hair, with just a hint of grey.
"This better be good, Balowski." he said.
"Well, you know how he's pulling off the tracking chips after each reset and putting them on vehicles?" Mr Balowski said. "Well, we've analysed the routes of the vehicles, and the majority are passing through Highway 15. Which puts him most likely somewhere between Los Angeles and Salt Lake City."
"What's his teleportation range?"
"About a mile, when he's newly reset."
The man with the wispy brown hair pulled up a map on the screen. On it were dozens of blinking dots, mostly in America but a few in other countries.
"What about these others? How's he moving them?"
"He's attaching them to keyrings and putting them in something called 'Geocaches'." Mr Balowski said. "It's some sort of treasure hunting game. Random people are picking them up and moving them around."
"He's pissing us around." the man snapped suddenly. "I want this screen watching twenty four hours a day. Focus on those three states, and look for the next time he resets, when four new spikes appear. I want him caught by Christmas. Now get Mike in here."
Shortly after, Mike entered, with a look of caution.
"Has Weapon V contacted home?" the man asked him.
"No sir."
"You had better not be lying, Mike."
"I'm not." Mike said. "Though I've told you before, I think you should let Vyvyan go. He's been gone for months, and he's clearly not dangerous or he would have been caught by now, or at least sighted."
"He knows about CLIFF." the man said.
"He clearly hasn't told anyone. And anyway, who would believe him?" Mike said.
"It's too much of a risk. He's behaving himself now, but who's to say that will continue? He's semi-immortal, he's going to be young forever. What if he gets a girl pregnant? We don't even know how his offspring would turn out."
Mike shuddered. It was a pretty ghastly thought.
"Sir, if you do catch him, what will you do to him?"
The man paused, and sighed.
"Look Mike, you know the condition we released him the first time was that you were responsible for making sure he was monitored at all times. He'll be contained until we've assessed his psychological state."
"And then?"
"He'll either be released with proper supervision or sent to a secure psychiatric unit, depending on what kind of state he's in. If he escapes again, he'll be terminated. And in case you're wondering, yes, we do have a facility he couldn't break or teleport out of."
Mike nodded.
"Stop feeling sorry for him." the man warned. "And don't ask too many questions. You're lucky we let you walk around unsupervised, Weapon M. You may go."
Mike left the building deep in thought. It was a short walk home - CLIFF didn't like them to live too far from the facility. As he got to the lobby of the apartment block, Neil was just arriving home from work. In the absence of Vyvyan, who had been the only wage earner, they had drawn straws and then beaten Neil up until he agreed to go out and get a job. He was now working in an organic vegan health food shop, selling lentils, peas and other recipes for flatulence.
"Where've you been, Mike?" Neil asked, as they trudged up the stairs.
"Looking for Vyv and Duster." Mike said.
"Did you find them?"
"Clearly not, Neil."
"Oh well, I guess he'd only complain about the supper I'm about to make anyway."
"Is it lentils?"
"Yeah."
A few days later, Mike mailed his Christmas cards. He made a careful stop at the bank to convert twenty pounds to Australian currency, slipped it into one of the cards with an addressed envelope and some very specific instructions, and mailed it to Australia.
The first bank he visited wouldn't count the coins without him opening an account, which he didn't really want to do with a bunch of fake ID and no address. The second bank was rather more helpful. The clerk at the desk listened to his predicament.
"Is there anyone whose address you could use for your mail? A church for example?"
Vyvyan hesitated. That preacher he stayed the weekend with probably wouldn't mind. He gave Reverend Sanderson's address and made a mental note to go and tell him when he got the chance.
"All right, Mr Cornetto, let's see about those coins."
He helped the clerk lug the sack of coins. She poured them into a sorting machine, which took quite a while.
"I make that eight hundred and sixty dollars." she said.
"I have more."
After dragging another ten bags of coins to the bank, he had just enough to go back to the garage and give them a cheque for repairs of his van. There was fifteen dollars left over.
"Where are you going to sleep?" the clerk asked him, as she explained to him how to write out a cheque and helped him with the spelling. "If you live in the van."
"Dunno." Vyvyan said. "Tree, probably."
"In a tree? In December?" the clerk looked alarmed.
"I was joking." Vyvyan lied. "I'll stay with a mate."
As he dropped the van off, he collected the large backpack of essentials he'd had prepared for a while. He'd always known that if he lost the van for any reason, he'd be in trouble, and would need shelter quickly, so the bag contained a tent, a small gas camping stove, and a couple of essentials. And of course Duster, who was getting used to pretending to be a lamp.
Once he was out of sight, he teleported to Don's drug den. Don would probably let him join the party for one night even without taking any drugs. He'd never been inside before but people seemed to be having a good time, or at least, they kept coming back for more, stopping at his van as they came and went to buy ice creams and condoms and coffee.
As he approached the door, he hesitated. The door knocker was growing eyes and a mouth; a puppet-like effect that tended to happen to objects in Vyvyan's presence.
"I wouldn't, if I were you." the knocker said.
"Why?" Vyvyan asked.
"Look upstairs." the knocker told him.
It was usual for inanimate objects to talk around Vyvyan. It was far less usual for them to say anything useful. He put the bag down, and teleported up to the roof, then lowered himself down on the drainpipe to look through the window.
It wasn't a party in there.
By the time Don heard a noise and opened the door, Vyvyan had long gone.
***
"We have a new lead on Weapon V."
In a dimly-lit room full of computer screens sat a man with wispy brown hair, with just a hint of grey.
"This better be good, Balowski." he said.
"Well, you know how he's pulling off the tracking chips after each reset and putting them on vehicles?" Mr Balowski said. "Well, we've analysed the routes of the vehicles, and the majority are passing through Highway 15. Which puts him most likely somewhere between Los Angeles and Salt Lake City."
"What's his teleportation range?"
"About a mile, when he's newly reset."
The man with the wispy brown hair pulled up a map on the screen. On it were dozens of blinking dots, mostly in America but a few in other countries.
"What about these others? How's he moving them?"
"He's attaching them to keyrings and putting them in something called 'Geocaches'." Mr Balowski said. "It's some sort of treasure hunting game. Random people are picking them up and moving them around."
"He's pissing us around." the man snapped suddenly. "I want this screen watching twenty four hours a day. Focus on those three states, and look for the next time he resets, when four new spikes appear. I want him caught by Christmas. Now get Mike in here."
Shortly after, Mike entered, with a look of caution.
"Has Weapon V contacted home?" the man asked him.
"No sir."
"You had better not be lying, Mike."
"I'm not." Mike said. "Though I've told you before, I think you should let Vyvyan go. He's been gone for months, and he's clearly not dangerous or he would have been caught by now, or at least sighted."
"He knows about CLIFF." the man said.
"He clearly hasn't told anyone. And anyway, who would believe him?" Mike said.
"It's too much of a risk. He's behaving himself now, but who's to say that will continue? He's semi-immortal, he's going to be young forever. What if he gets a girl pregnant? We don't even know how his offspring would turn out."
Mike shuddered. It was a pretty ghastly thought.
"Sir, if you do catch him, what will you do to him?"
The man paused, and sighed.
"Look Mike, you know the condition we released him the first time was that you were responsible for making sure he was monitored at all times. He'll be contained until we've assessed his psychological state."
"And then?"
"He'll either be released with proper supervision or sent to a secure psychiatric unit, depending on what kind of state he's in. If he escapes again, he'll be terminated. And in case you're wondering, yes, we do have a facility he couldn't break or teleport out of."
Mike nodded.
"Stop feeling sorry for him." the man warned. "And don't ask too many questions. You're lucky we let you walk around unsupervised, Weapon M. You may go."
Mike left the building deep in thought. It was a short walk home - CLIFF didn't like them to live too far from the facility. As he got to the lobby of the apartment block, Neil was just arriving home from work. In the absence of Vyvyan, who had been the only wage earner, they had drawn straws and then beaten Neil up until he agreed to go out and get a job. He was now working in an organic vegan health food shop, selling lentils, peas and other recipes for flatulence.
"Where've you been, Mike?" Neil asked, as they trudged up the stairs.
"Looking for Vyv and Duster." Mike said.
"Did you find them?"
"Clearly not, Neil."
"Oh well, I guess he'd only complain about the supper I'm about to make anyway."
"Is it lentils?"
"Yeah."
A few days later, Mike mailed his Christmas cards. He made a careful stop at the bank to convert twenty pounds to Australian currency, slipped it into one of the cards with an addressed envelope and some very specific instructions, and mailed it to Australia.
