Dr. Racorson walked down the sterile halls of his work. While for some life at a hospital could exiting, his job could only be described as dull. Day in and day out all he did was monitor several very special patients. Low maintenance people, several people were paying a nice bit of change to have them in “the cups”. These devices were only used for long term patients; they monitored life signs, brain activity, took care of things that could not be avoided, controlled the IV, and kept them in a clean and stable environment.

In the endless hours that filled his day he had taken up puzzles. Su-do-ku, cross-words, anything to pass the time. The sanitation chamber opened, the doctor stepped inside and prepared for the blast of chemicals. The chamber kept any germs from getting in, or out. The human immune system was having trouble keeping up with the steadily increasing amount of SFB’s. The fist SFB, or Super Fatal Bactria had killed millions. In the years since treatments for it had been synthesized, but soon new ones evolved. Thankfully all of the SFB’s had an Achilles Heel, cancerous tissue. All of them lived and multiplied with a host cell, but the rapid division of cancer cells exceeded the Bactria.

But containment precautions had been implemented everywhere. Despite appearances, earth was in no utopian era. Finally stepping out of the other side of the chamber Racorson sighed. The doctor walked down the hall of the lobby side of the hospital, here things were less sterile, more real. Stopping in front of a metallic device built in to the wall he fumbled for his identification card. He slid it through a slot in the machine. Whirs and hisses came from the silver box. A few seconds later a slender thermos dropped in to the slot at the bottom.

Coffee was one of the few caffeinated drinks to survive the energy craze; most previously caffeinated soft drinks now had less harmful sweeteners and energy supplements. The doctor took a sip of the hot liquid and sat down in one the empty seats in the lobby of the hospital. The clanking and rustling of the hospital soon fell in to a rhythm.

Dr. Rocorson looked around, no one was around. Rocorson shook his head, couches don’t talk, he reminded himself. Deciding he was just tired he downed the rest of the coffee and placed the thermos back the machine. As he walked back toward the sanitation chamber he pulled out a small Lexscreen. No change, blood pressure, brain activity, temperature, all the same as when he left. A glance at a new box showed breathing to be somewhat erratic, but well within normality.

Far away from the quiet hospital in France, on the crime covered streets of a former suburb of New York a man looked over his domain. Escariot was lord of this town, not a soul was ignorant of his presence.  Escariot was snapped out of his stupor by the sound of metal falling. Turning on his heal he pulled out a jet black blade. The dagger was made from Night Shade, the darkest substance on the planet.  A blind slash at the night met with resistance. A second dagger was now pressed against his neck. With a sneer Escariot looked into the black mask of his assassin. With a flick of his wrist a bolt of electricity leapt from his glove.  But the streak of lightning failed to affect the assassin.

With inhuman speed the assassin flipped the crime lord on to the ground. The metallic voice of his opponent hissed in Escariot’s ear, “How dare you use my tool against me.”  The Escariot’s eyes grew wide. “Mayhem?”

“Yes, It’s time for you to repay your debt.”

The puzzle book lay on the floor, foot prints covering its cover. Life for Dr. Rocorson had changed dramatically in less than a week. His charges had come alive almost literally overnight. Not alive in the sense of walking around, but in comparison to the last twelve years of their lives they were running marathons. The four patients who had unnaturally aged several decades in a few hours, and until this week had laid in the deepest of coma’s were talking. The effort that they were expending was enormous. That combined with the resurfacing of the unknown radiation had the lives of themselves in mortal peril.

Right on cue the exact same phrase was repeated by the four, “Fire of Mind give us a call, give us an’ answer or nothing at all”

Rocorson’s head jerked up, had he really heard that. He checked over the vocal logs and the four had not said anyting. So he waited. The weak voices of the patients called out their call, “Fire of Mind, give us a call, give us an’ answer or nothing at all”

  “leave all” 

  The response was so quiet that Rocorson could barely hear it, but it’s origens were even more mysterious. The response seemed to come from everywhere. No matter how many times he tried he could no figure out the source.  Giving up after several hours, the doctor fell back into his chair. Soon he was lulled to sleep by the mysterious call and response.

“Fire of Mind, give us a call, give us an’ answer or nothing at all”

“leave all”