The Chess

Children always had a special smell, usually sour and unripe, like unripe berries or the buds of newly awakened spring trees. Unlike adults, they didn't make you feel hungry. Instead, they made you want to take care of them, like a small cherry tree that would take many years to produce enough fruit to satisfy your hunger. However, the problem was that, unlike trees, it was too easy to become attached to living beings. Like with little lamb that was originally raised for a Christmas dinner, but on the day before the holiday, I couldn't bring myself to cut its throat. However, among all the lambs, one particular one stood out. Daniel didn't smell like sour berries, milk, or fresh leaves like the others. His blood didn't evoke hunger or appetite, and he didn't exude a bland green scent like his sister, who was still a naive child playing at being an adult. The smell of the boy's father that hit his nose when the fat man foolishly tried to hug him was different. More normal. Appetizing. The blood that pulsed in his body with every beat of his big heart had the aroma of a medium-rare steak with various spices. A tender marbled beef cooked in its own juices by the best chef, which would melt on the tongue. This dish with a delicate crispy crust was served on a porcelain plate with a slice of lemon and a fragrant thyme branch. It is a simple and elegant dish that is enjoyed with spicy, warm wine and garnished with anise stars. It's so difficult to interact with someone you want to eat so much that your stomach aches with a painful emptiness. "Please don't do that again," he said as delicately as possible, moving away from the stupid snack that had climbed onto his table. The woman's scent was more like her child, but only in subtle, hard-to-define details. It was delicate, almost pastry-like, with hints of star anise and sweet potatoes. He maintained a gentlemanly distance between them as they engaged in scientific discussions, simply to avoid arousing his keen sense of smell and vivid imagination. The woman was nervous, fidgeting with her wedding ring on her slender finger with its prominent knuckles and a pale, old scar that extended from the nail to the first phalanx. It was the same finger she had injured during a camping trip when they were still in college, but then he hadn't noticed much other than the smell of iron, even though he was always sensitive to such things. A nervous person always had a slight sour taste on the tip of their tongue, and Madeleine was extremely nervous at the time. She weighed every word, cracked her knuckles, and avoided talking about the past in any form. It was like a ripe green apple from a wild tree, dipped in sweet caramel. Or perhaps it was more like a steamed rice pudding with a milk and honey filling. It was a light dessert that was unfamiliar to European tastes. He loved sweets to much. But unlike his family, Daniel was different. Behind the sweetness of pastries, his blood concealed the stench of a corpse burned in an electric chair. Beneath the innocence of a child, there was a dead adult trapped in an uncomfortable social role, and an ice-demon that kept the corpse looking more or less fresh. The boy was trying to hide. He pretended to be normal, but his classmates at the reunion clearly avoided him, although they probably didn't understand why this skinny teenager was so repulsive to their small group. It's strange that the boy actually has people he calls his friends. The simple conclusion of “Not edible” could not fully describe the blood that was dripping from the boy’s split lip onto his chin. The realization that he felt sorry for the boy came almost immediately, even though he tried to push it away, just to avoid getting attached to this little dead lamb.

***

Aunt Alice's house was noisier than usual. Although there was always room for guests, the hostess seemed unaccustomed to such a large gathering. Aunt appeared more stern than usual. She provided them with two old-fashioned sets of bedding, which smelled of some bitter herbs that she kept between the sheets in small canvas bags. She led them to a hastily cleaned attic with two beds, a dusty writing desk, and small windows overlooking the night sky. And told them to make their beds and wait a little before they were called to dinner. It was easy to convince his father to play along. It seemed plausible, without the unnecessary drama and emotions that were typical of man. Jack knelt before her, genuinely apologetic, and presented her with a colorful gift. His mother looked touched and the Phantom was confident in the sincerity of her feelings, unlike Danny himself. Despite the heartfelt apology, there was still a sense of discomfort, a minor issue that was often overlooked until a new catastrophe occurred. — I told you Mom would only be more cross that Dad had left us alone again, — Jess flopped down on the bed, kicking off her worn black flats. There were already a couple of fresh mosquito bites on her ankles. — Maybe your idea wasn't so stupid, but I'm pretty sure it was auntie left us here so we wouldn't hear them fighting. — Maybe they're just thinking about how to punish us, — Danny said, checking his phone's connection as he sat on a worn-out chair by the bed. The "E" next to the antenna icon was a clear sign that any page would take forever to load. He looked down at his sneakers. Among the patches of grass and dirt, there were still traces of thickened and dried ectoplasm, which looked more like the remains of a moldy porridge on a poorly washed plate in a school cafeteria. — I don't think so, — Jess waved her hand, turning on her side. — You saw Mom. She's the most touched person on the planet right now. It even seemed to me that she was hugging us to death, ― The girl's long hair is disheveled. Eyeshadow and eyeliner were smeared under her eyes due to the fact that she had been rubbing her eyes all the way, tired from reading textbooks for a long time. — Isn't that a reason not to swear at your dad? — Danny angrily threw his phone on the bed. The cracked protective glass on the phone's screen clearly didn't appreciate such barbaric treatment. — That's a reason not to yell at us, — Jess turned back to her back, looking out the window next to her bed at the night sky. At the small lights of the stars, occasionally hidden behind light clouds. — If you ask me, I'm on my mom's side. I can understand her frustration, and as much as it pains me to admit it, she's angry at dad for a reason. ― What's the reason? ― Danny leaned back in his chair, resting his elbow on a small table with a dusty bookend. ― They were just having an emotional fight, like they do every Christmas. It just got worse than usual this time. Every time they start yelling, I think it's going to be the end. One day, they're just going to break up because they're tired of fighting. Jess turned to her brother. There was something beyond normal teenage drama in his posture, and his empty stomach rumbled so loudly that it could be heard from the other side of the room. He wrapped his arms around himself and bent forward, trying to suppress the roar in his stomach. — We were asked not to come down, but if I don't eat now, I'll start eating myself, — Danny got up from his chair and headed for the stairs. — Do you want me to grab you something? The girl shook her head no. When the door closed behind her brother and the slightly shuffling sound of his retreating footsteps was no longer audible, she stood up from the bed and reached for her hastily packed bag. She took out a pen and notebook and began flipping through her notes. She had managed to scribble down a few things from the sporadic arguments that had erupted between her parents over the past couple of weeks. Danny was right about some of it, mostly it was just small, everyday squabbles, which are common not only in their family, but in the lives of people who live in more than one house. Her brother had always found it easier to understand other people's emotions than she did. It was an intuitive process, and what he said made her feel uneasy. Although she knew in her rational mind that there was no basis for this conclusion. "But there might be something else. Something I'm missing, and he can't put it into words," she thought as she wrote a list of words next to her brother's name on a blank sheet of paper. Skin. Nerve. X-ray. Eyes. Cold. Danny always got along better with his mother. He was closer to her, and for a long time, Jess was terribly jealous, especially when they were still children. She resented the fact that Maddy trusted him more. She resented the fact that she praised him even for his mediocre academic achievements. She resented the fact that mom paid more attention to him. It was only when she became interested in psychology that she found some peace and lessened her desire to shove a handful of cold snow down his collar in the winter or put a button in his sneakers as a cruel prank. A new set of words appeared next to her mother's name. Rocks. Lighthouse. Depth. Twilight. Hands. It was probably she could tell that Danny felt the same way when he looked at her and her father. However, as she began to observe him more closely, she noticed that he kept a great distance from her father, as if he was afraid to get too close. This fear was often exploited by teachers, who would threaten Danny with words like, "We'll have to call your father to the school, Mr. Fenton." At family picnics, Danny usually stood off to the side, watching his father and him throw Frisbees at each other, because as soon as he joined in, the plastic plate his dad threw would end up in his nose because he couldn't catch it in time, and Jack didn't spare any effort in throwing it. Jess assumed it was because Danny was a boy, and his father just didn't see any reason to treat him as gently as he did her. Power. Heart. Blood. Furnace. It had always been the most difficult thing to figure out about herself. No one was capable of analyzing themselves adequately. The pen was frozen over a part of the page with her own name. The small family diagram was almost complete and understandable. The only thing missing was her. If she ignored this and pretended to be an outsider, the picture seemed relatively clear. It was almost like a textbook. There was no reason to worry about anything serious yet. Yes, they were peculiar people with their own quirks. Well, who doesn't? Aunt Alice had been in a much more complicated relationship before her divorce, so Jess didn't see anything that couldn't be solved. Danny returned with a plate full of sandwiches and a huge cup of tea that could probably hold pint of liquid. — Won't you burst? — Jess asked, watching her brother set up his royal snack on the table. She added "Hunger" to Danny's list in her notebook, which was against the rules, but she forgave herself. It was just because the teenager looked so comical with his "prey." — Sure I'm not, — Danny said, sitting down at the table with one leg curled under him. He devoured a one sandwich in less than a minute. — Long journeys seem to be too energy-consuming for me. — You didn't eat that much at Masters's house, — Jess remarked with a slight half-smile. A strange thought caught the back of his mind at that moment. — Speaking of him, did you notice anything strange? — What are you talking about? — Danny hastily washed down half of his second sandwich with a couple of sips of tea. — Mom contacted Masters. After years of silence, she asked him to look after us, — Jess wrote a new name in her notebook and set it aside, tucking her pen into the iron rings that held the paper together. — How did she even get his number? — Maybe they exchanged phone numbers at the alumni reunion, — Danny shrugged, finishing off his second salami sandwich with crispy pickled. The sight of him eating made Jass mouth water. — They seemed to be chatting for a long time in Vlad's lab. — Yes, that sounds more logical, — Jess said, taking a bite of her brother's food. — Hey! — The teenager said, looking at his sister. — You said you didn't want anything. — It's too much only for you, — Jess smiled, ruffling her brother's hair with her free hand.

***

The blood didn't stop flowing from the wound, forming a slow, dark, thick liquid with greenish lumps. — For those who call themselves pacifists, they have too many guns, — a poisonous sarcastic remark escaped her bloodless lips along with a painful sigh. She barely had the strength to keep herself conscious. Her blood was one of the few that didn't make you feel hungry. It smelled like wet, dark wood and damp earth, and her love for calm, fresh floral perfumes made it the perfect embodiment of cemetery gloom, the old era of romantic death. It's hard to say if she was always like this, or if she changed after years of experimenting with lichen on herself, until he came into her possession after being struck by an ectoplasmic flash. But one thing was certain: she was the perfect partner for Masters. Didn't tease his gastronomic taste. — Aggressive kindness can be more dangerous than nuclear warheads, — the woman's thick blood began to smell of coffee bitterness and precious balsamic resins. That's what the desire to stay conscious smelled like. The desire to live. This was the smell of their work. Masters undid the buttons on his cuffs and casually rolled up his sleeves to the elbows, taking a pair of scissors from his medical bag. You're lucky that in my worldview, you're considered inedible," he said, cutting through the woman's soaked clothes. — It's lucky for humanity that you didn't become a surgeon, as you originally planned, — Diana gritted her teeth as the man began to wipe the edges of the wound clean of the dark clots of what could still be considered blood. — And I'll be lucky if the bullet didn't exit through my body. — No lucky for you, — Masters said, blowing a strand of gray hair off his forehead in annoyance and reaching for a scalpel.

***

Maddy didn't expect to see her son standing on the open veranda in the middle of the night. He was barefoot, wearing an old, faded pair pajamas that were several sizes too big for him. As he swayed slightly from side to side, he mirrored the movements of a thin, young spruce tree that had been planted closer to the house to provide a Christmas tree every year. — Danny, — the woman called softly, wrapping herself in a plaid blanket. The nights were cold in this part of the world. — Sweethe? The teenager didn't respond. As she approached, she heard a soft snore, and her son was sound asleep. His eyes were closed, and his arms were limp at his sides. She pulled a warm blanket off herself and wrapped it around her sleeping child. Gently placing her hands on his shoulders, she led him to a bench outside. It was a miracle that he had made it down the steep stairs to the attic without stumbling. Since the age of five, she had not noticed her son's sleepwalking, and she sincerely hoped that it would continue. Maddy thought that when Vlad called her boy overly sensitive and restless, he was just trying to hurt her a little in retaliation for the past. Danny obediently sat down on the bench, following his mother's gestures, but he still hadn't woken up. The woman sat down next to him, gently embracing him and resting his head on her shoulder. — Why did you go outside, sweetheart? It's so cold, — she asked in a soft whisper, stroking her son's dark hair. Maddy didn't expect an answer, so Danny's raspy voice came as a surprise. — We're not cold, — Danny said, settling more comfortably on his mother's shoulder. His breathing was still deep and even, but his eyes were moving under his closed eyelids, as if he were trying to figure out where he was. — It's a nice outside. It's not like inside. The last time she caught him wandering around the house was before he started kindergarten. Although he was an active child, he was also very much a homebody, and he was afraid of stories about school, exams, and having to meet a lot of new people. At the time, he was sitting on the floor in the living room, watching TV on channel zero. In the black-and-white static on the screen, his tiny figure looked eerily unnatural. Then, out of ignorance, she abruptly woke him up and accidentally triggered a tantrum, scaring the five-year-old child into nervous hiccups. Jack diagnosed the possession, but Maddy still took her son to a child psychotherapist behind her husband's back. The exorcism sessions only made kid more frightened and sleepless, unlike the mild sedatives and the work with a specialist. Then curtailed all the otherworldly research until Danny's sleep returned to normal. No temptation of contacting spirits through a sleepwalking child could be stronger than the desire to see him sleeping in his bed again. Although the opportunity to advance in paranormal research seemed to have fallen into their hands. — Why aren't you in bed? — Maddy asked in a whisper, kissing her son lightly on the top of his head. — Everything's on fire at home, — Danny said with difficulty. — We were burned up, and it was hard to get together. Now we're really hungry. The mumbling is incoherent and meaningless. It's challenging to find logic in the words of a sleepwalker. While it's possible to attempt it, the question remains: why? To repeat the mistakes of the past, like when they encountered Vlad? When Masters and Jack shared a dorm room, Vlad sometimes spoke in his sleep. During one of Maddy's long and not-so-legal late-night hangouts in the men's dorm, a sleeping Vlad raised himself on his elbow and pointed to the door, instructing Jack and Maddy to give someone their chair. It was the sleepwalker's subsequent nighttime revelations that led the young researchers to the idea of a portal, and how it all ended... No, Maddie was unable to sacrifice her child on the altar of science. — Wake up, sunshine. It's time to get back in the house, — the woman said, gently stroking her son's cheek. His breathing became faster, and his eyes darted beneath his closed eyelids. This was the final phase of sleep, as the doctor had explained to her ten years ago.

***

Alice always cooked a lot and heartily, piling Danny's plate with much more than it should have been. And the morning of a new day was no exception, as Maddy observed, but when the teenager not only ate everything that was offered to him, but also asked for more, she began to wonder. — It's about time, boy, — Alice smiled, watching her nephew devour her cooking with gusto, licking the sauce from his lips. She poured freshly brewed coffee into cups and filtered it through an old, slightly bent filter. — You usually eat so little, I've started to wonder if that's why you're not growing. — I'll start growing, but only in width, — Danny wiped a drop of sauce from his chin. He wasn't interested in manners today. After the unpleasant trip through the spirit world, his hunger still hadn't fully subsided. — That's not going to happen anytime soon, — Alice said, passing her cup of coffee to her niece. Then she turned to her sister, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, and asked, — Would you like some? — I'd like to, — Maddy said, sitting down next to the children and yawning sleepily. — You don't look so good, mom, — Jess remarked, putting her book aside. — Is everything all right? — Yes, dear, everything's fine, — Maddy said, watching her sister make a fresh pot of coffee for herself and Maddy. She poured the ground beans, which had a strong aroma, along with dried herbs, into the old coffee pot, added fresh water, and placed it on the stove. Danny looked down at his plate, feeling embarrassed, as he continued to eat his breakfast. After waking up on the porch, he had apologized to his mother and asked her not to tell anyone about what had happened. Maddy herself clearly couldn't sleep properly for the rest of the night, carefully listening to the occasional rustling in the attic through Jack's snoring in the next room. ― How are you two? The trip here must have tired you out. — I don't think so, — Jess replied, raising her voice to be heard over the hissing of the coffee maker. The bubbling ingredients inside emitted a distinctive aroma that only her aunt's coffee possessed. — Although judging by Danny's appetite, he's definitely lacking in energy. ― Nothing happened at home? ― Maddy carefully took her hot drink from Alice's hands and took the first cautious sip. — It's all right, — Danny replied, swallowing the last bite of his breakfast. His stomach was already full, and he hoped that the ghost's hunger would leave him alone for a while. — The lab is locked. The equipment is turned off. The doors are secured with all the locks. — I hope you didn't forget to tell your teachers that you won't be coming to school today. — Alice gave her nephews a stern look. — Oh, — Jess blushed awkwardly, hiding her face behind a book. "Lancer will kill me," Danny thought, feeling a slight chill on the back of his neck. It was a good thing that their mother didn't scold them for their mistake. She and their aunt just laughed, but they made it clear that they would have to take responsibility for their actions when they returned. The internet was lousy. It wasn't until he was perched on the third branch of an old, sprawling pear tree that Danny managed to catch a decent signal, allowing him to send a few messages to his friends about his whereabouts. He also had a few important requests to make. Masters seemed like a slippery and suspicious character. While his attempts to keep the teenager away from the Ghost Zone could be attributed to his own unfortunate experience with his parents' portal in the past, there was no explanation for his desire to take a piece of Danny's ghostly blood with him. As well as how this person could even guess where he was. “Maybe he’s studying your case,” Tucker suggested in the message. The messages took a long time to arrive, and out of boredom, Danny started chewing on a juicy pear that he had plucked from a nearby branch and casually wiped off on his shirt. “I think Masters warned you during the alumni meeting that the ghostly half could be destabilized in some way. I know it sounds silly, and the old man’s behavior is still suspicious, but maybe that’s the case? When you came back from the portal, you were dripping green stuff from your nose!” Tucker continued. It sounded logical, but not entirely convincing. “I was burned in the ghost zone. I have no idea how I managed to get back together, but I lost a lot of ectoplasm. Now I'm really hungry. The ghost has become hella voracious. I swear, if we were to compete in meat-eating, I'd beat you,” the conversation was slow. Each message took at least a minute to send. There was no talk of sending files or photos. Just to be on the safe side, Danny didn't even include emojis, not that those pixels mattered, but he didn't want to take any chances with such a poor signal. “Better take an avocado! It has a lot more calories than the corpses of poor animals,” Sam’s message made him roll his eyes. “I’m in the middle of Arkansas. In a small village near a former reservation. The only way to get internet is from a tall tree, and it’s only available sometimes. Do you really think the locals know what an avocado is?” All that was left of the sweet pear was the stem. The voracious ghost even ate the bitter seeds of the fruit. Thankfully, it was getting smaller and smaller with each meal. If he could just get a good night's sleep, maybe the Phantom would regain its strength and stop bothering him. He really hoped so, as his jaw was starting to ache from all the chewing. “Come on. It can’t be that such remote places and such backward people still exist in the 21st century,” Danny thought, re-reading his friend’s message a couple of times and carefully stretching his spine to avoid falling from the tree. He wanted to be angry with Sam, but he couldn’t be. She had been living comfortably since childhood. She lived in a large house with plenty of amenities and exercise equipment to keep her muscles in shape, and she had access to almost every delicious and healthy treat in the world. At least she didn't turn out to be a female version of Dash, picking on anyone who wasn't dressed in the latest fashion or using an old Android with a broken screen. “You’re clearly wearing rose-colored glasses for rich people,” Danny allowed himself a little bit of sarcastic venom. Not enough to really offend the goth girl, but enough to knock the pompousness off her. “I’ll handle the menu. You should try to find out more about what Masters is working on. He said he has laboratories, so maybe not all of their research is secret.”

***

The Plasmius-Genetic laboratory had been in a state of nervous silence since the morning. After the evening news about one of the co-founders and chief specialists, Diana Breckley, almost no one could focus on their work. The research conducted by the woman was primarily for the benefit of the owners of labs and their subsidiaries, and only a small number of people were even partially involved. After the assassination attempt on the researcher, it became clear that this area of the laboratories' operations was a source of concern for many people. There were several cats of different breeds in the staff lounge. The fluffy ones were considered full-fledged employees by the management and were maintained at the expense of the company in order, according to official documents, to reduce the stress level of employees. Some particularly cynical scientists believed that the cheeky cats were just distracting them from work, but today even they were ready to admit that coffee in the company of soft-footed psychotherapists is a much more acceptable way of procrastination than just unproductive work. — I haven't heard anything yet, — Mira said. She was a short, plump girl with a buzz cut. Her large glasses and round face made her look more like a recent graduate than an assistant to one of the company's executives. — I hope she's okay, — she said, scratching the ear of a white cat with expressive blue eyes that had jumped onto the coffee table. — If I were you, I'd rather worry about myself, — Christian is one of those cynics who didn't particularly like the company of cats. The man grimaced, taking a sip from his cup of slightly excessively sweet and already rather cold coffee. ― Journalists have been swarming over your car since morning like piranhas that have smelled fresh blood. I bet they already know that you were the one who helped Miss Brackley with her research. Which means that those who put the gun in the hands of that eco-activist, who values grass over human life, are also aware of it. — The man stood up to pour the tasteless coffee into the sink. — Do you think I'll get fired? — Mira asked after a short silence. The blue-eyed cat continued to sit peacefully on the edge of the table, staring intently at the woman. It purred softly in contentment, allowing its small, soft head to rest under her palm. — Come on. You weren't aware of all the details, and you were helping Miss Breckley as a geneticist and cell aging specialist, — the man said as he washed his cup, dried it with a paper towel, and placed it in the cabinet. — How could you have known that this stupid lichen was rare and that the Greens would be so angry about it? Besides, you've been in the hospital for the past week with fibroids. I don't think you're the top suspect for the information leak. — Ah, I should have realized that Miss Breckley's meticulous attention to every sample was not accidental, — Mira said, taking off her large square glasses and rubbing her reddened eyes. — And then there was the spore collection... She clearly wasn't saving money. — Hey, don't get downhearted, — Christian sat down next to Mira on the soft sofa and gave her a gentle nudge with his shoulder. — Nothing has happened yet. Just keep working at the same pace. When Miss Breckley returns to work, she'll likely demand a full report on the new drug and information about the condition of all the plants in the greenhouse. — Yes, you're right. I have a lot of work to do, — Mira said, patting her cheeks lightly and putting her glasses back on. — I'll need to pick up some materials from Johnson. I think he was helping Miss Breckley with her paperwork while I was on sick leave. The cat jumped off the table and quickly disappeared behind the door. In the corridors of the laboratory, she was shooed away by nervous employees, to whom she almost tripped. The small, agile animal hurried to the director's office, and the locked door did not pose a significant obstacle for her. White cat the once again became part of the cloak of a tall, ghostly figure floating above the floor in a dark room with tightly closed windows.

***

Danny had to stock up on change for the payphone. It was impossible to stay in touch while sitting in a tree, and he didn't want to be present during his parents' unpleasant conversations. It wasn't that they were arguing, situation had definitely calmed down, but he didn't want to be a distraction. He would intervene when it was truly necessary. There was only one telephone box in the small village, and it was located at the entrance to the settlement, far away from the houses. Only Satan knew why the phone box was placed there, but the teenager was grateful for the privacy. Inside the phone box, it was stuffy and smelled of sour beer and cheap cigarettes, making it feel like a gas chamber. — So here's what I've found, — Sam's voice sounded a little hoarse on the other end of the line due to the interference. It was a stark contrast to the pristine clarity of the ancient telephone in the Ghost Zone. — Masters initially inherited the business from his uncle, who was jokingly referred to as the "Cheese King of Wisconsin." I've discovered that early in his career, he became closely associated with a small cosmetics company registered under the name of Diana Breckley. They both have education and doctoral degrees in medicine and engineering, which they received from the same university, and the total budget was enough to develop devices and launch the production of cloned donor blood. This was the start of their joint business in pharmacology, although they remained competitors in many other related fields. The technology revolutionized medicine and saved countless lives, as it became possible to recreate the necessary amount of blood purified from various infections in emergency situations when a donor was unavailable. However, the catch was that their company sold not only equipment, but also blood itself, in a strange way. Not only to medical institutions or laboratories, but also to almost any legal entity willing to pay the amount specified in the contract. I managed to find information that about seven years ago, religious organizations tried to sue them, accusing them of aiding cannibals, but with such absurd accusations and weak evidence, they had no chance of success. — Interesting, — Danny drawled, carefully analyzing what his friend had said. It was not an autumnal heat outside. — It might have something to do with his interest. Ectoplasm can also be considered blood to some extent. But what's the point? His esteemed company won't sell 'spirit blood, — the tips of his overgrown bangs stuck to the sweat on his forehead, and his T-shirt was unpleasantly damp with sweat. Danny couldn't resist the temptation to cool his body down with the Ghost's cold breath, even though he knew that he would have to pay for this extra energy expenditure with a new portion of food in the near future. — Thank you for the information. With the local internet, I would have spent half a year looking for it. Let's keep it in mind, even though it's not clear yet. — There's something else. Something new, — Sam's voice sounded overly enthusiastic. It seemed like finding information was a form of entertainment for her, although it was difficult to call her a net stalker. ― Spit it out. ― Yesterday, Diana Breckley, co-owner of “Plasmius Genetics“, was shot in Seattle. This is a network of research centers that Masters also owns. The arrested eco-activists reported that, according to their information, the pharmaceutical company used a rare species of lichen in its research, and the microscopic area where it grows is still a secret, as is the reason for Miss Breckley's interest in this plant. — That's strange, — Danny smiled at his random thought. Under the phone, he noticed a handwritten sign on a crooked, tattered piece of notebook paper taped to the booth. — I don't hear any anger in your voice. — I know you and Tucker think I'm a crazy vegan, but I'm not as stupid as someone who would try to shoot a scientist, — the girl said with a touch of offended irritation in her voice. — Miss Breckley is clearly not an idiot, as she legally requested that the origin of the samples she was studying be kept confidential in her reports. With the level of competition in the cosmetics industry, many other companies would have rushed to capitalize on this opportunity and completely eradicate the endangered plant in an attempt to overtake their more successful competitors. — What could be so valuable about lichen? — Danny wondered as he studied the handwritten advertisement and dropped a new coin into the payphone. “The best Bloody Mary in the state. Alice’s Bar.” — I don't know, but I have a feeling it's important, because someone tried to kill a woman for a discovery that hasn't been made yet, — Sam said seriously. Her emotion, transmitted over a long distance in electronic form, still had a distinct flavor that Phantom recognized as classic English Earl Grey. It was strict, precise, and pedantic. She was taking the matter seriously, and she wouldn't want to leave it investigated.

***

— Hey, Jones, — a hazmat-clad scientist who had just left the decontamination room called out to a lanky man who was writing the readings of one of the instruments into a report for senior scientists. He had left the sealed container with the new sample inside the isolated room. — Can you help me remove this thing? ― Yes, just a moment, ― the young man finished copying the test results, put the document aside, and began to help the senior specialist remove his protective suit. ― Did you break the zipper again? ― he asked irritably, peeling off the duct tape from the suit's zipper, which the researcher could not remove on his own due to the bulky gloves. ― No, I just decided to play it safe this way, ― the old chemist unbuttoned his suit and happily took off his helmet, inhaling the air outside the suit. — This gas is a damn volatile thing. Last time, my buttons started melting because the zipper wasn't tight enough. That's why I asked for a separate isolated room for my developments. If I'm going to catch fire, I'll do it alone. — Maybe it's the plastic buttons fo your robe. — Johnson unrolled the duct tape, tossed it in the trash, tied the bag securely, and headed to the sink to wash his hands thoroughly. — That's the first thing I checked, — the chemist replied, pulling off his suit and discarding it in accordance with safety protocols. — You won't believe it, but it wasn't the plastic they were made of that reacted, but the threads that were sewn onto the robe. It turned out that the gas had reacted with the dye used to color those threads, and the resulting substance had begun to corrode the plastic. — A complex reaction, — Johnson said, scrubbing his fingernails with a sponge to make sure he didn't take any extra debris off his protective suit. It was an unnecessary precaution, but he didn't want to take any chances. — Yeah, don't tell me, — the man chuckled, resisting the urge to scratch his bald head out of habit. — You should have seen my wife's face when I spent the entire evening sorting through her sewing kit. Johnson was a nervous and somewhat irritable lab assistant. He didn't hold a high position in the company and mostly acted as an errand boy, but like many others, he aspired to more. He was a careerist, albeit relatively toothless due to his personality. — You're going to rub your hands raw, — the chemist remarked, observing the redness on the technician's hands. — Take it easy. Yes, the gas is volatile, but not to that extent. You'll soon rub away your own fingerprints. — I don't want to take any risks, — Johnson said, after thoroughly scrubbing his nails with a sponge and rinsing them with hot water. — And life would be easier without fingerprints. I'm tired of constantly cleaning the test tubes from other people's traces. At least Mira is back from her hospital stay, and she won't have to deal with these plants anymore. — These plants, as you call them, are a priority for the management. Besides, don't you want a promotion? Helping Miss Breckley would be a great opportunity for you, — the chemist said as he washed his hands after packing the overalls in a sealed bag. His short fingers were covered in age spots and old and relatively fresh chemical burns. The elderly enthusiast was less concerned about the integrity of his own skin than he was about his research. — I don't think I'm going to get anywhere in this place, — Johnson said, wiping his hands carefully with a paper towel. — And Miss Breckley's priorities are not my responsibility. — Is that so? You're a biochemist by training, aren't you? — the man asked, his hands submerged in the soapy water. — Your expertise is more than suitable for the research conducted by our supervisors. — I don't think this is my thing, — Johnson said, throwing away a used paper towel and examining his hands carefully for any signs of dirt. — Owenson, who's always hitting on Mira, introduced me to a couple of people at the Pentagon who were interested in working with me. I think I'd be more interested in working on projects for the military than for a commercial company. — That's a dangerous thought, young man, — the old man said, shaking his head. — My father used to think the same way when he worked on the Manhattan Project, and now he regrets ever getting involved with the military. I fell for the same trick when I was younger. — Maybe I'll feel more comfortable working there. It'll also keep me out of this Don Juan's line of sight. I've been in contact with Mira quite often lately, as I've been covering for her during her sick leave. He probably sees me as a competitor, which is why he's so eager to offer me a new job, — the young man chuckled contentedly, satisfied with the cleanliness of his hands. — And if that were the only reason. — You're in no hurry with this, Jones, — the chemist said, wiping his wiry hands. — Give yourself some time to think. The military guys are even more shady than they seem. Before you know it, they'll be using your work to burn out the population of a small country for some political intrigue. And believe me, they can turn even the most innocuous discoveries into something worse than a hydrogen bomb. The white-robed employees left the room, taking with them a couple of notebooks filled with notes about the experiments and rough calculations of the results. Masters's slender figure in a black suit appeared in the far corner of the laboratory as soon as the door closed behind the two employees of “Plasmius Genetics". Vlad knew enough about jealousy to say that it could lead to absurd and cruel actions, but he found this method of eliminating a competitor too complicated. Although, on the other hand, it is highly unlikely that the employees involved in the information leak will be open with everyone. In such cases, he has become accustomed to trusting his intuition. It is a heightened sense that comes with the powers of a ghost and a desire for blood. Vlad licked his long, sharp fangs, planning his next move and his personal menu for the evening.

***

In aunt Alice's roadside bar, it was a surprise for Danny to see mother, who had changed her usual blue overalls for jeans tucked into her black work boots and a plaid shirt that hung loose. She was tinkering with an electrical panel in a storage room next to the bar. The clothes were too big for her, and they were buttoned on the wrong side. It was likely a set of her late grandfather's clothes, worn at her sister's insistence to avoid dirtying "decent city clothes." His parents' ridiculous overalls were still respectable clothing in the eyes of villagers. From the kitchen, you could hear the clatter and clanging of dishes. The cooks were preparing for the arrival of their first regular customers: hardworking people from nearby farms and slaughterhouses. — Try it, — Maddy commanded her sister as she left the back room, and her sister pressed a button on the control panel. The sound of metal scraping against metal came from outside as the shutters opened. — It's finally working, — Alice said cheerfully. — Of course it works, — Maddy said, tossing the screwdriver carelessly into a toolbox. — It's easier than fixing a child's toy car. Hello, sweetheart, — she said, waving to her son, who was waiting patiently at the bar. — I hope you've come up with a plan to explain yourself to Mr. Lancer. We're heading home tomorrow. — I won't even try, — the teenager said, leaning against the counter. — He won't listen to me anyway. Auntie set two pints of pale milk ale in front of her only customers. The brown glass bottles quickly developed a cold sweat, making the label difficult to read. ― Alice! ― Maddy protested, pushing the beer away from her son. — Oh, come on, it's got the same number of degrees as the lemonade your university friend liked, — Auntie rolled her eyes. — Besides, did the guy follow you halfway across the country just to be left without a minimum reward after he encouraged your husband to at least pretend to feel sorry for his own behavior? — I didn't put anyone up to anything! — Danny tried to retort, but his aunt cut him off. — Don't be ridiculous. I've known Jack much longer than you have, — Alice waved her hand as if she were shooing away an annoying fly. — Romantic gestures like this are not his style. Maddy sighed defeatedly and, after a moment's thought, returned Danny's beer. — No more than a two of sips, — she warned in a stern tone. — And don't even dare tell your father about this. " I know how to keep secrets," Danny replied readily, picking up the cool, cold bottle. Wiping the sweat from the label, he could finally read the name "Amnesia Milk" and a small label with the familiar name of a Wisconsin Nosferatu. “Pretentious jerk,” he thought, taking the bottle in his mother’s manner, three fingers at the middle of the neck, and taking a sip. There was no hoppy bitterness on his tongue, as there had been the time he’d foolishly mistaken his father’s beer for lemonade in a glass. He’d been only four years old, maybe less, but he still remembered the nasty taste of warm beer. But this was different: softer and unexpectedly sweet and creamy. The gas bubbles tingled the tip of his tongue, leaving a pleasant numbness and a slight sourness. The bitter taste of burnt caramel lingered on my palate, like apples at a Halloween festival. “Pretentious jerk with a sense of taste,” Danny corrected himself, licking the foam from his lips. ― Delicious? — Auntie asked with a sly grin. ― Yeap. — Don't get used to it, — his mother reprimanded him. — You won't be able to do this legally until you're twenty-one. — I think he already knows that if he's been to parties. Have you been there? — asked the aunt, and the question smelled of a trick that even the milk-ale ghost could easily detect. At Dash's party, where he was allowed to join with his sister, it was noisy and smelled of alcohol. Not the kind of alcohol he was drinking now, but something simpler. The kind of alcohol that teenagers could buy on the sly, paying exorbitant prices for cash. There were rumors that drugs were easier to obtain at their age than alcohol. He never did try the stinking brew that night, nor did Jess, who from start to finish maintained the image of a dutiful, proper high school girl who had been mistakenly placed in the company of middle school students. The party was boring to death and there was no one to talk to. The only difference between this and the high school reunion his parents dragged him to a couple of weeks later was the quality of the alcohol and the age of the guests, who simply couldn't afford the same things as the high school students. Even when they were drunk. — I was watching from afar, — Danny replied grimly, taking another sip of his beer. — Poor thing, — Alice said, shaking her head sympathetically. — I know, — Danny replied in a bored tone, resting his chin on his hand. The ghost was enjoying the hops. It was absorbing every percentage of alcohol and multiplying it by four. It was difficult to say whether it was because he had never tried anything like this before, or because of the summer heat, or because of the deceptive sweetness of the beer, or because of all of these factors combined. However, a sense of relaxation quickly spread to the tips of his fingers. — Hey, there's Maddy! — A smoky voice from the entrance called out, and his mother waved her hand in silent greeting. — Can you take a look at my pickup while you're here? — Fifty bucks and your parts, — Maddy replied lazily, reluctantly turning towards the entrance. — A hundred if you burned your clutch again while accelerating at a traffic light, Jasper. — How could you think such a thing about me? — the fat guy with missing teeth and lots of big freckles replied in an offended tone. Maddy took a couple more large swigs of beer and, setting the bottle aside, tossed to her sister: “I’ll be back with a hundred in fifteen minutes. Don’t let this punks drink another drop,” to which Alice naturally nodded satisfactorily, winking at Danny as his mother turned away. Danny took another sip of beer with a smile and turned the bottle in his hands, watching the pale liquid swirl inside. ― Aunt Alice, do you know any of my mom's friends from university? ― he asked, feeling a little more relaxed. — More or less, — the woman replied evasively. — It's not that there were many, but I'm sure my sister never felt the need to tell me about them. — Do you know about Masters? — Danny asked, taking another sip of beer. Aunt took the bottle from his hand and took a few large sips. — She wouldn't want to tell you about him in particular, — the woman said, leaning closer to him in a confidential manner, her strong arms with their coarse, dark-red hair resting on the bar. — They had a serious argument in the past. — But that didn't stop her from asking Vlad to look after us, — Danny focused on the pattern of his aunt's iris. It was blue-green with many small brown specks. It wasn't as blue and clear as his mother's. — Are you kidding right now? — Alice narrowed her eyes at the boy. — He was in Amity Park on business and took Jess and me to the airport yesterday, — it was interesting to watch the way her aunt's pupils pulsated. It was no wonder that in biology classes, teachers compared eyes to lenses of professional cameras. The ghost was analyzing the woman's emotions with double energy, and it was probably only because of the hops that he was so active. ― Hmm, ― Alice drawled, taking a couple of sips from his bottle again. ― But in front of me sister refused to communicate with him. After the incident in the university laboratory, she couldn't hear his name for a long time, but here we are... Was Vlad really look's after you? He always seemed to me to be that arrogant type who would never come within a gunshot of children. — It wasn't like he was looking after me, — Danny tried to ignore all the attention Masters had given him, focusing only on one episode. The beer was quickly warming in Alice's large, hot hands. — He just asked how we were and drove us to the airport. And that was only because I asked him to. The aunt looked lost. The ghost felt a bitterness that overpowered the delicate taste of the drink and unpleasantly sobered him up, pulling him out of his phlegmatic, drunken relaxation. — I also found out that Mr. Masters's colleague was shot yesterday. Diana Breckley, — Danny took another sip of beer to restore the feeling of lightness in his body, which made his speech a little more casual. It was difficult for him to pretend to be casual. — Maybe you've heard of her. They were classmates at university. — That sounds familiar, but I don't think my sister was close to anyone with that last name, — Alice replied thoughtfully, taking the beer from Fenton and making it clear that she had no intention of returning it. — And after the explosion in the lab, Maddy didn't talk much about her academic progress. Especially after her friend was quarantined. — Alice's face darkened. — It was some kind of experimental therapy or something. — I don't know what my sister was specifically doing, but Vlad got a serious infection from their experiments. I don't think they told you about this, but it seems that the whole university got into trouble after that. It was like a black streak, and at one point, I even thought that your mother would drop out of university without graduating. — Was it that bad? — Danny hiccupped slightly. The fumes from the beer tickled his throat. — Yes, — Alice nodded. Her short red hair was slightly disheveled from the sudden movement. — After the incident at the lab, a body was also found on campus. It was only one body, but it was in complete disarray. It was almost like a mummy. There was a lot of commotion in the country. Then there was a fire. The entire research building of the university, where Maddy kept her thesis, burned to the ground. There was a lot of crying. Oh... In his hazy head, the sharp fangs of Masters flashed before his eyes, hidden behind a restrained smile and pursed lips. The ghost's mind was foggy, but his senses were still sharp, sending images of wild forest predators and the bright flames of a fire to Danny's mind. The dead self was trying its best to etch these details into their brains. — I told you I'd be back with a hundred, — her mother's voice rang out cheerfully in the bar. — It's getting late, — she glanced at her watch, finishing her beer in quick sips. — I think we should get going, — Maddy put her arm around her son's shoulders. — We have dinner to prepare and things to pack. Do you remember our agreement? — Don't tell Dad or Jess, — Danny repeated. The first evening customers, country folk working on nearby farms and abattoirs, began to enter the bar. The beer hops began to rapidly dissipate from his head when Danny noticed the sharp fangs of a customer who had ordered a warm, almost raw steak and a Bloody Mary from his aunt. The man removed his cap and placed it on the table next to him, sipping a generous portion of thick, red liquid from his glass. The teenager could smell metal in the air, but the Phantom didn't react to the visitor. Either he didn't feel threatened, or the creature wasn't a ghost. — I'll see you later, — Alice called after her sister and her son. As Danny left the bar, it seemed to him that in the gathering dusk, the eyes of some of the workers who were disembarking from the slaughterhouse's work vehicles and private cars were glowing red in the brief flashes of headlights from passing trucks filled with fresh meat.

***

― Miss Manson! Sam let out an annoyed breath when she heard the voice of the man who had been harassing her for days, and she picked up her pace, trying to get away from the school porch as quickly as possible. She wanted to get on her electric scooter and get home as soon as possible, away from the red-haired traditionalist who was worse than Tucker with his obsession with meat. ― Please, stay for a moment! ― a red-haired, pale, green-eyed, and freckle-covered young man smiled with tightly pressed lips, making his genuine emotion look more like a grimace. Wes Weston was the basketball team's equivalent of Dash. The school's quarterback tried to fill all the athletic niches, but when it became clear that strength alone wasn't enough in this sport, he quickly retreated. Even a mountain of muscle like Baxter had little chance against Wes's agility, speed, and height. It was only natural that a guy like Wes would have his own group of supporters. He appeared in front of Sam with three cheerleaders who were just as meat-hungry as he was: Sophie, a redhead, Katrin, a brunette, and Alice, a blonde. The goth girl could smell the putrid stench that usually came from butcher shops and Tucker's lunch box, which he had defiantly started eating his fried pork with her at lunch today. — We didn't have a good conversation at the school council, — the guy said, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. His red school bomber with the Kasper High logo was too big for him and looked bulky next to his tight jeans. Several of his fingers were covered in bandages, indicating that he had sustained injuries during today's training session. — That's an understatement, — Sam snapped. It turned out that Wes's social circle was much wider than he initially thought. He wasn't arrogant, and he took in various people, influencing them in his own way. Among these students were a few of Samantha's vegan acquaintances, who now begged her to listen to their "patron" and make concessions. It felt like a betrayal. — Look, Samantha, I'm not here to argue with you, — Wes said, slightly stooping to be at eye level with her. Although he was still too tall and looked down at her. — And there was no plan at the school council for anything like what you're accusing me of. On the contrary, I support diversity, and I don't want to deprive you and your friends of the opportunity to eat plants. However, I also don't want those who can't follow this diet for various reasons to feel uncomfortable at school due to a limited menu. — Wes, the ultra-secondary vegetarian menu is suitable for absolutely everyone, — the girl insisted. — All the 'discomfort' you're talking about is just a matter of habit. With a little time, your taste buds will get used to the new food. And the calorie content of the menu I've suggested is just as high as that of meat. — It's not only about calories or taste, Sam, — Wes took a pair of sunglasses out of his breast pocket and put them on top of his head, pinning his long bangs like a headband. ― It's about freedom of choice, which you deprive others of. — There's only one choice, — the girl put her helmet on and got on the scooter. — To be an accomplice in mass murder or not. I'm afraid you can't fully understand what it's like to take someone's life for the sake of a temporary hunger. I intend to bring humanity to this world, and I'll start by refusing you and your foolish whims. The Goth girl started her scooter and sped away as fast as she could from Wes and his entourage of short-skirted girls. It was already dusk, and the girl was in a terrible state of confusion. She used her free time to search for information about Vlad Masters for Danny, just to distract herself from Weston. To distract herself from the fact that even her friends seem to think she's just a spoiled rich bitch who wants to control everyone because of her own inflated ego. She had watched so many videos of activists before she decided to take up the fight for animal rights and humane treatment. Her fellow activists used hidden cameras to capture the inside of slaughterhouses. The videos showed the horrific screams of cows and pigs as they were being slaughtered. The pigs, in particular, sounded almost human, with their high-pitched, loud, and fearful cries. In these videos, the workers in these death factories appeared to be smiling and carefree. They seemed indifferent to the animals' screams and struggles. These people don't even notice how the poor sheep struggle when their throats are slit and their foaming blood is drained into huge basins. People can't be so heartless when it comes to finding basic food, can you? “You’re clearly wearing rose-colored glasses for rich people”. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand, smudging her black eyeliner and white powder. Danny couldn't understand it. How could he, when she still hadn't had the strength to tell him what she'd seen in the portal? What had happened to him? And she was trying hard not to think about it. Blocking out the memories with every means possible. About smell of fried meat makes the image of her best friend's flesh, burned almost to the bone, come back into his mind. The smell was too much like a pork barbecue, with a sweet and tangy taste and a hint of ozone. The road was almost invisible, and her eyes were filled with tears. She barely managed to make the last turn, hitting a lamppost with her rear-view mirror. She stopped her scooter, removed her helmet, and continued on foot, occasionally sniffling and smearing her black and purple makeup on her face. — There are no alternatives. Only a humane future, — she said to herself. Wes wouldn't give up. He had more mass influence, and he would be more likely to be listened to if he decided to stand his ground. But Sam wasn't going to give up without a fight.

***

There were few people on the evening streets of Seattle. The employees of "Plasmius Genetics" were leaving work late. Johnson caught Mira on her way out and asked her to talk for a while, and she couldn't refuse, especially after learning that he had decided to quit. — It's a pity that you're leaving, — Mira sighed sadly. The night air was getting colder, and the woman pulled up the collar of her nondescript brown coat. There were almost no people left in the park. The young couple had just had time to grab a cup of coffee before the last establishment in the area closed for the night. — I hope we'll cross paths again in the future. — Maybe, but I'm not sure, to be honest, — Jones said, rubbing his fingertips nervously. — The company I was invited to work for is interested in Miss Breckley's research, and I don't want to put myself in the line of fire with my new and former superiors. Especially after what happened. — I know, that's why I suggested for you to take this opportunity, — the girl stopped and turned the man to face her. She made him look into her eyes, which were full of determination. — I'm truly sorry for what happened. But it's Miss Breckley's own fault. She shouldn't have been so self-centered and used such significant discoveries for the sake of a silly beauty industry, — Mira reached into her coat, pulled out a small sealed container from her inner pocket, and handed it to her colleague. ― In theory, if we could find a way to properly prepare a serum from this lichen, we could not only slow down the aging process, but also reduce the development of tumors and age-related changes in the brain to a minimum. This would extend people's lifespan and improve their quality of life. It would bring humanity closer to a new stage of development. This is a discovery that she should have shared with the world, rather than keeping it for herself. The girl stopped, thrusting the container into the man's warm hands, and looked into his eyes. With a trusting and gentle stroke of her short, plump fingers on his wrists, she pressed her body against him, and the man embraced her tightly in return. It was just the two of them outside. Standing in the shade of a sprawling tree in the farthest corner of the park. — Promise me that you'll make this discovery public, — Mara whispered. — I promise, — Jones replied with a gentle smile, placing his cool lips on her warm forehead. It was a pleasant feeling of closeness between two people who were loyal to their ideals and principles. The woman knew that she had chosen the right partner for her plan. Jones was the kind of person who would be happy to become a new Prometheus for the world. He would bring them the light of longevity, health, and beauty. It would only cost the planet a small price. — The lichen will disappear soon anyway. And with it, the last chance not only for a better life, but also for humanity to become something in this world, — Mara breathed, pressing her lips against the man's smooth neck. — The World will remember our names. — That's doubtful, — Johnson's voice changed. It became deeper and more drawn out, with a otherworldly echo in the autumn darkness of the deserted park. Mira recoiled in horror from the bluish neck covered with a web of blue veins. Her lover lay unconscious on the cooling ground, and instead of him, she was embracing a terrifying creature with glowing red eyes and no hint of a pupil. The creature was smiling widely. The last thing Mira before she lost consciousness saw were sharp white fangs.