FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

CONTENT WARNING: threatening behaviour, parental violence, foul language, T

STAVE THE THIRD

Jeremy sat for several minutes after Guy had left. The two wolves stood silently behind him. Obviously they were waiting for him to calm down before getting on with their folly. But what if he never did? Maybe he could make them give up waiting. But what would they do then? Was it worth the risk? He’d have to think strategically...

“I don’t know,” the wolf girl said, softly. “He still seems pretty mad to me.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Rose,” she replied.

“That’s that hypnotic AI that controls your minds, isn’t it?”

The two wolves burst into laughter.

“We’ve only been speaking and acting as individuals since we got here,” said the boy, “so obviously ROSE is controlling us like puppets.”

“Well obviously! We’re acting towards a common goal like any team, so we must be under hypnotic control!” The she-wolf snickered. “You know best, Rose, hon.”

“ROSE is...” the boy began.

“...our...” they said together.

“...AI assistant,” the girl wolf said.

“...best friend,” the boy wolf said at the same time. “Well she’s both!”

The girl nodded. “ROSE is a General AI, the first of her kind! She’s sentient and she’s amazing! We’re all proud of her.”

Then someone on the far side of the table said, “Boo!” Jeremy turned sharply. It was the american badger, the same one from the cocoa table earlier. (When had he come in?) There was a box on the table between them, like a big, powered letter opener with far too many controls.

“Evening!” he said. “I’m Blindspot, yer Agent of Christmas Past... Sonny, ya set ‘im on fire! Why’d’ya have ta do that?”

“He didn’t want to understand he’s been captured by international terrorists.”

“I iced the burn for him,” the girl added, “it should only be first degree.”

“Thanks Crystal. Well ya don’t look stupid.”

“Arrogant,” Crystal replied.

“Aw great. I hate bullies!” Blindspot pressed a button on the box with a claw. A panel rolled up from it, filling the space between them. “Well, let’s see what we can do about it...”

“You know,” Jeremy said, “there are two kinds of people. There are bullies. And there are people who hate bullies. The people who hate bullies got what they deserved.”

“Aw c’mon, seriously?” Blindspot stopped making test images appear on the transparent screen between them and looked back at Jeremy. “Do I look t’you like the kinda guy who got picked on in high school? I was on the football team! I still hate bullies.”

“There’s a word for football team members who hate bullies. It starts with a B...”

Blindspot smiled. It was a predatory smile, like the one Jeremy had given Alice earlier. Sunny and Crystal grabbed Jeremy’s shoulders and gripped them tightly enough to hurt the joints while Blindspot pushed a button on the box. The screen went clear and rolled back down as the badger slowly made a fist. When the screen had rolled all the way back into its box, Blindspot said, “Say that again.”

Jeremy looked at Blindspot’s fist. It was big, with thick, hard knuckles.

“G’wan,” Blindspot repeated, “say it again.”

“I wouldn’t.” Sunny muttered.

Jeremy looked at Blindspot’s face; it was full of intent and as hard as his fist. Jeremy kept his mouth shut. Blindspot’s smile turned suddenly smug. He opened his fist and patted Jeremy’s cheek, (rather firmly.) Then he pushed the button and deployed the screen again.

“I’m sorry for thinking you were queer,” Jeremy said.

“Naw, you can think I’m queer,” Blindspot replied. “I am. Just don’t be rude about it. Now, where was I b’fore I was interrupted? Oh yeah, starting.”

Blindspot tapped a couple more buttons on the box. A sleep symbol appeared.

“The remote was easier,” he muttered, “shame we lost it. Prob’ly find it on the way back. ‘Kay, there we go!”

A scene in an army barracks appeared on the transparent screen and started to play. Blindspot gave it an odd look, then snickered.

“Sorry, we want that right ‘way round for ya!”

He touched yet another button and the scene flipped left-to-right. (“There ya go,” he muttered.) The scene appeared to have been shot on an old film camera. It was grainy and the colours were odd. A troop of soldiers was roughhousing good-naturedly around a Christmas tree. One of the men, a big brown bear, was the attention of a lot of rough play, which he dominated. But he was a gentle giant among the wolves and lions and other big guys, wrestling but never really hurting anybody. The only one he never attacked was an even bigger grizzly bear in sergeant's stripes, but the squad commander looked on approvingly.

“Recognize yer old man?” Blindspot said.

“What?” Jeremy exclaimed.

“The big bear that ev’rybody loves, that’s yer dad.”

The scene hit the three minute mark and suddenly changed. Now the men were lined up in front of the tree singing “Silent Night.” The big bear and the sergeant sang basso profundo, the brown bear’s voice so much like Jeremy’s own that it was hard to mistake the family resemblance. His face, too bore an uncanny resemblance to Jeremy’s own, except for his eyes and the curve of his nose.

“If yer curious, the corporal is holding the camera. After the army he work in Hollywood as a focus puller.”

“You seriously expect me to believe that... That... that AI generated fake is my father? I grew up with my father, you lieing son...”

Blindspot was waving his hands.

“Y’see,” he said, “what yer lookin’ at now was all before this happened. Crystal, Sunny, you might wanna look away fer a sec, this is the bad part.”

Blindspot touched a button again. The barracks disappeared and was replaced by a battlefield. Shattered buildings lay like an apocalypse in the path of the unit. The big brown bear charged through it, machine gun rattling in spurts as he went, the others behind him.

“They called your dad The Tank,” Blindspot said. “He could charge into a fight in full armour, soaking up damage and just keep goin’. It really scared the enemy. It woulda scared me! On this manoeuvre, just about here...”

The bear was rounding a blind corner, five other soldiers behind him, the sergeant yelling at them to halt. Too late; the camera caught a grenade flying from around a second blind corner right into the bear’s face. It looked at first to have bounced off his nose. Then it burst. White gas or powder covered his face as darker splotches grew in it. The bear roared and raised his gun. Then he screamed as his face began to smoke. The five men behind him grabbed him and pulled him back around the corner. The sergeant yelled at him to keep his eyes closed.

“White phosphorous,” Blindspot said. “Poor bastard. White phosphorous munitions are a war crime ‘n this is exactly why. It catches fire in air and spreads it everywhere. It’s caustic, too and poisonous on top of that. It took four guys to get yer dad back to base hospital, all the time yellin’ at him t’keep his eyes closed. That’s why he wasn’t blind at least. He was on sick call fer months, gettin’ chemical solutions to wash off the shit, chelation therapy to get the poison out, skin grafts to rebuild his eyelids, all that stuff. The doctors did everything they could, Jeremy. But when they were through, well...”

Blindspot touched a button again. The scene had already frozen on the last frame of the tragic video. Now it changed to a photograph of the same soldier bear in a hospital somewhere. His face was ruined. What fur he still had was pointing in several wrong directions. Mostly it was bare skin, red and angry with visible stitches, right where Jeremy knew the familiar scars would be. The outer ears were missing, although there were signs that somebody had tried once or twice to add new ones. His expression was difficult to read; rage, terror, resignation, indignation, maybe all of them. His teeth were slightly bared, but that might have been because his lips were just wrong.

“Recognize yer old man now?” said Blindspot.

Jeremy didn’t have to answer. His expression – fear, but also need, then the sadness and loss when he looked away – said without words how well he knew his father. “Dad,” he murmured anyway.

Blindspot nodded. “’Course one good thing happened to him in the base hospital, he met your mom. Everyone else was afraid of him, even the guys from his unit, so she decided to get to know him. She found out that the guy with a fright mask for a face was a great guy. She fell in love with him. She married him.” Blindspot pushed the button; the screen showed a wedding picture taken at his dad’s bedside. “She saw him turning away from the world like the world had turned away from him and she was determined to keep him in the light somehow. ‘N because she wasn’t afraid, she slowed his descent into madness, but she couldn’t stop it. She didn’t know how. We don’t believe even Sigmund Freud coulda. But she did help.”

“Mom,” Jeremy murmured. “Where’s Dad’s eyepiece? He had a thing he used on his bad eye sometimes to help him see.”

“Y’mean this?”

Blindspot reached into the boughs of the Korpsmas tree and brought out a camera. He pressed a different button that brought up a table of slides and videos, used more buttons to choose one. The display showed Jeremy’s father holding the camera.

“That’s it,” Jeremy said. “What is that thing?”

“This here,” Blindspot replied, “is a Kodak super-8 film camera. Your dad liked to take home movies of you and your mom when you were little. Glad ya asked about it, it comes into the picture later.”

“That’s right, he showed them to me later. Oh of course, it had to have been a camera.” Jeremy smiled at the memory. “He smiled when he was taking home movies. It was the only time he did smile.”

“After a while your dad was fit to leave hospital. The sergeant’s notes say he was looking for some payback. The higher ups didn’t like the idea. Not that your dad couldn’t still fight, but the rest of his unit was afraid of him. He was a reminder of what the enemy was willing to do to them. And even looking at him was hard. So they gave him a medical discharge. He got a pension, civilian clothes and your mom.” Blindspot reached into the tree again and took out a piece of knitting, like an old ski mask. “She knit him this so he could walk in the street. If ya don’t look too close, it could pass for fur. Yer dad hated it, it was itchy.”

“He never wore it.”

Blindspot nodded. He pushed the camera and the mask around the screen so that Jeremy could touch them. Jeremy looked, but didn’t reach for them.

“Where did you get all those things anyway?”

“Aw, we have our sources. We’re thieves too, y’know.

“So anyway. Your mom and dad found a house together he could afford on his pension. Your dad had to drive across the country to get to your grandfather’s place...”

“Grandfather and grandmother died when dad was young.”

“Huh? No. Oh, I guess he told you that so you wouldn’t ask about them. He didn’t want to see them anymore because he was afraid of what they’d say if they saw his face. Turns out he was right, according to your mom’s diary. They slammed the door in his face, threatened to call the cops. But your granddad had promised to let your dad take some seeds... your granddad had a mail order seed company... to help your dad set up a company of his own. Your mom held him to his word. So they came back home with seeds and started growin’ a business. Smart choice, the seeds didn’t care what your dad looked like ‘n neither did mail order customers. You used to help with it. You drew bunnies under the growing trays t’ keep the plants company.”

“Yeah, fat lot of help that was!”

Blindspot touched a button on the box and brought up a picture of a bunny drawn on what looked like the bottom of a table.

“Not bad for three years old!” he said. “’Course you were more help as you got older. You always drew bunnies.”

“There was a bunny family next door,” Jeremy replied. “One little girl used to poke her nose through the fence. She... uh...”

Blindspot pushed the button. A short video started; a bunny girl ‘s face emerged from the leaves of a hedge. Her eyes met the camera, she gasped and pulled back. Then the clip repeated.

“Her!” Jeremy cried. “I’m sure it was her! Wasn’t it? Did dad take that?”

“Maybe, might’ve been your mom. What was her name?”

“I... I never met her. I was...”

“Too shy?” (Jeremy nodded.) “She was cute!

“It took a while for you mom to have you, not ‘cause she didn’t try either.” (Blindspot gave a little nervous chuckle.) “But after a while you came along and for the first time in a long time your dad kept smiling. For a while she thought maybe she had the man she loved back. He loved you so much! He took pictures ‘n home movies of you bein’ cute ‘n stuff.”

Blindspot touched the button again. A string of home movies started playing, grainy and over or under exposed despite somebody cleaning them up. Many featured father and son playing together, (shot no doubt by mother.)

“He don’t look half as bad when he’s smilin’, does he?”

“No. I remember that one. He’d just finished packing a big order, he promised we’d have cake and ice cream for my birthday...”

“Those were happy times, eh?”

“Happy...”

“So, you never did meet that cute bunny girl, but you had a cute bunny anyway. There, under yer left arm.”

Under the boy’s arm was a plush toy, a bunny made of pink velvet, it’s lop ears hanging over its face. The boy held it tight as his father play-wrestled with him. The two child warriors, cub and bunny, won easily over their father and took a moment to cuddle in celebration of their victory. Jeremy pointed, opened his mouth, but his voice caught.

“Jerry,” Blindspot said for him.

“Oh my God,” Jeremy whispered. Tears soaked the fur around his eyes. “Oh my God... Why did you show me this?”

“These ‘r but shadows of things that’ve passed. That they are what they are, don’t blame me. (Rose, did I get that right?)”

“Close enough!” Jeremy cried “I haven’t seen Jerry in...”

Jeremy put his head down in his arms on the table and wept. Crystal and Sunny rubbed his shoulders.

“Decades,” Blindspot said for him. “Not since Labour Day when you were six. But that can wait a few minutes...”

“No! Don’t make me watch that! Please, not that!”

Blindspot hesitated. “Aw fuck it!” he said. “It ain’t gonna get any easier if we wait.”

Blindspot touched the button. A short clip played, about ten seconds long. The image was a mixture of floor and clothing and the soundtrack muddy with crackles from the microphone’s screen being rubbed. The voices were clearly his father’s and his mother’s, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying.

“We cleaned up the audio,” Blindspot said. “Here’s what your mom recorded your dad saying before you-know-what happened.”

The same scene played, but this time the audio was clear.

“...and you will stand aside and keep that camera pointed at us and not interfere or I will beat you like I’ve never beaten you before! Understand?”

There was a one second pause, then, “Yes, husband.”

“What?” and the clip ended.

“Actually,” Blindspot added, “your dad only ever hit your mom a couple of times in his life. For society back then, that was pretty good. Not justifyin’ it you understand, just puttin’ it in context. Your mom wrote in her diary that she knew right then that the man she loved was gone forever, ‘cause he never woulda said that. Anyway, I guess you remember what came next.”

“No, don’t...”

But Blindspot pushed the button and the home movie filled the screen, restored with loving care. The horribly scarred face was full of anger. He mocked young Jeremy for his imaginary plush friend. He demanded that the cub hand Jerry over, said that he’d burn the toy. Jeremy, backed into a corner by his father, begged his mother to help, but she didn’t, (or didn’t dare.) He hid his beloved toy behind his back. That only made his father angrier. He roared at the boy, called him names; sissy, girly, disgraceful. Jeremy turned away, knelt, clutching Jerry to his breast, crying, screaming in terror. Patience exhausted, his father grabbed the boy by his shirt collar and lifted him up. He grabbed Jerry by his feet. He yanked the toy down out of Jeremy’s arms, but the boy caught one of Jerry’s ears and held on with all his might. Still his father tugged and tugged until the ear ripped off in Jeremy’s hands. The boy screamed as if it was his own ear that had been ripped away. His father put the rest of Jerry under his arm, held Jeremy by his wrist and pried the ear out of his hand, yelling of how he’d burn the toy, Jeremy screaming all the while.

At last his mother acted. Camera still running, holding it on him, she took her husband by what was left of his own ear and twisted it, commanding him to put her boy down in a voice that brooked no argument. Jeremy dropped to the floor and his mother towed his father by his scalp to the next room. She shoved the man, scarred face to the wall, and took both parts of Jerry away from him. The camera focused on his face.

“I’m going to fix Jerry and give it back!” she declared. “And you are not going to do anything about it!”

“I’ll take it and burn it the first chance I get!”

“No, you will not...”

“Yes I will!”

“Then I’ll hide it from you! I’ll give it back when there’s nothing you can do about it! And if you ever hurt my son again, I will kill you with my own hands! Understand?”

The home movie ended, but the video wasn’t quite done. It zoomed in on the door to the room. The door was partly open and a face was framed in it. The video zoomed in on the face, then enhanced to show that it was Jeremy. Then the video stopped.

Across from Blindspot, Jeremy was trembling

“Why?” he whimpered. “Why did you have to show me that?”

“Why?” Blindspot replied. “’Cause what happened there changed the whole rest of your life!

“You were six and it was Labour Day. Next day you were goin’ away to kindergarten. Your dad was scared for you that other kids would bully you or reject you, the way he was rejected after the army. (We don’t act’lly know that for sure, but it makes the most sense.) He wanted you to be tough enough t’ handle other kids ‘n not end up a victim like him. He saw Jerry as your weakest point, so he took it away from you.”

“Did he have to hurt me like that?”

“One part of bein’ tough is understandin’ pain. It worked for him in the army.”

“I wasn’t going in the army, I was going in kindergarten!”

“That’s what I said when we were talking over this case! But I’m told there’s not all that much difference... But I never served, so I wouldn’t know. Anyway, myself, I slept with my toy friends ‘til I started high school ‘n nobody ever bullied me. I mean a couple punks tried, once.”

“You’re a fighter.”

“Ju jitsu, black belt. ‘N you might’ve been better off if your dad had taught you t’fight instead. But that’s water under the bridge.

“After that, your dad started bein’ mean to you. He’d set booby traps where your mom couldn’t see that’d make you look stupid, then make home movies of ya fallin’ for ‘em. Then he showed ‘em to ya...”

“He threatened to show them at school..”

“He did, too, a couple times. He didn’t go himself, just sent ‘em to the teacher ‘n she showed ‘em. She didn’t know what they were.”

“All the other kids laughed at me.”

“Did’ja know after the second time the school wouldn’t let him show those movies anymore?”

Jeremy’s shocked expression was answer enough.

“He kept threatening anyway, huh?”

“That lying... That son of... Why?”

“Made you be even meaner to the other kids, didn’t it? You learned from your dad how to be a bully.”

“Bully! No, I wasn’t a bully! I never took shit from the other kids, but they were the bullies, not me. I was defending myself!”

“Defending yerself, eh?” Blindspot brought up the menu and chose a few files that looked like texts. He brought up the first, let Jeremy see that’it was a grade school report. Then he flipped it and read. “Aggressive play in schoolyard, negative attitude to other students.” He looked up at Jeremy. “That means bully,” he said and brought up the next record. “At recess plays rougher than other students of his species, trouble with self-regulation. Bully.” A touch of the button brought up the next record. “Confrontational play at recess, suspected of disruptive activity in class. Bully.” He pushed the button. “Other students avoid Jeremy in the schoolyard, he aggressively pursues certain students, I’ve changed his seat twice and he still sits behind those students. Bully. I love this one from fourth grade. Jeremy is the class bully. The only way to spare his favourite victims is to give him constant detentions during recess.”

“That was Mr. Mean.”

“Mr. Mehan. He was the only teacher who dared to call you on your bullying. Guy was a hero...”

“He kept me in class every recess until the principal made him let me go play. He made me write lines of stupid shit.”

“Stupid shit? You mean like...” Blindspot pushed the button again. “Treat others the way you want them to treat you?” Next image, “Other people are people like me?” Next image, “Ivan’s name is not Yvonne and he is not a girl? And you’re seriously tellin’ me you weren’t a school bully.

“And yeah, Mr. Mehan was a hero. You told your dad about him ‘n he went to confront him. Walked into his classroom right after school, bare faced, figured it’d set ‘im on his heels.”

“He told me to wait in the car.”

“Mr. Mehan was ready for your dad. Knew he’d been injured in the war ‘n looked pretty bad. We think your mom warned him. Mr. Mehan had made drill sergeant ‘n used that against your dad. He wasn’t scared by yer dad’s face. He told him off fer raisin’ a lil’ bully. I wish I coulda been a fly on the wall!

“Jeremy, we think your Dad drove you t’see other kids as a threat ‘n bully them before they could bully you, at first. But as you kept it up, you saw that bullying them first gave you power over ‘em ‘n you liked that power. You wanted to keep it. You spent yer life refining yer bullying technique, losing aggression you didn’t need, making threats sound like threats except to those in power, catfishin’ ‘n gaslightin’ victims into contracts they didn’t really understand, all that shit. It served you real well in business for years ‘n years. But at the end of the day, you’re just a bully.”

“And you hate bullies.”

“True. But I can set that aside, ‘cause this is about you, not me.”

“You want to hurt me. You have a petty, low desire to hurt me.”

“Aw, I already done that! I sat here ‘n watched you bawl yer eyes out over a kid’s toy! ‘N that made me happy.” Blindspot grinned. “But not for the reason you think, Jeremy. It proves you still have a heart. And your heart is still broken. The Korps isn’t here to hurt you, Jeremy. I had to sand the rust ‘n dirt off all that breakage so we could mend your heart. That’s why we’re here.”

“Are you through with all this?”

“I’ve got a lil’more to review, then it’s Christmas Present’s turn at ya.”

“Well can you get on with it?”

“Yup!” Blindspot cleared his throat. “Your mom kept her word. She mended Jerry the best she could. She did a real nice job, too. She was handy with a needle. Then she put him in a box ‘n hid him where your dad woulda never thought to look for him. ‘N your dad did look for Jerry, still wanted to burn him, but never found him. She dug Jerry out when you went away to college ‘n tried to give him back to you. She told you she had something for you, something hidden, something you forgot. But before she could hand you the box with Jerry in it, you told your mom what she could do with whatever it was ‘n walked away, which was a pretty rude way to treat your mom. But by then your dad’s neuroses had hardened into your prejudices...”

“Do you even know what those words mean?”

“Excuse me a sec, Rose.” Blindspot took off his RCGs and looked Jeremy straight in his eyes. “Neurosis,” he said, “a mental disease caused by a pattern of illogical or threatening thoughts, causing stress reactions but not a loss of touch with reality. Prejudice, a hateful or dismissive opinion based on false or not enough research and without personal experience.” He went to put his RCGs back on “Didn’t want ya t’think I was cheatin’,” he said. “I’m back, Rose. Just ‘cause I talk like a jock doesn’t mean I’m stupid.

“Your mom tried a couple times after that to give Jerry back to you. You never even took the box from her, just told her to go away. Your dad was with her once...”

“That’s a lie! I never saw my dad again after I left for college!”

“Yeah, that brings me to the other thing I wanted to tell you. There’s a chapter of your dad’s life you never knew anything about.

“A couple years after you left for college, yer dad had a heart attack.”

“And died.”

“No. Why d’you think he died?”

“The only one who’d have known was mom. She wouldn’t have helped him.”

“Yes she did. Your mom was a dutiful wife even after that thing with Jerry. She called an ambulance, they took him to hospital and saved his life. While he was recuperating, the doctors met with your mom to plan how to keep it from happening again. They wanted to know what happened to his face. She told them and asked if anything could be done. Well this was decades after the war, plastic surgery had come a long way. They started workin’ on his skin, got it from angry red back to healthy black. Then they started transplantin’ plugs of fur from all over his body to his face. They fixed his ears, mostly straightened out his nostrils... Well lemmee show ya!”

Blindspot brought up the menu, chose a split image and showed it.

“There’s yer dad before the grenade on the left... sorry, the right, and yer dad after the heart attack on the left. Big improvement over between, eh?”

Jeremy stared. “He looks... older,” he said. “Just older.”

“He is older. But like I say, a big improvement!

“Your dad got therapy, too. You know what I mean. After years ‘n years of everybody but your mom runnin’ away from ‘im in horror, he needed that. He finally joined the Legion, too. Looked up his old troop ‘n told ‘em all hi. Spent many a happy hour having a beer with the guys. Your mom was over the moon, she finally got her husband back t’ stay! The last years of his life were the happiest years. He tried to give Jerry back to you, him ‘n yer mom, tell you he was sorry for the way he’d raised you...”

Jeremy’s face fell at a horrible memory. “That really was dad,” he murmured. “That time, with mom...”

“You didn’t even recognize him, eh? Thought your mom had remarried or somethin’?”

“Oh no... Oh no!” Jeremy covered his face with his hands and shuddered. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. Then he glared at Blindspot. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“That you missed yer last chance to be reconciled with yer dad? Naw! That it matters to you? Hell ya!”

“Blindspot touched a button on the display. The screen went blank and rolled back down into the box. He slid it under his arm. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a card.

“I got some homework for ya.”

“Oh, I’m back in school, am I?”

“Stuff to consider, if you’d rather call it that way. First, forgive your father. He wanted you to be safe. He gave you the best wisdom he had. It wasn’t his fault the best he had was bat shit crazy. Second, forgive the enemy soldiers who did that to your dad, or if you can’t, try ‘n let it go. They’re all dead now, we checked. The last of ‘em died about fifteen years ago. Their ancestors woulda never been okay with white phosphorous munitions and their kids weren’t even around at the time. Keepin’ a hate on for them won’t do any good. Forgive your mom, too. The way she treated your dad seemed mean and it was, but she was tryin’ to protect her child, you, from her husband’s insanity. That’s what any mom should do, under the circumstances! Most important, Jeremy, forgive yourself. You were just a li’l guy when all this started, you didn’t know any better. Uh, if it helps at all, I forgive you.

“Just one other thing. Yer dad died about seven years ago. At home, in bed, in his sleep, best you could ask for. You can find your mom...” Blindspot laid the card on the table in front of Jeremy. “...here,” he concluded. “She ain’t doin’ so good, but if you hurry, you can still catch her.”

Blindspot stood up and started towards the rear door.

“Merry Christmas, Jeremy. Sorry it ain’t startin’ out that merry.”

As Blindspot reached the door, Jeremy called out to him.

“Where did you get that thing anyway?”

“This?” Blindspot replied, holding up the box. “We stole it off LG, hijacked one of their trucks. We did ‘em a favour, they couldn’t move the stupid things. They got to claim them on insurance instead of havin’ to write ‘em off and ship it to Viet Nam as e-waste. They’re good for interviews like this one where yer sittin’ on opposite sides, but not much else.

“Oh, nearly forgot, we’re gonna take a break before Christmas Present to let you digest some o’ this. So just relax.”

(CONTINUED IN “STAVE THE FOURTH”)

(NB. Copyright notices can be found at the end of the final chapter. Blindspot’s super power is to make people not notice him.)