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Not A Clue


Not A Clue

"Are you the bomber?"


"Are you the bomber?"


"Are you the bomber?"


"Are you the bomber?"


This question bounced from each of the four people locked in this tiny metal room.

Was it Lindsay? The racy dark haired woman with the low cut shirt and tight jeans?

Or how about Dale? The pothead in the corner, a stupid look on his face, long brown hair obscuring his view.

Maybe it's Lucas. The middle aged man with the graying hair and beard?

Bonnie? Surely not Bonnie, the young stay-at-home-mom, who just keeps talking about getting home to her kids.

The note in the middle of the room said that they had 2 hours to figure out which one of them had a bomb implanted in their body. The bomber knew who he/she was. Basically, figure it out, kill the bomber, open their stomach, and defuse it.

Now a fickle game of trust was being played.

Each person sat in opposite corners of the room. The first step was face reading. The first question asked: "Who's the bomber?"

Dale answered no with a blank face.

Lucas appeared to be highly confused as he denied being the bomber.

Lindsay answered in a quivering, seemingly timid voice "no." She got a lot of accusing glances.

The stay at home mother, blond Bonnie said no, absolutely not.

So, Lindsay was a suspect.

Next question. Lucas presented it. "How did we get here?"

They all answered the same: social experiment, payed a few hundred dollars to test a new hypnotism technique.

That created skepticism. Bonnie wondered aloud if any of them really had a bomb in them.

They stared intently at one anther.





Dale sneezed and used the bottom of the shirt to wipe the snot off his nose.

They all saw the stitches. bonnie, Lucas and Lindsay scrambled to their feet and surrounded Dale.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Take of your shirt," Lucas muttered to him.

"Huh? Why?"

"Just do it!" Lindsay exclaimed.

Dale shrugged and laughed. "Ladies love my body, I guess." He stripped off his shirt, revealing a lean body. And a huge ring of stitches on his left side, below his rib cage. He inspected it. "Wow,trippy."

Bonnie pointed a shaky finger at him. "It's in him."

Lucas lunged for Dale's throat, but he ducked and slipped away. "Alright, listen you crazy bastards, I really-,"

Bonnie and Lindsay sprang forward, Bonnie seizing his arm, Lindsay tackling his legs.

He fell, but with his free hand he punched Bonnie in the jaw, then kicked Lindsay in the stomach.

Dale cursed and got up, breathing heavily. He reached into his pocket and clicked out a pocket knife. "Get. The. Fuck. Away."

The others weren't human anymore. They were beasts, driven by fear and instinct to survive.

Ignoring the glittering blade, they stepped forward.

"I'm sorry, get away."

Lucas swung his fist, knocking Dale to the ground. He pounced, pummeling and scratching, clawing, biting.

Dale's knife cut into Lucas's stomach. He howled, and stumbled back.

The knife had cut a gash into Lucas's button up shirt. He lifted it up to inspect the cut.

They all saw it.

The same circular track of stitches that was on Dale, was on Lucas.

"Shit," he muttered.

"It's you!" Lindsay screamed.

"Shut up," Dale told her. "Take off your shirt."


"You'd have no problem any other time you slut," Bonnie said.

Lindsay glared at her, then stripped. She had stitches as well.

All of them turned to Bonnie.

With growing horror, she lifted hers as well.


She sat down. "Jesus."

The rest sat as well.

As a tactic, Lindsay left her shirt off, her lacy black bra thin and filmy. It was attracting glances from the two men. It would distract them from reading her face, suspecting her.

Lucas was silent, head in his hands.

Bonnie planned to use the: "I'm a mom, how could it be me?" tactic.

Dale had a knife.

"We have to figure this out," Bonnie said.

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "And just how the hell do we do that?"

"We can say the last place we were before we came to the experiment."

Dale giggled. "Is this the First 48?"

"I was watching football," Lucas said. "Lions and Bears."

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