Omnipotence

Chapter 1 Paul Jasper

Finally the man said, "Well," he had taken on a mocking tone, "if you're dead, that would mean that I'm some sort of Angel or something, right? I can assure you, Dr. Jasper, I'm no Angel."

"I didn't say you were." Paul's eyes came up to take in the man sitting before him. A thin mustache traced his upper lip and slid down the outline of his chin. The hair on top of his head was shaved yet short stubble darkened his scalp.

A crescent shaped scar showed at the corner of his left eye and ended midway down his cheek. The edges of the scar were still pink from healing. He had a dark, penetrating stare. There was something about the way his eyes locked onto his that made Paul aware that this man was used to getting what he wanted.

Something else about this man's eyes disturbed Paul. Just like Harker, unnatural glints of light shone out from below his pupils; each was no larger than a pinhole. Paul recognized these immediately as vEYEsors: small cameras installed on contact lenses. They recorded and broadcast anything the wearer was viewing. Even though there was only one man sitting in front of him, Paul had no doubt that his image was being viewed by many others.

Others, thought Paul, who feel it’s necessary to keep me strapped down and under the watch of armed and extremely edgy guards.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself," the man said. His calm tone was in sharp contrast to Paul’s thoughts. "My name is Thomas Ibsen. Like you, I work for Planck Industries. It's been a very...ah...hectic day and I've been sent to see if we can make sense of it all."

"Sense?" asked Paul, urgently. "I can't make sense of anything. Either, I'm dead...or hallucinating...or...I don't even know."

"As I've said, you're not dead. And if you were on some kind of hallucinogenic, I can assure you, you'd be having much more fun." He chuckled at this, but there was no humor in his eyes. "So, if you can take a step back into reality for a moment and answer my questions, it would be in your best interest. Trust me." Even with Ibsen’s calm demeanor, the threat was unmistakable. Paul didn't like the direction this conversation was going.

"Before I answer anything," he said, his voice rising, "tell me what the hell is going on! Why am I strapped down?"

Ibsen cocked his head as if listening to something and then nodded. His placidity was maddening. "Okay, Dr. Jasper, I can understand why you'd be anxious so I'll answer what I can."

Paul was prepared to argue further so was a little taken aback by Ibsen's apparent compliance. Paul said, "Alright. Let's start with 'where am I and how did I get here?’"

"Currently, you’re in the Intensive Care Unit of a Planck run facility. As for how you got here, you were discovered by a Haz Mat crew and airlifted in from Geneva. You've been unconscious for about three hours."

"What happened to me?" Nervousness replaced anger.

"Well, Jasper, from what the doctors have told me, nothing. Nothing has happened to you. You appear to be perfectly fine. And that, quite frankly is the reason why people are a little jumpy around here."

"What do you mean? How is my being okay a problem?"

Ibsen leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. Paul was very aware of the twin glimmers in his eyes. "Tell me," Ibsen said, "What do you remember about the—ah—accident?"

Paul didn't know what to say. He searched for answers on the lined face before him but found none. He let his head fall back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. Most of what he could recollect seemed blurry. He focused on this morning—or what he thought was this morning—and tried to clear his head. Slippery details floated to the surface. At first, all he saw was confused flashes that didn't fit together. But as the pieces came together, Paul felt the blood chilling in his veins.