Unlimited Plan (*)

Too much nanites in your coffee is bad for your health

8

Philadelphia, United States

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The repetitive noise of the alarm system's countdown marks the seconds before it is triggered. Macmillan enters the deactivation code on the designated luminous keypad and silences the warning chime.

The space, actually a commercial area rented under the pretext of inaugurating a clothing store in a near future, is empty. Only an unfolded stepladder, an open toolbox, and brand new DIY equipment bestow an impression of occupancy in case an unexpected visit occurred. Anyway, it doesn't matter since from the outside, even the most curious onlookers can't be surprised to see this store devoid of merchandise or furniture. A mosaic of newspapers glued to the window prevents prying eyes.

The mercenary, in his black fatigues, doesn't bother to turn on the lights. The diffuse brightness of the security bulbs allows enough visibility, and he blends in like a shadow until he reaches the backroom door. He enters the small dark space, and this time flips the switch. The cold, greenish tint of the single fluorescent light reveals an area devoid of goods. Macmillan pivots a large metal storage cabinet that covers the wall opposite the entrance. Behind the furniture is not a wall, as one might expect, but a reinforced door. He runs his finger over the tiny fingerprint reader mounted along the door frame and waits for the locking mechanism to disengage. He steps forward and crosses the threshold as the heavy door automatically opens.

At the bottom of the raw concrete stairs, the mercenary arrives onto the landing of a vast windowless chamber. In front of him, hung on the wall, four flat screens display closed-circuit video from several cameras positioned at strategic locations in the building.

The room resembles a mix between a chemistry lab and an electronics test bench. A large countertop runs around its perimeter, while a long workbench outfitted with a Bunsen burner and a sink stands at its center. On the counter, computer equipment, measuring instruments, and complex devices sit atop the PVC covering. The well-lit room contrasts with the floor above, and the newcomer has to squint to adjust to the halogens' harsh light.

"Put it there," commands a deep voice.

Macmillan goes to the middle of the strange lab and places the container he's carrying on the workbench. He scrutinizes the narrow back of the one who gave the order without even turning around. From his unkempt white hair, a gaunt neck plunges between his bony shoulders. The discordance between the thinness of this physique and the depth of this voice never ceases to amaze Macmillan. The man's height is impressive. Hunched, he still stands a head taller than the commander, who is already over six feet high.

The mercenary has grown accustomed to the oddness of his albino client and his ways. He thus remains silent, while the other busies himself in his corner, apparently no longer concerned with his presence.

However, after a few minutes, Macmillan can't help but comment: "Are you sure you'll be able to..." He immediately stops, aware of his mistake in speaking without being invited.

The frail giant abandons his task, and the clinking sound of metal hurting metal resonates as he drops his tools. He slowly stands up, towering over the room, and turns to face the mercenary.

"That I'll be able to what?"

Macmillan, tough as he is, swallows hard, which swells the scar on his temple. He doesn't fear his client himself but braces to cross his gaze...

"Open the unfortunate electronic lock protecting this container?" continues the strange character.

The giant now faces him, and the mercenary focuses not to flinch. The bulging and almost entirely white eyes owe their spark of life only to the dark pinholes of the pupils.