Messages from the Future

“Have you ever hear of the Delayed Choice Quantum Eraser experiment?” asked Doctor Franklin Lum, sitting down at the coffee shop table across from me.

That was it. No preamble, no “Hi, hello, how’s it going Wendi?” Just a question about physics.

Not that I was surprised mind you, Frank was a brilliant scientist and quantum mechanics savant, but his people skills were a little… lacking.

“Hi Frank,” I said pointedly. “Oh, I’m fine, how are you?”

My sarcasm wasn’t lost on him, and he blinked and looked a little sheepish.

“I did it again didn’t I?” he said. “I’m sorry Wendi, I just get so excited, and this one is… “

I rolled my eyes and he stumbled to a halt.

“Er - How is, um… everything?”

I sighed. It wasn’t worth making the poor guy uncomfortable, so I relented. “Nevermind Frank, go ahead tell me about this Quantum Choosey… thing. Do you want a coffee?”

He relaxed visibly. “No. Delayed Choice Quantum Eraser… Um… have you heard about the Two Slit experiment?”

I nodded. That was basic oddball quantum weirdness at it’s core. “Yeah,” I said. “You fire a photon at a pair of slits. When you don’t know which slit it goes through it acts like a wave, but when you do it acts like a particle.”

He nodded. “Most physicists chalk the whole thing up to some kind of oddity with how you measure the photon and which slit it goes through.”

I nodded.

“So with the DCQE they use Entangled Particle Pairs. They disentangle after going through the slit and one of the particles goes left, and the other goes right. But the result is the same. If you measure, both pairs show up as particles, if not - waves. With me so far?”

I nodded again.

“Okay, so some bright people figured out a way to tell which slit the particle comes through by measuring the delay from when the one on the left is measured versus the one on the right. They don’t detect anything until AFTER it’s already gone through the slit.”

I blinked. “So they don’t look at the slit to see if a particle went through?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Nope. They look at the delay. Slightly longer equals left slit. Slightly shorter,  right slit.”

I nodded. I could see where he was going with this. “But… okay so you know which slit it goes through. That means it always acts like a particle, right?”

His grin widened. “Yeah. So what they did was set up a random chance - 50/50 - that the data would kinda… self destruct on the right side. Guess what they found?”

I grinned. “When the data self destructed on the right-hand particle…” I said slowly.

He nodded eagerly.

“The left-hand particle acted like a wave?”

“YES!” He practically shouted. “It was so accurate that they could determine the results of the right-hand particles by looking at the left-hand results! They knew if they saw a wave pattern the results on the right were lost!”

“The effect came BEFORE the cause?”

“Exactly!” he said. “The wave pattern showed up before the data was lost. The only element that was different?”

“That we knew the results of the other tests. We knew which slit the particles went through.”

“Right!”

I nodded. It was pretty cool, but not very practical. “Okay, so why are you so excited?” I asked him.

He was bouncing in his seat now like a kid who needed to pee, he was so excited.

“Okay. So, we know how to see effect preceding cause right? What if we tweaked the circumstances?”

I shrugged. “How?”

“Okay so if someone sees the result it makes a particle, if the result is never known it shows a wave. What if we make a machine that does the test multiple times and the result is… Oh let’s say marked on a piece of paper or something. Just an L for left slit, or R for right slit, right?”

I nodded.

“Okay so you have the papers all arrayed in a line, but you only look at say 3 out of 10. The rest are burned. What happens?”

I thought I could see what he was getting at. “If the papers are burned and no one ever sees them the results are lost. They should be wave patterns.”

“And the ones you looked at?” he prompted.

“They should be particles.”

“And what if you wait five minutes… a week… a YEAR… to look at the results?”

I started to get excited too, because I could see what he was driving at. “You would have the results… the wave vs particle pattern, but you would have it RIGHT NOW.”

He grinned again and asked, “Meaning…”

I looked at him my eyes wide, and I said in a quiet voice, “Meaning you could get messages from the future.”

***

    “Okay, I have some concerns,” I said.

    It was two weeks later, and we were in his lab at MIT, putting the finishing touches on the machine. The design was a little more elegant than he had originally proposed. Basically it would automatically run the Delayed Choice experiment, but keep all the results on a hard drive. In order to create the message we would type the message into the computer, which would be converted into binary. Then the computer would bring up a grid of results, which would display L for left slit, or R for right slit, but only for those we needed in order to create the message we wanted to send. The rest of the results would be obliterated from the hard drive by overwriting them 64 times to ensure that nobody would ever know those results, so that the message could not be corrupted. For simplicity we decided that we would limit the first set of messages to 50 characters so that we wouldn’t have to run the Delayed Choice Double Slit experiment too many times.

    But I was starting to wonder if any of this was a good idea.

    Frank looked up from where he was coding the program to run the experiment.

    “Suppose we get a message but we go back and look anyway? At the results?”

    He looked puzzled for a moment, thinking about it, then just shrugged and said, “Then we won’t get a message. If we don’t do this right, it simply won’t work.”

    I sighed and tried again. “Okay, then what if we get a message, but then refuse to ever go back and type the message in?”

    He stared at me nonplussed. “Uh… then someone else will type the message in. Otherwise we wouldn’t get a message at all.”

    “Well then what if we get a message, but then we try to type in something else completely? I mean, what about freaking FREE WILL Frank!?”

    He frowned at me like I was crazy.

    “Look, you have free will. Everyone does. But time is linear. Whatever happens happens. It has nothing to do with free will or anything else. Time moves the way time moves, and that’s that.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then stood up and walked over to me. “Look I get what you’re saying. Suppose you get a message that you don’t like, and you don’t want to have to go back and send that message later. But then why would you even bother sending that message in the first place? If you get a message from your future self it will be something that you think you need to know now. You WILL want to send that message, because you WILL have sent it. You wouldn’t send it if you didn’t want to, so don’t worry.”

    “Okay… I guess that makes sense…”

    He smiled.

    “But what about paradox,” I said suddenly.

    He frowned and his head dropped.

    “What if I get a message that says ‘Don’t Drink the Water, it’s poison’ and I don’t drink the water? I wouldn’t have known it was poisoned if I hadn’t told myself, so how did I know?”

    He sighed. “There’s no such thing as paradox, it can’t happen.”

    “How do you know? What if we rip a hole in the space-time continuum?”

    He rolled his eyes. “You watch too many movies.”

    I shrugged. “Still it could happen.”

    “No, it can’t. This isn’t time travel Wendi, you can’t go back and kill your own grandfather.”

    “But what if the message comes back and says, ‘Quick, kill yourself or the world will end,” and you do? Then who sent the message.”

    He looked at me. “Obviously someone else. Someone with a sick, twisted sense of humor.”

    “But wh-”

    “No, no, no,” he said gently. “Just stop. Everything will be fine. If anything were to go wrong, we simply wouldn’t get a message at all. Nothing would come through, and we’d have to scrap the experiment and start over. In fact the fact that we scrapped it would probably be why nothing came through.” He giggled at that. “Temporal mechanics is weird.”

    He looked at me again. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked.

    I looked at him again. He seemed so confident, and it was very reassuring. I nodded.

    He smiled. “Good. Because I ran the experiment about two minutes before you started panicking. It should be just about done now, and we’ll be able to see the message any minute. Of course we have no idea who it’s from, so why don’t we just say that you get to be the first one to send a message. In that case, it should be from you. Sound good?”
    My heart started beating fast in my chest, as he went over to the computer and brought up the message and looked at it. He frowned.

    “We got something, but I don’t get it. It’s dated a week from now, and it’s just a string of random numbers. Then at the end it says, ‘Call Mom.’”

    I frowned. “What if I don’t?” I asked. “Will that screw everything up?”

    He shrugged. “My guess is that you either sent this message because you missed an opportunity and you want to try to change it - a futile gesture of course - or because you already did, and you knew that you would want to. If it were me, I would call, but either way, whatever happens now has already happened from the point of view of the person who sent the message.”

    I made up my mind in an instant. Of course I would call my Mom. My mind ran through all the scenarios that might prompt me to send such a message. Would she die in the next week? Would I find out she has cancer and this would be my last chance to say goodbye? Was she about to be in a car accident?

    I pulled out my cell phone and tapped her name in my call list.

    By the third ring I was practically pulling my hair out, when I heard her voice.

    “I’ll be right back, do you want me to get you anything?” Her voice was distant as if she were holding the phone away from her face, speaking to someone else. “Okay, one minute. Hello?” she said into the phone.

    “Hi, mom. How’s it going? Is everything okay?”

    “Fine sweety, why? What’s going on? Are YOU okay? It’s not really like you to call in the middle of the day like this, is something wrong?”

    I was starting to feel relieved, but remembered a lot could happen in the space of a week.

    “Uh, no mom, I’m fine,” I said. “Look, what are you doing right now, are you busy?”

    “Well, no, not really. Your dad and me just stopped at a gas station on the way home from the grocery store. I was going in to pick up some drinks and maybe some lottery tickets for the drawing next week. Is everything okay sweety?”

    I closed my eyes and laughed. Frank looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

    “Everything is just great Mom. Hey, if you’re going to get a lottery ticket, pick one up for me too would you? I’ve got some numbers to try, and I’ll split with you if we win.”

    “Aw, that’s sweet. Sure I can do that sweety. Can you actually imagine if we won? What are the odds?”

Messages from the Future by R M Swanson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at http://billyuno.blogspot.com/2015/09/have-you-ever-hear-of-delayed-choice.html

Newton's Battery FIRST DRAFT by Bob Swanson

ATTENTION: READ THIS FIRST!
Due to the vast number of Bot linkers out there I am asking that anyone who visits this page and downloads a copy of the book PLEASE sign your name in the comments section. I believe you can do so even if you don't have a Google account. This will allow me to sift the real people from the blog scammers out there. Thanks!

So, with that said, here is the first draft of the book, Newton's Battery. It only took me a year to finish it. Now, you can see it for yourself, all at once, top to bottom. Please remember this is unpolished and raw, and still needs to be proofread. That said, the characters and plot are pretty much good, but there will be some details that will need to be fixed, re-written, etc. Feedback is not manditory, but is appreciated. You can send it to billy.uno01@gmail.com and please include the word "Feedback" in the subject.

I only have e-versions which will work with phones, tablets, PCs and e-readers, and I'm including a brief guide to which versions work with which e-readers.

This work is copyrighted with a Creative Commons 4.0 license, and is free to distribute as long as you don't make any changes, don't take out my name, and don't try to charge anything for it.

I'm hosting these on Dropbox, so here are the links:

PDF : This is the most universal, but also the biggest file size. It should be readable on most devices, but doesn't often customize well; What you see is what you get.

The rest of these should allow you to  read on most devices with the ability to skip to different chapters, set bookmarks, customize the font, font size, etc etc, and are much smaller file size than the PDF. If you're using an Android device I might suggest Moon Reader, or simply search "ebook reader" on the Play Store. For iPhones, iPads, and other Apple devices you can try Ebook Reader, Bluefire, Kindle, or search "ebook reader" on the App Store. Otherwise, if you're using another ebook reader, such as Kindle, download the appropriate version below.

Epub : This is the second most universal, and you should be able to find a reader that will let you read it with a few exceptions.

LIT : This is the standard for Sony's e-readers, but should also work on several others.

Mobi : This should work on all but a few versions of Kindle.

AZW3 : This is Kindle's primary format.

Once again, thank you for taking the time to read my work, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did when I was writing it.

Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 7

While the Special Agent went off to advise his underlings about her involvement in the investigation, as well as their own personal involvement, Rachele went over to a table where evidence was being collected in little evidence bags. Most of the debris was charred and blackened, and ranged from the little notebooks he used to carry, which mostly just contained little notes about the day, reminders and observations, normally nothing of consequence. He had a proper journal, which she had seen several times in his hands, but it wasn't here on the table.

However she did see something that made her catch her breath. His cell phone.

He always chose to get a white smartphone, whenever the time came to get a replacement. But what she saw was a twisted, melted, black and grey mess. The bottom half had curled around itself. Oddly though the top half was burned on the front, but the back seemed perfectly fine, practically untouched. She took out her pen and lifted it to be sure.

There it was. The back cover, the camera lens, the flash LED, all perfectly preserved.

She waved to one of the lab techs to come over.

"Hey, the back of this doesn't look too bad," she said to the young man. "Can you get the SIM card out? Maybe we could get the call history."

Excited at the idea the young man pulled out a pocket knife and started to pry the back off the little phone. There were parts stuck together and melted together, but he continued to work at it till the back cover broke.

He carefully slid the little card out, then set the phone behind to stick the SIM, which looked like it was in great shape, all things considered.

Rachele watched as the young lab geek slid the SIM into his tablet, and started pulling up data, but what she was actually seeking out was.

She had other plans though. While the attention was on the tech, she surreptitiously took the damaged phone and slid out the micro SD card, where things like photos and video would be saved. She'd hoped there would be some kind of clue as to what happened.

"Huh," said the tech. "How did you know?"

Rachele looked at him distractedly. "Hm? Know what?" she asked, sliding the SD card into her jacket pocket.

"About the Goatshead Motorcycle club?" he said. "I cross referenced the call history with a list of known Goatsheads, and found he called someone called Eugene David Theodore, known to his friends as Big Dave, and member of the Goatsheads."

It took a moment for what he was saying to sink in. "You're kidding."

Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 6

As she walked along the row of storage units she decided, based on the reaction from the Boy in Blue at the gate, to go ahead and undo one more button on her shirt, and to pull out the mirrored "cop" sunglasses. 'Might as well do the thing right,' she figured. She rounded the corner, and started heading toward the small knot of agents, who were looking around, taking notes and pictures. Special Agent Albertson stood with his arms crossed, collectively looking over everyone's shoulders. He seemed to register her approach, but didn't look in her direction until she was already standing a few feet away, her badge already out and open.

"Senior Agent Olivia Burnham, Anti-Terrorism Unit. Are you Special Agent Albertson?" her badge was visible for the appropriate length of time, before she closed it and put it back into her pocket.

The Very Special Agent looked at her without recognition at first, then in mounting confusion.

"Wait a second," he said. "Aren't you th-"

"No," she said flatly. "And I'm certainly not here to interfere with your investigation either." She pulled off her sunglasses, and gave him a little smirk. "I'm just here to confirm my assertion that this explosion has nothing to do with the Goatshead Motorcycle club." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "They've been running guns and munitions through this area for some time, and something like this?" She shook her head. "Not their style. But you try telling the talking heads in DC that. It's like they think they know your job better than you do, am I right?"

Albertson was starting to recover now. His face was turning red, and he said, "What do you think you're doing? This isn't some game, you can't just march in here and st-"

"Let me just stop you right there Albertson. This doesn't have to turn into a Jurisdictional issue. The Goatsheads are only terrorists in a technical sense, and they're my primary focus. How about we just agree, I won't step on your dick, you don't step on mine. Mmkay?"

Some of the younger agents smirked and chuckled at that, but Albertson was working his way toward Magenta with a slow inevitable pressure. He stepped closer and poked a finger into her chest, saying in a low menacing voice. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, but this is an FBI investigation, now you might think you're hot shit just because you're in the C-"

Rachele's hand shot out and grabbed his outstretched hand, and exerted a fair to moderate amount of pressure on folding down his thumb, mid-knuckle. She put her other hand on is shoulder and smile amicably.

"I think I mentioned waterboarding and treason charges, if you ever brought that up again," she said very quietly. "Don't have any illusions about this. I will dislocate your thumb in about three different places, and it will hurt far worse than anything except a kick in the nuts, but not by much." She squeezed slightly and pain flooded his face. "Now, I suggest you tell them that we have a history or something, so that you don't look like a total douche. Mkay sweety?"

Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 2

The drive gave her an opportunity to make a quick phone call, so she deftly slung a bluetooth headset over her left ear, and hit the call button on her phone. It rang four times before it was picked up on the other end.

"Sign?" The voice was cold and harsh, and Rachele pitched her voice to match.

"Camelot Alpha six."

"Whiskey Merlin tre."

"Panacea. Extension 8117 please."

The voice suddenly became warmer. "Sure thing sweety. Ringing his line now. How's Africa?"

Rachele gave a sardonic half-smile. "Hot. How's Virginia?"

"Sultry," said the voice, languidly. "Okay, calls going through. Kisses."

Rachel smirking shook her head, as the line clicked over, and the voice of her supervisor said, "It's 3 in the morning, you better have located Nkosana or I swear you will find yourself in the deepest darkest part of Siberia before the end the day."

"Eh, that would be a no, Leonard," she told him, steeling herself for the conflict. "I do have his location narrowed down to a couple of city blocks however. So, a couple of days of observation should be able to locate him without too much trouble."

He grunted. "Why do I sense a gigantic BUT coming on?"

She paused and took a deep breath. "Do you remember that old guy, magical engineer, that you assigned me work with a few times? Raul Muyres?"

 Leonard grunted in acknowledgment.

"He got blown up, a little less than an hour ago, in Indiana."

He was silent for a moment, then she hear the sound of him moving around, then sitting down at his computer and checking his email. After a few moments he sighed heavily and said simply, "Fuck."

"Way to use your words, Larry." Sarcasm really helped her cope in situations like this.

"You know I can't sanction this," he told her flatly.

"I wouldn't ask you to," she countered quickly.

He grunted again. "What do you need?" he asked resignedly.

She managed not to sigh in relief. "Well a teleporter and psychic powers would be best, but I'll settle for a step over local law enforcement's head. I was thinking FBI, or even US Marshal maybe-"

"FBI, yeah I got a guy. He owes me a favor. Not a big one, but enough to get you in the door. The rest is in your capable hands. As usual."

She nodded, and said a little huskily. "Thanks Larry."

"Shit, don't say that, or I might start to think something's REALLY wrong with you. Anyway, you shouldn't thank me just yet, I can't do much else for you. You're not technically allowed any jurisdiction in the US, you're just a plain civilian inside US borders. Want my advice? Suck up to the guys in the FBI's Domestic Terrorism Division. I'm sure they'll have their noses so far up this thing's ass they'll know what they had for breakfast. Three weeks ago."

"Oh, great," she said sounding annoyed. "So now you think I should hang out with the most anal retentive group of stuck-up primadonas in the whole world. You're just a fucking peach today Lennie," using the too familiar version of this name, and making him growl.

Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 5

The lab techs were all busily swabbing, and sampling, and going over everything with a fine tooth comb, so they shouldn't notice her. You could usually count on techies of all variety to become totally absorbed in their work, which she very much appreciated. It meant she would be unobserved for a little bit.
So she got on the computer, and went to the little dropbox site where she kept templates for every different kind of ID she had ever used, opened the one for an FBI agent, made a few tweaks, and printed it out, then slipped it into the plastic holder that currently held Special Agent Anderson's FBI ID. So long as nobody looked too close, it should work for now, till she could... aheh... "procure" another one.

She pulled off all the protective clothes, and pulled back her hair, letting her elven ears stick out slightly, always something that led to an air of mystery, or seductiveness for some. Speaking in a slightly husky quiet voice also helped, though she thought it was a little ridiculous. 

She couldn't really do anything about the skirt for now though. Her bag was there in the back of the van, but she didn't really have time to do anything except unroll the skirt till it was at a length down past her knees, allowing her to look a little more respectable, but she did undo just the top button her shirt, and removed the tie completely, shoving it into her pocket.

Then she did something to complete the disguise completely, at least in most people's minds. She put on full makeup. It was mostly around the eyes, and since those were nearly black to begin with the eye makeup tended to make her eyes look much larger and more vibrant. Her lips tended to blend into the color of the rest of her face normally, but when she put lipstick on they tended to look much fuller, and made her smile seem much more alluring. A basic concealer, some powder, and blush completed the look, giving her skin an airbrushed look that covered up any imperfections of color on her skin.

She had learned to be very fast at this process through decades of practice, through many different styles. The big hair scene in the 80s for example had be particularly memorable. 

When she looked at herself in the screen of her phone, via the front facing camera, she looked like a completely different person, at least in the details. She hopped out of the van, then walked stealthily over to one of the official black vehicles. There was a local uniform at the entrance to the storage park. She had walked past him a couple of times already in the lab tech disguise, and he was pretty sure he hadn't noticed her at the time. Somehow she didn't think he would fail to notice her this time.

She pulled her cell phone out, and held it up to her ear, then opened the door as if she'd been in the SUV the whole time, and said in an argumentative voice, "No, I said Terre Haute.... Indiana. No not INDIA you half-wit! Just GOOGLE it for God's sake!" she kept up the mock arguement as she walked around the SUV, and slowly, deliberately made her way toward the gate, as if trying to get out of the phone conversation. "No, they said it WASN'T radioactive. Look, just get me the files on that biker gang, the Goat's Heads," (she'd had time on the flight to do some extensive research on the place)  "or something like that.... Yes!" she said as if relieved that "he" got it this time, and rolling her eyes toward the officer, as if inviting him to share in the irony.

For his part he gave a little smirk, and rolled his eyes back, shaking his head.

She had him hooked. "Okay, then, just make sure you get that to me ASAP."

So quietly that only she could hear it her phone said to her, "at the sound of the tone, the time wi-" before she hung up the phone and started tucking it into her inside jacket pocket.

"They're officially called the Goatshead Motorcycle club, if that helps," said the officer.

"She looked back up at him, then smiled gratefully. "Oh... so close. Anyway, I think I'll let him sweat a little trying to find something that's just a tiny bit wrong." They laughed together as she reached into the opposite jacket pocket, slowly and deliberatly pulled out the folio with "her" badge, and she flashed it to him briefly. "Senior Agent Olivia Burnham, Anti-Terrorism Unit. Listen... " she tried to think of something to say to get into his good graces. "... it's very important that the only people to get in through this gate are those who have a badge. Clear? If this was a terrorist act there could be more bombs ready to go off."

His face went very still for a moment. "Do you really think there are more bombs?"

She took pity on him. "No," she said. "Not really. But it's safer not to take the risk. Even if there's not a bomb here, if you let a terrorist in by accident, they could take out a whole lot of very valuable law enforcement agents before anyone could do anything." she patted him on the arm. "I for one am glad you're here looking out for us Officer Wilendorn." She'd notice his badge on a previous pass as the lab tech.

His eyes opened wide, and she said, "Yeah, we've been watching. Your application is currently being reviewed by the top recruiters."

It was a shot in the dark, but it seemed to hit the mark because his chest swelled up, and he said, slightly hoarsely now, "Yes ma'am. You can count on me."

She nodded at him and walked past him into the park.

Magic World (working title): Chapter 11 part 4

She wanted to smack the smug smile of the little prick's face, but she was a little afraid he might see that as a come-on. Besides, she had been doing this kind of thing, intelligence gathering, investigation, and above all psychological warfare. You had to make your opponent underestimate you, misunderstand you, even forget you.

So if she thought she was meant to just be a tag-a-long, then that was fine. By the time they got to Terre Haute he wouldn't even remember that she had been there.

She climbed into the back of the lab tech truck, with the rest of the lab geeks. With their help she familiarized herself with the contents of the truck, telling them meanwhile that the nature of the explosion hadn't been known, but it was suspected to be chemical in nature. A cute, but nervous looking little redhead with freckles, who looked just old enough to have graduated freshman high school put her fist to her mouth.

"Then in addition to the normal protocols, and non-contamination gear, we're supposed to wear masks and eye protection," she quavered. Rachele thought she could see the hint of a retainer as she spoke.

'Oh really? Gee, I hadn't realized that,' snarked her inner sarcasm machine. But outwardly she looked concerned. "Is it really that bad?"

One of the other techs, a balding middle aged man, who was far more calm about this news, said, "I would even go further till we've ruled out things like Serin gas. That stuff will kill you slow and painful. I'm thinking full charcoal filter masks, with a secondary air source. No reason to take unnecessary risks"

Inside her soul, Rachele beamed. Sometimes people were so easy to lead. 

The full non-con outfit consisted of a yellow jumpsuit made of some kind of disposable material that was designed not to leave behind any fibers, white booties to prevent their shoes from leaving behind any kind of traces, and a cap, almost like a hairnet, except made to prevent the investigator's hair from getting into the crime scene. To this they added a baby-blue and black mouthpiece with a rubber seal around the mouth and nose, on which one side connected to a small tank carried at the hip, and the other was open, but with a charcoal air filter twisted into it, to draw out any toxins in the air.

When they finally got to the crime scene, the techs started unloading equipment. One of them, while awkwardly carrying three metal cases slammed almost straight into "Special" Agent Albertson. The impact sent her sprawling on the ground. He, on the other hand, looked unruffled, just annoyed.

"Are you okay?" she asked earnestly, though muffled through the mask. "Omigosh, are you okay? I didn't get any on you did I?" she started looking him over to make sure he was okay.

"What? No, get off me! Didn't get WHAT on me? Why are you dressed like that?"

She seemed taken aback, and raised a fist to put to her mouth, but realized the gas mask was in the way. "You didn't hear?" she said, taking his arm. "We heard that the site might be either radioactive, or might have noxious chemicals. Y-y-you should really be wearing masks." Her eyes were on him, earnest, but obscured by the safety glasses.

He pulled his arm free. "What? No, no, local law enforcement has been here for ages now and nothing's haened to them at all."

She looked alarmed and gasped at this and said, in a hushed conspiritorial tones. "Better keep an eye on them sir, in case they start to exibit symptoms." He rolled his eyes, but then started looking around the scene at the local cops with a suspicious air.

She picked up the cases again, carried them to the storage unit, then went back to the truck and pulled the headgear off, revealing her dirty blonde hair, and enigmatic black eyes, and looked down to where she had palmed his folded black leather badge holder, and smiled mischievously.