.
1
1 Running While Bedeviled
Subject: Pursuit of Agent Thelonius Dent
Analyst: Dr. R.H. Mendelev, Riga Neurotelepathic Insitute
After analyzing multiple physical and neural recordings, Dr. Mendelev provided the following summary narration:
"It is late afternoon in Demiurge, the desert sun baking a streetside café of the hippest kind, where a half-dozen diners are casually consuming their meals of broasted crawdads and desert vegetables. A young, bearded couple stand at the menu board defiantly indecisive about whether it’s 'really what they’re hungry for', then move on to see what else there is on this street. A glass breaks, and suddenly, a woman stands up from her table to loudly berate her stunned partner for the abhorrent way he uses his fork. Attempting to calm her, he also stands but quickly joins the argument instead—sarcastically mimicking her overly precise manner of speaking. Meanwhile, alone at a table near the sidewalk, another man is verbally accosted by a passer-by regarding the shape of his head, and in retaliation jumps up to punch the man in the jaw. Within less than five minutes, the scene has escalated into a mini riot, with bodies crashing into tables and silverware missiles flying across the patio. A woman exiting the cafe is struck in the shoulder with a knife, only to pull it out and lunge at her attacker, who in turn, fights her off with a serving tray to the head.
It should be noted that this behavior is atypical for patrons of trendy establishments in Demiurge. Rather, it is all due to the perverse influence of one individual, a singular man of action that shall for the time being remain nameless and instead referred to simply as “The Agent.” In the interest of fairness, however, this is not a direct attack by said Agent, but the secondary fallout from the psychic war going on between him and the operatives still several blocks away.
Meanwhile, The Agent, struck by an image to ghastly to describe, stabs his arm at a pole for support, the other against his temple for the pain, before continuing his staggered stumble-run down the street, shouting out apologies between clenched teeth to anyone who might hear him. At this point, the operatives believe they have worn him down about as far as he can go, and unless he can escape from their attacks soon, he will suffer irreparable psychic damage. Their constant thought-barrage has, in a manner of speaking, cracked his mind open to anyone listening, and it’s not for the faint of heart.
They launch round after round of psychic disruption charges at him. A stew of sensory abhorrence that sickens, overwhelms, and eventually incapacitates the target by attacking all the senses and disrupting every thought, no matter how small or fleeting. Concocted as a nasty blend of horrible deeds and reprehensible thoughts culled from his most destitute memories, then combined with flavors of his deepest terrors, and garnished with plenty of B-movie gore and violence, these mind-bombs as we call them, are..."
"Doctor, a moment." Director Natake put his hand up to interrupt. "Sometimes you worry me, with your... shall I say, enthusiasm? Please continue, but with less of the, um, floral embellishments. Mmm?"
"Yes, sir. My apologies." Slightly flushed, Mendelev cleared his throat and continued. "Normally, The Agent could easily fend off such attacks, but as he escaped without neuro-meds, or a blocker-booster, his reflexes will slow, his thoughts will lose focus, and all that sensory data that’s he's currently repelling will eventually break through, an event which will likely result in a stroke, a heart attack, or both.” Mendelev paused. "It is noted that he appears to be suffering surprisingly minimal psychic impairment so far."
“Which begs the question--”
“How is he defending himself without any defenses?"
"That is curious, isn't it? Do you have a theory for his continued mental strength, doctor? After all, these so-called mind-bombs are your creation, and so far, their effectiveness appears questionable."
"Yes, we--, I mean, yes, I do." Mendelev stammered, unused to this rebuke. "He appears to be somehow reflecting these mental grenades back at his attackers. All that deep theta anger and fear that’s being generated is absorbed and expelled back in a single command. Yes, a few innocent bystanders were affected, but no serious injuries were reported. That group of battling diners quickly came to their senses and feverishly started apologizing and offering to pay each other’s bills because they had no idea what had gotten into them.
The Agent, meanwhile, was blessed with a last-minute reprieve in the form of a comedic accident, if we may presume that falling into a dumpster was not his preferred method of escape. It did successfully cut the mental link with the operatives, however, allowing him to take back control of his own thoughts."
Natake appeared agitated. "For how long? I was not aware that we had lost contact."
"Yes, sir. You received a brief containing only the progress points, and since we subse--"
"For how long, Doctor?"
Mendelev hesitated. He thought about fudging the numbers, but if the Director found out the truth later, the fallout would be worse than any beatdown he'd face here. "Two hours, sir," he winced.
"Two hours?" Natake paused for a very long moment while Mendelev cursed himself. "And you didn't consider that to be important-- what did you call it-- progress point?"
"Well, since no actual developments took place during that time period, it was not con--"
"Sssh! No actual develop--? Where were the operatives? Where were you, Doctor, taking a nap?"
"No, I--," he coughed. "He was. The Agent was. Sir."
"Come again? Did I hear you say that Agent Thelonious E. Dent, a man with a reputation for never needing sleep, decided to suddenly take a nap in the middle of a pursuit?" The incredulity in the Director's voice rose as he stood up. "I am starting to question your approach to this situation, Doctor. Please tell me your story gets better, or things will get worse."
"Yes. Yes sir, it does. May I continue?"
"The sooner the better."