First Player/Viral

"RUN!"

The shoppers at the outdoor mall scrambled, all too used to the routine: Peaceful day, Villain attacks, People run, Hero comes, Villain stopped. The villain in question today? Black Scorpion. One of Lord Recluse's most powerful lieutenants. A massive hulk of high-tech powered battle armor. From the way he was tossing cars around, it looked like someone had given him an upgrade. And it might have been affecting his sanity.

Black Scorpion lifted a car over his head and shook it several times. "Where is Statesman?! Where's your most powerful hero now?!" Giving the vehicle a heave, Black Scorpion sent it flying into a hot dog stand, plywood and hot dogs raining down on the fleeing citizens.

But it was in this moment, when all hope seemed lost…

"Look, up in the sky!" A scruffy man shouted. "It's a bird!"

"It's a plane!" A woman cried.

"It's FIRST PLAYER!"

The crowd cheered as the gray and black suited hero descended from the sky on his hoverboard, his neon green visor sparkling in the sun as he flashed the crowd a charming smile, turning to the citizens that looked to him now for guidance.

"Don't worry, people!" First Player called out to the frightened crowd. "Everything'll be alright!" The hero pointed a menacing finger at the villain. "Kick rocks, you Scorpion knock-off. Go back to the Isles."

Black Scorpion narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth. "You're dead, hero! I'll tear you apart!"

First Player merely floated closer, his gaze never leaving his opponent. "We'll see, buddy." He smirked again. "But tell you what… I'll give you one for free." He held out his arms. "Take your best shot!"

Black Scorpion showed no emotion. No, the beast decided just to lash out, striking Miles with a right hook that would have left a normal hero broken on the pavement.

Miles didn't even blink as Black Scorpion's gauntlet shattered. His bare hand free of it's casing, he tried again. Same results. Only this time, FP heard the telltale sound of a few bones cracking.

He watched as his opponent bellowed in agony, clutching his mangled fingers. First Player hopped off his floating hoverboard, tilting his head as he watched Black Scorpion groan in pain.

"That all you got?"

Black Scorpion roared, rearing back his other arm and aiming his blaster cannon directly at Miles. As it hummed angrily, First Player dove out of the way, dodging the energy blast by only inches. Thinking fast, he launched himself across the street before Black Scorpion could steady his arm. First Player taunted Black Scorpion, waving him in his direction, "Bring it on, you overweight lackey!" The high tech hulk charged and dove towards him. At the last second, First Player moved to the side and kicked the top off the fire hydrant he'd been hiding behind him. He had taken a gamble and guessed Black Scorpion's armor wasn't waterproof. He was right. Electricity crackled and surged through his body as he sailed over the hydrant. He was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

The crowd slowly emerged from where they were hiding, staring with adoration as Miles hefted his hand, tapping Black Scorpion with a boot. He was out. The citizens began to cheer and Miles waved them off.

"Please, please… no need to applaud!," He said, walking through the adoring crowd. "I didn't do anything any other hero wouldn't have done."

"I wouldn't say that." A figure called out from the sky. First Player stared upwards.

"Statesman?" he questioned, taking a step towards the legendary hero.

"First Player… what you did here today proved that you are truly the greatest of us." The red and blue figure stayed high in the air, the sun blurring his image. "I would be honored if you would wake up."

"Huh?”

Miles grunted as he was awoken from his reverie by a light shock, dispensed by the small, floating robot hovering above him.

"Ugh,what is it now Roger? I was dreamin' a very nice dream." Miles groaned.

"Of supermodels and adoring fans?" the tiny robot questioned skeptically.

"Inventing the cure for cancer." Miles lied. He placed the crumpled 'Science and Technology Weekly' magazine that lay across his chest back on the coffee table from which it had come and swung upright on the weathered black loveseat he'd fallen asleep on. "What's the deal?"

"Reminder: You've yet to complete the "Slice" prototype and the design specifications are due in approximately twenty-five hours, seven minutes, and thirty-five seconds."

"Getting right on it, Roger." Miles saluted as he stood slowly, almost tipping over in the process. He stretched and made his way across the small room, towards his workbench. This device, a smartphone jam packed with a ridiculous number of capabilities, promised to rival every other device of its kind on the market. He slumped over on his stool and gathered his tools and materials. His mind drifted as he started working.

While he often found himself lost in his work, losing track of the occurrences of the world for days, he actually found it quite hard to get his hyped-up mind to settle on one thing at a time. It seemed there were always a thousand little thoughts floating this way and that way in his head.

Even when he dedicated his mind completely to one task, say inventing a device to deflect water from his path (something he'd been working on as of late), he would conclude a day of work to realize that part of his mind had been ruminating on a new data storage theory all day and that part of his mind had been arguing the pros and cons of superheroes wearing capes and even that part of his mind had been systematically cycling through all possible pizza toppings until it decided on the best possible combination for dinner that night. Since he injected himself with intelligence-boosting nanobots, Miles could barely imagine his brain giving him a break, even for a moment.

Every once and awhile, he wondered if he truly deserved the gifts he'd been given. His innate knowledge concerning all things technological, specifically. He almost felt guilty. Where normal people studied, learned, and trained for years to attain the level of know-how he possessed, his came as naturally as breathing. Ever since he was a kid he could see how things worked. How to build things, improve on them and make them better. It was this "superpower" that had earned him a place within Cargill Labs, a company responsible for a wide range of bleeding-edge gadgets and devices.

When he wasn't patrolling the streets of Paragon City (using various high tech weaponry and devices of his own invention), Miles Benedict worked as a freelance inventor, selling his prototypes to the highest bidders. Some caught on, some didn't. Often times, a company would deem one of his designs too costly to mass produce, despite its groundbreaking technology. He'd hoped to avoid such a situation with the "Slice". He'd gone green with this design, using only recyclable materials. Competitors would deem it impossible considering the phone's proposed capabilities. But they weren't as smart as Miles. Nor did they have access to the tools and resources he did.

Within Cargill Labs worked a man named Virgil Reid. A genius in his own right, Dr. Reid worked within the biotech decision of Cargill Labs. Miles had befriended him after improving on his design of a pen-sized holographic X-ray device. And as First Player, Miles saved Dr. Reid's life when Crey Industries agents attempted to kill him and steal the designs of said device. In thanks, he secretly allows Miles access to whatever resources and materials he needs when developing new tech, despite the strict protocols and restrictions concerning equipment leaving Cargill Labs.

"I believe you've finished, Miles." Roger chirped from over his shoulder. Miles snapped out of his daze and looked over the shiny new device in his palm. A side effect of his ability, Miles often spaces out when constructing new tech. He inspected the device before testing it. Internet ready, unlimited and unrestricted wi-fi, a two terabyte hard drive, and voice recognition software all encased in a sleek, razor thin shell - it was a tech geek's wet dream. "Good to go." he acknowledged, pocketing the phone. He rolled his neck and stretched just as a loud crash shook the earth, both above and below the underground bunker he called home. 

"The hell was that?" Miles shouted.

"Unidentified aircraft crash landed ten yards south." Roger reported, flitting about and displaying various holographic charts and readings.

"Bring up cameras T7 and R2." Miles replied, quickly rising from his stool and moving across the sparsely lit room, towards his bank of monitors. Powered by a supercomputer whose specs are on par with any of those used by a few national security agencies that will go unnamed, Miles installed a high tech security system upon claiming the base as his own almost two years ago. The bunker itself was located underneath a junkyard in the Kings Row district of Paragon City. Camouflaged cameras surveyed the area above and around the entrance. The specific cameras which Miles spoke of were positioned across from each other and the closest to the crash site. On the monitors, Miles could make out what looked to be a aircraft of some sort, maybe twenty feet in length. Smoke and dust clouded most of the view however. "Is it alien?" Miles questioned, turning to face Roger.

"I am unable to identify any specific point of origin." Roger concluded. Miles rose from his chair excitedly, but Roger interrupted him. "Proceeding with caution is advised, Miles. Preliminary scans show the craft is unmanned, but cloaking devices are not uncommon."

Miles waved a hand. "No time! I can't be the only one who heard that. Police'll be crawling all over the place in a few minutes... Don't worry, Mom. I'll be careful." he chided, wrapping a belt strewn across his desk around his waist. His "Power Belt" projected a thin force field around himself, protecting him from not only projectiles, but harmful radiation as well. He slid on his visor, snatched a scanning device from his bench and headed up the stairs, with Roger hovering behind him.

As he rose from his hole in the ground, Miles surveyed his surroundings. The high tech visor he was wearing allowed him to see through the fog of smoke, dust, and dirt in the air, as well as providing scans detailing the environment. He could see the downed craft up ahead. It's silvery and sleek design intrigued Miles. He'd never seen anything like it. Slanted and rectangular in shape, it resembled the bay of a helicopter, only without the tail, nor the propellers on top. The nose of the craft, which from the angle Miles could tell was pointed, had dug into the soil. There was no structural damage that Miles could see. Whatever it was made of, it was tough.

"Surface temperature exceeds several hundred degrees, suggesting a low orbit-level descent." Roger stated from behind him. Miles punched the air. "An alien spaceship crash landed on my doorstep, how dope is that?"

The entrance was through the back rather than either side. He was a few feet away now and could see the interior of the craft. Miles held his breath as he approached the ship and cautiously stepped inside.

If there was any doubt in his mind that this ship might have been from Earth, it was dashed as soon as he looked around. Screens, which he could only assume were computer monitors lined the interior walls, displaying readouts in an unknown language. There was beeping and hissing from all around him. Sparks flew from a computer panel ahead of him. Flickering blue and green lights cast an eerie glow upon the room as Miles made his way inside.

"Roger, can you translate any of this?" He asked, nodding towards the symbols displayed on the computer screen.

"Negative. Foreign language is currently unknown."

Miles arched a brow. Roger's built-in language processor was fluent in every alien language known to man, from Rikti to Klingon, and everything in between. This was something new.

He moved through the cramped space, taking everything in while waving his screwdriver-sized scanning device around.

"Nothing out of the ordinary on air filtering. Or radiation, for that matter." Miles noted. Then a control panel caught his eye. Unlike the others, this particular keyboard was fully lit and seemed operational. He placed the tool between his teeth as his fingers moved across the keys and buttons. No response on the monitor in front of him. 

"Looks like everything's out of order over here." Miles called out to Roger, who was flitting about the far side of the cabinet. "We should hurry and-"

He was interrupted by a sudden flash of sparks above his head and a wave of explosive energy that threw him against the opposite wall. He felt a tingling sensation all over his body as his visor started to buzz and flicker.

"Localized EMP burst." Roger acknowledged calmly. Luckily, years ago, Miles had installed safeguards which shielded Roger from electrical surges and similar energy based attacks. Miles picked himself up as all the lights in the bay began flickering before burning out completely.

"Jesus!" he cursed. "Couldn't stay away from the shiny lights, could you?" he scolded himself. From outside, he heard the telltale sound of police sirens in the air. He spun around, pocketed his scanning device and motioned to Roger. "We gotta' move." he warned, making his way through the bay of the ship. He hopped out of the craft and sprinted away as Roger flew high in the air behind him. "How far out?" Miles called upwards.

"Thirty seconds!" Roger chirped in response. Four feet from the entrance hatch to the bunker, Miles slid across the ground like a baseball player stealing third base as Roger wirelessly opened the circular hatch from the air. He hurried back down the stairs, sealing the steel door behind him and Roger.

"Whew! Close one, yeah?" Miles panted as he made his way over to his monitor bank.

"Always is." Roger responded dryly. On the screens Miles could see PPD officers surrounding the junkyard, cordoning off the area around the downed ship. A year ago, Miles might have been worried about the authorities accidentally discovering his underground base of operations, but after a homeless man stumbled across his base, he'd made some serious security upgrades. Camouflaged by a faux pile of junk and garbage, no one would be finding the entrance to the bunker any time soon. Miles kept watch on the surveillance screens for an hour after that before drifting asleep once again.

Miles discovered the PPD couldn't make heads or tails of the ship, as he monitored police radio frequencies the next morning. They'd moved it off site during the night, probably to somewhere secure. Portal Corporation being the most logical assumption. He'd check back in to see what they found out, if anything, sometime in the future.

Miles unwrapped a breakfast burrito as he pulled it from a microwave next to his Xbox. The bunker, which Miles had affectionately named "Savepoint", served as not only his base of operations but his living quarters as well. He rented an apartment in the Diamond District of Steel Canyon, but it's only purpose was to avoid suspicion when friends asked him where he lived. For the most part, Miles spent most of his time in the underground base.

He shut the microwave door with his elbow. "How's my schedule look today, Rog?" he questioned, his mouth full of burrito. Roger spun twice in the air as a holographic calendar appeared, an oversized thumbtack icon marking the present day. "Your meet-and-greet with ThinkTank Incorporated concerning the Slice prototype."

Miles nodded in acknowledgement and swiveled on his chair, rolling towards his workbench. The movement didn't help the headache he was having. He set his burrito down and rubbed his eyes and temples to relieve some of the building pressure hammering away behind his skull. The migraine had manifested earlier that morning while he was combing over PPD files. He tried shaking it off as he fumbled around for the phone he'd built only the night before, but came up empty. "Pocket." Roger reminded him.

"What would I do without you?" Miles chuckled as he reached into his pocket. His good mood soured though when he withdrew what he'd been searching for. The charred remains of the smartphone.

"The alien electromagnetic pulse. Its circuits seem to have been fried." Roger deduced. Miles sighed as he rolled it over in his hand and inspected it. It would've been nice to bring along a working model. "No big deal," he shrugged. "They'll have to be satisfied with the tech-specs." 

He changed his clothes, not bothering to dress anything but casual. One of the benefits of being a highly-coveted super genius was the level of freedom it provided. High-powered executives don't make frivolous demands when you're raking in millions of dollars for them. Miles was one of the few people who could pull off cargo shorts, a striped hoodie and high-top sneakers in a boardroom.

He skipped his usual morning routine of a half-hour jog through The Gish and breakfast. No doubt they'd offer him some kind of buffet in the meeting. He did manage to stop by Thanks A Latte, a coffee shop he visited every day for a croissant before hopping the tram and traveling over to Steel Canyon, a few minutes later arriving at the massive skyscraper ThinkTank's offices were located in. He rode the elevator up the building before being greeted by a mousy, thirtysomething brunette whose hair-bun, like her personality, was wound a little too tight. She gave Miles an admonishing look when she saw how he was dressed as she led him into the boardroom.

Either Miles was late or everyone else was early, as there were already four executives gathered around the oversized oak table that sat in the center of the room. Off in the corner were two tables lined with various breakfast meal items, just as he had expected. As he entered, they all smiled widely and approached him. He shook everyone's hands before taking a seat at the head of the table. The executives all interlaced their fingers, grinning eagerly like children the night before Christmas.

"So, Mr. Benedict. What have you brought us today?" a man seated at the opposite end of the table asked, as if he didn't already know. Miles hated this part of his job. The faux-appreciation and ass-kissing that came with the business never settled well with him.

He stood up again, pulling his courier-bag off his shoulder and setting it on the table. He opened the flap and pulled out a couple thick folders, and passed them to each executive as he made his way around the table. "The technical specifications for the 'Slice' smartphone I presented a week ago?"

A woman seated to his right smiled, "Oh, we were expecting a working prototype..." She was trying her best to hide her disappointment. "None of us here really know what we're looking at." she gestured to her colleagues.

"Hey, I might!" another man joked from across the table. That brought a round of laughter from everyone but Miles. He shrugged, "Sorry to disappoint you guys. Just send those down to the boys in the labs, have 'em look things over, and get back to me if you're still interested, yeah?" Miles, gathered his bag and turned to leave. All the executives stood up in response. "Wait, wait. The woman who'd spoke up before stopped him. "We assumed this would be a formal presentation. You haven't even tried any of our breakfast items yet!" She smiled.

"We don't bring those out for just anyone!" Another man added. The other three laughed. They were really laying it on thick. ThinkTank must have been more desperate than he thought.

"Alright..." Miles reasoned. "I actually haven't had breakfast yet." he smirked.

"Ah, there we go. Good man!" the man laughed clapping him on the back enthusiastically. They all returned to their seats as Miles ventured over to the buffet table and grabbed a small saucer. He went to grab a link of sausage when his vision blurred. The room seemed to spin around him as he lost his balance, colliding with the blanketed table before falling backwards onto the floor. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was everyone rushing over to him.

Miles awoke in the lobby of the building, propped up against the visitors' check-in kiosk. The executives were crowded around him, milling about and watching him anxiously. One kneeled down and rubbed his shoulder. "Easy, don't get up just yet." he cautioned.

Miles rolled his neck and grimaced. A throbbing pain pulsed in the back of his head. "What happened?" he croaked out.

"We think you fainted." A woman answered from off to the side. It was the receptionist from upstairs. "There's an ambulance on the way." she added, pointing a finger out towards the street.

Miles waved a hand, brushing the man in front him off as he stood slowly. "Nah, I'll be fine." he sighed, straightening his clothes. His head hurt like hell, but he didn't feel like taking a trip to the hospital nor answering any more questions. "I'm gonna' go home, maybe get some sleep, and you guys call me if you're still interested in The Slice."

The executives all tried to persuade him to stay and wait for the ambulance, but Miles caught a cab and left before it arrived.

By the time he reached his apartment, his headache had already died down a bit. He fumbled for his keys as he unlocked the door, Roger floating in behind him. Miles tossed his bag onto the single couch. The apartment was sparsely decorated, containing only the most basic furniture and appliances. A keen observer would notice there were no family photos or personal items strewn about. In all actuality, Miles used the apartment about as often as one would use a hotel room.

He headed to the medicine cabinet and popped a couple Advil before taking off his shirt and tossing it onto his couch beside his bag. He motioned towards Roger as he moved to the center of the room. "Let's run a quick scan, yeah?"

"Miles?" the A.I. questioned.

"I've never fainted before in my life, it's better to be safe than sorry." He reasoned as he stretched his arms. Roger dipped in the air, a gesture Miles always equated with nodding. "Very well."

A holographic grid projected by Roger moved down over Miles' head to his feet and back up again slowly before repeating the pattern horizontally.

"Vital signs appear normal. Heart rate, normal. Your blood pressure could be lower. Perhaps cutting back on your sodium intake?"

"Oh shut up."

"You will have to visit a doctor for anything more in-depth, as you know, I'm only equipped to monitor basic life signs. Personally, I advise that you rest." Roger suggested.

"Yeah, yeah." he nodded, patting the hovering drone as he moved past him and slumped down onto the couch. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome, Miles."

Miles kicked feet up and closed his eyes.

Snapshots of different horizons flashed before him, interwoven with neon blue characters of some sort that resembled computer coding. He heard voices as the different images flashed through his mind, too fast for anything to be clear. The voices turned to screams, getting louder and louder as the visions kept coming. Horrific images of unnatural fauna and alien creatures slowly decomposing and rotting away until he saw himself, surrounded by darkness in the middle of an intersection. Garbage and debris swept across the scene as voices echoed in the dingy Kings Row streets; a taunting, mocking laughter following Miles as he raced through crowds of faceless people. As he pushed through one group, he bounced off of their mass and his head struck a burnt out lamp post. A sharp note rang out in the night as his head bounced off of the rusting metal. The faceless crowds all stopped in their tracks and turned in a single motion to face him.

Several reached out to grab him, their cold hands stinging bitterly against his flesh. He managed to land a few good punches that freed him from their grip and bolted down into the nearest alleyway. He could fight a few dozen of them, but there was no way he'd be able to put down every one of them before they'd overwhelm him. His head pounded furiously, making the normally familiar back alleys twist and turn in an unfamiliar manner until they had robbed him of any sense of direction.

He took a final turn down an alley and found he was staring at an exact copy of himself. And then, before his eyes, it slowly withered away until it disintegrated to ash.

Miles jolted awake, covered in a sheen of light sweat. He wiped his brow and slowly propped himself up on his elbows. He glanced around and saw Roger, who was hovering around silently, turned to face him.

"Did I wake you?"

Miles shook his head and sighed in response. "Bad dream. What time is it?"

"Seven o'clock P.M." Roger informed him.

"I slept for eight hours?! I've never slept that long before..."

"I assumed you were simply exhausted." Roger added. Miles swung to the left until his feet were on the floor. He rubbed the side of his face as he made up his mind.

"I need to see Dr. Reid."

He didn't go back to sleep after that. Twelve hours later and he was still awake. While the average human body needs about seven or eight hours of sleep to perform at peak efficiency, Miles only requires two. Part of his mutation lowered his body's need for sleep, mostly to compensate for the fact that his mind is almost constantly running on overtime.

He'd been playing through Mass Effect 3 and had just finished his fourth play through when Roger buzzed.

"Dr. Reid has checked into his office." Roger notified. Miles hadn't bothered to change his clothes from the night before so he simply threw on a jacket, grabbed his backpack, and headed to the roof of his apartment building.

It was there where he kept his main mode of transportation: his hoverboard. Sleek and silvery, the impervium-plated coat glinted in the early morning sunlight. Roger powered it on, and it hummed to life, slowly rising a few feet into the air as Miles placed a foot on it. When he first constructed the prototype hoverboard he dubbed the 'McFly', he made the conscious decision to install magnetic clamping strips in the soles of every pair of sneakers he owned or bought. That way, he'd never lose his balance no matter what shoes he decided to wear that day.

He stepped on the board, his feet locking into place as he unzipped his backpack and turned to Roger. The small drone rose into the air before dropping into the bag on Miles' back. He hated being carried in the bag, but he couldn't fly near as fast as the McFly, and Miles was in a hurry.

He leaned forward, the nose of the board dipping in air as it dropped over the lip of the roof, quickly picking up speed. Miles pulled up at the last minute, rising back into the air and sailing forward. He zipped around skyscrapers, carving a path up and around traffic lights, through alleys, and over buildings until he reached his destination - Cargill Labs. He floated downwards toward the glass entryway, casually disregarding the few onlookers. Miles didn't have a secret identity; he never really hid the fact that he operated as a superhero. He just never advertised it.

He stepped off the floating board and onto the sidewalk as the McFly rose back up into the air. Roger would find somewhere out of sight to land it. Miles entered the building, checking in at the front desk and making his way through the maze of corridors until he reached the laboratory of Virgil Reid. He tapped his knuckles on the glazed-white glass of the door.

"It's open!" Miles heard from inside. He yanked open the steel-framed door and was immediately greeted by a wave of foul-smelling fumes. Dr. Reid appeared from around the corner, his white lab coat stained green in small spots. Slim and wiry, he always reminded Miles of a clever fox. His slitted blue eyes were constantly flitting about, framed by arched eyebrows that made him seem like he was constantly plotting something.

"Ah, Miles!" He smiled and pulled off his latex gloves as he greeted him, tossing them on the nearby counter. "How's it going?"

"Hey Doc." 

Miles set his backpack on a counter and unzipped it. Roger floated upwards immediately, spinning about as if shaking cobwebs off himself. Dr. Reid acknowledged the drone with a small wave as he listened to Miles.

"I need a favor."

The doctor casually crossed his arms. "Oh, I don't like where this is going." he chuckled.

Miles raised his hands. "Nah, it's nothing serious." he assured him. "I was hoping I could get an exam."

"Oh! Well sure." he nodded. He looked Miles over as he led him through the lab. "Are you sick?"

"I fainted yesterday. Then I slept for eight hours."

Dr. Reid furrowed his brow in concern and ran a hand through his curly auburn hair. He was aware of Miles' unique mutations. "Strange indeed." he noted, turning a corner and gesturing to a chair for him to sit in. Miles did so.

"Have you come into contact with anything dangerous lately? Any recent head wounds?" he questioned as he pulled a small light from a drawer and shone it in his eyes. "Or any other symptoms, for that matter?"

Miles shook his head. "Nah, nothing really. And I don't feel sick or anything, but..."

"But it's better to be safe than sorry." Dr. Reid finished his sentence with a smile. "Well alright. Let's see."

The doctor examined him with the very X-Pen that he and Miles had developed years ago. Nothing out of the ordinary. He took some blood too, just to be sure, and told Miles he'd check back in with him if he found anything strange. He advised against any strenuous physical activity however. There went his afternoon patrol plans.

Instead, he rode his board to the 'Critical Hit!' arcade across town. A frequent hangout of his, the small arcade was owned and managed by Montana Moone, a guy Miles befriended a few days after he arrived in Paragon.

Small and out of the way, the arcade sat tucked in the lower east side of Steel Canyon. Though he had a key to the back door, Miles entered through the front.  The jingle when one gets to the end of a world in Super Mario played as he pulled open the windowed door.

As always, Montana dutifully sat behind the counter flicking through a magazine. As the aracade's owner, manager, and sole employee, he spent just about every minute of his days in the place. "Benedict." he nodded as he looked up from his magazine.

With straight, shoulder length brown hair and a chiseled, knife-shaped face, Monty always struck Miles as the kind of guy who belonged modeling Old Navy rather than running an arcade, a fact not lost on Monty. He'd inherited the arcade from his father who passed away, and found himself unable to sell it.

"Monty." Miles nodded in return, making his way past a few teens to the counter. "Slow day." he noted as he strolled up next to him. He sighed quietly. His headache from the day prior had returned. A look of concern spread across his friend's features as Monty turned to look at him.

"You okay, man? You look like hell." he observed. Only then, did Miles realize he was sweating.

"I'm fine, it's probably just the flu." he answered, wiping his forehead with the palm of his hand. "How's business?"

"Not good enough..." Monty sighed, turning back to face the room. The few teenagers mulling about were wandering from game to game like zombies. "S'been like this the last few days. Keeps up and I'll have to sell the place, whether I like it or not."

Miles was going to say something comforting but the thoughts had been pulled from his mind as his vision blurred. He tried gripping the counter to keep himself from falling over, but Monty caught him.

"Easy, man. You should lie down." He cautioned, throwing one of his arms around Miles, in an effort to lead him to one of the storage rooms. He pushed open a door as Miles stumbled in step with him. His heart was racing. At the back of the room was a small cot. Miles slowly sat down on the makeshift bed and closed his eyes for a long moment.

"Yeah, you should take a nap." Monty suggested as he gripped the door. "I'll check back in on you in a few, yeah?"

Miles nodded without opening his eyes as he moved to lie down. His brain felt like it was jiggling inside his skull. But this time, sleep came easier.

He was met with the exact same dream as the night before, only this time, the crowd of people, grabbing and clawing, were all copies of him. He tried fighting them off but was eventually consumed by them. At that exact moment, he woke up.

"Wha- Where am I?" he muttered. His vision was still blurry, but it was clear he wasn't in the back room of the arcade.

"My lab." a voice spoke. It sounded relatively close, but at the same time very far way. Then Victor Reid's face crossed into Miles' field of vision. "How are you feeling?"

"Like ass." he coughed out.

"Good." Dr. Reid retorted, not bothering to hide the hint of dissatisfaction in his voice. Miles opened his mouth to say something but was silenced.

"I asked you if you had come into contact with anything dangerous and you said no. You lied." He interrupted, walking away to fumble with something on the other side of the room. Confused, Miles glanced around. From what he could tell, he was lying in what looked like a tanning bed of some sort, with the top removed, and it was only after attempting to lift his arm to rub his eyes that he realized he was shackled. Padded manacles were wrapped around his wrists and ankles. "Why am I naked?!" Miles croaked out in protest. Save from his underwear, Miles was unclothed and strapped to bars on the sides of the bed.

"Don't struggle." he heard Roger suggest calmly, as he floated into view. "You're safe."

"What the hell is going on, Roger? How'd I even get here?"

"You've been asleep for approximately forty-five hours." he answered as-a-matter-of-factly. "After Mr. Moone escorted you into the storage room, he released me from your backpack and alerted me of the situation. When you hadn't woken several hours later, I contacted Dr. Reid, who retrieved you and brought you here."

"And you have no idea how much trouble it was sneaking you in here."

Miles heart was racing again. "What? Well why didn't you just take me to a hospital then?!"

"Because a hospital wouldn't have been able to help you." the doctor stated grimly. "You've been infected." he finished.

"By what? And how?"

"I don't doubt it was from the extraterrestrial ship you discovered and yet somehow forgot to mention to me two days ago."

Miles turned his head to look at Roger.

"It was essential information pertaining to developing a cure." He reasoned.

"A cure to what?"

"The techno-organic virus you contracted while you were inside that alien ship." Dr. Reid answered as he made his way back to the table. "I examined your blood. The virus is attempting to consume the nanobots within your blood cells. To get to them, the virus is effectively eating away at your blood cells in the process. Lack of oxygen and blood flow to the brain led to your fainting and dizziness."

"I suspect it was the electromagnetic pulse that released the virus as a defense mechanism of some sort." Roger suggested.

Miles shook his head to clear his thoughts. "So what are my options?"

Dr. Reid chuckled quietly. "Your options? This is an alien virus. Meant to infect synthetic life. If it's a second opinion you're looking for, I can drop you off at the Medical Center across town and wait for them to come to the same conclusion I have, only by then it'll be too late." he spat.

Miles mind was going a mile a minute as panic and confusion set in. "What are you angry at me for?"

"You risked the lives of everyone you've come into contact with in the past few days. You are very lucky it only infects human-synthetic hybrids or we'd all be infected." He answered. Sensing he might have been harsh, he lowered his voice before continuing. "But I've developed an experimental procedure to purge the virus from your system."

"Experimental? Can't I think about this for a bit?"

Roger hovered into view again. "I've been calibrated to detect the viral cells spreading throughout your system. My calculations predict severe brain damage within five hours. Total organ failure within nine."

"There's no time, Miles." Dr. Reid added.

Miles was silent for a long moment as he thought about his options. Or lack thereof. "And after this procedure, I'll be fine?"

"It's called "experimental" for a reason." he responded, turning away to monitor a computer panel a few feet away. He pressed a few keys and from above Miles, a steel surface was lowered from the ceiling.

"This is a Magnetic Resonance Snare. It's been magnetically tuned to and will pull the viral cells from your body."

From a technological standpoint, Miles knew what was coming. "From my skin?"

Dr. Reid nodded. "And if we're lucky, the remaining nanobots in your system will be enough to heal you before you... expire."

"It's going to hurt, isn't it?" Miles sighed.

"Very much, so."

"What about anesthetics?"

"This is a science lab, not a hospital. I had to sneak all over the building just to gather the supplies I needed. Are you ready?" he asked, his hands moving about over a computer console.

Miles nodded and as Dr. Reid flipped a switch, he immediately regretted doing so. Excruciating pain surged through his body, as if every cell were being torn apart. His back arched uncontrollably as he found himself pulled an inch into the air. The manacles were the only things holding him from being lifted any further.

He clenched his teeth as blue fields of light began to swirl before eyes, and he felt himself grow heavy and weary. His thinking became more erratic, and he struggled to focus on what was happening. Whole sections of his sight would suddenly disappear in blocky chunks, only to reappear seconds later.

There was a massive surge of electricity as the lights in the lab flickered and burnt out and then the machine died, and Miles was unceremoniously dropped back onto the table.

The doctor slid his swiveling chair across the floor to Miles' side. For a long, tension-filled minute, he didn't move. Only after Dr. Reid poked his arm did his eyes slowly crack open. He groaned in pain as he shifted his weight from side to side.

"Howdoyoufeelnow?" Dr. Reid asked frantically, unclamping the bands around his wrists.

"Like I've been stabbed a thousand times all over." Miles winced. He sat up on his elbows and wiggled his fingers and toes, just to make sure everything was still working. Aside from the extremely painful tingling sensation all over, he felt fine. "How do I know if it worked?"

Roger hovered over Miles as he scanned him with a pale green light. "I currently detect no more techno-organic cells within your system." he reported.

"Another blood sample to be sure." Dr. Reid demanded, sliding across the floor from the table to his cluttered desk and back again. As the needle painfully pierced Miles' raw skin, he winced, and every computer system in the lab powered on. As he finished withdrawing the blood, Dr. Reid slowly swiveled around on his chair. "What was that?"

"Power surge?" Miles suggested. He sat up as the nanobots in his system went to work again, healing the tiny needle prick. The tingling pain was subsiding and Miles gingerly slid off the table. As his feet touched the cool marble floor, the computer monitors in the room flickered.

"Environmental sensors detect an electromagnetic field emanating from within you, Miles." Roger spoke up. The doctor's brow furrowed in confusion. Miles walked to the far side of his where his clothes had been draped over a chair. He proceeded to put his pants on before turning to Dr. Reid again.

"Lemme' see your cell phone." Miles asked. His analytical mind was racing, but in the back of his head, he'd already figured everything out. Dr. Reid fumbled through the pockets of his lab coat before pulling his phone from one and offering it to Miles. "Hold on, it's turned off." He went to turn it on, but Miles waved a hand. He concentrated and a second later, the phone turned on by itself.

"How did you-?" Dr. Reid gaped in astonishment. But as a brilliant scientist himself, he already put the pieces together as well. "Do you know what this means?"

Miles smirked and nodded. "The possibilities are endless."