Chapter 1: Success

Samuel sat on his aged couch, nursing a well-deserved bottle of beer, and contemplated what it meant to finally finish what would be considered his life’s work. At forty years of age, his life was by no means over. Plenty of time, he thought, to enjoy the fruits of his labor. When he cracked it, when everything fell into place and the machine worked, he felt that perhaps it had been too easy. At his age, working with a modest grant from the University where he taught graduate Physics courses, in his old, musty basement, he had invented a machine that would change the world.

What a horribly mundane place to make a discovery so big, he mused, reflecting on what he would consider the less illustrious first half of his life. This couch, which he has carted around since college, was raggedy with age and use, its former black terry cloth vibrancy dulled to gray. His work station on the far end, on which the finished machine sat, facing the section of the basement he had considered the “Test Area”. His work computer, scattered tools and assorted nuts and bolts littered the table, desk and floor. Long ago he had designated that half of the basement as “work” and this end, which featured the couch, flat-screen television, video game system and cozy rug as “play”.

He tried to imagine the reaction of his family, but found he couldn’t. He had spent so much time either teaching, giving speeches on the physics circuit, or down here working on the machine that he had lost touch with them. Sure, he saw them for dinners, the occasional family outing, but he didn’t know them.

His eldest daughter, Alice, at nineteen years of age was in college, following in her father’s footsteps, earning a degree in physics. He figured he should be proud of that, but he had never really given it more than a passing consideration; he was always so consumed by his work, so driven to make his ideas work, that his entire focus was on this design, or that laser, or whatever other component of his machine needed perfected. She was also the child who most resembled him, with long blond hair and cool blue eyes, as well as more than a little height: she was a long-legged five foot ten.

Then there was his only son, Carson, who at seventeen could not be more unknowable to his father. Foregoing the pursuits of the mind that drove his father and older sister, Carson was instead an up and coming football star at his High School, transitioning into his senior year. Popular and athletic, he could not be more opposite his father in terms of personality. Samuel found he didn’t resent this in his son; he just didn’t understand him. This made him less motivated to get to know him. Sure, he could be proud of his son’s accomplishments, but it was a fleeting feeling, paling before his passion for the project that had finally been finished today.

Finally, there was his youngest daughter, Faith, who at sixteen, followed in her mother’s footsteps as a consummate dancer and performer. She even resembled her mother, inheriting the straight black hair, the intense hazel eyes, and lithe and graceful figure. It was no surprise to anyone that knew her that she had become a star cheerleader in high school, and popular, like her brother. She was immensely likable, a social butterfly who was considerate and caring to those around her. Of course, he decided, it makes sense: just like her mother. And just like her mother, she was prone to fits of drama. Especially regarding her new best friend, Kyra.

His wife had spoke to him often about the problems with Kyra. She had convinced Faith to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night more than once. Samuel wasn’t worried, it was typical teenager stuff and Faith was just that, a teenager. He had even met Kyra once or twice; she seemed a nice enough girl. Lena, his wife, was prone to being over-protective. It was too bad that she was out of town on business this weekend, of all weekends; it would have been nice to share this with her first.

Finishing the last of his beer, Samuel considered for a moment who he should reveal the machine to first. It struck him that there were a couple of his colleagues, friends of his from college, who never believed he would even get the project off the ground, let alone actually build a working prototype. Yes, he thought, that would be where he began. Sam was anxious to share his machine with the world, but a private demonstration to these men who believed they were his peers, who never believed in his theories, would be the sweetest victory.

He pulled out his phone and checked the time: seven o’clock on a Friday morning. He didn’t have any classes to teach today; it was the summer term, and he only had to teach classes on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. He allowed himself a grin in anticipation of the look on Fred and Eric’s faces when they realized that they had misjudged him all this time. To finally come out on top, to finally be recognized for his genius and determination…it was what he has fought for this entire time. Well that, he reasoned, and to change the world. Oh, and immortality, for changing the world. That would be nice.

Continuing to grin in silent celebration, Samuel walked up the stairs from the basement, emerging immediately into the kitchen. The bright white linoleum coupled with the dark cherry wood of the cupboards with matching cherry kitchen table, and the state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances all spoke of a family decidedly at the upper threshold of middle class. Looking down at his empty beer bottle, he thought he might be considered an alcoholic for drinking so early in the morning. He had been working non-stop on his machine since he arrived home yesterday afternoon, and only when he had completed his efforts and finally ran a successful test had he grabbed a cold one in victory.

Quickly depositing the bottle into the steel garbage can, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He found Fredrick in his directory first, pressed “send” and lifted the phone to his ear; It rung only once before Frederick picked up.

“Hey Fred. How’s things?” asked Samuel.

“Hell, Sam, it’s early and I didn’t have to teach today. But you knew that,” Replied a groggy and irritated sounding Fred. “I hope this is something damn important.”

“Might just blow your mind, Fred. I got it to work.”

“Got what to work? What the hell…wait, you don’t mean-“

“You’re damn right I mean. Tested it three times, and each time, it was perfect.”

Samuel couldn’t help but allow a bragging tone enter his voice. He had waited for

years to make this phone call.

“But like I told you, and Eric backed me up on this, it is impossible. You just can’t do it! This must be a joke. You must be fucking with me here.”

“I’m serious. And here, you don’t even have to take my word for it. Come check it out yourself. I’m going to call Eric and give him the same offer.”

“What, today? But I…”

“You said yourself that you don’t have any classes to teach today. And listen man, I’ve done it! How could you pass up the opportunity to see what it can do before anyone else? We’ve been colleagues and friends for a long time, you know.”

The passion in Samuel’s voice, the earnest outpouring of emotion cemented the idea that this was not a joke, but in fact, the truth. Fred realized that this was big, the biggest thing to happen in physics, in science for a hundred years. No way, he thought, no way am I missing a chance to see it for myself.

“Aright,” Fred ceded, “When do you want me over for this demonstration?”

“How about noon? I think that Eric is teaching a class this morning, but if he is, it is his only one today. He’ll be able to get here about then.”

“I’ll be there.” Said Fred as he hung up the phone.

Samuel brought his phone down, quickly punching in a text to Eric that simply said, “Machine works. Yes, that machine. Come to my house at noon for demonstration.”

Closing his phone, Samuel walked from the kitchen into the adjoining living room, the spacious hardwood center of relaxation for the rest of the family. Normally content to relax on his couch downstairs, Samuel instead chose to lie on the black suede sectional couch that ran along the wall at the front of the house. He thought he would just take a short nap, and be woken at the sound of his colleagues knocking on the door.

He began to nod off, the beer working on his muscles. He remembered his last talk with his wife, as she left yesterday evening. As was typical, he was in his lab, working on what he knew would be the last component of his machine. She had come down the basement stairs, stopping at the bottom, and had said something that may have been “I’m leaving for the airport.”

Not truly paying attention, the sudden noise caused Sam to accidentally cut his finger on a sharp piece of refracting crystal. He then let out a long string of colorful curses as he sucked the cut on his finger.

“Is that anyway to bid your wife farewell? Wouldn’t your face be red, if those were your last words to me.”

Lena walked over to him from the bottom of the stairs, playfulness and worry mingling on her beautiful face. Looking at her now as he blinked away fatigue and tried to process his wife’s words, it struck him how fortunate he was. She was beautiful, kind, and most of all, understanding. She knew before she married him that he was obsessed with his work, obsessed with making his mark in the scientific community. She had put up with years of lonely nights as he worked in his lab, or went away to conferences. She had seen to the emotional needs of their children, involved with their everyday lives as he spent the majority of his time teaching and researching. Not once had she called him out and demanded he change, because she understood he wouldn’t, not for anything or anyone. He was addicted.

Sure I appreciate her, he thought. And now that the machine was almost finished, he knew he would really be able to show her how much she meant to him.

“Well I’m leaving for a few days. You going to be ok?” She spoke with earnest concern, aware that occasionally he forgot to feed himself when he got wrapped up in his work.

“Oh, well, yeah honey. I’ll be fine. I have a feeling things are going to start looking up.” He paused for a moment as he delved deep to recover some of his lost social skills. “So…where are you going, again?” He asked, feeling ridiculous to be asking what to any other husband would be chewed out for asking.

“A three-day seminar in Seattle. Apparently, we’re going to learn a new filing system for our records. I just hope I don’t die of excitement.” Lena smiled as she shifted to give Sam a kiss on his cheek. “Can you do me a favor? Can you make sure our kids don’t starve to death, or kill each other? Just check in on them a couple times a day, whenever you find time.”

“You got it. Be safe, ok?” Sam looked up, masking his anxiety behind a confidant façade. If she hadn’t been required to leave this weekend of all weekends, when he knew he was so close to completion, he would have shared his accomplishment with her first. She would finally know the fruit of his labors, and know that every time she had to go to bed alone, or take care of the kids with little to no help from him, that it was all worth it. But she was heading out of the door, doing what she loved. Although she was only a secretary for small medical practice, she really relished in her job; she often told him how she felt she was making a difference, however indirectly. No, he thought, he won’t take this away from her now. When she returned he would be ready to unveil the machine to the world, and she could decide then whether or not she wanted to continue to work as a billionaire.

She nodded, smiling as she turned to walk up the basement stairs. “Don’t let our children run you ragged. They’re terrors.” She spoke this final bit of advice as she ascended the stairs, and was then gone.

Samuel was very nearly asleep at the end of this recollection when he felt a sharp tug on his shoulder that quickly turned into a violent shaking. His blissful state shattered, his eyes snapped open, and he was ready to confront and angrily chastise whichever of his children it was that chose this moment to rouse him. His anger caught in his throat, however, when he realized it was he wasn’t staring into the face of any of his progeny, but instead into the striking face of his youngest daughter’s friend, Kyra.

Having met her a couple times before, he was aware that she was a young beauty: Dirty blond hair that fell just past her shoulders, vibrant green eyes, and a wide, bright white smile. Like his daughter, she was a cheerleader, so she was in great shape. Her young shapely body was covered only in a bright teal tank top and short sleeping shorts, her feet bare with blue painted toes. She must have spent the night, Sam thought, it was the only way that she should be here this early wearing that little.

The disapproval of her actions and her clothing choice flashed across his face for a moment, then faded quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was make this young girl uncomfortable. All he said was “What is it?”

“Oh, hey Mr. Milano. I think…you might be sleeping on my purse.” She asked the question timidly, apparently afraid that she would be reprimanded in some way for awakening him. Simultaneously, she was bent over his form, her urgency coming through in a more passive way.

            “Well, I must have been so tired that I didn’t notice…” Sam lifted himself up to a sitting position, looking down at the couch where he had just been resting. Sure enough, her purse lie wedged in-between the back of the couch and a seat cushion. Lifting it out, he offered it to her. “Sorry bout that.”

            She took the offered purse and giggled, immediately beginning to search through its contents as she began to walk back toward the staircase that led upstairs. “I’m so sorry for waking you up Mr. Milano, its just I needed to call my Mom to let her know I was staying over here today and she sometimes gets worried, you know, parent stuff.”

            “No problem. Are you getting picked up soon or…” Sam inquired, hope creeping into his voice. He didn’t want strangers in the house when he gave his demonstration.

            “Oh, no, no. Faith and I are just gonna hang out all day, like usual. That’s ok, right? I mean, Mrs. Milano said it would be cool before she left, and…” Kyra’s green eyes grew wide, a look that could almost be considered pleading played across her face.

            “Well, yes, if she said it was ok. Just stay out of the basement, ok? Faith knows.” Samuel relented, not wanting to overrule his wife in this matter. Plus, Faith would likely hold it against him, and he didn’t need anything else working against him on that end. He hadn’t been the best father, and arbitrarily deciding her friend must leave wouldn’t go over well.

            “Ok, cool. Thanks.” Kyra said, then turned and dashed up the stairs to his daughters’ room.

            Sighing as his fatigue became too much to bear, Sam fell backwards into the couch, silently praying that his sleep would be uninterrupted until his colleagues arrived at noon. He was asleep the moment his head touched the couch.

Carson drove his father’s car home from an early Friday morning game of flag football. He was joined in the car by two of his best friends, Pete and Ray. Pete, the dominant and competitive personality he is, insisted on riding shotgun every time he rode with Carson. There, he could fiddle with the radio with ease, the consummate DJ, ensuring that there was always something Metal pumping through the speakers. Pete played on the varsity football team with Carson, his favorite target in a tight end. Pete’s solid athletic ability translated into a hell of a runner, although he didn’t look like much: at five foot ten, he wasn’t the tallest player on the team, but he may be the most popular with the girls at school. Sure, Carson got his fair share of attention, it was just that he wasn’t gifted with the angelic good looks of his friend.

Ray also played, a left tackle, on varsity. He was big, six-foot-four, and thick with muscles. Carson found it peculiar that Ray was such a gentle and soft-spoken guy off the field, when on the field he protects the quarterback with a zeal typically found in knights swept up in holy crusades. Carson, as the star quarterback on the team transitioning into his senior year of High School, wouldn’t have anyone else watching his back. Due to his girth and lack of, well, caring, he always rode in the back seat, and was content.

            Carson concentrated on the road, his muscles aching from the intense game of flag football he had played with the rest of the team. School had just let out for the summer, and practice for the fall season wouldn’t begin for another few months, so they like to meet and play a couple times a week to keep in shape. As was typical after a game, he, Pete, and Ray would head to his house for a little rest and relaxation. Neither Pete nor Ray had a 50’ flat screen, which Carson’s father had bought so that his children wouldn’t feel the need to come down to the basement and watch on his big screen there.

            Carson pulled into his driveway, hit the garage door button attached to the sun visor above him, and pulled into the crowded garage. Most of his father’s odds and ends that didn’t fit in the basement, as well as extra tools and boxes of his notes were stacked haphazardly in the small garage. Half filled, there was barely enough room for the car to fit, and Carson dreaded the day his mother decided enough was enough and told him to clean it out. Carson found he was always stuck with the chores around the house, and began to resent his sisters and their lack of helping. Sure, his mother expected him to do the grueling physical work, but a little help from time to time would have been nice. Alice was always studying or working on a project, having acquired her work ethic from their father, and Faith acted like she was allergic to house work, always off with her friends. Carson didn’t particularly mind when she brought them over, however; especially that girl Kyra. He would never admit it, seeing as how she was his little sister’s best friend, but he had a thing for her, and in high school, a year wasn’t that huge of a difference in age. He thought maybe, sometime, he might have a chance with her.

            Carson climbed out of the car, with Ray and Pete following him. Entering the house through the door in the garage, he entered into the kitchen. As soon as he walked in, he saw that his father was asleep on the couch in the living room; he had still been working in the early hours of the morning when Carson had left, and glancing at the clock on the kitchen stove, Carson saw that it was almost noon. He figured that his father would be asleep for a while, and once he was asleep, he was a heavy sleeper. Must be a side effect of staying up for days at a time, thought Carson, with a hint of resentment. Although he and his father were very different people, Carson wished that his father paid more attention to him, maybe even come to a game to see him play. He hadn’t come once. The disinterest, however, wasn’t reciprocal: Carson really wished that his father would share his experiments, or even let him know what he was working on. He was always so secretive, shooing him away when he would come down to see what he was working on. 

            Pete and Ray had also seen Sam on the couch asleep, and while silent, they had taken steps to raid the fridge. Typical, thought Carson. Just living the stereotype of teenage boys. At that moment, however, Carson had other ideas.

            “Hey, guys, stop stuffing your face for a second and follow me.” Carson whispered to his two friends, both of who were already shoving handfuls of last night’s baked chicken into their mouths.

Carson immediately began to tip-toe down the basement stairs, and although Ray and Pete shared a confused look and stared longingly at the baked chicken in the fridge, they nodded to each other, closed the refrigerator door and followed close behind Carson has he descended the stairs. They knew that the basement was typically off limits and were definitely eager for a chance to check out whatever mad experiment Carson’s father was working on.

Carson, however, was motivated by more than just curiosity. He resented his father constantly keeping him and the rest of the family in the dark about what he spent all his time on. What is so important that it would keep a man from his family? Carson knew his father would never voluntarily share with him the most important aspect of his life. So, here he was: sneaking down the stairs as his father slept in the living room just to take a peak at what could be worth alienating your only son.

Pete and Ray picked up on the seriousness that Carson was treating their current adventure with, and abstained from cracking any jokes. They followed along behind him, quiet as they could, although Ray’s girth caused the wood stairs to creak as if in pain. After an especially loud creak Carson looked back at Ray with a look that seemed to say, “Be less fat.” Ray simply shrugged; there was nothing he could do about his size.

The three teenagers reached the bottom of the stairs, turning into the basement proper, and crept along like comically inept burglars. This was the first time either Ray or Pete had been down in the basement, and it was a strange sight to behold. It was large, easily twice the size of any other room in the house, and seemingly divided into two mindsets: work and relaxation. The first half of the room, closest to the bottom of the stairs and currently what they were silently creeping through, was relaxation. An entertainment center took up a large portion of one wall, with a fifty-two inch plasma screen hanging from a wall hookup overtop of it. Setting in front of the entertainment center was a large couch, obviously old and very worn, made of what seemed to be frayed gray cloth. An equally aged coffee table sat in front of it, holding a few books concerning various scientific disciplines. A large white shag rug covered the majority of this half of the room, muffling their footsteps as they tramped across.

The second half of the room was much different. The shag rug gave way to hard gray cement. Work tables lined the walls on two sides, forming an L of random metal parts, tools, a computer work station, and messy piles of folders with loose sheets of paper working their way out in a chaotic mess. A couple large trashcans piled with scraps of metal stood underneath the stairs, half hidden in shadows. In the center of the room, however, was what appeared to be a large object covered in a white sheet.

            Carson paused before the hidden project, working up the courage to unveil it. Underneath this sheet was his father’s life’s work, whatever it might be. Ray and Pete stood on either side of Carson, gazing at the mysterious object. After about a minute, Pete’s impatience prompted him to whisper, “Well…are we gonna stare at it all day, or are you gonna take a fuckin peak, man?”

            Carson cast an annoyed look over at Pete, but realized he was right. Carson didn’t know when his father might wake up and if he found them down here, he would flip shit. It was now or never. With a quick intake of air, Carson fought through his trepidation and shot a hand out, pulling off the sheet to unveil the machine. He then let out a shocked gasp, his mouth dropping open in alarm. Then, Pete spoke the words that summed up what Carson was thinking, considering the size and shape of his father’s machine.

            “Dude, your Dad made a fucking Death Ray!”

Carson stared at wonder at his father’s machine, considering the possibility that this was in fact a death machine of some sort, some kind of super gun that his father was designing for the military. It was a fantastic idea, to be sure, but how well did he really know his father? He knew his father was a physicist with a chip on his shoulder, always hard at work because he felt he had something to prove. Carson would not believe, however, that his father’s life work was a weapon, a machine designed only to harm. The time he has spent with his father related to him a story of an idealistic if somewhat driven man who wished to make a positive impact on the world. Obviously, a death ray would not be a positive step in the right direction for the human race.

            “No way, man. No way my Dad would build a…a death ray, or whatever. He’s not like that.” Carson responded, forgetting for a moment to whisper.

            “But dude, just look at it. Why build something in the shape of a gun if it, you know, isn’t a gun?” responded Pete, his voice an excited whisper. He nudged Ray, who was gazing at the machine seemingly deep in thought. “Ray, what do you think, man? Death Ray? Or is it a magical rainbow and puppy dog machine?” Pete snickered at his own joke.

            “I don’t know man, but let’s get out of here before anyone finds us. I don’t want us to get into trouble.” Said Ray, who seemed uneasy around the machine.

            “Well if it’s not a death ray then let’s see what it can do.” Said Pete as he walked up to the machine, which was nearly his height. Shaped like a gun but cylindrical, it was a conglomeration of wires and steel, obviously a very complicated design. Pete’s attention was then drawn to the side, where it appeared a very small diamond plate hung precariously upon thin copper tubes that extended outwards.

            “Oh, come on man, don’t touch it. We don’t know what it is and if my Dad finds out we even looked at it, we’re dead.” Said Carson, whispering now and obviously very afraid of being discovered. “Let’s just put the sheet back on and go back upstairs.”

            Pete didn’t seem to be listening to Carson’s warnings. Instead he was cued in on the diamond aperture. “Hey, man, I think this is a diamond. Do you think it’s real?” He extended a finger to give the plate a poke. Carson didn’t have a chance to tell him to stop before he touched the plate; he was too late. Pete’s not-so-gentle prod shifted the plate and bent the copper tubes, not breaking it but obviously moving it out of place.

            “Oh, shit! What the fuck, man! Now he’s gonna know we were down here and I’m fucked!” whispered Carson angrily.

            “Dude, chill, it’s no big deal.” Replied Pete, casually adjusting the copper tubing into a shape that was, to the best of his ability, the same as before. “See? No big. He’ll never notice.”

            Carson, very sure that his father would notice and first question then kill his only son, was aghast. Realizing that there was no way for him to make the situation any better other than leaving the basement and forgetting he ever saw the machine, he quickly began to grab the sheet off of the floor and throwing it over the his father’s invention, trying to get it to hang exactly the way it had been hanging when he first entered the basement. Pete just giggled at the panic that overcame his friend.

            “Let’s go. Pretend this never happened, okay?” whispered Carson, motioning for his two friends to follow him to the stairs. They hadn’t taken two steps before he heard his father’s voice at the top of the stairs:

            “This way gentlemen, I’ll give you a demonstration.”

            Now it wasn’t only Carson feeling panic. As he turned to his friends, he saw that look of fear that overcomes those who are caught with their hand in the cookie jar written across Pete and Ray’s faces. Thinking quickly and acting silently, Carson pushed his friends in the direction of the garbage cans underneath the stairs. With all the junk piled in the two cans, they would be able to hide behind them until his father left the basement and provided them an opportunity to escape. It was the only space in the entire basement that would hide three large teenage boys, and their only hope.

            It was a tight fit in the small space underneath the stairs, and the boys had to kneel, but anything was better than being caught. Carson could still see the area that held the machine through a crack between the garbage cans, so he knelt and watched as his father guided two men, who he recognized as friends and colleagues of his father, to the machine. As long as he and his friends could stay hidden, he would finally be able to see what his father believed to worth so much more than time spent with his children. Carson listened carefully as his father began to speak…

            Samuel had been awoken from his much-needed slumber by a loud knock at the door. Judging from the rapidity of the knocking, whomever was at the door had been knocking for quite some time. Hearing loud pulsating bass beats from the upstairs, Samuel assumed his daughter and her friend Kyra had their music turned up too loud to notice the knocks at the door. Scowling at their obliviousness, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, shaking off fatigue as he stood up to answer the door.

            Glaring at him from the porch were his colleagues, Fred Acker and Eric North. Physicists like Samuel, likewise they were men in their mid-forties. Fred was beginning to lose his hair, and typically tried to hide it beneath a variety of hats. Eric kept in good shape, a gym-nut who often pestered Fred or Samuel to come with him and get in shape. Fred always preferred to read and Samuel was always too busy with research or a project. As different as these two men that Samuel called friends were, the both of them were giving him the same look: annoyance. Neither of them appreciated a kink in their schedules, Samuel knew, and neither of them truly believed that he had pulled off what he has said he has pulled off. Sam grinned; they were in for a surprise.

            “Come in, gentlemen. Sorry about the wait, I was just enjoying a well-earned nap.”

            The two men entered the house, with Fred taking off his hat as he stepped through the threshold. Eric was the first to speak.

            “That was a crazy text to receive after my class, Sam. This isn’t a joke, is it?”

            “Of course not! I’m a professional, not a prankster. And this is no laughing matter. Let me show you.”

            Samuel moved toward the kitchen, motioning for the men to follow. Fred and Eric shared a look, skepticism obvious on their faces as they turned to follow their friend toward his basement laboratory. “This way, gentlemen. I’ll give you a demonstration.” Beckoned Samuel at the top of the stairs has he began to make his way down.

            Making their way behind Samuel down the steps, they take in his home office, so to speak. Neither of them work at home, preferring to keep their experiments and research funded by the university. Of course, they have their share of books on their subject of study, but this…this was a dedication and drive that they were unaware Samuel possessed. They had believed his theories were simply a way to gain attention, a way to talk big around the office, so to speak. It finally began to dawn on them that perhaps he has done what he has claimed for so long to be working towards. The implications were staggering.

Following his lead, they stopped on the far end of the basement, in front of a sheet-covered object. Without wasting any time, Sam flung the sheet off his creation, the spirit of showmanship taking a firm hold has a presented the machine he believed would change the world.

            “The World’s first Matter Shifter” spoke Sam in a grandiose manner, a wide and pleased grin spreading across his face.

            The two physicists were speechless at the construct in front of them. Shaped much like a gun, it was a device that seemed to be constructed with mind-boggling complexity. If this were a hoax of some sort, then Samuel had truly gone all out. They had only a moment to take it in before a visibly excited Samuel walked over to his computer and began tapping in an array of keystrokes, and the men jumping back as the machine began to emit a soft, ominous hum. The nozzle of the Matter Shifter was pointed at a dead frozen rat that sat upon a steel stand that had been bolted to the floor.

            As he continued to input data into the computer, Samuel explained, “I have run a number of successful tests on numerous organic test subjects, like this rat, at a variety of percentages. I will run now with the lowest percentage I have been able to achieve, at 1/10th of a percent of the original size.”

            Pressing a final key into the computer, the hum of the machine grew louder, with the nozzle beginning to glow with a bright green hue. Samuel rushed over to his colleagues, eager to take in their reactions to his amazing accomplishment. The humming grew louder, and as Fred and Eric were enraptured with the machine, Sam began to notice that something was wrong. The machine was reacting in a way that was totally new to him, and new was bad in the case of his machine. Green light began to spill around the tip, surrounding the machine in an eerie light.

            “Hold on…this is wrong.” A stunned Sam spoke out loud, interrupting the reverie of his colleagues.

            “What do you mean, wrong? Are you saying we are not safe, Sam?” a frightened Fred asked.

            Samuel was further stunned when he heard a voice loudly proclaim “Oh Shit!” from behind the trashcans near the test area of the machine. Stunned surprise turned to paralyzing fear as his son Carson and two large teenage boys that he assumed to be teammates of his stepped out from behind the garbage. What were they doing down here?

            “I’m sorry, Dad! We thought we fixed it!” Carson shouted over the hum of the machine. He hurried over to Samuel, Fred and Eric, his two friends looking frightened but following behind.

            Looking back at the machine, Sam’s expert eyes quickly picked out the issue: the focusing plate was out of position. An essential component of the machine, he realized its position near the outside of the machine as a design flaw. Out of place, the beam wouldn’t have a focused target. Without a focus, the beam wouldn’t find release and would instead build in pressure until it was released…

            “We have to get out of here! Run!” screamed Samuel, and the group turned toward the stairs out of the basement. It was in that moment that the machine hit critical mass, the beam spiraling out across the entire basement, instantly reducing all organic matter to 1/10th of a percent of its original size.

            Faith sat in her bed, focused on her current task: painting her nails. She had decided that he toes should match her fingers, so as she applied a second coat of Deep Purple she replied to her friend Kyra’s inquiry.

            “Of course you should ask Leo out. He is like, totally hot with those blue eyes, you know? And he must keep in shape, being on the football team. And his smile…”

            Kyra, who had been sitting at Faith’s computer desk reading the latest issue of Vogue, slapped down the magazine and opened her mouth in mock outrage. “Damn, maybe I should back off? It sounds like you have been checking him out enough for the both of us!”

            Faith, having finished her toes, just shrugged her shoulder and bent down to blow her toenails dry. “What can I say…I guess I just have a thing for pretty guys.” She then looked up to Kyra, who was grinning at her from her seat at the desk. “What are you smiling about anyway? Not worried I’ll snatch Leo from you?”

            Kyra continued grinning. “No. I was just thinking. I guess I got the same weakness that you do. You know, for pretty boys. Like your brother. You think he’d give me his number?”

            “Oh please. Don’t be dumb, Carson? That’s just…gross. You shouldn’t even be thinking about my brother that way. Barf city.” Faith sighed, disgusted, as she rose from the bed and moved over to the computer speakers, which was blaring music almost too loud to hold a conversation over. She turned the volume down, which drew protests from Kyra.

            “What are you doing? I liked that song.” Kyra’s eyebrows arched, her singular expression of anger or annoyance. It just made Faith smile.

            “Well, I thought you might like to know,” Faith began, motioning to her bedroom window, which had a view of the driveway, “that my brother just got home. In case, you know, you wanna profess your undying love for him for something.”

            Kyra pulled her magazine back up in front of her face to hide the grin that had formed there, and slapped her bare feet up on the desk, crossing ankles. “Eh, I was just messing with you about that. I could care less.” She knew she was just tempting Faith to push further into the subject of Carson, but the game was put on hold when a large boom shook the house. Faith, having just finished her nails, dropped the bottle of nail polish from her hand in shock. While only slightly more affecting than a resounding thunderclap, the clear outside sky led the girls to panic.

            Faith, wide-eyed, instantly thought of her father’s lab. “Oh my god, I think that was my Dad’s lab, in the basement. Something must have exploded!” She leapt up from the bed, heading straight for her door. “I gotta see if he’s okay!” And then she was gone.

Kyra, slightly less panicked, slipped her feet off of the desk and into the pair of black fuzzy slippers she had brought over. Rolling her eyes at the interruption, she followed Faith out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

            Faith stood at the doorway to the basement, calling down to her father, when Kyra caught up to her.

            “Dad! Dad! You okay?” Faith shouted, her voice echoing down the stairs. Silence greeted her in response.

            “Are you just going to yell down the stairs? Let’s go down and check it out.” Kyra said, annoyance in her voice as she began to push past her friend. Faith held an arm out to stop her.

            “We’re not allowed down there. Dad said it was dangerous.” She said, but Kyra only ducked her arm and started down the stairs, stopping to look back up at Faith.

            “If your dad is hurt and needs our help, I think that sort of overrides safety precautions.” Kyra rolled her eyes for punctuation, continuing down the stairs. Faith stood at the doorway for a moment longer, biting her lip as she made a decision. She knew Kyra was right, and that they had to go check, but her father had always been so insistent of the danger…but she made up her mind, and rushed down the stairs after her friend.

            When they reached the bottom, they were shocked. Other than a little smoke that was quickly fading away, there was nothing. They walked cautiously past the little living room, toward the workshop of the basement, but saw no one.

            “Well…maybe it was a tire backfiring or something.” Faith said, walking around the gray cement floor, her arms spread in confusion. She was relieved to find that her father wasn’t on the floor, in a pool of his own blood or something.

            “Well then what’s this?” Kyra bent over, picking up a burnt piece of metal, partially cylindrical in shape. “Still kind of warm.”

            “My dad has never been very clean. Just throw that away, I see some garbage cans over there.” Faith pointed to a line of garbage cans, full of similar looking junk.

            “Well,” Kyra said, walking over to the garbage can and dropping the scrap in, “Lets get out of here before he sees us down here. I’d hate for you to get in trouble.”

            “That was so strange.” Faith said, her hands on her hips as she looked around the lab. “I could have swore that sound came from here.”

            Looking over the various pieces of junk at the trashcans, Kyra wrinkled her nose in disgust as she said, “What does your father work on anyway?”

            Faith sighed. “I don’t know. He would never tell me. Some kind of secret.” She began to walk toward the stairs, her bare feet slapping against the cement. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.”

            Kyra left the trashcans and followed her friend up the stairs, looking back around the basement. “I don’t see what could be so dangerous down here.” She laughed as she walked through the doorway, back to the kitchen.

            Meanwhile, immediately following the explosion of energy, Samuel's world went out of focus, his skin instantly growing almost unbearably hot. He felt as if he was hurtling through space, completely disoriented. Then, the ghost of the light flash still dancing across his blurry sight, he felt himself land onto his back, hard. His vision continued to swim, but now he could start to focus. His whole body aching, he quickly rolled to his feet, disorientation causing him to sway as if in a drunken stupor. It took a moment, but his vision fully returned, and the vertigo left him as abruptly as it came. It was then he saw what he feared the most.

            His basement lab had become indescribably large. Quickly calculating in his head, he realized that the machine, running at max output, was capable of reducing matter to 1/10th of 1 percent of its original size. At six feet tall, that meant that he had become 0.07 of an inch tall. People were now mile-tall creatures nearly incapable of communicating. The reality of the moment almost paralyzed him with fear, until he heard the shouting from behind him.

            Turning to look, shock settling in, he saw a very confused looking Eric running toward him from across the vast expanse of cement floor. Thankfully, the floor was polished, so no dips and grooves surrounded them, making movement much easier than otherwise. Eric, who kept himself in shape, was nonetheless winded by the time he reached the befuddled Samuel.

            "Sam....what...the...the fuck...happened." Eric breathed in heavily as he stopped only a few strides away from his colleague, his voice shaky with fear and rage.

            "We shrunk. The machine...it wasn't supposed to...Carson." Realization dawned on Samuel. Carson and his friends had been in the basement as well, and a quick spin revealed no giants in the basement. They had been caught in the explosion as well, and were now nearly imperceptibly miniscule, a world away on the other side of the basement.

            Panic now set in, as Samuel began to take off in the direction of the garbage cans, now worried only with the safety of his son. He had only gotten a few step when Eric grabbed his arm, yanking him back, his grip tight.

            "Where are you going? You have to fix this, Sam! Do you understand our predicament? You can't just go charging off! And we have to find Fred!"

            "I have to find Carson! Don't you understand, my son is out there..." Samuel nodded his head toward the monolithic garbage cans that seemed a world away.

            Eric let Sam's arm drop. "Let's just find Fred first, then we'll find your son. We have to stick together. Who knows how many dangers..."

            Samuel shook his head. "Listen, every living organism in this basement has now been reduced in size. We won't have to worry about any bugs."

            Eric raised an eyebrow. "And what about help? We're kind of in trouble here. No one knows we're down here, but even if they did, they would never find us."

            Samuel calmed himself, and began to think clearly. "Lena just left for a three day trip, and Faith knows better than to come down here. We have time to group everyone up, and think of some way..."

            The end of his sentence was cut off by the intense vibrations that sped through the air around them.

            "Dad! Dad! You okay?" came the voice of Faith, a thunderous noise that filled the room from far in the distance. The words were hard to make out, but he was sure those were what was spilling from the top of the stairs. Samuel figured that she must have heard the explosion and had come to ensure that he was okay. He also knew that he had no way to respond to her, which might mean...

            "Eric, we've got to find Fred." Samuel spoke quickly, his fear returning.

            It was then he heard the cacophanus thud of feet pounding the wood stairs down to the basement. He stood in awe as a gigantic creature, Blond hair trailing down to a brightly colored top, shorts, and long pale legs ending in fuzzy slippers. It was Kyra, and she was coming down the stairs. Following behind her was the dark-haired form of his daughter, Faith, her bare feet forming their own ominous thuds. They reached the bottom of the stairs, and then began to slowly walk towards them. Samuel knew that right now, at such a great distance, they didn't seem like mile-tall human beings. But in moments, they might be standing right where he and Eric now stood, with no idea of the unfortunate victims trying to survive their mere presence.

            "Run, Eric. RUN!" Samuel then began to take off toward the garbage cans, with Eric following quickly behind, as the vibrations that shot through the ground grew closer.