House of Dolls

by Harmon Cooper

  “We are tracking those; they were all turned in to you at the end of last week.” Roman knew he shouldn’t have spoken up. He usually didn’t, but the fact that he was a non-exemplar going on exemplar had emboldened him.

  “Those numbers weren’t accurate enough,” she said, her frown lifting into a visage of fury.

  “Not accurate enough? I didn’t lie on my metrics—did any of you?” Everyone shook their heads. “Works for me. What do you want from us? We gave you class and type approvals. That was your direct request.”

  “You could have done more, Roman. You could have also included trends, trend forecasting, graphs, charts.”

  “But you didn’t ask for any of that. And you have before, and then still told us it wasn’t right,” Roman said, his fists now shaking.

  “I’ve never asked for that before.”

  “You’re wrong. I sat in this same chair a year ago when you berated us for giving you charts, but not the right kind of charts.”

  “That never happened.”

  “Never happened?” Roman’s throat quivered. “And how are we supposed to do trend forecasting anyway if all of our meetings are random?”

  He wanted very much in that moment to tell her he was done, animate the table and have it attack Selena. A glance down at his power dial and he saw that he was close to peaking.

  “Do you need a moment?” she asked, cocking her head to the left and biting her lip as she squinted at him. “Would you like to step outside, Roman? There are resources available for employees who are struggling with grief. I know you’ve already had a morning off this week, but if you are feeling like you need more time, you’ll have to get that approved by HR because I can clearly see that you are able to work, just not in the mindset to be productive.”

  Roman considered his options.

  He could animate Selena’s frock, causing it to squeeze until she burst like a grape. There were quite a few things he could also do with her chair, the floor beneath her, the wall behind her, or the ceiling above her.

  Roman would go to jail for these things, but after all the shit she’d given him, and just as importantly, the shit she’d given everyone else, there was a small part of him that thought it would be worth it.

  He glanced to some of his colleagues, eventually stopping at Phil.

  Phil had a look of utter panic on his face. Roman could tell in that instant that Phil actually cared about him, that he didn’t want him to get fired—and that had he known Roman possessed the powers he did, Phil wouldn’t want him to kill anybody.

  So Roman backed down.

  He cleared his throat, looked down at his writing pad, and didn’t say anything else.

  His day would come—he knew that. And even though he may look weak now, there would be a time when everyone in the office would realize just how powerful he’d become.

  Lunch was uneventful, but as he was finishing his sandwich, Roman received a message from Paris Renara.

  You have an appointment in thirty minutes with a man named Ian Turlock. Judging by his paperwork, and the fact that he is here illegally, you would normally call your security apparatus and have him detained. But I need Ian here in Centralia, so things are going to work out a little differently this time.

  Differently? Roman thought back to her. He was suspicious of how Paris could have figured out his appointment schedule. These things weren’t publicly known, but then again, she could have gotten the information from the man named Ian himself.

  Which made sense, considering Roman hadn’t gone through all the papers on his desk yet, and he usually got new appointments during lunch time.

  Roman had processed visa denial appeals before, and it was almost a sham that the Centralian government had people “come in to see an immigration advisor to sort out their paperwork with them,” when it really was a not-so-cleverly disguised sting operation designed to snare them.

  And the sad part was that people usually fell for it; when an illegal got an official letter from the government offering amnesty, they generally sprung for it. Especially since people trusted the Centralian government more than they trusted the other governments in the world, which for many turned out to be a mistake.

  A voice came to Roman. I need you to modify his paperwork and grant him amnesty.

  You know that’s not what I do, right? I really don’t have that kind of power, he thought back to Paris. He was pretty sure she was using a secure telepath, likely in her employ. It would be stupid as hell to use a Centralian-government-sanctioned telepath.

  I need Ian here. So you will need to figure out how to make this work.

  Or else what? Roman grinned as he thought this.

  Now that he had some powers, Paris didn’t have the same sway over him. Whereas before, she could’ve choked him to death with her weird tongue, he could now fight back.

  Need I remind you that I had evidence of you working with a Western Province spy? You’ve already done work for me, which means you have committed treason. It would only take me a matter of seconds to port out of this country and back to my own, where I could then expose you for what you’ve done. Is that what you would like?

  I don’t know how you got the idea that I have any sort of power here, but to be honest with you, I pretty much sign papers and deliver both good and unwelcome news. That’s it. I’m a nobody around here.

  I’m sure you’ll figure out a way, and you should probably figure it out pretty soon because your meeting with Ian is coming up. I won’t normally put pressure on you like this, but this is a situation that needs to be addressed.

  Why didn’t you just have this guy stay hidden? Any time they call you to the immigration office to offer you amnesty, it’s usually a trap. Anyone would know that, especially a person that’s a spy.

  I would prefer for him to be here legally, as it makes some of the work I need to do easier. So figure it out. And I hope to hear some good news from you soon.

  Roman tossed the rest of his lunch away, cursing the day he hit on Paris at the H-Anon meeting. He got back to his desk and immediately started going through Ian’s file.

  Ian Turlock was a muscular man, with red skin. According to the file, he had outward sharp bones jutting from his forearms that he could grow upon command. Roman discovered what this actually looked like on the next page, where there was a picture of both his arms.

  “Gross.”

  This was one of the things Roman didn’t like about his job. Some of the exemplars he encountered had strange abilities and otherworldly appearances that made it distracting when dealing with them, like the Type IV family he’d dealt with that all had fish eyes and ocular powers.

  And one thing Roman had noticed about all these exemplars was that they originated from the same location, the Western Province.

  “Great,” he mumbled as he scanned through Ian’s paperwork. The guy actually had a criminal record, which made it all but impossible for the immigration office to grant him some sort of amnesty.

  There was literally nothing he could do.

  This wasn’t like other countries, where you could pay a fee to have some paperwork modified, or you could call on a well-connected relative.

  Say what you want about Centralia, but when it came to paperwork, people generally followed the rules, since the repercussions for disobeying them weren’t pretty.

  An idea came to Roman as he shuffled through the papers.

  Roman stared intently at one of the documents, focusing on the letterhead. It was a common stamp from the Western Province, A geometric figure inside a half circle. As he focused on it, the ink started to blotch, and he was eventually able to move the half circle to the other side, rotating the geometric figure.

  The next thing he focused on was the red DENIAL stamp on the Visitor Visa renewal document. By focusing on the word, Roman was able to shift the red ink to the margins.

  He pulled the ink together at the bottom left corner of the document, watching as it moved from the paper to his
desk, almost as if it were a puddle of blood.

  All that was going through his mind at the time was the phrase: I can alter documents. I can alter documents.

  Taking a napkin from his desk drawer, he wiped the red ink away and reached for his approval stamp.

  Now this was something he did have.

  Roman stamped the green APPROVAL notice where the red DENIAL notice had once been.

  With that document looking good, he went about rearranging some of the others. Roman lowered the level of severity on Ian’s criminal record. He knew a little bit about the criminal code, mostly because of the training he’d had a year ago, and he was able to put something from a Class B to a simple misdemeanor.

  So the criminal record was good to go, as was the extension request.

  There still needs to be a reason that the Overstay Committee fucked up, Roman thought as he looked through the papers, making sure there weren’t any other marks that showed Ian had overstayed his visa.

  His plan was simple: He would advise Ian to return to the Overstay Committee, housed a floor above him, and tell them there had been an error, that his renewal had been approved and that they had called him into the office under false pretenses.

  Roman had seen this happen before, and a letter from him would clarify that this was indeed the case.

  Every now and then, someone was mistakenly told they’d overstayed their visa, and they came into the meeting only to have the immigration advisor figure out there had been a clerical error.

  Up to the Overstay Committee they went, where the advisor’s letter and discrepancies in the paperwork would prove that the error needed to be fixed. No attorney necessary, they would fix the problem within the day and the person would be on their way.

  This meant that the last thing Roman needed to change was the supposed date that Ian had overstayed.

  Focusing on the black ink this time, he adjusted the dates, giving Ian an extra six months to get his paperwork in for his extension. From there, Roman went to his typewriter, where he quickly pecked out an official note to go with Ian’s paperwork.

  He was just finishing up when Ian Turlock trudged into his cubicle and dropped into the chair.

  “Any problems?” Ian said, instead of hello.

  It took a lot of willpower—almost the same amount of willpower he’d used when Selena had berated him—to smile at Ian. The man was a monster, his rippling muscles visible under the loose, collared shirt he wore. His silver necklace was pulled a little too tightly across his chest. His sleeves were rolled up, and his forearms were exposed.

  They looked even crazier than Roman had imagined them.

  The sharp claws jutting out of his forearms fit somewhere between bone and nail, rigid, his knuckles covered in smaller versions of these same protrusions. Ian noticed that Roman was looking at him, and the red-faced man offered him a smarmy grin.

  Roman cleared his throat. “Your paperwork is in order. The Overstay Committee made a mistake, and as you can see here, you are due for renewal in six months. Also, it seems your criminal record might’ve been part of the decision in denying your last extension request, but this can’t be true, because you just had a misdemeanor.”

  “Nice, a misdemeanor,” Ian growled.

  “So you’re good to go then. I’ve written a letter here that will exonerate you from any penalties resulting in overstay. Also, I’ve looked over your documents, and I see you have filed everything in a timely manner, which should make it so your case breezes through the Overstay Committee’s checks. Speaking of which, you should get your renewal application in three months before the end date of your paperwork, if you so choose to extend your stay here in Centralia. Any other questions, Mr. Turlock?”

  “No,” Ian said as he scooped up his paperwork, his movements vibrating Roman’s desk. “I’ll be sure to go upstairs and handle this now. Wait, I do have a question.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do I need to do anything with my visa?” He tossed a leatherbound passport onto the table.

  Roman opened it to see that his actual visa was still valid. His criminal violation had triggered the inquiry, which resulted in the Overstay Committee reaching out to him.

  “This is fine,” said Roman.

  “Okay then.” Ian dropped his big hand onto Roman’s desk, took his passport, and stuffed it into his front pocket. “In that case, I’ll head upstairs.”

  “Have a great day,” Roman said as he returned his gaze to his desk and the paper stacked on top.

  He wanted to look busy; he didn’t want to give Ian a reason to linger any longer.

  Once Ian was gone, Roman leaned back in his chair, smiling as the massaging cushion pressed against his lower back started up. It had already been an interesting day, and he still had to train with Ava and then meet with Nadine.

  He was actually looking forward to seeing Ava.

  She was going to be very surprised when she found out he could modify documents.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Rice Centralia and the Leather Dummy

  I have to be honest, Roman, I don’t know if I should be annoyed by you, or intrigued with the mysteriousness that surrounds your life. And what’s with Coma, exactly? She looks like one of those sex dolls I’ve seen in some of the red-light districts. But she’s human. Is she a super?

  Roman sat on the trolley aimed at the Lottery Commission. The training facility was accessed through a different street, so he could bypass the mayhem at the front completely, and this allowed him to focus on Harper’s message.

  He wasn’t really sure of the best way to respond, or where their relationship would go from here.

  It had been a fun night, that was for sure, but his life was about to seriously change, and he didn’t know how long it would take him to get full approval to be an exemplar. But just by the fact that he could now modify documents, he was becoming more and more of an asset to the state.

  He needed a little time to process all this, to sort it all out and figure out what his next step would be. And while Roman was never one to turn away from carnal desires, now just didn’t seem like the time.

  He also didn’t know how long Ava’s training would take. The fiery Type II had never indicated an end date to him, and after she approved him, there would still be a whole other round of paperwork.

  Paperwork that I can modify, he thought as a wicked grin spread across his face.

  He needed to go to the hospital. Now that he knew he had this ability, maybe there was something else he could do, some document he could modify to speed things up.

  Maybe it was best if he kept this ability close to his chest—maybe he shouldn’t tell Ava about it as he’d originally planned.

  “Yeah,” he whispered, as a middle-aged man got on the trolley and sat across from him. Roman looked him up and down, noticing that they both shared orange eyes. Roman’s weren’t as orange as this man’s, but there was an orange tint to them that was striking with his white hair.

  White hair wasn’t a sign of age in Centralia, and years ago, when the non-exemplars had been more divided by class, those with white hair had usually held better positions. They’d migrated long ago from the wealthy Southern Alliance, and because of this, they’d been considered privileged.

  In the end, and no matter what era, it seemed that every group had its hierarchy, just like in the animal kingdom, and a person’s place on this hierarchy dictated their future. At least in Centralia—or so they led immigrants and non-exemplars to believe—there was always a way to move up to the next rung. But the truth of the matter was a little more sobering: the ladder to the top was booby trapped.

  Once Roman got to the facility, he changed into gym clothing that had been provided to him the previous day. He checked the time on the wall and stretched for a moment, then made his way to the gym, where he found Ava waiting for him.

  Hit teacher actually looked excited to see him, which threw him off a little bit.

  He still didn’t know what to mak
e of the rail-thin yet busty woman with red hair and black eyes. He’d already sensed there was something more that could happen between them; other times, he felt like this was just another day at the office for her, which it very well may have been.

  “You ready to get started?” she asked him.

  “Born ready.”

  “I figured it would be easier if we brought her here.”

  “Her?”

  A teleporter wearing Centralian-government-issued clothing appeared, causing Roman to gasp.

  “Coma?”

  The teleporter disappeared in a flash and a fizzle of green energy.

  Coma was in her gothic Lolita outfit and mask, a shocked look on her face. “Where are we?”

  “You should’ve asked me before you brought her here—before you went into my home.”

  Ava laughed. “You, of all people, should know we don’t ask questions as much as we give answers. Besides, would you have said no?”

  “I may have.”

  “I was rearranging the living room when the teleporter appeared,” said Coma. “She told me that you called me here. And I went with her. Was I not supposed to go with her?” Worry spread across the animated doll’s face.

  “No, it’s fine. You were supposed to go with her.” Roman looked intensely at Ava. “So what are we supposed to do now?”

  “Test her out.”

  “He already kind of did,” said Coma.

  The color drained from Roman’s face.

  “Sorry if that came out wrong.”

  Roman looked away from Ava, not able to mask the shame of something that hadn’t fully occurred—yet.

  “It’s important for you to test the limits of your abilities, I’ll give you that.” Ava started to chuckle. “I advise against those kind of experiments, but you are the sailor of your own ship.”

  “It’s not what it seems, and duly noted.”

  Ava stopped in front of Coma and reached for her arm. “It really is remarkable,” she said as she pinched Coma’s shoulder.