Marcus Sakey - Brilliance

WASHINGTON, DC–Senator Richard Lathrup (R, Arkansas) today formally introduced a bill (S.2038) to implant a microchip tracking device in every gifted American citizen.

“The Monitoring Oversight Initiative is a simple, common-sense solution to a complex problem,” Lathrup said. “With one stroke, we can dramatically reduce the risk of another March 12th.”

The proposed tracking devices would be implanted in the neck, against the carotid artery. Powered bioelectrically, they would allow government agencies to track the exact location of implanted individuals.

The bill has numerous opponents, among them Senator Blake Crouch (D, Colorado), who last year became the first gifted member of the US Senate. “I mourn the tragedy of March 12th as much as the rest of America. But we cannot allow ourselves to follow this path. How different are microchips today from the gold stars Jews were forced to wear before the Holocaust?”

The allegation is one dismissed by supporters of the bill. “Yes, this sounds dramatic,” Lathrup said, “but all we want is information to protect ourselves. These devices pose no threat to the gifted. Can they say the same to us?”

ANN ARBOR, MI–It was supposed to be a peaceful protest. A march by politically-conscious college kids on the Fourth of July.

It turned into a bloodbath.

Organized by All Together Now, a University of Michigan student group supporting equal rights for abnorms, the afternoon march drew several hundred students to protest the Monitoring Oversight Initiative. Most wore gold stars, a reference to the designation Jews were forced to wear in Nazi Germany.

“Everything started fine,” said Jenny Weaver, one of the march organizers. “Then we turned down Main, and they came out of nowhere.”

According to witnesses, several dozen people wearing ski masks and wielding baseball bats attacked the protesters and proceeded to beat them brutally.

Weaver claims she and her co-organizer, Ronald Moore, were specific targets. She says that even after she dropped to the ground, they continued hitting her.

“One of them said, ‘My brother was in New York.’ Then his boot came down. That’s the last thing I remember.”

Ronald Moore died of his injuries before an ambulance could arrive. Weaver was rushed to the hospital, where she underwent eleven hours of emergency surgery. She is expected to survive, although her injuries are…

WASHINGTON, DC–The Senate today passed the Monitoring Oversight Initiative 73–27. The bill will proceed to the House of Representatives, where a vote is expected to take place within a month.

“Today is a great day for freedom,” said Senator Richard Lathrup (R, Arkansas). “We have taken the first step toward protecting our way of life.”

The controversial bill makes it mandatory for all gifted individuals to be implanted with a microscopic computer chip that acts as a tracking device, allowing governmental agencies to monitor their whereabouts.

While the legality of the measure is still hotly debated, the bill has found significant support that crosses party lines…

NEW YORK, NY–This morning more than a dozen major online destinations were hacked, including social networks, online encyclopedias, major retailers, and this news agency.

Hackers replaced existing code with what appears to be a message from abnorm terrorist groups:

“All we want is equality. We want peace.

But we will not sit idle as you build concentration camps.

Call this a warning.

Heed it.”

Asked to comment on the possible source, a spokesman for the Department of Analysis and Response said…

In early September, six months after the explosion at the Leon Walras Exchange that claimed 1,143 lives, a Jaguar XKR maneuvered the abandoned streets of Chicago’s warehouse district.

The pavement was cracked by the weight of 18-wheelers and the relentless cycle of Chicago winters. The sports car had a racing frame with tight suspension for maximum road-feel, and every chunk of broken asphalt vibrated through the driver’s teeth. He rode slowly, steering around the worst of the potholes. Unconvincing rain dribbled on the windshield, too much to leave the wipers off but not enough to keep them from catching with a squeak on every backswing.

He passed a series of bland brick buildings screened behind rusting fences. A few blocks north the warehouses had been converted into massive party palaces, the douchy kind of clubs favored by the douchy kind of clubbers. Here, though, the buildings mostly retained their original function. Mostly.

He rolled over a set of long-abandoned railroad tracks, ku-chunk ku-chunk , past a graffitied Dumpster, to a two-story building of faded orange brick with a water tower on top. The fence was topped with razor wire, and a security camera stared down. After a moment the gate slid open. He pulled through and parked next to a polished Town Car with tinted windows.

The gravel crunched under his shoes, and he could smell rain and garbage, and under it, faint, a hint of the river. He took a plain black briefcase from the trunk and left his pistol in its place.

A tortured squeak of metal came from behind, a door opening. A guy in a track suit watched him without expression.

Inside, the warehouse was a wide-open space, cold and unfinished. The light that seeped from the high windows only made the shadows darker. Stacks of unmarked crates took up about half the floor space. A cherry-red Corvette was parked near the roll doors. Someone’s legs stuck out from beneath it, one foot tapping to the beat of a radio playing classic rock.

Track Suit said, “I need to check you.”

“No,” he smiled, “you don’t.”

Track Suit was one of Zane’s muscle guys, not important, but not used to being contradicted. “I know you’re the boss’s new pet, but—”

“Listen carefully.” Still smiling. “You try to pat me down, I’m going to break your arm.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You serious with that?”

“Yep.”

Track Suit took a step forward, favoring his left leg.

“Joey.” The mechanic was out from under the car. A smudge of grease stained one cheek. “He’s okay. Besides, he’s not kidding about your arm.”

“But—”

“Take him to Zane.”

Joey hesitated for a moment, then turned and said, “This way.”

“This way” turned out to be to the back of the warehouse, where a metal staircase ran to a loft. Joey moved heavily, grunting as though each step was a task to cross off. A short hallway ran to a door, and Joey knocked. “Mr. Zane? He’s here.”

It had once been a foreman’s office, with windows that looked not out at the world but in and down to the warehouse floor. Since then it had been cleaned up and decorated. Twin sofas sat atop a lush oriental rug. The lighting was tasteful and low. A tri-d ran CNN, the volume muted.