An interruption!

A loud bang hit the front door. The whole frame shook. Another bang followed, harder. The door tore off its hinges and crashed inward. A group of men and women in black formal suits poured through the opening. They carried weird-looking guns, bulky and futuristic looking, nothing like regular pistols. They spread out fast, covering the room. One of them shouted something Peter couldn’t catch. The crowd started yelling. The hypnotist straightened up, one hand still on Peter’s shoulder and turned towards the door.

Peter stood frozen, Rose swaying in front of him, the men with the guns had taken their positions now. His head felt thick. He couldn’t tell if he was still angry or not.

“Nice of you to join us! I was wondering when you folk would get here!”

The hypnotist’s voice carried over the noise. He stood on the purple carpet with his hands up, mask still on, looking at the men in black suits like they’d just walked into a party he was hosting. The bald man with one eye, clearly the one in charge, raised the weird gun he was holding and pointed it straight at the hypnotist. He spoke into a radio clipped to his shoulder.

“Agent Estevez and Palmer have been located. As assumed, they have been altered by the suspect.”

Both assistants moved at the same time. The one with pie still drying on her face stepped forward and planted herself between the squad and the man in the mask. The other one stood next to her as both dropped into fighting stances, fists up, still wearing those blank smiles on their faces. A few of the agents lowered their guns when they saw the women. The bald leader’s voice snapped across the room.

“You fools! We can’t let this guy get away after doing that to our agents! Keep your anchoring devices on him. We don’t know what he’s capable of.”

The hypnotist laughed. He kept his hands raised. “No need for all that, sir. Unfortunately reality-altering powers don’t run in the family. I’m just really good with my words. That’s all.”

The bald agent’s jaw tightened. “Oh yeah? I’d like to see how you use your words to get yourself out of this one.”

“Words?” The hypnotist’s head tilted. “Oh, I only need two.”

He reached up with one hand and grabbed the edge of his purple mask. Every agent in the room shifted, guns lifting again. The hypnotist yanked the mask halfway off and shouted, loud and clear.

“TEN HUT!”

The lights cut out. Everything went black except for the thin emergency strips along the baseboards. Peter heard bodies moving fast. The jocks in the football pads charged without a word. They hit the agents from the sides and from behind, tackling them hard enough that Peter heard the air leave someone’s lungs. Two of the weird guns went off. Bright red beams sliced across the ceiling and burned black lines into the paint. People started screaming. The agents yelled orders that got lost under the noise. Someone near the door shouted that the front was blocked. The crowd surged toward the kitchen and the side exits.

A shoulder slammed into Peter’s chest. He stumbled backward and the thick fog in his head seemed to dissipate. He blinked hard. Rose was on the floor a few feet away, on her hands and knees, giggling like she was wasted. Her tongue still hung out. The torn bodysuit clung to her in strips. Cum and spit streaked her thighs. He dropped to one knee and tried to get an arm under her. She was dead weight. His arms shook. He couldn’t lift her.

He looked up. Vivienne stood a few steps away, dress half off one shoulder, holding the small gold genie lamp in one hand. Yasmin stood right next to her, hands clasped in front of her, waiting. Peter’s eyes locked on the lamp. He pushed himself up and crossed the space between them, ignoring the shouting and the red beams flashing across the walls.

“Give me the lamp,” he said.

Vivienne looked at him, then at the lamp, then back at him. She shook her head. “No. I found it. I’m keeping it.”