You screw around on the computer, as usual.

After you finish eating the breakfast that your mom so nicely cooked for you, you head back up to your room and change into your typical weekend clothes: sweatpants, old T-shirt, socks and sneakers. Perfectly comfortable for your typical weekend activity: dialing up the Internet on your blazingly fast 56K modem, and surfing the Web. As you take your pajamas off, you start to remove the armband, but as your hand gets near it, you stop, and look at it again. The crimson light on it really is nice, you think. So weirdly soothing. You decide to keep it on for the time being; after all, it's not like it'll hurt anything.

After slipping into your "surfing outfit", you connect to your ISP, hearing the harsh-yet-wonderful sounds of the modem negotiating its connection with the provider. You're lucky that your mom is nice enough to pay for a dedicated line for the modem; before that, you were always constantly getting interrupted by either her or Laura picking up the phone and killing your connection. You suppose, though, that she got the second line less out of sympathy for you, and more to stop you from constantly tying up the phone when they want to use it.

At first, you figure you'll check out your normal haunts -- Slashdot, your friends' blogs, the Anime Web Turnpike -- but your mind keeps coming back to the armband on your wrist. What did that note call it? The "Manipulator"? Again, you figure that anything capable of doing what it claims to do would be the subject of every news station on the planet, but...

You fire up Netscape Navigator, head to AltaVista, and search for "Manipulator". As usual, the results you get back are an absolute disaster, and it takes you a lot of scanning through them to separate the relevant info from the hordes of spam links. Unfortunately, what little you do find doesn't have anything to do with a psychic bracelet. There are a few links to sites about cult deprogramming... a few going to what appear to be scientific instrument companies that sell robotic arms... and one fan site for some sort of awful B-movie horror flick with that name. You sigh. It's not like you actually expected to find anything, but it was worth a shot.

Having been foiled in your search, you return to your normal surfing destinations for a while, before boring of them. It's just as well, as it's lunchtime.