//------------------------------//
// Day 2: Disconnect 
// Story: Pandemic: of Twins and Tails 
// by Seven Fates 
//------------------------------//

The light of the sun streamed down onto the pages of the novel he'd been reading. As much as Jacen wanted to claim he was just keeping the book safe for Abigail, he had to admit the characters of Harry Potter were interesting. That's why he didn't mind keeping her novels up in his tree house. Her evangelical Christian parents couldn't browbeat her over 'the devil's work' if they didn't know she had it.
"Just a shame the author's kinda an awful person," a voice whispered from the dark corner of the room.
As he rested on his belly, turning the pages, he smiled. There was something so much more appealing to fantasy set in pseudo-modern settings than the sci-fantasy his parents kept trying to push on him. Space wizards fighting Nazis in a fictional galaxy far from his seemed like too much of a genre-crunch. Harry Potter was a simple concept: fantasy magic school, but set in the recent past on Earth. Not like Star Wars with its cluttered space Vietnam insurgency with wizards, space Nazis, aliens, robots, and giant lasers.
"Stop ignoring me!" the voice in the corner cried. It sounded almost despondent to his ears, but that was just a trick to garner pity.
Pain, as if he'd just been stabbed, filled his belly. He rolled onto his side and pulled up his black Metallica tee, but saw no wounds on his abdomen. The first thought he'd had was his appendix, but Dad had told him that was more to the right. This was centred, however—just beneath his belly-button. It wasn't fading, either. He sat up slowly and placed the book back in the plastic container he kept that and others in.
"Ignoring me won't change things!" she screamed as he lifted up the trap door and started climbing down the ladder. "You don't have to keep putting yourself through this! Just talk to me!" It was as she said though... this never changed. Always he would start climbing down, and he always—without variance—fell. 
The next time he opened his eyes, he was in a hospital bed. Mom was sitting beside him, crying as she held his hand. Dad he could see through the glass in the door, arguing heatedly with someone. He looked so upset, and Jacen didn't understand why. Why was he here? "Mom? What's going on?"
"Easy, sweetie," his mother insisted as he tried to sit up. Just as well, as the pain in his belly returned, and he reflexively rolled to his side in the fetal position. "Do you remember what they taught you about the difference between boys and girls in school?" When he nodded, she placed her free hand in front of her abdomen. "What do girls have here that boys don't?"
He thought for a moment before giving an answer. "A womb. Why?"
She squeezed his hand as she reached out to hold her hand on his belly. "When your Dad found you screaming and clutching your belly in the back yard, he thought your appendix burst," she whispered. "When we brought you in, though...the doctors found something else instead."
Jacen wasn't stupid; he could follow the trend of the conversation just as he could any other. "I'm a boy though," he groaned. "Boys don't have wombs, and I don't a vag, so..."
His mother released his hand, and she looked away. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and for a moment he thought she was hurt. "When you were still growing inside me, you weren't always alone..." Her voice was barely audible over the incoherent argument between his father and the woman he assumed to be a doctor. "For a time, you had a twin, but something happened, and then one day she was gone. You absorbed her as you grew... but parts of her still grew with you..."
A pair of hands wrapped around his throat as a girl the same age straddled his chest. She had the same mismatched blue and green eyes that he did, although her hair was far longer, as if it'd never been cut. As her grip tightened, she leaned in close—impossibly so by human flexibility standards—and screamed. "Why did you kill me!?"





Jacen snapped awake on his couch, drenched in an ice-cold sweat. It was disorienting to wake up here, because he'd been certain that he'd gone to sleep on his bed. Yet here he was, lying on his couch in nothing but pyjama bottoms as the midday sun streamed in through the windows. Sleepwalking... haven't done that since I was five.
Remembering the dream he'd been having—some twisted version of the day he'd found out about the sister who never lived—he brought his hand up to his lower abdomen, where a faint scar traced across just beneath his belly-button. It had been a shocking day to say the least, and he didn't imagine many—mostly—genetic males could say they'd had a hysterectomy at ten years old.
"You found out a lot about yourself that day," the voice in his head said in a casual tone. "Not only did you eat your sister and become an abomination, but you stole her womb and then threw it away."
With a sigh, he stood up and made his way over to the kitchenette. God, why are my eyes so itchy? he thought as he set the kettle on and took out a tea bag. "What do you want me to say?" he asked aloud. It was obvious from past experience that conversing with her only invited her to stick around longer, but he was tired, stressed, and confused. "I didn't choose what happened in the womb, and I didn't throw hers away. It was gonna kill me."
The voice didn't respond, but he knew intellectually what the response would have been. Why behave like you want to die then? It was simple; he felt guilty for exactly the reasons the manifestation of his guilt had told him. It took a few years, but Dr. Sato helped him recognise it and put a name to it—survivor's guilt. Even before he'd found out about his sister as a child, his life felt like something was missing. At first, he just felt lonely and resorted to interacting with an imaginary friend until he met Pete and Gage, back before he came out and was living as Abigail.
Then, when Mom told him about his twin, Jaina, he felt guilty. Even though the intellectual side of him knew it wasn't his fault, and that these things just happened with no rhyme or reason, he blamed himself. It was hard not to when he saw the oddities of his parents in the new context. The sad look his mother sometimes got when she'd watched him playing, and his father's downward spiral—especially after that incident; he blamed himself for both. No matter how hard he tried, though, he found he could never shed that feeling of guilt. That's why she manifested.
As his tea steeped, he called out to his digital assistant. "Jaina, bring up all of the flagged posts regarding Lazy Pines on the TV." He looked across the room to the TV as he leaned against the counter. There was a lot of posts to go through, by the looks of it, and new ones flooding in by the minute. "Exactly how hot a topic is Lazy Pines right now?"
"At present, Lazy Pines is trending at number-three on social media." It actually caught him by surprise when the assistant responded, because it typically didn't listen for follow-up responses without some sort of voice prompt. Must've been an update overnight. "It is currently the most searched term in the United States." Removing the teabag and placing it in the green bin, he started over to the couch. "Additionally, the Colorado Department of Health has declared a public health emergency for Lazy Pines and the surrounding area."
With a groan, he rubbed at his eyes again, and walked out to his bedroom with the cup of tea. My phone's fully charged; good. He snatched it up, and then wandered back out to the couch. He carefully took a seat, set the mobile device down, and grabbed the remote so he could scroll through the feed.
It was getting bad. Now there were reports of people with animal ears, as well as people outside the area having the same symptoms. This was a big fucking mess. If it was a health emergency, and the town was a hot-spot, his instincts told him it wouldn't be long until they were forced into a quarantine. Definitely sounding like a good idea now.
He glanced over to his phone as he sipped his tea. There had been plenty of push notifications on the lock-screen when he'd unplugged the smart device, but beyond catching a notification for his email app stating he had mail from the building's owner, and several instant messages from Pete, he hadn't paid it much mind. It was far more alarming that he had slept until noon.
Just as he considered picking up the phone and calling Dr. Weintraub's office, the screen lit up with a new notification. He reached over and held it up. Rather than a message from Pete, however, it was from Gage's handle. Chugging down the still hot beverage, he opened the instant messenger app.

You get 9News up there, right? Check it out, Jacen. {Also, please change your handle like we talked about.} :HexsideHero


Pete sent me that picture you sent him last night; did you get me sick with this shit too!? :HexsideHero

A few moments later, he'd tuned in to find a local channel that happened to be rebroadcasting the segment that Gage was talking about. There was a dark-haired man on screen, and in the background were several people with garish hair and eye colours. "A strange affliction has affected the residents of Lazy Pines with an odd assortment of symptoms, not the least of which is strangely coloured hair and eyes. One would initially think this was nothing more than some fad of hair dye and coloured contacts. Nothing could be further from the truth ..."
The man—Bruce Donner, Jacen thought he'd introduced himself as—proceeded to interview several people. Some seemed to be handling things worse than others. The first interviewee seemed to be in a perpetual state of freaking the fuck out, and had to be bleeped by the station. Still, she was definitely a good example of the sort of things afflicting the town, as her yellow and orange hair and tail could attest to.
Instead, it was the couple the man next interviewed that interested him. The way they told it, their daughter was the first to start showing symptoms, and then them soon after. They were at a loss for what to do, as the doctor in town wasn't able to tell much. It being potentially linked to the flu made him remember what Pete had said last night about Gage getting sick.
When the reporter started talking about some half-horse half-man boogeyman in the town, he began to feel ill. If that was a real person, was that the future for everyone in that town—for him? Was he doomed to turn into some dumb beast? I really, really hope that I'm not still capable of spreading this, he thought to himself as he shut off the TV. How many people are gonna face that fate because of me?
Already he could see it in his mind's eye—several of his neighbours gathered around his apartment door, screaming for him to come out. All of them sported unreasonable eye colours and hair. Some were wielding sporting equipment from the complex's gymnasium, while others had broken bottles. The only thing they all had in common was that all of them looked furious as a Jacen with animal ears, a tail, and hooves opened the door.
He tried in to dismiss the mental image as this mutated iteration of him was murdered repeatedly by the crowd, sometimes in increasingly violent ways. That was impossible though; his neighbours didn't even know he was infected, and he hadn't exactly told anyone that he'd been in the hot-zone. Besides, even if they did find out, he'd probably be swept away into some government lab long before they could get to him.
Or what if the United States government took an interest in me? Depending on their motives and the channels, it probably wouldn't take much for the government to agree to an extradition order. After all, he still had his American citizenship in addition to his Canadian citizenship. They could bring up a national security thing or make up something that sticks, Or they might send the CIA to spirit me away to some black site...
With a great deal of effort, he managed to force his thinking away from what might come. Instead, it was more important to focus on the now. What were his options? What was his next step? Was it worthwhile to make an escape plan if things went tits-up?
For the time being, he had shelter, water, and enough food to last him a week or two. Barring any unforeseen complications, he could easily stay locked down here in his apartment and weather this out. Although I'll run out of smokes before too long. It wasn't impossible to avoid his neighbours, but it'd be suspicious if they didn't see him in a while. He'd have to keep just active enough on the Nextdoor app to not have the elderly Karen next door come doing a wellness check.
A bug-out bag wouldn't do him any good, nor would running. Someone might infer guilt, or that he was intentionally trying to spread the condition, if he ran. Instead, he'd be better served preparing. If he was gonna have a tail, maybe it'd be a good idea to... what, exactly? He didn't exactly have a positive track record with sewing. Anything he tried would probably just result in mangled clothing. No, the only thing he really needed to prepare was a bag of essentials if he was to be whisked off. Wallet, important documents, that sort of shit. What else, though?
A notification sound from his phone reminded him that he'd been getting ready to talk to until the news sent him on a spiral. He wasn't usually one to leave people waiting, but he couldn't be faulted for it today, surely. Exactly as he thought, though, there was a new message on his lock screen from Gage.

You really gonna leave me on read, bro? :HexsideHero

Maybe it was the guilt talking, or the fact that he wanted to be a more supportive friend, but he acquiesced to his friend's request to change his handle on the messenger app. Gone was the alias FinalHorcrux, replacing it with PestilenceOfHorses. It seemed fitting with his potential as a plague rat, especially if people were indeed turning into horses of all things. Plus, self-deprecating humour is fun, he thought as he rubbed his eyes.
PestilenceOfHorses: I'm really sorry about that; I didn't know I was walking through some biological warfare testing site at the time. Never meant to get you sick!
PestilenceOfHorses: You okay?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I'm still feeling a little hoarse, but the fever broke and I can finally stomach food again. :HexsideHero

PestilenceOfHorses: ... I genuinely can't tell with you if that was a horse pun or just coincidental.

What about you? The new handle's a bit on the nose muzzle, isn't it? :HexsideHero


You gotta have what all those people have... aren't you scared? :HexsideHero

PestilenceOfHorses: Yeah... Hopefully if I keep my head down, there won't be too many people up this way who catch it.
PestilenceOfHorses: Government's probably gonna stick me in a lab when they find out, though. For now, I gotta leave my doc a voicemail; my eyes itch like fuck and I feel like I'm having an allergic reaction.
Although his first reflex was to immediately call the Weintraub's office like he said, he was curious about what the landlord had to say. After all, the super had done this before, and if the response from his neighbours on Nextdoor were anything to judge by, he was hardly the man's only victim. Would they be contrite? Or would they attempt to browbeat him into silence?

Mr. Cadlow,
Although we appreciate that you were no doubt frustrated by Mr. Caraway's inexcusable behaviour, we would appreciate in the future if you keep your grievances off of social media. Since your little stunt last night, we have been getting non-stop calls and emails claiming that David has been stealing from them. It is hard enough to find good superintendents these days without things like this spiralling out of control. We've been left with no other option than to let him go.
As a token of goodwill, and by way of apology, we are waiving your rent for the month. We value you as a tenant, and would appreciate if you would continue to work with us until the end of your lease to ensure that the complex continues to flourish. All we ask in return is that you take down the social media post and not stir up any further drama.
Regards,
Management
"Translation: we value your money and want you to continue spending money at our facilities," he grumbled as he closed the email app. "Joke's on you guys. I don't think a horse can make use of your gym or laundry."
With a roll of his still-itchy eyes, he dialled up the doctor's practice. It wasn't unsurprising that he got the answering machine; although a few practices in the area maintained weekend hours, his doctor's didn't. "Dr. Weintraub, this is Jacen Cadlow calling back in regards to our discussion at yesterday's appointment." He glanced back over to the now-muted TV, where some news anchors seemed to be discussing the Lazy Pines situation—at least, if the subtitles were any indication. "You asked me to call ASAP if I started experiencing any issues with my eyes, so... here I am," he said, somewhat unsure of what to say otherwise. "I need to know what my next steps are, because I know you've seen the news; call me back as soon as possible."





I should really eat something, he thought, glancing at the clock. I could make a batch of bean and lentil soup, and save myself having to cook much over the coming days.
As he rose from the couch, Jacen threw the phone down onto the cushions as he made for the kitchen. Last night's pain had returned, although this time it felt far more concentrated behind his eyes, like a swelling pressure. Even as his resolve to throw together a bean and lentil soup, he redirected his course to the bathroom and its medicine cabinet. 
As he removed the extra-strength acetaminophen from the cabinet hidden within the mirror, he caught sight of his reflection. There was something off about his eyes, and that wasn't in reference to the redness brought on by all of his rubbing. Upon leaning in closer to get a better look, he saw that his left eye was starting to look dark, with flecks of what appeared to be a dark purple among the blue. Conversely, the right side had traces of a blush pink spreading throughout the iris.
It was yet more evidence that whatever was happening to him was not playing nicely with his abnormal physiology. His heterochromia had, as a youth, bothered him because of the lack of symmetry. He'd read a lot about what others found attractive, and symmetry had been a common factor. His self-esteem was already crippled at the time due to the revelation of his sister, and although he hadn't been interested in romance, he had still been a teenage boy. Seeing it highlighted yet again only served to worsen his confidence.
Shaking his head, he snapped open the bottle, popped a few pills, and then stormed out to the kitchen. Much of his grocery delivery he'd packed away when they arrived yesterday evening, although there were still a few things he left out in favour of quicker access. The ingredients for his next meal, for example, were still laid out on the counter where he'd left them.
With a frustrated sigh, Jacen set a pot of water atop the stove to boil. While he waited, he ran a hand through his two-tone mess of hair. Why couldn't I just have lucked out and gotten matching eyes? That wriggling worm of doubt that threatened to bring out her opinions had once again surfaced. May as well draw a dotted line down the front of me with the words 'Cut Here'.
Once the pot reached a roiling boil, he grabbed a spoon and the can of granulated soup stock he'd ordered yesterday. Even as he popped off plastic cap and peeled away the foil seal, something smelled... off. He couldn't place a finger on why it smelled off, or if it was even a good or bad thing. To make sure, he took a pinch of it on his fingertip and put it to his tongue.
The flavour made him gag. While the can tumbled to the floor, spilling its repulsive contents all over the place and filling the air with it's vile odour, he ran over to the sink. He didn't bother getting a glass, either; the moment the water was running, he stuck his entire face under the stream before taking a mouthful to rinse out his mouth.
"Ugh, fuck!" he muttered as he glared at the can and the mess it'd made on the floor. That was decidedly not the vegetable stock he'd ordered. Rolling the damnable thing over with his toe, he nearly punted it with rage. The label read Beef Stock. "Can't fucking trust anyone to do anything right anymore. I specifically ordered for vegetable stock for a fucking reason, you absolute cockbags..."
He'd never been able to stomach meat—not the taste, not the smell, and it didn't even stay down. That aversion to meat he'd had since childhood was never this bad though. Sure, he'd hated the smell, but he got used to it because he lived in a world where most of the population did eat meat. This was an entirely different level though.
Why's it taste rancid?