Around sixty years ago, citizens of The Republic of Vistland began acquiring ‘enhanced abilities’. They were categorised into four sorts: altering the mind, altering inanimate objects, controlling sentient objects, and most rarely, slowing time itself. Neither country or corporation, in or out of Vistland, has ever taken responsibility for it.
The government has taken steps to research the origin and effect of these abilities, but despite hundreds of theories, no clear answer has ever been found.
But that is NOT the purpose of our story.
The prologue is also the intro
Part 1
“All students to line-up.”
“We’ve already done line-up,” Mads mused.
“It’s not normal line-up,” Bradly confirmed. “They found a frog on the biology teachers’ desk.”
“Big deal. I thought the biology teacher liked frogs?”
“Not shrivelled up dead ones,” Coby corrected. “It seems like a big deal to them.”
“Seems like a gross prank, and not all that much more,” Mads shrugged.
The school gathered in the auditorium, and the biology teacher held up the offensive creature in a zip-lock bag.
“This,” the headmaster explained, “was placed on Mr Latin’s desk. We were trying to ignore it, but this is not the first, nor is it the second, but the third dead frog found on a teacher’s desk. This has to stop. Whoever the guilty party is will be receiving detention for a week. In addition, there will be a reward for any information which directly leads to the identification of the perpetrator.”
“That frog is no accident,” Mads pointed out quietly. “It’s been dead for about a week. That means this was planned in advance.”
Bradly blinked slowly. “I find it mildly concerning that you can identify the state of a frogs decay based upon a brief glance, but still cannot correctly label the lifecycle of an amoeba. Which comes up in our exams.”
“Well, obviously. The process of decay is vastly more important to me and my future career than the amoeba is.”
“My statement stands.”
“Do you two chattering boys have any suggestions?” the headmaster snapped.
“We were just discussing the situation…” Mads assured. “Hoping to get some clues.”
“Oh, really? And what have you collected?”
“That the frog is 7 days decayed, and therefore the act was planned in advance.”
“No kidding,” the headmaster snapped. “Don’t let me catch you talking in line-up again.”
“Don’t worry, Sir. You won’t.”
“Good! Now, any useful information is to be reported to the reception. Okay? Good. Dismissed. Off to class!”
Mads looked around. One face conspicuously absent was Freda.
“Is Freda sick, do you think?”
“We don’t even know her,” Coby shrugged.
“I’ll ask around on my own, then.”
“You have to get to class,” Wessel reminded, passing him by.
“Where did you even come from?”
“Just thought I would remind you that ‘don’t let me catch you talking in line up’ doesn’t mean ‘be sneakier’.”
“Well, that isn’t technically what he said,” Mads huffed. “And that isn’t technically what I responded.”
“I know. I heard you thinking. I’ll tell Ashlyn to find you after class. She may know something about Freda.” At that, Wessel shifted back into the scramble of people heading to class, and forced Mads into the door of his next class.
No backing out now. At least, Mads decided, he had a chance to observe the crime scene. Of course, it had been inconsiderately cleaned, but the placement of most objects should be about the same. The window, for example, had burglar guards. Initially, that may make one think that it was an impossible spot to enter from, however, seating himself beside them, he could tell that the paint atop the screws had been damaged by a precision tool, probably a screwdriver, used to specifically remove the bars, and replace them later. This class was on the second floor, which posed the interesting conundrum of climbing, undoing the screws, and replacing them, precariously perched on a 90-degree angle. There was no damage to the sill, indicating that the perp had not, in fact, used a simple hook onto the interior of the window.
There was the undeniable possibility that the bars had been loosened from the inside, entered from the outside, and then tightened from the inside again, but that required someone sneakily entering the classroom through the door, which honestly made it easier to just place the frog there that way. Which brought up another point: Mads had discovered within a week of being here that it was common knowledge amongst the students that the security camera inside the school functioned properly, but the ones outside did not, leading to the back of the building becoming a common location for them to vape. That further confirmed that the person who placed the frogs attended the school, or else they wouldn’t know the ideal entry point.
It may help to know which other two teachers were given frogs, but it was of more help to keep a low profile for as long as possible.
“Leighton,” Mr Latin asked Mads sharply, “what is the difference between an artery and a vein?”
“One flows away from the heart, the other towards it.”
“Which is which?”
“Vein goes towards the heart, with low oxygen blood. Artery goes away.”
“Good. Now, what did I just say before that?”
“You were talking about the body’s blood cycle, and how the body puts oxygen into red blood cells.”
“No. I wasn’t. I was talking about how wide paws help polar bears stay on top of snow. At least try to pay attention.”
Mads sighed. He was a terrible student. His eyes brightened. “Ooh, I once did the coolest experiment on that!”
“Leighton, I don’t care. Just focus!”
“Yes, Sir.”
Mads paid attention the rest of class, but slipped away the very minute he got a chance.
Entry through window: how?
There were no trees nearby, and though there was an external fire staircase, it led to the roof, not the biology class. In fact, it didn’t even pass by the biology class window; it was a good four metres away from it.
He climbed the stairs, hoping to get a better view from the top of the building. If this was the entrance, which, the climbing rope haphazardly left here suggested it was, then their decent down a floor to the second floor was an incredible feat. Not to mention that this operation would have been insanely risky.
“Mads, what are you doing on the roof?”
“Ashlyn! I’m coming down now, hold on.” Mads reached the ground, and greeted her cheerily. “And you’re… Silvia, right?” She was pretty recognisable – light blonde hair, shoulder length, elastic friendship bracelet which matched her brother, Adam’s, and bright blue eyes – but he didn’t want to seem like a creep by being too certain of himself.
“That’s right,” Silvia nodded. “I heard you were looking for Freda?”
“Yeah. You know where she is?”
“No. But that’s the concerning bit. She’s a grade ahead of me, so, we don’t really hang out much,” Silvia apologized. “But she used to spend a lot of time with Adam. She was still in contact with him until recently, but last Friday, she just… didn’t. He’s been worried sick about her, and her parents aren’t helping. They won’t even talk to us, because it was Adam’s girlfriend that got her in so much trouble.”
“Jade… I suppose she may have a lead to give us.”
“Don’t count on it. Freda and Adam both stopped talking to her, and she hasn’t really been kept in the loop.”
“And Adam knows nothing?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’ll just have to try talk to Jade. I don’t suppose that you know Freda’s address, do you?”
“29 12th Street.”
“Got it. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”
Frogs, Mads decided, could wait. Unless he could solve it right here and now…
“This pond has tadpoles in it,” Mads observed.
“It does,” Ashlyn confirmed. “Often, actually. But the frogs don’t stay here for long. They’ll hop out in a week or two’s time, and run off to find other spots.”
“So, a good place for the frog-placer to have gotten his frogs?”
“Nope. The frogs on the teachers’ desks were green. These are all brown. Never seen a green one here before.”
“Oh. Drat.”
It would still have to wait.
Jade has been exiled
“Mom, we’re home,” Wessel announced. “And you won’t believe what’s been happening to the teachers at school.”
Mads sunk quietly into the couch cushions. He needed answers. A lead. A clue. Something, anything. Maybe Qixst would help.
One thing that was clear was that Freda hadn’t posted in a while. The reality she’d been living in was grim: spotty posting and text-posts about criticism hitting harder directly tracked her slow recoil from social situations. The culmination of this slow decline was a message posted four days prior:
“I think I need to step back from social media for a while. Perhaps, in a year or two, this account will come back. Wish me luck!”
That was a positive note to end on, but it didn’t answer the question.
However, there had been some activity on the account, this time from Jade, repeatedly commenting on posts. “I’m sorry. Can we talk?” Most of the comments were the same, or similar. Encouraging her posts, but more importantly, trying to connect again. A connection, mind you, left unanswered.
Jade’s profile had been marked as ‘private’, seeming to reiterate what Silvia had said. Mads requested to follow her, as seemed to be required with private accounts. He would have to wait for a reply.
“Mads, time,” Aunt Mellissa warned. She was stricter as time went on, but she was still afraid to risk lecturing him.
Mads powered off his cell-phone, and held it up.
“You don’t have to turn it off, you know.”
“It’s just a habit,” Mads lied. In truth, he’d seen Uncle Oliver look through Wessel’s phone before, and, despite not really being sure he had anything to hide, he preferred for them not to worry for his sanity. After all, half the information he had to get a hold of wasn’t easy to find, and clues were buried under weeks of social media posts. Important things took time and attention to detail to spot, and he didn’t want them worrying he was losing his mind. Well, maybe he was, but he didn’t want them worrying that.
“Oh, but I do think you’ve lost your mind,” Wessel smiled, “I am more convinced of it by the day.”
“I thought you said my thoughts were normal,” Mads asked.
“Most people have thoughts that, on a base level, are somewhat alarming,” Wessel nodded, sitting down, and handing Mads his biology book. “However, it’s the frequency of your thoughts that alarms me. Now, stop being so concerned with your research, and do some studying.”
“How am I supposed to forget about research? There are frogs in here, too.”
Wessel sighed. “Look, you need to study, or you’re not going to pass biology. And you chose the subject: you have to pass it!”
“I can pass it just fine. Here, ask me ten of the hardest questions you can find.”
Wessel flipped through the book. “Carbohydrates are composed of what chemicals in what ratio?”
“A ratio of one, to two, to one, and it’s… Carbon… helium… oxygen?”
“Helium? Hydrogen!”
“It’s 5 out of six points. Close enough. Next one.”
“Mads… Fine. What do bats do to improve their chances of finding prey?”
“Use sonar?”
“Okay, what do they do with their sonar?”
“Frequency modulation?”
“I’ll give you half a point for that. What’s a type of electric fish that also uses sonar?”
“I want to say electric eel, but they’re neither a fish, nor use sonar, and, the only other type of electric thing I know is an electric catfish, so, that.”
“An electric catfish?”
“Yes.”
“Final answer?”
“What, is it wrong?”
“No, it’s right, but that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point? I’ll pass just fine so far.”
Uncle Oliver leant over the back of the couch. “The point, Mathias, is to get a better mark. To study until you’re not unsure of the work, but positive.”
“Its Mads, not Mathias, and that’s stupid. None of the students in my class, or Ashlyn’s class, or Wessel’s class, or any class except maybe the duxes, get 100% on anything. So why aim for it, if you don’t get it? If you can’t feasibly, reasonably, get it?”
“Because you get as close as you can.”
“Why?”
“Why not? What good reason could you have to not do your best?”
“I just want to pass, and move on, and join the police force.”
“You can’t do that without good marks.”
“You underestimate how low their standards are!”
“You… Fine. Don’t listen. Just study.”
Mads checked he had his back turned, and pulled a tongue.
“I saw that!”
“How?”
“Don’t get rude, now. Just study!”
Mads hurtled a cushion at Wessel. “We don’t even have any homework, and I’m having to study.”
Wessel caught the cushion. “Just shut up and study.”
Mads glared at him. One thing, at least, he had learned quite quickly was volume control while thinking. And now, he decided, he would think as loud as he could while reading his books.
“It’ll probably be good for you,” Wessel retorted, putting headphones in.