#0 - Larynx: Voices from Without

Larynx did think it strange that they had asked him to return to work earlier than expected after the accident. He was meant to have gone on long-term leave to recuperate until he cleared the psychiatric profiling tests to be deemed fit and sound to return. That was standard procedure for a class 3 breach. As far as he knew, the Joint Administration: Nova Ultimate Supervention, or J.A:N.U.S, was the arm of the government dedicated to managing the proliferation of the various supers that had emerged over the years. The Super Sept would not admit it, but their methods of managing the nova population had been less than successful, whether by inspirational leadership, or by other less public means.

The facility in which Lawrence Nixon worked focussed on individuals who had been identities to have exceptional abilities for some reason or other, but did not possess what was commonly considered ‘superpowers’. Unfortunately, for Megasonic Adult Tearhead, they made a mistake in their classification. Perhaps his name was a vital clue they should not have ignored.

They had discharged Larynx from observation as he showed no symptoms or side effects. But no one was aware of his eruption event while on leave. Today he was back at the facility. His colleague, Ray Eston, had excitedly messaged him when he heard of Lawrence’s return. It’s an S-level case, should be fun! As he walked through the main doors to his office, a gnawing concern struck him: he knew that some of the security protocols of the lower levels would trigger in the event of a nova-incursion. Would he trigger them himself?

On his desk was the case file. Anders Dvorak. The last sign off on it was Dr Adam Kettering, but that was from the J.A:N.U.S. station in Europe. Dvorak was now here, in the United States, and Larynx’s main appointment today was to assess him.

There was another file on his in-tray, but coded lower priority. Perhaps Larynx would have the chance to look at it later, or perhaps he could procrastinate dealing with Dvorak and read through the rest of his emails first.

What do you do?

Dvorak would keep.

Megasonic Adult Tearhead's head exploding.

Read emails.

Bits of brain and bone hitting the bulletproof glass.

Read the less deadly file.

Waves of iridescent energy warping glass and walls and flesh.

Lawrence slammed a fist on his desk, unclenched then clenched it while he focused on his breathing. The technique was called 'grounding', and he needed to be mindful of the present moment, not the past even if the past's effects were very much grounded in him and his future.

"Emails, then file, then patient," Lawrence said, amazed at how strange his own voice sounded to him now, as though listening to a recording of it, and everyone hates hearing their recorded voices.

There was a slight ripple in the air in front of Lawrence as he vocalised his thought. In fact, he could've sworn it was merely a thought in his head, as there was no one else in his small office, but sound came out of his mouth.

The emails were mostly standard fare: two updates to filing and security protocols, a notification on tomorrow's staff meeting, a couple of replies to Lawrence's queries to background information for his patients, an invitation to a conference. Two emails caught his notice: one was from his own divisional director, Charles Gauss, asking for a specific report on a case he dealt with last month, the other was from a someone he hadn't spoken with for a while, an ex-colleague during their shared stint at New Mercy General Hospital, a Dr Randall Quiller.

Hi Lawrence,

Haven't had a chance to catch up with you since you started Janus. When are you free for a coffee? I've got an interesting case I'd like to hear your opinion on. It's official business, which is why I'm emailing rather than dropping you a call. Let me know.

Cheers,
Randall

Lawrence noted the email signature below: The Ordinal Foundation. That he hadn't known, that Randall was working there. The Ordinal Foundation was the paramount think-tank in the area of theoretical physics as applied to cosmic phenomena, alternate unvierse theory, quantum bleed and incursion. What that had to do with Lawrence's expertise in psychiatry was not obvious at all.

---

The physical case file on his tray was a pi-level flag. It was sheer coincidence that the patient's nickname on the top of the file was simply "Bighead".

The grounding was working, enhanced by the shock of seeing the ripple. He had to focus on work again. Lawrence started typing.

Randall,

It's always good to hear from you. Let's have a working lunch. I usually grab a bite around noon during the week. Let me know when and where is good for you. I admit to being intrigued. What can you tell me in prep for our meeting?

Regards,
Lawrence

Email sent, he looked at the Bighead file.

It was another headcase.

Lawrence could effortlessly search up Henry 'Hardhead' DiCarlo in the J.A:N.U.S. database, which gave him access to state and law enforcement records. He was a mid-level enforcer for the Vercetti family with the usual rap sheet: extortion, racketeering, assault, last served sentence two years ago, etc. The manila brown casefile contained internal documentation relevant to J.A:N.U.S. jurisdictional interests, and the psychological review notes were what caught Lawrence's attention most. While DiCarlo was widely regarded as a stubborn hit-first-talk-later thug, hence his moniker, he began more recently to show signs of foresight and tactical planning in his criminal activities for the mob. This was accompanied by a increase in cranial size, which led to his newer nickname, 'Bighead'. His own squad left him out to dry in the last altercation, leading to his arrest.

The pi-level colour coding meant that Bighead was to undergo placement assessment, whether or not it was worthwhile to further investigate his condition, or if he was to be returned to the state penitentiary.

---

It was a while later before Randall's email reply popped up.

If you don't mind meeting downtown, Julien's at Gilbert Street. That's near enough to the office in case you're curious enough to come up after lunch. I'm free today or tomorrow.

Bring what little you know about xenopsychiatry. :)

Randall

Today should be OK. My cell # is still the same should anything happen at short notice. I'll see you there, and I'll brush up on my exoanalysis just for you.

Lawrence

He smirked. Comparative transhuman cognition was a necessary part of his job since some novas' thought processes were very far from the human baseline. Some were so far they might be considered alien, and Lawrence had read and applied Samachson & Certa's 'Supervenience and Emergentism: What We Know and What We Need to Know' on so many occasions that he might as well have been trying to head shrink aliens, not alienated novas.

'If Randall wants me to analyze The Plenipotentiary, he can go screw himself,' Lawrence thought and chuckled. That was his first little laugh since the incident, since the horror, since... He grounded again, clenched his fists again, focused on his breathing again.

"Little horrors, one at a time," he said softly. "First horror... Bighead. Assess and process before ten. Write up after-session report and recommendations by 11. Prepare for meeting at noon. After lunch, read file of then interview second horror... Anders Dvorak."

Lawrence didn't want to go down where someone like Dvorak was held because of the quantum resonance detectors. Not yet. The man was dangerous but the man would keep. Lawrence would get everything out of the way first so he could devote his entire afternoon to the second horror.

With file, trusty notepad, and recording equipment in hand, Dr Lawrence Nixon headed to confront his first horror of the day: Bighead.

Pi-level clearance was mid-tier security. Just one level down from the office section, it was variously described as placement or processing, depending on which side of the fence one sat on. One philosophy in the agency believed that supers were to be regulated as much as possible, and that included registration, co-opting, or deployment according what was permissible or valuable to societal demands and national interest. The other view recommended that supers ought to be kept away from society as much as possible, with only key novas in places of position and power, according to national security.

But Lawrence's task today was not to deliberate on which of these philosophies were more appropriate. His interview with BigHead was to establish whether the subject in question possessed what would be deemed mental powers, for which he would be classified as a nova, or whether the condition could still be written off as within the acceptable range of human development or variance.

The interview room was much more akin to a consultation room than some of the high security restraining options in the lower levels. A guard was posted for the entire corridor, and the door had a self-locking feature with code or fingerprint access, but otherwise the room itself was cosy enough to be a doctor's office. Henry DiCarlo had already been escorted in, and sat in his chair awaiting Lawrence's arrival.

And it was unmistakeable why he was now known as BigHead.

After talking with the guard, Lawrence steeled himself outside the door before entering. He put on his game face and started his brain wheels turning in circles of analysis and observation. He looked the man over as best he could before sitting down across from him. Lawrence started the recording device even though the holding area was monitored, laid out Big Head's file even though he knew the information on it already, and kept his pen in an inside jacket pocket because he'd heard enough horror stories about what even a baseline human can do with a stray pen in an unguarded second to someone within striking distance. There was a psychological drama to all this, a play in which each participant knew the way the set pieces were laid out even though exactly what the plot and dialogue were only stood revealed as they played their characters.

"Henry DiCarlo, I'm Dr. Nixon. As you can probably guess, I'm here to assess you. I want to get you whatever help you might need, and no, walking free is not an option. You'd be surprised how many people ask that first. It's obvious you've undergone some physical changes. Can you tell me what your experience of them has been like?"

DiCarlo bore all the features that plainly identified him as one of the made men, a soldato or soldier in the mob hierarchy. Added to that were his big broad frame and compact muscles, visible under his standard-issue facility garb, down to his mutilated fingerprints, a tradition still practiced today despite the more modern methods of identification. What was different, apart from the fact that his head was twice the size of an average person's, was that when he spoke, while he still retained that distinctive southside accent and enunciation, he spoke with perfect grammar and syntax.

"I do not feel any different Dr Nixon, despite my outward appearance." Lawrence could feel DiCarlo sizing him up, glad that he had stashed away even his own pen away from a potentially dangerous mafia hitman. "I feel physically fine, eat well, sleep well, still able to hurt people who get in my way. Haven't needed a single aspirin for this." He tapped his temple with a finger, causing one of the bulging veins to twitch a few times, unbeknownst to him. Whether or not he was lying or simply expressing false bravado or outright arrogance common amongst thugs and heavies was hard to tell. "They should promote me to consigliere, I have a number of ideas I could implement straightaway."

What Lawrence didn't have were test results, for they hadn't run any yet, this being only the placement stage. He could recommend the usual resonance imaging scans and M-R node detection, but not all novas possessed brain nodes, contrary to the widely-accepted Mazarin-Rashoud theory before proceeding ...

... but then he remembered Megasonic. That was one file he hadn't yet dared to read. For all he knew, the accident could've been set in motion as early as the testing stage. There was no telling whether there were contra-indications when quantum resonant imaging was applied to novas or would-be novas. Do all novaheads blow up? There was that throbbing vein again on DiCarlo's forehead.

What if Lawrence got caught? What if he got scanned? What if his head exploded?

The mental runaway train might crash into another panic attack. When in doubt and fear, externalize and project.

"I'm sure you do but it seems your own people don't quite trust you anymore. Doesn't it bother you? The bulging veins, the neck pain, the big head?"

Mental health professionals can be bitches when they're ready.

Pushing so hard so early might not be the best course of action but it had an oddly calming effect on Lawrence. He focused on BigHead's big head instead of seeing Megasonic's exploding one.

"Then it's their loss. Perhaps I should set my sights higher." DiCarlo seemed unperturbed by Lawrence's attempt to call attention to his deformity. There was almost a tone of smugness, no doubt fueled by his belief that he was being reviewed by someone he regarded as beneath him. "People do not object to large musculature, overdeveloped pectorals, defined abdominals. It is about time they showed some respect for sizeable craniums." The mafioso's ego appeared to have grown alongside his mental capacity.

The throbbing veins on his temple and forehead seemed more and more prominent, as if they had begun to take a life of their own. In equal parts triggering to Lawrence's accident, as well as somehow, bewitching, as if its pulsing called out to the good doctor to come closer...

A bit of stick, a bit of carrot. Such fascinating veins, though, despite the very real possibility of an aneurysm. Nova-enhanced giant cell temporal arteritis? Perhaps Lawrence can bring BigHead around to the potential dangerous condition.

"Careful about those high sights. The sun can blind you to reality... and just blind you. I don't want you to talk about controlling anything or changing the world, Mr. DiCarlo. I want you to talk about making sure you're alright. Your hypercephalic condition may seem like a blessing but it might have side effects even your obviously increased intellect may not be able to realize. Let's not talk about control. Let's talk about cooperation and consultation. Let's make sure your skull won't eventually crack open and that brain leak out."

While Lawrence certainly got the sense that DiCarlo was getting ahead of himself as far as his ambitions were concerned, his ego growing in tandem with his head, he did feel that the mafioso was being pretty transparent and honest in his description of his condition and how he felt about it. "I have no reason to mistrust your questions and intentions Dr Nixon, nor have I a need to be dissembling in this matter. I have not experienced anything beyond what you would consider abnormal."

That much was certain to Lawrence. DiCarlo could genuinely be accurately classified as non-nova, despite his transformation. There remained that one last matter. One of the veins seemed to move towards Lawrence. The good doctor had the inexplicable sense that the impetus for its movement was being caused by himself, as if it was connecting itself with Lawrence's own veins, as if, and there was no better way to explain it, it somehow 'belonged' to Lawrence than to DiCarlo. He just needed to touch it ...

"Thank you for your honesty. Let me continue with my own. I've seen many abnormal things, Mr. DiCarlo, and lots of them have hurt themselves or other people despite being apparently in control. Just be weary of that, and remember that seeking help is vital sometimes, as is having a realistic self image and overview of one's limits."

Lawrence tilted his head slightly and observed the throbbing vein.

"I want to respect your space, Mr. DiCarlo, but may I gently palpate a section of your temple to help rule out nova-enhanced giant cell temporal arteritis?"

DiCarlo looked at Lawrence a little curiously, "I thought this was a psychological assessment, not a physical examination." Notwithstanding, the now-brilliantly endowed thug saw no reason to deny Lawrence the request, compliant as he now was, and nodded.

Lawrence placed both his hands on either side of DiCarlo's temples, leaning forward to examine more closely the enlarged vein. Nothing strange happened. It appeared to be a throbbing vein.

Well, nothing strange happened, if by strange Lawrence was expecting some untoward effect to occur, or some eruption to take place, or worse, some accident like the one he had experienced previously. What was strange though was that Lawrence saw that the small veins on the back of his hands now looked more prominent, more 'green', and at the same time the vein on DiCarlo's head seemed to subside somewhat.

All this while, DiCarlo did not express anything discomfort or comment on the examination. For the mafioso, it was as if nothing had transpired, save for Lawrence touching his head. The net effect seemed like the throbbing was 'transferred' over to Lawrence.

No ravenous, blood-spewing veins lashed out to assail him. That was good, Lawrence thought, but had he transferred some... toxin from Bighead's big head to himself? He couldn't explain it but he couldn't resist it, and he might as well actually inspect the superficial temporal arteries and superficial temporal veins... which seemed as normal as possible he assumed for someone with hypercephaly.

"Thank you. I can tentatively rule out nova-enhanced giant cell temporal arteritis but I'll recommend further scans to look for it and any other potential conditions," Lawrence said as he sat back down and disinfected his hands under the table with a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his coat pocket. He made sure to keep them hidden.

"If there is anything you need within reason, I will do my best for you, but you have to do what's best for you, too. There is always someone smarter or just smarter in a different way."

All Lawrence wanted to do was inspect his hands closer but that would have to wait. He was here to help BigHead after all, and he couldn't jeopardize the man's future by being selfish and negligent... not in this place.

Lawrence had pretty much enough information and sufficient observation, based on his expertise, to ascertain DiCarlo's state and complete his evaluative assessment of this 'BigHead'. From the interview, DiCarlo's checked all the right boxes for him to still be categorised as a non-nova, despite the exaggerated cranium and regardless of his now over-inflated ego and potential megalomania. He was still to be remanded at the state penitentiary for his most recent criminal activity, but at least he wasn't to be filed under the purview of J.A:N.U.S.. This concluded Lawrence's duties regarding the case.

There was one other possibility to investigate, even if it was out of Lawrence's jurisdiction: what caused DiCarlo to become BigHead. The case bore resemblance to the phenomenon known as nova eruption, a well accepted, though not well understood, phenomenon both within and outside of J.A:N.U.S.. It wouldn't be within Lawrence's scope to find out more, unless he wanted to.

Amidst all this, and because Lawrence hadn't yet the opportunity to examine his hands further, he might've discovered that the hand sanitiser he used was efficacious in its usual sense, except for where the veins were. Over the surface of those veins, the sanitiser simply beaded and slid off.

With goodbyes, assurances to follow up on DiCarlo, and a check to make sure he left carrying everything he entered with, Lawrence exited the room. He nodded to the guard, said everything went smoothly and that DiCarlo could be returned to his cell, and he made his way up the floors to his office. With his back pressed to the locked door, he inspected his hand and the throbbing green veins. Had he stolen something from DiCarlo, something that would truly have made BigHead special? It was such a strange feeling yet he also felt at ease with a possibly dangerous unknown. Lawrence tentatively poked at the veins with his index finger.

It was undeniable. The dorsal veins on the back of his hand were throbbing as if they had a life of their own. Alarmingly, what appeared to be a symptom he saw on his hand a few moments ago was now 'spreading' up his forearm as well: his cephalic and basilic veins were prominent and pulsed in regular rhythm with the flow of the blood in them. At this rate, the phenomenon would cover his entire body in the next half hour or so.

And yet, somehow Lawrence did not get the impression that, strange and inexplicable as the phenomenon may be, that it was in some way harmful to his physical being. In fact, it was much less strange than his accident weeks ago. He had no way to explain the intuition of his that these throbbing veins were 'attracted' to him, and had 'left' DiCarlo's person in order to inhabit Lawrence's.

All the same, it would be very problematic to walk around and be seen in the J.A:N.U.S. facility sporting this skin condition. Lawrence needed some way to deal with it, fast!

Lawrence took off his shoes and sat in the lotus position on the office's carpet. He focused on making the veins stop throbbing, stop being green, begin pulling into his body. He paradoxically tried to speed up the spread, to make whatever this was engulf him as quickly as possible, accepting it as completely as it had chosen him.

If this worked, would he still be able to make his lunch appointment? If it didn't, would he even be able to leave the building? If it did work, he would walk out of J.A:N.U.S. immediately to meet Dr Randall Quiller no matter the time. Further exploration could take place later if this exploration was successful... and he hoped it was.