Hyper

[Location: Decontamination Depot t3rm1nu5 - Cafeteria]

Harry turned his attention back to his e-pad, and continued to read. Isolation mode really wasn’t that bad. Actually, Harry considered it a vacation from reality. The software that controlled the cell would project a scene of a golden field of wheat that extended to the horizon in every direction. The sun perched high in the clear blue sky, and a gentle wind blew the heads of wheat back and forth. The beautiful, software generated environment was a far better place than where Harry had grown up.

Harry McCormick had been an instigator since he was a young child and had been diagnosed with adolescent hyper-activity. Early in his life, he was found to be extremely intelligent with an I.Q. above 145. Because of his intelligence, he was able to see three steps ahead of every conversation—a skill that helped him taunt and ridicule his classmates with a barrage of snide, verbal abuse.

In sixth grade, he spent more time in the dean’s office than the dean himself and was expelled from school, missing the last month of the school year. When he returned in seventh grade, the verbal abuse he dispensed turned into physical abuse. He fought with ninety percent of the boys in the seventh grade, and thinking it was becoming too easy, increased his brutal behavior and started to fight with students in the eighth grade. Being small in stature, there were times that his rage was not enough to overcome the size difference of his combatant and he lost the fight, but losing didn’t deter him from getting into another scuffle before his bruises healed.

He continued his brutal ways and at fourteen, was removed from public school and placed in a youth detention center. Most parents would have flipped out if their child displayed such brutal and illicit behavior, but this wasn’t the case with Harry’s family. His father had been a brawler himself and had spent time in jail on a few different occasions before he took off for good. His mother left her only child to care for himself, as she spent most of her time at the corner tavern and turning tricks in the back of a beat up Oldsmobile station wagon.

Harry McCormick had a rough childhood to say the least, and as he matured, his increasing testosterone levels pushed him completely out of control. He robbed a gas station or mini-mart every other day and went on the lamb for more than two years. After a job, he would head to the closest bar to spend his loot on a hamburger and fries and enough beer to make him forget how pathetic his life had become.

By the time he turned nineteen, he had become bored with knocking off such small time establishments and went for the big money. One hot and steamy summer afternoon, he walked into the San Francisco National Bank to rob the place. The tellers had followed his orders and filled his bag with cash, but that wasn’t good enough. Harry wanted to be more extreme—more brutal—and leave his signature, so he took his 9mm Glock 17 and started shooting. He walked to each person in the bank and shot every one of them in the head. A few bank employees were able to sneak away and lock themselves in the vault, which turned out to be the reason Harry was identified and caught.

His brash and cocky attitude prevented him from concealing his identity with a mask and he was easily identified. The F.B.I. pulled up his extensive rap sheet and assembled a manhunt to bring him in. They stormed his motel room while he was in a drunken stupor and apprehended him without firing a shot.

Harry laid his e-pad on his lap, and slowly leaned back in his chair. He gazed toward the horizon, took a breath, and sighed. His eyes grew heavy as the thought of a nap crossed his mind.

What a beautiful place.