By Casey Douglass
Lunfar crackled and fizzed as the stray transition particles jumped from his negatively charged body to the positive conference room around him. He blinked.
Singed bodies littered the large wood conference table, their limbs shrunken, the tang of fried blood cloying and enveloping the room in a shroud.
Lunfar looked down at the distorter gun in his hand. The nub on the end glowed red.
‘Status report Lunfar,’ a voice crackled in his ear piece.
‘Negative. After event appraisal only.’
‘Confirmed. Return when your translocater has charged.’
Lunfar heard the link click into silence. A small melody chimed in his other ear. The translocater was ready. He looked at the scene around him and sighed. You got one like this about three times in ten. They always disappointed him the most. Not that he was a fan of killing. Quants like him kept the timeline clean and running on a better course for the Society. He didn’t fully understand the science but knew that they harnessed quantum events to burrow through time and space. The trouble with this is that every now and then, your body arrives a few seconds ahead of your full mental faculties. This isn’t that dangerous to a trained unit, but it still often left the Quant standing bemused surrounded by a ‘job well done’ with no memory of doing it. He sniffed.
He twisted his head to the right and craned his neck to the right until it cracked. The melody sounded again and he blipped out of existence.