Paroxysm Effect

By Ashleigh Reynolds

Gemi finds herself tumbling into chaos when the world suddenly succumbs to the madness of repressed emotions, only to be rescued by a group of military personnel.

With no knowledge of what is causing the malfunction, it becomes a race against time and the population to make it back to the military base in one piece.

Paroxysm Effect is a fast paced, heart-stopping journey that will leave you wondering who is safe to trust when the world is going crazy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashleigh Reynolds
• Release date: Jun 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370249831

Ashleigh Reynolds

Ashleigh Reynolds was born and raised in Northern California where she was surrounded by fantasy novels, horror films, and role playing games. She began writing in Kindergarten when she penned (in crayon of course) a short story about a princess and her pet "gragon". Since that time, she has moved multiple times and currently lives in Minnesota with her husband Mark, their dog Willard, and a mean spirited cat named Butters.

Book preview

Prologue

2025

I beg you to reconsider my proposal, President Gordon .

Dr. Jefferies stood at the front of the large conference hall, the eyes of all the states’ leaders looking back at him. They were not kind eyes.

As I explained before, Dr. Jefferies, there is not enough research to roll out a plan of this magnitude. Successful implantation on lab rats and monkeys hardly constitutes grounds for us to pass this, the president responded.

With all due respect, the research shows just that. If we can control aggression in animals that react solely on animal instinct, imagine the possibilities on humans who have a conscious choice in their actions.

Dr. Jefferies—

Please, Mr. President, we are in a state of extreme emergency. Crime has increased 30 percent the last five years, he said, pulling up the statistics on the overhead as he spoke. Jails are overflowing, and with nowhere to put newly incarcerated citizens, there is nothing to do but let them go free. Violence against women has tripled in the last three years. Murders, assaults with deadly weapons, and burglaries are all off the charts.

We are well aware, Dr. Jefferies, and we have been taking steps to improve the way criminals are dealt with.

It won’t help. We’re living in times where death is the norm. We reached a record high in suicides this year, topped only by the number of unsolved homicides. Cops are not looked at in the same regard they once were. They are attacked on average more often than common street crimes.

You mentioned all this before, Dr. Jefferies.

Then you should know that my technology could change all of that. Digital Behavioral Modification Assistance is the future. Imagine a world where you’re not in fear of simply walking down the street at night. Where your daughters are safe from being assaulted, and cops are not prompted to use deadly force because they aren’t constantly in fear for their lives. With my technology animosity could be erased. It can easily be tuned to each individual based on his or her needs. Instead of going to your doctor to get pills for depression, you can simply be tuned up. This is the future. It frees up scientists like myself to focus on advancing medicine for cures against cancer and hundreds of other diseases instead of trying to find newer and stronger antipsychotics.

This may be the future, but unfortunately it can’t start today. We simply don’t have the funding to continue these experiments and, with no human research proving its safety and validation, it is just not possible.

Dr. Jefferies breathed a heavy sigh. He would not be leaving this room again without the green light on his project.

What if I could prove the safety of it on humans, today? he asked.

Without prior approval to do so, I would say you’re in breach of every law against scientific research and could face suspension of your license, jail time, and a heavy fine.

In the jails that hardly have room for serious offenders? he asked, not trying to hide the bitterness in his tone.

Watch yourself, Dr. Jefferies.

My apologies, Mr. President. Dr. Jefferies took a deep steadying breath. What if I told you that the human testing was done without breaking any laws and I could prove the effectiveness on humans? That is the only holdup we seem to have, correct?

The room erupted into a loud buzzing as everyone began talking at once. This was his Hail Mary—if they denied it one more time the whole project would be lost and so too his life’s work.

Silence please, President Gordon called through the microphone. I would like to know how you managed to dance around the guidelines we have in place for human experiments, Dr. Jefferies.

The room fell silent once more.

I will be presenting you two subjects. The first you will note in the packet I placed out for all of you. I am sure all of you know who Gary Jones is, but for those of you who don’t, let me summarize. Dr. Jefferies pulled up the rap sheet of his subject and scrolled through the various offenses as he spoke. He has been convicted of the murders of thirty young women in the last five years, although he admittedly disclosed that there are more we do not know about. He generally likes to beat and torture his victims for days and with a high level of rage.

What is your point, Dr. Jefferies?

My point is you will notice that he is now quite a different person to the man he was when convicted. But please don’t take my word for it, you can see for yourself when I bring him out here.

Angry voices exploded from every person in the room, all trying to be heard above everyone else.

Have you lost your mind?

I have seen enough of this circus.

Take his license!

Dr. Jefferies tried his best to tune them out, instead focusing all of his attention on the president, who for the first time was quiet. His interest was piqued. It was now or never.

As you know, Mr. President, once a person is assigned to death row all constitutional rights to their body are revoked and they become property of the state. This includes mandatory organ donation and scientific research, and if certain states were obliged to sign him over, to make room for new criminals, then that would hardly be a crime.

The president stroked a hand over his chin as he contemplated. Well then, bring him out, Dr. Jefferies, he said finally, instantly causing the crowed to grow louder.

Mr. President, you can’t be serious!

This is outrageous!

You can’t allow—

Quiet! the president called, I would like to see what this project can offer.

Once the room had fallen silent again, Dr. Jeffries motioned to his assistant, standing on the side behind a partition, to bring Gary Jones forward.

The man walked out unchained and by his own volition, causing an uneasy stir to ripple through the crowd. He towered over the assistant, menacing even in his docile state. Gary Jones took a seat in a chair that was positioned next to the podium and facing a large projection screen.

Mr. Jones used to be one of short temper, easily angered, and could be triggered at the mere sight of a pretty woman. Dr. Jefferies placed a photo of a leggy model up on the screen and then slowly moved through the photos in his presentation. Beautiful woman after beautiful woman appeared in different poses and in varying stages of undress. Gary Jones sat and viewed the photos with the normal interest that any man would have upon seeing a scantily clad woman.

What does this prove, Dr. Jefferies? the president asked.

Well it proves that my method works, he replied.

You could have easily prepped him for this.

Fair enough. How about I let you control the chip adjustments? Set it to whatever number you like, I couldn’t have planned that.

The president cocked his head, contemplating. Okay, I’ll bite. Show me the controls.

The crowd once again hummed as Dr. Jefferies moved from the stage and approached the president with a tablet.

It’s quite simple, Dr. Jefferies said as he presented the tablet. It featured a simple-looking display control, numbering one to one hundred. One is obviously the lowest setting, a minor tweak if you will. One hundred is the highest setting, one that I don’t recommend going to. Right now he is set at about forty-five.

Easy enough.

Dr. Jefferies stepped back and leaned against the edge of the stage. The president fiddled with the controls on the tablet and then looked at Gary Jones with anticipation.

Gary Jones was still seated, staring at the photo of a bronzed brunette that adorned the screen. He moved his head from side to side and rubbed at his neck like one does when tension sets in.

The president looked back at the controls and moved his hand across them, adjusting them again. Suddenly a growl ripped out of Gary Jones’s mouth. He stood and lunged at the assistant, who was still standing next to him at the podium. He tackled him to the ground and swung at his face, his fists connecting with a solid thud. The room exploded, people screamed and grabbed for their phones, calling for police aid. Others ran for the exits.

Dr. Jefferies ran to the president. How far did you turn it down? he screamed as he grabbed the tablet from his hands.

All… all the way.

Jesus. Dr. Jefferies adjusted the controls up, choosing to set it a little higher, resting on fifty.

At once Gary Jones stopped his relentless pummeling and rose off the assistant, turning to face Dr. Jefferies. He appeared shocked by his own actions. The guards, who had been off doing anything other than guarding, ran on the stage and shackled his hands behind his back before hauling him off. A medic arrived and helped the poor assistant, who was already swelling and bruising.

The room quickly fell silent again as people made their way back to their seats. The president composed himself and looked back at Dr. Jefferies, whose smug face showed that he knew he had won.

Who is the second subject? President Gordon asked.

Chapter One

2075

Gemi woke to the loud beeping of her alarm clock. How, in all these years, they hadn’t come up with a better way to wake people up was beyond her. She stretched out in her bed, savoring the last few minutes before she needed to get ready for work. The bed begged her to stay—to throw the covers over her head like when she was a child—as it did every morning, and every morning she found the strength to pull herself from it .

With a sigh, she sat up and threw her feet over the side, pressing a button for her television before walking to the bathroom. On her way she eyed the stack of manuscripts that had all but taken over her desk. She had stayed up late trying to whittle the pile down, but had barely made a dent. Work was busy. It’s a good thing, she would tell herself over and over again, but there was always that tiny sick voice that hoped the world would become illiterate, forcing the publishing company, the biggest one in town, to close.

Thankfully for her, or unthankfully, depending on the day, the fascination with video games and TV shows had died down about two decades ago when she was still little, forcing books back to the forefront. TVs were used for the news now, and other educational programs.

She started in with her morning routine, half listening to the newscaster drone on about the pleasant weather and what roads should be taken to avoid the most traffic. Grateful as she was that she grew up in a world that was a haven in contrast to the years gone by, she couldn’t help but wish something, anything, would break the monotony. There had to be a greater world out there. One full of adventures like in the books.

Gemi stared at herself in the mirror, her lips dropping into a frown. She had inherited her mother’s unruly hair, her white-blond locks falling in loose, not quite curly waves past her shoulders. Every morning was a struggle to look even somewhat presentable. She wouldn’t quite call herself beautiful. Her eyes were a deep shade of blue, a complete contrast to skin that was pale to a point where some would say she looked sickly. It didn’t help that her hair was such a light shade that sometimes it was hard to tell where it ended and her skin began.

Twenty minutes later, five failed hairstyle attempts had resulted in a low ponytail. Gemi rushed through the remainder of her routine, throwing as few beauty products on as possible and brushing her teeth before glancing at the clock. No time for breakfast now.

Gemi hurried through her apartment, grabbing a stack of manuscripts and throwing them in her bag. Just as she was reaching to switch off the TV a story caught her attention.

Four dead after a thirty-year-old man, father of two, and local restaurant owner, attacked his family before turning the weapon on himself. The news of this crime has rocked our local community, where there hasn’t been a murder since the DBMA Chip Act of 2027 was enacted. Authorities are asking for any information that can be provided. Coroners will be looking into whether the man was a part of the rarely heard of anti-chip group. Terrifying story, Diun.

It sure is, Malkun. A true testament to why the Chip Act started in the first place.

---

Gemi stood watching, her mouth hanging open. She had studied the old times in college, never imagining a day would come when it would happen again. The newscasters had begun discussing a new story, but Gemi couldn’t get the image of the man out of her head. She knew the restaurant, knew him and his family. His name was Jalis. His wife, Margarine, would pick her brain about upcoming books that the publishing house was to release. Their children, two daughters aged eleven and eight, were both just as interested in books as their mother. They had many conversations during the times she visited.

Gemi became overwhelmed with nausea. She ran to the bathroom and vomited, her body shaking and heaving as her stomach tried to relieve itself of anything and everything.

Afterward she lay with her head against the wall, her body still shaking, tears threatening to overflow. She glanced at the clock, the big bold numbers reading 09:15 a.m. She was late. Whatever she was feeling would have to wait.

Gemi arrived just as her first meeting began. She slipped into the conference room giving her boss a sheepish smile before sliding into her seat. He was not pleased. There was no doubt she would hear about it later.

Throughout the whole meeting she struggled, trying her best to listen to what was said, but the face of Jalis kept popping back into her head. The smiling photo they had chosen to show mocked her, challenging everything she thought she had known about him. How could there possibly be anti-chippers in her town, out in the open? That wasn’t normal behavior.

An hour later the meeting mercifully wrapped up. It left her the rest of the morning to compose herself. Doing her best not to make eye contact, Gemi gathered up her belongings, throwing them back in her bag. She made it to the door, just a few more steps and she would be free. The clearing of a throat drew her attention back to the conference room. Her boss was still sitting at the head of the table, his eyebrows raised. With a defeated groan, she turned back into the room, shutting the door behind her.

So? Mr. Gavelin said, waiting for her excuse.

I’m sorry, sir. I was headed out the door when a story on the news stopped me.

TV. TV is your excuse?

I know how it sounds, sir, trust me, but there was a murder last night.

Mr. Gavelin’s eyebrows raised a hair farther, the shock registering on his face. It was an impressive sight, not much rattled the man.

Well, that’s not something you hear every day now, is it?

It’s strange. I knew the man fairly well. They are saying that he might have been an anti-chipper, but he just never struck me as that kind.

It’s certainly odd for one to be this close to civilization, but not unheard of. It seems to be becoming more common. Those who grew up in our peaceful time are blissfully unaware of how bad life was—and probably still would be—without chipping, Mr. Gavelin trailed off, his eyes staring at nothing. Well, he said finally, I would say due to the circumstances I’ll let this slide, but don’t go making a habit of it. There are plenty of young-up and-comers that would jump to have your position.

Understood, sir. Thank you.

A new book arrived today, very promising, written by a twelve-year-old. I expect a brief on it by close of business.

With that the conversation ended and Mr. Gavelin went back to his work without so much as a second glance.

Gemi slipped out of the room and hurried to her office before anyone else could interrogate her. On her way she overheard hushed conversations about the man who went insane and butchered his family. Damn anti-chippers, they claimed.

Once inside her office, Gemi released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She had been keeping a huge secret from everyone who knew her and, in the wake of the recent event, she was terrified it would come to light. It was part of the reason she had kept most people at arm’s length, not keeping close friends or getting too serious with any man who pursued her. She blamed it on work, and to an extent that was true.

It was the same reason she avoided any conversation about anti-chippers, refusing to give an opinion because the truth was she could see both sides. And the more terrifying part was they were much closer to civilization than the mass population assumed. Her uncle on her mother’s side had been a part of the movement, taking a wife and having anti-chip children. It took a bit of effort to conceal, but it was not impossible.

She remembered hearing her parents argue about it often, one of few things they ever argued about. They always talked in hushed tones, trying their best to conceal it from her. Her father was downright against it, refusing to let her uncle visit for some time before eventually giving in.

Ultimately, it became much too stressful for their children and they moved away. Gemi had almost gone to live with him and his wife after her parents died in a vehicle accident. But since she was so close to eighteen and had no other living relatives that they could contact, the state ruled to let her live on her own for the last few months. It was lonely yet liberating.

She hadn’t thought about her uncle for a long time, but now she feared for his safety and those around him. What she perceived was true. They were dangerous and would snap at some point, taking as many people with them as possible.

Forcing the thoughts to the back of her mind, Gemi sat down at her desk and got to work, starting with the new book that Mr. Gavelin had given her.

Lunch came quicker than she imagined. She sat at her desk debating whether to work straight through, when a strong rumble from her stomach won her over. She remembered that she hadn’t eaten at all today and had managed to puke up anything that might have been left over from the night before.

Gemi found the kitchen all but deserted. It seemed everyone was eating out, deciding to enjoy the last warm day before winter hit. Runa, the editing department’s assistant, stood at the countertop slicing up an array of vegetables for her salad. She glanced up, smiling as Gemi entered.

I forgot to prep last night. She motioned to her half-concocted salad.

Gemi forced a smiled before walking to the refrigerator. Pushed to the back was a stack of yogurts she left there for occasions when she was too busy to run out and grab anything.

Today she was more than thankful for her obsessive preparedness.

She grabbed a seat at the table, her back purposefully facing Runa, hoping beyond hope that she could inhale her yogurt before Runa joined her or tried to strike up a conversation.

So, Runa started the moment the first spoonful hit Gemi’s mouth. Did you hear what happened? It’s insane, right? I heard an update just before lunch—they’re calling it a definite act of anti-chipping.

I saw the initial report. Was that the official coroner report? They got to that fast.

Yeah, well, you know they’re going to want quick answers. If anti-chippers are able to invade our town undetected, this could be the downfall of society as we know it.

It sounded a bit melodramatic coming from Runa. But she had to admit if the movement spread they could find themselves in an all-out civil war. There were reports of people—even those still chipped—beginning to whisper about the possibilities of removing them, or at the very least turning them down. Those people didn’t pay close attention to what the history books said about how things had been before.

It’s crazy, isn’t it? Runa continued. I mean we all heard it in history class, about the old days when violence ran rampant. But for it to happen in this day and age, so close to home, it makes me feel so uneasy, you know?

It’s unnerving to say the least, but one case in the last forty years doesn’t amount to the downfall of society. I don’t think you should lose sleep over it.

Runa didn’t respond to her after that. The room fell silent except for the chopping of Runa’s knife on the cutting board. It wasn’t often that Runa was rendered silent.

Runa? she said, turning to face her fully. I didn’t mean to offend you.

Runa had turned her back to Gemi and was was focused on her chopping.

Hey, honestly, I’ve had a rough morning.

Still no answer.

Gemi finally stood and walked over to the other woman, and that was when she saw it. Red liquid flowed down, dripping off the cutting board, splashing in little puddles on the ground and Runa’s shoes. Runa began to mutter something under her breath as her head started twitching in a very unsettling manner.

Hey, Runa. Oh my God, are you okay?

Runa had moved her knife away from the carrot she had been chopping, now working the blade up her fingers, chopping off skin and bone as she went. Her first two fingers