Chapter 1

The sun shone lazily through the lone window of Professor Harrison’s classroom. Swirls of dust could be seen in the light, looping and floating, dancing playfully with itself for drowsy eyes to see. One such pair stared intently at the dust recital, perhaps contemplating the dust’s motives for dancing, or perhaps just whittling away the time until…



Bbbrrrriiiiiiinng!



Sam jolted upright in her seat, a deep red impression fading on her chin, the same place that rested on her fist just moments earlier. Blinking a few times to regain her consciousness, Sam realized that everyone was shoving books and papers into their bags and steadily shuffling out of the door at the front of the room. She quickly followed suit, carefully folding and arranging her supplies before gently resting them in her satchel. She slung the satchel over her shoulder and strode up toward the door, weaving expertly through desks and other students. Just before she reached the door, however, a deep grumble emanated from behind and stopped her in her tracks.



“Sam, hold on a minute.” Sam cursed her rotten luck, muttering a string of profanities under her breath before turning back. The fat, greasy teacher reclined in his rolling chair. A terrible comb-over did nothing to hide the fact that he was mostly bald, and a graying mustache drooped over his abnormally large upper lip. Repressing the suddenly overbearing urge to vomit, Sam addressed the man.



“Um…what is it, Mr. Harrison?” A kick of his foot sent the aging professor spinning sluggishly in his chair.



“Oh, nothing,” he blabbered, still revolving. When he once again faced Sam he stamped his foot, halting the lazy motion. A ferocity burned furiously in his eyes, looking straight into Sam’s with intense purpose as he belted “I just needed a good look at you.” The words were spoken low and ominously, a malicious intent driving their point home. A chill crawled up Sam’s spine.



“Well, uh, if you don’t need anything e-else,” she stammered, “I think I-I’ll just be go-“



“Hold on!” blurted the professor, nearly toppling out of his seat. Sam’s heart dropped as he huffed and puffed his way to his feet and approached her. Now smiling, he planted directly in front of the girl and extended his hand to her.



“You always were my favorite student,” he spoke, kindness and warmth replacing the open hostility he exuded a moment earlier. “Put her there!” His hand remained extended, obviously expecting a grip in return. Sam merely stared awkwardly at the gesture, fiddling with her satchel to have some excuse not to touch it. The moment of uneasy silence passed quickly, but to Sam, seemed to drag on for an eternity. Mr. Harrison raised the hand to his mouth and cleared his throat, obviously getting the hint made plain by his student.



“…okay then.” Seizing the opportunity, Sam backed sheepishly toward the door behind her.



“I’ll…see you around, Mr. Harrison.”



“Oh, you can count on it, Sam.” A shudder passed through her body as she turned tail and fled the room. Mr. Harrison waddled back to his chair, plopping down and reclining as much as the flimsy plastic backing would let a man his girth recline. he kicked his foot against the floor, propelling him once again into a sluggish twirl.



“I’ll see you sooner than you think, Sam…” Seeing that no one remained to witness their performance, the dancing dust stopped dancing. And in the light of the afternoon sun, they drifted slowly to a stop; drifted slowly off to sleep.



Sam burst through the double-doors of the high school into the courtyard outside. The creeping chill of autumn pervaded the air, and a light wind scattered the leaves that had fallen from their trees and found solace on the ground. Amidst the hustle and bustle of students, Sam picked out the short, blonde hair that could only belong to one person. She made a beeline through the tangled mass of groups and cliques, spitting out from them directly in front of the two girls standing aloof by a tree. The crisp air pierced her throat as she caught her breath, and she wheezed exasperatedly in short gasps. Composing herself, she waved a greeting and cheerily wheezed “Hey Clover! Hey Alex!” Both girls smiled and responded “Hey, Sam!” in unison.



“Sam, what took you so long?” whined Alex, “We always meet under this tree right after school.”



“I’m sorry, guys,” she apologized, still catching her breath, “I would’ve been here sooner, but Mr. Harrison stopped me after class.” Clover made a sound similar to throwing up.



“Ugh, gag! I can’t stand that old creep!”



“He was acting even creepier than usual, too,” she added. “I can’t shake this feeling like he’s stalking me.” Clover was about to respond, but she was cut short when a passerby bumped into her. Both Sam and Alex braced for the exasperated string of curses and name-calling they expected to come immediately afterward. They were surprised, however, to see a blank expression fall over Clover’s face. After a few moments of heavy silence, Alex snapped her fingers



“Hellooo! Earth to Clover!” Clover shook her head, the regular slew of emotions returning to her face.



“Sorry I spaced out,” she murmured, shaking her head lightly, “I thought I knew that girl that bumped into me, and I was trying to think of her name…oh well!” She shrugged it off with a quick chuckle. Assured that her companion was alright, Alex continued the conversation.



“Can you guys believe that we’re only a week into the school year?” Sam and Clover both sighed and rolled their eyes.



“I know!” squealed Clover, “We’ve only had a few days and I already want it to be summer again!” Sam adjusted her satchel, pushing the strap back onto the meat of her shoulder from its precarious position at the tip.



“These books weigh a ton,” she grunted, patting the satchel. “I already have a zillion assignments.”



“Well that’s because you’re in all those super smart classes!” blurted Alex. “They always have a bunch of homework.” Sam scrunched her face.



“I know, I know. I just hope we don’t have a W.H.O.O.P. situation tonight. There’s no way I could do that and all my homework!” Out of the corner of her eye Sam spotted something dart forward and then halt. She searched the perimeter for anything that might have caused the disturbance, but nothing around seemed to fit the description.



“Uhh, did that trash can just move?” asked Clover innocently. She was pointing to a large bin that was now resting quietly beside the tree. All three girls inched cautiously toward the can until they stood over the top, peering inside. A suspicious feeling swept over Sam.



“Wait a minute, guys,” she said, “this has W.H.O.O.P. written all ove-.” Before she had a chance to finish an intense vacuum force sucked her and her friends into the trash can, which promptly sent them careening down a long, metal chute at unsettling speeds.



“-er iiiiIIIIIIIIITTTTT!” The combined din of the girls’ yelling echoed up the chute and out of the trash can that was quietly and surreptitiously zooming back to its original place.



The three girls' screams filled the chute all the way to the bottom. It was a few moments before they realized that they were now sprawled on top of each other upon a squishy mat at the base of the chute, and took them as long to quiet their shrill cacophony.



"So nice to see you, too, girls." Jerry stepped forward, subtly removing ear-plugs and slipping them into his coat pocket. Clover, Sam and Alex, upon noticing his presence, scrambled over one another and lined up at attention.



"Jerry," panted a flustered Sam, "you have to stop springing these surprise visits on us."



"I am truly sorry, girls, but there is at present a dire situation." Sam and Alex stiffened at the news, their full attention drawn to Jerry, with Clover quickly following suit.



"What's the situation?" asked Clover.



"There is at large a very dangerous individual," spoke Jerry briskly, "one who poses a serious security threat to W.O.O.H.P. and other organizations." Stepping to the side, he approached the large computer console behind him and pressed a button. Displayed on the screen was the mugshot of a young boy. There was something eerie in the way he smiled in the photo, a kind of perverse smugness.



"This, girls, is..."



"Casey Dorfler," finished Sam. Jerry looked genuinely surprised.



"Well, yes, Sam, but how did you...?"



Butting in once again, Sam explained "I used to babysit him when he was little, around four or five years ago. There's no way I could forget that face, he was such a brat!" A visible shudder of disgust ran up Sam's spine.



"Brattiness aside," continued Jerry, "he poses a massive threat and must be located and detained immediately."



"But what could he possibly do to be so dangerous?" blurted Alex, "He's like, twelve."



"He is quite young," he conceded, "but you, being a W.O.O.H.P. agent, should know that appearances can be deceiving. This child is a registered super-genius."



"Oh yeah," interrupted Sam again, "he was crafty, and smart. This kid probably could've aced one of my Calculus exams when he was five."



"Quite so," stated Jerry, now somewhat peeved by the nigh constant interruptions. "And he's put that intelligence to menacing use." He paused, waiting for one of the girls to chip in again. Satisfied upon finally receiving their undivided attention, he continued. "Though he may be rather unassuming, our friend Casey here has, according to our intelligence, built a device that allows him to 'swap bodies,' as it were, with other people. So, as you can see, this ability could allow him to 'swap' with a person in a position of authority, permitting him to gain access to countless files of sensitive information. Add onto that an abnormally violent temperament and he has the ability to inflict great damage not only to private infrastructure, but to those he possesses as well."



"Now that you mention it, he was a pretty angry kid," said Sam. "He would always act up when I was babysitting, and it was really hard to get him under control. But I found a method that worked pretty well." A triumphant smirk slithered into her mouth as she reminisced. "He hated being treated like the little kid he was. He would always say it was 'beneath the dignity of one at his intellectual stature.' So, whenever he refused to cooperate, I would put a diaper on him." The others in the room stared at her as if a purple hippo flew out of her mouth.



"Jeez," chided Clover, "doesn't that seem a bit harsh?"



Jerry stroked his mustache as he said "I must admit, that does seem a tad...unorthodox."



"Well, sure, but he wasn't exactly an 'orthodox' kid!" Sam stated, defending herself. "I mean, it was the perfect punishment! He hated being treated like a child, and what's more childish that wearing a diaper?"



"Did you..." peeped Alex, eyes as wide as saucers, "did you make him use them?"



"Well, that depended on his behavior. The rules were that the diaper stayed on until he behaved. Sometimes his need for a bathroom came before his willingness to cooperate." Alex made a face that looked like she had just seen someone get smacked in the gut.



"Alright, alright," said Jerry with a wave of his hand, "enough of this. We must focus on the missions." The three girls resumed their position of rapt attention.



"Now because of the importance that this mission be completed successfully, you have authorized to use a new, experimental - yet highly effective - gadget: the 'hack.'"



"The hack?" asked the girls in unison.



"Yes, the H.A.C.C.C. - the Hypnotic Audio Cerebral Control Chip." Upon explaining the acronym he held up what appeared to be a small computer chip.



"But," asked Clover, "how does it work?" Jerry turned and pressed another button on the expansive control panel. A second later, the image of the chip was superimposed on the monitor with the letter H.A.C.C.C. scrolling beneath it. A pleasant female voice rang through the speakers as the demonstration whirred to life.



"The Hypnotic Audio Cerebral Control Chip is an experimental device that allows the user to command with absolute authority. To use it, simply attach the chip to the base of the subject's neck and its audio input sensors will translate your commands into neural impulses." The screen displayed a short animation depicting the placement of the chip and a person speaking, which another animated person responded to. After the animation the screen slowly faded to its average W.O.O.H.P. display.



"So, this thing will give us complete control over who we put it on?" Clover inquired.



"It will," responded Jerry promptly. "Because of its possible misuse if fallen into the wrong hands, it is only authorized under the most dire of circumstances, which is why you girls haven't seen it until now. If you look in the pouch on the left side of your uniform, you will find a case containing the chip." All three reached into their uniforms and pulled out the small case, examining it firsthand and contemplating the power they wielded with it.



"Wait," said Sam, concern in her voice and her face, "both you and the computer mentioned it was 'experimental.' What exactly does that mean?"



"Well," explained Jerry, "we haven't had a one-hundred percent success rate with it. There are cases where it has malfunctioned. It seems that there is an especially high rate of failure in cases involving extreme emotion: subjects who exhibit an intensified feeling of some sort have short circuited the H.A.C.C.C. The human mind is a force to be reckoned with, I suppose." The girls contemplated the cases once more before depositing them back into the pouch.



"Are there any other questions?"



"Yeah," chirped Alex, "how do you guys get these uniforms on us as we're coming down those W.O.O.H.P.-y chute things?"



Alfred barked a throaty chuckle. "Trade secret, Alex! Anywho, I suppose I should give you mission parameters." He again pushed a button on the control panel and a map of the United States appeared on the screen.



"Obviously, your mission is to locate Casey Dorfler and apprehend him before he does further harm. Because of his ability, however, we have lost our pinpoint on him." A red dot appeared on the screen, which zoomed in to show a college campus.



"His last known permanent residence is here, in the dorms of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology."



Alex could be heard mumbling "He's already in college?!"



Disregarding the exclamation, Jerry pressed on. "He lives in a private suite in the Lucky dorms. An investigation of his residence may provide information on his current whereabouts. Transportation has been arranged and will be departing immediately. Clover, Sam, Alex - good luck."



"Thank you, Jerry," the girls responded in unison. No sooner did the words leave their mouths did a door open beneath them, plunging them into some unknown vehicle.



Jerry watched nonchalantly, listening to their fading screams. A hand found his mustache and he began stroking it, pondering. "How do their uniforms get put on?" he wondered, absent-minded, as he sauntered from the room.