Guardian Agent Thirteen

Guardian Agent Thirteen sat weeping on a spinning chair in front of a gigantic plasma screen on which myriads of black threads ran, intertwined and crossed each other like jagged spiderwebs. At one intersection a red alert was beeping. Agent Twenty-Twenty took a soft step toward the screen, leaned over and read: “Deadly Crossover.” Agent Thirteen shuddered and spun around. He saw Twenty-Twenty, opened his mouth to speak, but only a wail came out. “What have you done, Thirteen?” Twenty-Twenty whispered. “What are you doing here at all? You can’t be at the panel. You’re retired.” Thirteen wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I just wanted to cheer him up,” he said, pointing at the screen on which the lifelines of the whole town were now blinking and shimmering, rewriting themselves. His voice broke and he howled. Twenty-Twenty bypassed him carefully, clicked a button and read the pop-up on the screen. “Male, 62, will be killed in one hour by the heel of a thirteen-year-old boy…” He…