Trianne stopped at a defunct Sunlite pill silo, just outside the entrance of Food-4-All. It was a phone booth-sized cylinder, with a cracked and faded logo above the doorless entry:

S LIT

She peered inside, taking one last drag of her chemorette before flicking it off. Through the electronic wiring dangling from the ceiling, she saw Hollymonde fliers plastered all over the dark interior, her celebrity face obscured by wild streaks of graffiti. In the center of the floor was a rusted metal stump where a luxurious leather chair once rotated, the self help kiosk nothing more than ghostly black slots in polyurethane molding.

“Is Xeno ready for his acting pill?” Trianne said into her black box transceiver.

“Well . . . he's standing,” Zoom replied. “Now, we just have to get him to walk and talk.”

She exhaled her last wad of smoke and blew through the glass doors of Food-4-All, steering clear of the cashier with dark eye circles who always looked like he was plotting to set off a bomb, the cockeyed bagger who leered at her through mangled surfer bangs as he lowered groceries into the cart, the goth stock girl with Sharpie black eyeliner who glared at everyone as if they didn't deserve to have a soul. The shoppers drifting past Trianne looked like flesh-colored trout, navigating carts through the aisles with their mouths hanging open, accompanied by the sound of plastic items, never to be re-shelved, cracking under the raw black wheels. She made her way through the cereal aisle, past the elderly man in bathrobe and corduroy baseball cap, the gaunt woman in curlers and emergency red lipstick, avoiding boxes on the floor with ugly shoe prints, long since punctured, bleeding out corn flakes and multi-colored shapes. Every step making a crunching sound.

“It was her . . .” Xeno balanced himself with his hands planted on the sink counter. His trench coat hung over his tall frame like a black curtain, his disheveled black bangs glistening with perspiration, falling forward over his face like a tangle of black vines. After a few wobbly moments, he looked up, wincing from the nuclear panel light, looking around for Zoom among the arctic urinals and metallic stalls. “She spoke to me!”

“Xeno, there's no implant in your brain.” Zoom caught Xeno in his arms as he stumbled back. “It's just the Black Magic.” He shoved Xeno back towards the sink, allowing him to catch his balance, then went back to contouring his spiky orange hair in the mirror with moistened fingertips, working around the black node affixed to his forehead.

“She seemed so real,” Xeno gazed into his delirious reflection alongside Zoom, his black node still affixed to his forehead beneath sweaty bangs, “ever since the Zener test at the Intellegella job fair.” He centered his black box over his chest, buttoned his coat, trying to conceal the perspiration marks on his dress shirt.

“Who made Intellegella the authority on psychic powers?” Zoom centered his black box over his frilly poet shirt, adjusted the collar of his leopard fur pimp coat. “If the manager thinks you can read minds, that's all that matters. I'll communicate with you through the earphone on a hidden frequency, and in no time we'll be catching shop—” Zoom coughed, put his hand to his mouth, catching specks of red discharge, thought nothing of it, then continued cycling through his concealed camera angles of the market floor on his black box holopane.

“Is that blood?” Xeno asked, alarmed by the sight.

“It's nothing—a cold.” Zoom cleared his throat, looking away.

“Have you been smoking Black Magic?” He stuck the wireless earphone in his ear. “I thought we agreed we would never smoke—”

“Anyone home?” Trianne interrupted, her head sticking through the men's room door.

“Trianne?” Xeno said, puzzled. “How did you know we were here?”

“You're partner in crime called for support.” She entered the restroom and went to Xeno. “You want your acting pill?” She held up a bright orange capsule between her thumb and index finger—a familiar brand:

SUNLITE

“Where did you get this?” Xeno took the bright orange pill from Trianne's fingers and held it up to the light.

“I stole it from Velva's stash, before she kicked me out of Boutique, and whatever happened to 'Hi Trianne, how have you been? Long time, no see. Glad you're not dead?' Don't you guys have any manners?”

“Sorry,” Xeno said. “We're not in the best shape. We've been getting by on Black Magic for so long.”

“Don't I get one?” Zoom butted in.

“Sorry, Zoom,” Trianne said. “My Sunlite is in short supply. Emergencies only.”

“Why did Velva kick you out of Boutique?” Xeno kept probing.

“Xeno, take your acting pill. You need it more than any of us.” Trianne went to the restroom door. “I guess I'm rooting for you too.” She toodle-ooed goodbye with her fingers and walked out.

“Seventy percent.” Zoom coughed again, cleared his throat. “All we need is a C minus!” He slapped Xeno on the back and left the men's room, hacking all the way down the corridor.

Xeno put the Sunlite pill in his mouth, and gulped it down with a cupped handful of sink water.

It was quick.

In moments, he could feel the drug breaking down on the surface of his stomach lining, absorbing into his blood stream, becoming chemically clear what Sunlite could provide that the knock-off brand, Black Magic, could not. With Black Magic there was the same serene chemical warmth, tempered by a physiological offshore breeze or canyon gust, but the hangover effect always devolved into waking in a sweat, as if sleeping with the heater blowing for hours.

And it just got better.

As he strolled down the corridor towards the manager's office, he felt as if walking through fresh pines at sunrise, with rays of white light sifting through the dense branches, warming his face, his nervous system radiating with confidence and chemical tranquility. He felt like belting out songs in the wilderness and hauling lumber all day. He even felt as if he could access The Nth Dimension . . . like The White Boys.

He entered the manager's office, and gently closed the door behind him. The wall by the entrance was covered with seductive barmaid posters that had hung there for so long, the skin tones and hair coloring had faded to a greenish ochre.

On the surveillance telepane, the manager watched Xeno's audition footage, spooning cereal into his mouth, from a bowl cupped in his hands:

In the footage, Xeno sat at the end of a long dinner table in Blouse Demise's penthouse. In front of him was a deck of Zener cards, turned face down. Zoom's hands entered the frame, shuffled the deck, then drew a hollow five-pointed star, keeping the image towards the lens, so only the audience could see the card face.

Xeno closed his eyes, put his hand to his forehead, as if divining deep within the recesses of his extra sensory perception, inducing a mystical headache, or minor sinus contraction. After many method-acted moments, he spoke. “I sense an object with two points . . . No . . . Five! An object with five points! . . . Is it . . . a star?”

“That's correct!” Zoom said off screen, flipping the card towards Xeno, sitting at the other end of the table looking triumphant.

The manager sat there bedazzled, as if his favorite athlete had just autographed his forehead.

“I'm ready when you are, sir,” Xeno said, getting the manager's attention from the shadows.

“That's one of the most authentic Zener readings I've ever seen,” the manager said, spinning on his swivel chair towards Xeno. “You want some cereal?” He was a moose of a man, with a long drape of black hair flipped over his bald spot, a tan dress shirt that used to be white, a hula girl tie loose in the collar. He rolled himself across the floor on his swivel chair to a cluttered desk and handed the box of White Boy's Puffs to Xeno. “Fortified with five essential clairvoyant vitamins and minerals!”

“Does it work?” Xeno smirked at the box cover of two bald albino men in jumpsuits, hovering over a bowl of mutant corn puffs.

“Not really,” the manager said, still spooning cereal into his mouth, sugar-eyed in the track light, “but it tastes soooo good!” The manager punched a control panel on his desk, switching the telepane visual back to the market. He used a joystick to rotate the camera of the store from one end of the floor to the other.

“Just a handful for me, thanks.” Xeno reached into the box, tossed some corn puffs in his mouth. He spotted Zoom's overexposed coat on the surveillance telepane grid, groping vegetables as if they were female body parts.

“Look at that crap.” The manager scoffed at the picture quality of the telepane. “I can't afford a good surveillance system, because I keep getting ripped off, and I keep getting ripped off, because I can't afford a good surveillance system. Drives me nuts! I've got Bao on the floor all by himself,” he pointed out a puffy Asian man in black hoodie, patrolling the coming and going of customers at the entrance. “He's not psychic, but he is loyal. The other guys quit cuz I couldn't pay 'em anything. Now, there's ten employees on the floor posing as shoplifters, stealing specific items. All you have to do is—”

“Detect seven shoplifters in thirty minutes.” Xeno recognized the outline of Trianne's slender frame on the surveillance telepane, browsing in the Family Planning aisle.

“Well,” the manager glanced at his watch, “let's get started.”

“You won't be disappointed, sir.” Xeno gave the manager a salute of confidence and strode out of the office.

A woman in a buttoned up black raincoat entered the Family Planning aisle and stopped to browse. Trianne gave her the once over, standing a few yards away. The woman's powdery feet were enveloped in black stilettos, her amazon calves bare. She was statuesque, a head taller, with the a snout of a Barbie doll, her silent gaze concealed behind goggle-sized diva glasses. Without seeing her eyes or brows, it was hard to tell if her black beehive was natural or a wig. She selected a pregnancy test and rotated the package gently in her black fingernails, reading the instructions.

Trianne pretended she was shopping for something and selected the first item that her fingers touched on the shelves. A box of—

“Stabbin' Cabin Condoms?” Zoom said, popping up out of nowhere.

“Geezus!” Trianne put her hand to her chest, startled. “Don't come at me from behind.”

“What did you have in mind?” Zoom snickered.

“Zoom, you need to help Xeno!” She hissed under her breath.

“If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

“No,” she continued in a hushed whisper, “but that hooker down the aisle might.”

“You once said you liked men with straight noses.”

“I've said a lot of things, once.”

“Well, now it's straight.” Zoom ran his finger up and down the bridge of his nose. “Did it with Insto-Plas.”

“I said, I liked straight noses on men that I like.”

“You said that when we slept together. Does that mean you didn't like me then?”

“No, Zoom, we almost slept together, and then you went on to tell people that we did.” Trianne caught a glimpse of the woman in black over Zoom's shoulder, dropping the pregnancy test into her purse, snapping it shut, and walking off.

“Is that how it went?”

“Zoom, that woman just—”

“What about her?”

“She just stole something!” She tried to keep her voice down.

“You know Trianne, we really should combine forces and find Lew, start up another club, and get all the Black Magic we want.” Zoom leaned forward and slithered his arm around Trianne's waist.

“Zoom, for the last time, I'm just not that into you!” She pushed Zoom away.

“Are you into Xeno?”

“I'm not into anyone.”

A strange mist rose from Zoom's hair.

“My god, what is that?” Trianne recoiled from the stench. “Your body odor?”

“Body heat!” Zoom reached around Trianne once more, this time dropping a tube of lipstick into the her handbag.

“That's it.” Trianne shoved Zoom away, knocking him back a few steps. “I'm outta here!” She stormed off down the aisle.

“How's it going, Xeno?” The manager asked, his voice transmitting into Xeno's wireless earphone.

“Just getting warmed up,” Xeno replied, his voice transmitting over the manager's black box transceiver. He wandered through the store with his fingers to his forehead, appearing to channel psychic transmissions, feverishly awaiting a tip off from Zoom. His holopane auto-projected an incoming call:

CALLER ID

TRIANNE

He answered the call and read the text message projected on his holopane:

A woman in black raincoat and beehive hair just stole a pregnancy test, heading for the entrance, done with this charade, I'm outta here. Good luck, buddy. Trianne

“I'm sensing a woman in black,” Xeno said to the manager on the open line. “She stole a pregnancy test. She's heading towards the entrance.”

“Really?” The manager sounded stunned.

“Is she part of the audition?”

“No. That's a real shoplifter! I'll alert Bao.”

Trianne cut in front of the woman in black, huffing her way towards the entrance doors. The encrypted lipstick in her handbag triggered the security sensors, the stolen merchandise setting off the alarm. Trianne froze in the siren light as Bao rushed in and restrained her with the grip of his muscular hands. The woman in black shot past the two and escaped into the parking lot.

“What this?!” Bao growled in broken English, holding up the stolen lipstick to Trianne's face.

“I don't know how that got there! I didn't steal it!” Trianne protested.

“It just fell in by self?” Bao growled.

“No,” Trianne did the quick math in her head, “this creep with orange hair dropped it in my bag.”

“Where the creep?” Bao scanned the aisles with a scowl.

“Xeno, what's going on?” The manager demanded.

“I'm not sure, sir.” Xeno peered over a rack of tabloids, watching Bao harass Trianne.

“Did that girl steal the lipstick? Can you see her thoughts?”

“Yes . . . I think she was set up. It's a recent event. I sense a young man with spiky orange hair . . . in leopard spot fur coat . . . dropping a tube of lipstick into her hand bag. I think he's still in the store.” Xeno headed back into the aisles, looking for Zoom.

“Bao, go help Xeno!” The manager barked over Bao's wireless black box earphone. “We're looking for a suspect with spiky orange hair!”

“Right way, boss!” Bao left Trianne alone and rushed into the aisles after the suspect. Once he was out of sight, several hooligans seized the opportunity to stuff their pockets with merchandise and bolt through the entrance doors, sending the security scanners and alarms into a frenzy. Trianne fled alongside the, into the crowd on the walkways.

“Xeno? Where are you?” The manager toggled his joystick, trying to locate Xeno and Zoom on his surveillance telepane. No sign of Zoom. No sign of Xeno. Just Bao roaming in circles. He tried to dial out to Xeno with his black box holopane. All he got was:

UNABLE TO CONNECT