Page 3 of Static/Cling

“I am IT,” Kassian snarled. “I. T.Get it?”

“Also the muscles.” Roger punched Bjorn’s arm, then rubbed his knuckles because of the spark that zapped between them.

“And stop calling me Casper.”

“If you bothered to show your face more often, instead of hiding in your—” He made air quotes. “—office, we wouldn’t have to call you a ghost.”

“Whatever.” Kassian sat back down, only his dishevelled brown curls showing above the divider.

“Exactly.” Shrugging, Roger turned to Bjorn, hands held like he was ready for Bjorn to return his ball. His gaze kept straying to it, like he really, really wanted it back. “I’m a dog whisperer. What can you do?”

“Dog whisperer?” Bjorn tossed him his ball.

From their desk, Sal giggled. “Please. He talks to the brainiacs of the dog world. Huskies and the occasional chihuahua.”

“The fun ones,” Roger said, pretended offence all over his face, his pride in his ability still clearly shining through.

“The not-very-helpful ones,” Sal countered, not even looking up to catch the ball Roger threw at them.

“You just have to know how to engage them.”

They shook their head. “Whatever.” They turned a smile on Bjorn. “I actually am the one you’ll talk to when you’re out saving the world.” They bounced the ball off their desk and Roger leapt to catch it, making an impressive jump to stop it going over Kassian’s divider to bean him in the head.

Kassian ignored the whole thing.

“I literally applied to be a janitor.” Bjorn pointed to the boxes, as if carrying them up four flights of stairs was proof of his claim. “Seriously.”

“Dude.” Roger plunked down in his chair and waved Bjorn over. “Did you not read the fine print?”

“What fine print?”

“Here. Look.” He pointed at his computer screen. A generic contract, like the one Bjorn had signed for his job, displayed. Roger clicked at the bottom on a link Bjorn had noticed but not bothered with.

A whole new clause blinked into existence.

“The hell?” Bjorn cursed as the chair he grabbed zapped him, but he pulled it up to Roger’s desk and sat to get a closer look.

Roger put the mouse in his hand before Bjorn could warn him.

An electric pulse ran down the mouse’s wire, sparked like tiny licks of lightning when it reached the computer box, and the screen blinked, shrank to a pinpoint, and remained dark.

“What the hell?” Roger took the mouse back and wiggled it on the pad. He thumped the side of the box, tapped on the keyboard, then clicked the power button off and on a few times.

Bjorn sighed. “It’s a paperweight,” he said.

“This is a brand-new machine.” In truth, the computers did look to be the only modern things in the room.

“So that’s where the budget went.”

Sal’s face appeared over the top of their monitor. “Why am I getting a bunch of 404 errors? Did the interwebs break?”

“No, I, um?—”

The office door opened before Bjorn had a chance to explain, and to his relief, Leif stood there, a grin on his face and a tray of coffees in hand.

“What’d I miss?” He glanced around the room from face-to-face, including Kassian’s, which had again appeared over the top of his divider.

“Why are we offline?” Kassian demanded, then closed his mouth with a snap when he saw Leif.

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