[ WP ] In the shower you discover a dial on your neck . It 's turned to 7 . There 's no indication of what it controls . You set it to 8 and get dressed .

Water burst from the shower nozzle, drumming across my neck. Each droplet became a small stream tracing the various nooks and crannies of my frame, covering me in warmth. I arched my neck sideways, trying to click out a numb pain in the muscle between earlobe and shoulder. Tracing the spot brought awareness to a large pimple, which felt more like a bullet wedged into flesh. 
 
 Massaging the muscle and upping the ante on the water temperature only served to make my neck stiff. There's the type of pain you get when you kick the couch and say a few swear words, and then there's this type, the annoying numbing sensation that nothing seems to work on. I figured further examination was required. 
 
 Once out of the shower, I submitted myself to a mirror assessment. A metal dial jutted out of my neck, for half a heartbeat I thought it was tiredness conjuring hallucinations. A tap of my finger proved that I'd either become a robot overnight or that my pimples were now numbered dials. When I removed my hand from over the spot, the dial had increased from seven to eight. 
 
 My mind raced along with my heart. The ideas that came to me were other-worldly explanations and the kind of hu-ha that cartoons and superhero movies are designed on. I pressed closer to the mirror, wiping away steam, and surveying the edges of the flesh. It looked like someone had shoved the metal into me, as the skin around the edges was starting to scab over. 
 
 I wanted to tell someone, to run away, to figure out what the hell had happened to me. A quick flex of my arms, legs, and smaller muscle groups proved that I had n't become a superhero or a shape-shifting alien overnight. This was the work of foul play. 
 
 Someone knocked on the bathroom door. My heart took a leap, which left me staring at the door like an idiot, half thinking about diving through the bathroom window and doing a towel runner. 
 
 `` Marcus, how far are you?'' my sister, Ellen, asked. 
 
 I let the tension flood out of me with one big sigh. Way to be a paranoid idiot, I'd half expected the CIA to show up and take me away for experimental research. I mean, despite the fact that growing dials was unheard of - as far as I knew -, something told me I'd just become a very valuable asset to someone -- probably mankind. 
 
 `` Wo n't be long,'' I shouted back. 
 
 Ellen groaned. `` My boss is going to kill me if I'm late again. Ca n't you get changed in your bedroom?'' 
 
 I wanted to say, that her little brother had just found a metal dial lodged in his neck, which he was n't entirely sure was organic, and that it was freaking me fuck out, but that my emotions were kept at bay for the time being. I settled for, `` If your boss kills you, we'll finally be able to pay off the house.'' 
 
 That got a bang in return. `` Hurry up, asshole.'' 
 
 I'd call in sick, search the web, and see what I could dredge up on Reddit and 4chan. God knows there would n't be anything bout this on other platforms -- if it had happened before. Slash-R and 4chan served up unconventional on a silver platter. 
 
 I threw my t-shirt and shorts on and approached the bathroom door. Ellen banged again, prompting me to grind my teeth. `` Your boss wo n't die if you're late, you know?'' I curled a hand around the door knob. 
 
 `` Marcus...'' 
 
 I paused. It was Dad this time and his voice came off a little more distant than usual. 
 
 `` Dad?'' I said, thumb over the door lock. 
 
 He took a little longer than I'd expected, almost like he had to force the words my way. `` You come on out now. We need to talk.'' 
 
 
 
 
 

