Little things like buying a bag, Emilio knew, occupied the central stage of the Sixth Attraction. This entire story, the Multiverse, and life wasn’t about warships, lasers or pain. The Sixth Attraction was about life, time, and emotions. Time was not a line, and paths changed. What he was doing, while to most futile, mattered to the Multiverse and the rest of the game. The President remained as a pawn on this intricate board and Takeda was somehow another piece. At the moment he was in Paris, about ten days before the end of all life. Next to him was a man who, somehow mattered also to the Multiverse.

Having followed the morning broadcast live on television, hundreds of Parisians were rushing out in the street and converging to the store in hopes of getting a glimpse of the most important man in the world. “Boris, get us a private table in a nearby cafe. We need to talk. One with a view if you can. The cameras will film, but I don’t want a crowd. We need some peace. Keep people ten feet away.”

The pair walked out of Hermès holding two large orange bags. Takeda refused to let his out of his sight, holding it across his chest. As they walked amongst the crowd, everyone was respectful but unable to hide their feeling of awe and apprehension for Emilio. “I need twenty minutes of your time,” he said. “Humanity really, more than I.”

“After this gift,” he pointed at the box gleeful, “you and your people could sexually abuse me for hours. You know how much a Marilyn costs?”

“It’s obviously priceless.” That was the right answer and he knew it. He looked at Takeda who obviously was unique in most ways. “You look a bit younger.”

“That hurt, three trillion cells had to be changed, about fifty pounds of puss.”

Emilio knew they were being watched by millions of children. The pair squeezed into the limo, and Emilio asked the driver to get them to the heights of the observatory of Montmartre. The Cathedral had a lovely terrace with a view over the entire Parisian region. This was where he needed to be next.

This was the perfect place the end of day’s rain between the purple skies.

The car made its way through the streets. Thousands of people looked out their windows simply to catch a glimpse. “Always so popular?” asked the virologist, amused. Along the way, Emilio was struggling to keep his focus on reality. As if he had taken hallucinogens, the world was shifting and moving as though it were a dream, and he that he may be losing a coherent view of the multiplicative fragments. As quickly as the sensation had come, it was gone.

Takeda watched the crowd. “And you stayed a virgin this long. You cannot imagine the fun I would have had.” He held no punch.

This was a moment for humor as they passed Le Moulin Rouge on their way up the streets. There was chaos everywhere on the streets, and Emilio’s car was now flanked by hundreds of police officers.

“Imagine kissing someone knowing your mind tells you exactly what they think.”

“Really,” joked Takeda. “With this new body, who cares.” He tapped the Mexican’s belly. “But point well-taken.”

Minutes later they had claimed the narrow winding streets. A bodyguard opened the door, and they stepped out of the car in the emptied place. It was flanked by three-floor old houses. On their right, the tall white cathedral towered. The security guards were clearing many tables and made sure their table was stable over the uneven cobblestone. This was where tourists frequently flocked by the thousands to pretend to care about artists as they painted the same image on canvas every day. The colors in the sky were scary, and as lines of fire dropped between the clouds, they sat.

The Groupe de sécurité de la présidence de la République, more abruptly known as the GSPR, were securing the perimeter as fast as could be expected. They were closing doors and moving chairs. Emilio knew the Multiverse and not these officers were in control, and they were secure. But the President respected protocol, there was no reason to stop them. The pair sat. Emilio was obviously used to this level of attention, not Takeda. The bodyguards were ready, and the French police in the distance controlled the crowd forming in every street.

Hundreds of wooden straw chairs were aligned, two side-by-side at each green table. The pair knew how to profit from life. They sat the cold morning breeze in the air. They looked at the sky for a long time before they started to talk.

“On behalf of everyone watching, thank you,” began the President to the virologist as he was looking directly at a flying camera.

“For what?” answered Takeda. The large orange box was resting on his lap; he would not put it on the floor. Emilio reached out and pulled a chair he slid to the virologist and suggested the bag should go there. Takeda’s reaction was priceless. He had no plan to part with it. Period. The box would stay on his lap.

The unusual broadcast began. “Your gift to the world. This strange virus, what do you call it?”

“Strange, I guess so. This is my second Virus. I created one decades ago, and that was far from a success. Most know it has the Ghost Virus or the META virus. The new one is called the God Virus. I am good at naming things, aren’t I?” He asked, rhetorically. “What I built this time is more than a bug, but honestly, it must be something much different by now. I saw on television how it has mutated.”

“The human population is a little freaked out right now. Sophie’s Rho waves are gone, and they need some reassurance as to what, precisely, is happening.” Emilio pointed upward, “The sky is falling upon us. Can you offer a couple of words?”

Takeda looked at the little flying cameras buzzing around. In the distance, he could see them on the newsfeeds. The man wasn’t a camera whore. He looked nervously at the buzzing units. Emilio brought Takeda's focus back. “Look at me, speak to me,” he nearly growled. Takeda's vision snapped back to Emilio. The man was nervous, he began to feel warm and dizzy.

The waiter came, paper in hand. “A cappuccino,” started the President, “and . . . .”

“Two double shots of grappa, sambuca and two tequilas on ice, mescal if you have some.” The server was stunned. “Bring the bottles if you can,” added the virologist.

It was still well before ten in the morning when liquor could be served. He looked at the President, who simply smiled and waved approval. The waiter knew better. The cameras were buzzing, and this wasn’t his show. He smiled and went to get the alcohol.

“Who needs a liver, right?” joked Takeda.

Quickly the waiter returned as the man was obviously waiting for a buzz to find the courage to speak. As soon as the row of small glasses hit the table from the silver tray, Takeda grabbed a first like a lifeline and gunned it in without hesitation. He then drank the second one, a third and only then did a smile return.

“Stay sober,” asked Emilio.

Takeda opened the bottle gunned half of it down. “Don’t worry. I know this new body needs twenty-seven minutes for any alcohol side effects to arrive in my brain,” explained the virologist. He saw Emilio needed more. “Alcohol is a small enough molecule but has a lot of traveling to do before my brain’s synapses start misfiring. My stomach lining alone is ten of these minutes. I also tested the virus on myself, I promise, I can’t die. Don’t worry.”

Takeda, between shorts, caressed the President’s cheek. “That assistant of yours is lucky. What do you want to know?” The alcohol was softening him up.

“People around the world are watching. It would be helpful if you could explain how this virus of yours able to save the human race. At this moment, humanity requires perspective.”

At first, Takeda shook his head, rejecting the offer. He did not owe anyone anything. The small cameras were flying around as he pondered. The man was a lab rat, not a television star. There were long minutes of verbal silence as fragments of Heliocorium smashed into earth's surface in the distance. After many facial expressions, Takeda's face changed, his mouth stiffened. Multiple emotions flickered over his new facial features. Emilio knew better and waited.

“People are watching. Tell them how to make sure they are protected, explain what you just did. They need reassurance as we approach the Sixth Attraction down here on earth.”

“Really?”

“Please. Don’t dumb it down.” The comment took Takeda by surprise.

“Harsh word. Are you sure?”

“There is no time and frankly, if there is one thing this Attraction has told us is that once in a billion years, intellect gets the stage. Apologies to your new hot look, but unlike Copland, you don’t look as intelligent as you are. You are the most brilliant virologist ever to have lived. Own it.”

“Really?” There was still a touch of hesitation. “What’s a virus but a large software program made of carbon, oxygen, and other basic elements? I can’t program anything I want, the virologist is bound by many real-life parameters. In exchange, our creations have a real-life impact on the world. We can bio-engineer bugs that stop aging, cure cancer, or even change the color of your eyes.” He was on fire now.

“Doctors and biologists are not there to question life. Our job is to understand how life works, not why it is here. Life, with few exceptions, is programmed to survive, we must wonder why. There is beauty in its complexity. The first signs of what you call the Sixth Attraction was a change in favoritism of outcome. But think about it, life evolved for one simple reason: this bias that favors man has always been there. The same way the planet enters ice ages, it appears to evolve in spurts. I often wondered how to leverage this favoritism, this entropy.

“A couple of years ago, while I was in a coma, the fabric of the world began to help men and women using this strange God Bias. I told myself if I was ever back in the real world, this God Bias would be my first experiment. While you were all busy wondering how our poor species ended up in such a predicament, I was asked by Nick to destroy mankind. Obviously, he was driven by the forces converging to the Sixth Attraction. The Jester, this guy who died on Mercury had the perfect plan. Unlike every idiot before me, I assumed that somehow an invisible force was pushing us forward and acted to thwart the poor Maltais. If you read what he did, he should have destroyed us, but some strange force kicked in. To succeed in destroying mankind, I had to understand how the God Bias operates and harness it.”

“To you, what is the God Bias?”

“Very simple. Very, very simple. It’s a law that says that if you and I flip a coin, on average, we will both win 50% of the time. In biology, all of the processes are repeated over and over. Cancer, for example, occurs when this process goes crazy. If we could find a way to make random variations push life toward one place, we could manipulate true selection processes. Truth is, the God Bias has always been around and explains our evolution. It also explains why our evolution was halted these past thousands of years.” Emilio was watching, eyes wide opened. Takeda knew he was missing the mark. He drank a shot.

Takeda continued, “All these people need to know is that I released a bug and because the Multiverse is bending as much as it is, my bug can save life and become what it wants really.”

“Virus?”

“Nope, bug. I created something able to evolve. The problem with a virus is its need to rely on the DNA to replicate and act. It can’t go fast enough. Trust me, cell regeneration takes at least a couple of hours and is truly painful. Thanks to the Ghost, I know it first-hand. But as I imagined, the virus would quickly evolve into something better, more subtle. I am not sure what. My money is on a variation of a long-form prion acting in tandem with the Van der Valls forces in the water molecules of the cell.”

“Can you explain to everyone how it works?”

“Are you joking? It was initially designed to help transform a host into something able to survive strange, hostile conditions. Today? This shit,” he pointed at the sky and drank another shot, "is coming, and it’s probably acting in a much different way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course, you don’t. No one can understand what I created. Marilyn, that computer creature is bound in her digital world. But the beauty of biology is that it is free of human rules. Here is what I can tell you. This should make everyone watching feel better. I gave this Multiverse the tool it needed to manipulate this world quickly in any way it wants. If it wants us dead, we will all drop where we stand in a second. But now, if she wants to save us. I think this bug will save us even if the sun falls on our heads. I am not sure how powerful my creation is,” he stood back, “but I promise, this is not really a problem. If this entire reality vanishes, there is nothing I can do for that. In theory, if the Multiverse wanted a human body, we would see giant feet forming by now.”

“How can people make sure they are protected?” Takeda drank and began emptying the bottle into the empty shot glasses. “Why are you trying to pass out?”

“You really have no clue, do you.” He smiled. “Two days ago I grabbed a full bottle of Tequilla and drank it down in two minutes flat. I normally should be dead, but my little bug modified me and neutralized the harm. I get half drunk, that’s fun, no? In regards to making sure you have my bug, it’s again very simple. The Multiverse has already made sure anyone who may need my solution is already infected. The bend has increased to such a point. The only people without it are on mars or on the colonies. But knowing how this works, I would not be surprised to learn she found a workaround.”

“You think I am infected?”

“Not sure, depends what role you play next.”

“You think we will be fine?”

The young transvestite smiled at a camera, held up the bag, and simply said, “Yes. Of course, you don’t think I would have bothered with this bag otherwise.”

The men drank as Heliocorium rained over the horizon in the Parisian suburbs.

A moment later, Takeda opened the box and gently pulled out the bag. He inspected its inside, and to his surprise, he pulled out a note. On one side of the card was printed the Electoral 2072 logo. On the other side, there was the beautiful handwriting of Marilyn. Takeda read it, swallowed and handed it to Emilio with a worried look.

“For you,” he said.

Emilio read it And his face got somber. A camera showed what it read, “Stop fooling yourselves, the Frankenstein monster wins at the end. Enjoy the drinks, I just paid.”

Both men had a chill run down their spines.

Rocks were falling, one hit the Eiffel Tower in the distance snapping the tip off.