It really was glorious, Alan Gilmore thought to himself. An entire town completely at his mercy. In a lot of ways this latest change was the biggest test so far. He wasn't sure applying a single change across the entire town would work, but it seemed to be holding just fine.
Except for the oldest Watson son. There had been an odd spike in his readouts just before the 'Kayla' template was executed. But it may have been an anomaly, he was at full saturation now like everybody else. He made a note to keep an eye on the young man.
He took a sip from his Big Gulp soda as he scribbled more notes, still barely containing the excitement he'd had for days. His life's work, all his theories. They were all true! But the Hillsburg Experiment was about more than validation. It was about control.
There was a reason he picked this town, besides its geography and relative isolation. Throughout his research career, he'd been laughed at, mocked, and marginalized. Other researchers grappling for control of his experiments, claiming he was "too reckless," even conspiring to deny him research grants. And there was one scientist in particular that made his life hell. And he happened to make his home in Hillsburg.
Edward Miller was the only man that Gilmore would've ever considered his intellectual equal. Miller had initially been supportive of his research, and they had done their first experiments on reality fields together. But when Gilmore had talked about attempting to manipulate and expand these fields, Miller had called him a quack. He went on a tirade about "ethics" and "perverting science" and stormed out of the lab.
Now, Ed Miller cared not at all about quantum physics, or string theory. Gilmore watched with glee on his monitor as the once-brilliant research physicist pouted in the mirror of his Kayla-fied bedroom. The only thing he cared about now was picking out the perfect outfit to wear to the mall tomorrow. He wanted to look hot for Brian, after all, but not too slutty. And what would he do with his hair?
Of course, Brian didn't exist, except in the heads of the townspeople. The texts were simply generated by a computer. Gilmore thought about how he would handle the entire town showing up at the mall tomorrow expecting to meet their nonexistent boyfriend. Just a simple edit to the Brian subroutine should help. He turned the swivel chair to face the control panel, and in his excitement failed to notice his Big Gulp sitting on the edge of the desk.
"No!" Gilmore cried. His elbow sent the huge cup toppling. Thirty-two ounces of fizzy, sticky cola spilled out onto the control panel. Sparks flew. Acrid smoke began to rise from beneath the keys. Error message after error message popped up on the monitors.
"SHITSHITSHIT!" Gilmore shouted as he began typing frantically, trying to contain the damage. But the computer wasn't responding to his commands. He checked the readouts. The current template was holding... for now. But he was locked out of the master control unit. Until he fixed it, he wouldn't be able to control the reality field, and with the damage to the computer there was no telling what random changes could occur.
Then another fear entered the doctor's mind. The MCU also controlled the containment field, which protected Gilmore from the changes to reality. Without access, he couldn't tell if the containment was holding or not. He had to work quickly - he could just as easily be at the mercy of potentially random shifts.
