Derrick threw up after his long night drinking and wiped his mouth. His hands trembled and a roll of heat rushed over his neck and the back of his head. He stared down into the floating remnants of last night's hot wings, clouding the toilet water.

He narrowed his eyes and flicked a tiny chunk of food off of his lip with the tip of his tongue. Something caught his eye and Derrick looked a little closer.

At the bottom of the toilet, a small black square rested in the porcelain depth, heavier than the chunks of his upchuck.

He blinked and squinted at the small black square.

"What the hell?" he muttered. The explosion of sound from his voice made his ears ring. He reached up and clamped his hands over his ears. The hangover wasn't letting go easily.

After the cymbal-clash in his ears subsided, he resumed his study of the black square resting at the bottom of the toilet bowl.

His heart thumped heavy against his ribcage and he sucked a nervous breath into his chest. He looked away and plunged his hand into the toilet, and fished his fingers along the bottom until he felt the sharp edge of the small black square. He couldn't look; the hangover ensured his stomach stayed queasy. He choked back a gag and pulled the black square out of the toilet. He tossed it onto the counter next to the sink and washed his hands.

"What is that?" he muttered.

His words still slurred and sloshed around in his mouth, and a quick glance at his wristwatch told him that only two hours ago, he was 12 shots into a 25 shot night.

He wiped his wet hands on his pants and leaned down over the suspicious little square; details of the square became obvious.

A tiny, tiny circuit board lined one side of the square, and the other side played home to a myriad of raised silver dots.

"A chip?" he wondered aloud. He clenched his teeth and waited for a wave of nausea to pass.

He thought back to last night.

His thoughts immediately fell on a strange man from the night before. A man in dark glasses that asked Derrick for the time, then bought him a shot - and then just left.

Derrick stood up and swayed in the bathroom. He shoved his hand down into his pocket and ripped his phone out to look at it. The phone's screen was black. He turned the phone over and opened the back to look at his battery. The battery in the phone wasn't his.

He dropped the phone into the toilet and flushed, ignoring the clang of the cell phone as it swirled around and through the pipes.

Derrick's home phone rang, a high, shrill noise that aggravated the threatening headache Derrick tried so hard to ignore. He squeezed his eyes shut until the high pitched ring demanded his attention.

He dragged his hands off of the counter top and stumbled out of the bathroom to answer the phone.

"Hello?" he growled into the handset.

Derrick heard someone breathing.

"Hello?" he repeated. "I can hear you."

The phone call disconnected.

Derrick hung up the phone and walked back to the bathroom.

The tiny black chip was gone.

Someone knocked on the door.

Derrick jerked in surprise and looked down the hall toward the apartment's front door. He turned again to look at the counter where the chip had been. He searched the floor quickly, but didn't see the tiny black square.

Someone knocked on the door again.

Quietly, Derrick approached the front door. He held one damp hand over his heart to keep his ribcage from shaking itself apart. The door shook on its hinges as the person knocked again.

Derrick leaned forward and pushed his right eye against the peephole. A man in a gray suit stood in the hall.

Derrick did not recognize him.

He waited for the insistent man at the door to leave before he walked into his living room and opened his laptop. Immediately, he noticed the tiny green light on his webcam, telling him it was on.

The laptop clapped as Derrick pushed it shut and leaned away from it.

His home phone rang again. He ignored it this time and walked over to his living room window. He squinted out into the bright sunlight and looked down at the street below. A utility truck sat, double parked in the street below.

"It's Sunday," Derrick said.

Utility trucks only responded for emergency maintenance on Sundays.

His chest shook and he pulled in a pained breath. Across the street, he saw someone holding a camera with a zoom lens, standing in an apartment window.

Derrick jerked the curtains closed and walked over to the couch.

Someone shoved a white envelope under his door.

The phone rang.

The laptop hummed.

Someone knocked on the door.

Derrick leaned back on the couch.

Paranoia set in.