The Mandela Field Manipulator 3.0

This story is part of the MFM series.
First released on April 27, 2020.
Edited and Corrected by Ben243.




Paul stood in front of the mirror, stroking his thick beard for the last time, before finally shaving it off. His husband Burt loved it, called him his "sexy Lumberjack". But even he admitted it was time. Their kisses had become a bit scratchy lately. Regardless, it had to be done! It was after all the first day back on duty for Lieutenant Paul Adlin. It felt weird, though! As if he was shaving this face for the first time. Which, in a way, he was...

As he entered the kitchen, already wearing his uniform, he was surprised by his loving family. Burt had made some pancakes with bacon and his daughter Emily had drawn him a picture. There were her two Daddys, Emily herself in a nice flower dress... and a black cat. As always! She loved cats, but Paul was unfortunately allergic. The picture was really nice though! He gave his daughter a big kiss on the forehead and put her masterpiece on the fridge, before starting breakfast. They talked, they laughed, they ate... it seemed he'd never been this happy in his entire life!

The traffic wasn't as dense as usual, for a Monday. In the past he'd used the occasion for a short detour to Dunkin Donuts, but he had gained some weight in the hospital. He'd used his time at home with a strict diet and training, but his uniform still felt a bit tight around the hips.

Arriving at the base he showed his pass to the Guard, who gave him a firm nod before sending him on his way in. He parked his car in the usual spot and went directly to General Hammersmith's office.



"Ah, Lieutenant Adlin! Welcome back!" Paul saluted his superior and replied, "Good morning, Sir!" When the General finally looked up from his papers he was totally startled. "Good heavens! They really did a remarkable job... erm, please take a seat!" - "Thank you, Sir!" said Paul, a little embarrassed.

"As you might have heard, we weren't able to identify the body at the refinery. To be honest, there wasn't much left after the explosion. But since nobody has seen or heard anything since then, we assume it was our target." Adlin was glad to hear that. It took them months to get to this bastard, a wild goose chase through the states and beyond.

"I guess you can't wait for your next assignment!" - "That's right, sir! It's been a while..." - "You're sure, you're up for the task?" - "Absolutely, Sir! I trained the whole summer!" - "I see...! Well, no reason to rush into things!" Paul was a bit irritated by that. What was that supposed to mean?

The General pressed a button on the intercom and told his secretary to send in Doctor Martins. Soon after a man in a white Lab coat entered the room. He was around Paul's age, but his thin, brown hair was already getting gray.

"Lieutenant Adlin, this is the new leading Scientist for Project Nelson, Doctor Bertram Martins. An old colleague of the Professor." Paul, a little confused, stood up and shook the Doctor's sweaty hand. "So you're the man who volunteered to assist me?!" - "I what!?" came Paul's shocked reply. He looked at the General, hoping this was all a big misunderstanding. The General explained, the Lieutenant wasn't exactly volunteering.

Paul was furious and tried to protest. He wasn't just a dumb Guinea pig for some experimental Mumbo Jumbo. He was a well-trained Soldier. He was supposed to be on the Battlefield not in some lab.

A stern glance from the General shut him down. The decision had been made - period. There was no use calling his father-in-law Senator Davis this time, it was his recommandation after all. He'd seen him struggle with his training, just days ago. Exercises he'd done with ease in the past, left him out of breath and sweating like a dog. Paul needed more time to get back in shape and in the meantime he could be of some assistance to Doctor Martins.

"With all due respect, Sir! I'm in top condition!" The General took a sceptic look at Paul's uniform. The buttons on his jacket seemed to burst off any second. "Just do as you're told, Adlin! Stay with Doctor Martins, it's just for a few months and we need every man we can get for the project!" Paul gave in, there was nothing he could do anyway. He saluted his superior and left the office, followed by Doctor Martins.


The good Doctor tried to comfort his new Test subject, who was foaming in anger. All the good vibes his family had given him this morning were gone. All the training, the preparations, for nothing. And most of all, he felt betrayed by the Senator, who had been like a father to him. Nothing the Doctor could say while they were walking down the corridors would calm him down, as far he was concerned. As it turned out: He was wrong!

As soon as they entered Dr. Martins' lab, the young Soldier gazed over the most impressive, giant machine he'd ever seen. Lots of metal, fiber glass, mechanics, blinking lights, buttons and wiring were built up into a three or four level monstrosity. They'd really done it! They really recreated Professor Hartford's greatest invention: The Mandela Field Manipulator.

It still had its bugs, but as soon as it worked properly it would become the most powerful instrument mankind has ever created. Compared to this the Manhattan Project would look like a Water balloon, the Internet like an old phonebook and the Large Hadron Collider at CERN like some expensive Hula hoop. At least according to Dr. Martins.

The only problem was: The Test phase was quite boring! The first days and weeks Adlin was occupied sitting in that ridiculous oversized dentist’s chair, an even more ridiculous helmet on his head, being asked question upon question upon question... This was such a waste of time, Paul thought! He could be out there with his Unit, fighting and hunting terrorists. There were human lives at stake! What was he doing here, they could use anyone for this, why him?

Even when the first changes in his memories happened, he was underwhelmed. Whoop-de-doo, he got some questions wrong, big deal! No, there were no real developments in the lab. But at home, something rather strange was happening. All of a sudden, he had forgotten how to bake Emily's favorite cookies. Instead of that he could name every tree he was passing on his way to work. And then there was this occasional paranoia, as if there was someone hunting him.

He talked with Doctor Martins about this, who had the suspicion Adlin was just faking symptoms to get out of his grasp. There was no way the Mandela Field was still influencing him from outside the machine. At least not as long as they hadn't found a way to extend the effects of the Mandela field. Adlin swore he wasn't imagining things.

He even tried to speak with the General, who had other problems at the moment: The Pentagon was questioning the whole project and if there weren't any results soon, they would cancel it altogether. Adlin was as shocked about this development as him - all this effort and suffering for nothing?!



That night he had a strange dream: He found himself in a luxurious Hotel suite, having a party with some posh guests. Champagne, hors d’oeuvres, dancing and chatting all around. Suddenly he looked outside the window and discovered the Police, a SWAT team and a pale man in a black suit surrounding the Hotel. Something told Adlin, they were coming for him. Dammit!

A quick look around and his eyes fell on a young waiter, approximately his size. He approached him and offered him some extra cash for a small favor... A minute later the police crashed the party! And he escaped in the Waiter's uniform by climbing over to the neighboring suite and walking down the corridor as if nothing had happened. Nobody was bothering him or even recognized him...

He told Burt about his dream, who knew a thing or two about the interpretation of dreams. "It was nothing like that! It was real, somehow - and strangely familiar!" Before his husband could make any more suggestions, they were interrupted by Emily, coming in, singing them some Morning song she'd just learned in Kindergarten. She was adorable!



Adlin later met up with two members of his old team, Gomez and Montescue, at Percy's Diner. They talked about their new assignments. Gomez was briefly chasing some ISIS terrorist cell in the Middle east and Montescue was preparing for a new Top Secret project in South America. Adlin was embarrassed he'd been forced to help Doctor Martins with his stupid machine. He missed the action and, yeah, the fun. Gomez shared his opinion: It was such a shame, he was one of the best in their unit - except for her, she joked.

She comforted him with the fact he'd at least neutralized that son of a bitch Professor Bates. This guy was harder to locate then a needle in a haystack! A master of disguise, the press had called him. If only they'd known about his little magic trick... "Science, not magic!" corrected him Montescue. "Say, have they ever recovered that device of his?" Adlin shook his head: "There wasn't much left of him after the explosion. A pile of bones and ash!"

Gomez, wondering how perfect Paul's plastic surgery had been, remembered still having some old photos of him on her iPhone. The results were quite astounding: He looked basically the same, but a bit thicker, more mature. "Suits you! Maybe I should get myself blown away too!" joked Montescue and was kicked under the table by Gomez. "What?!" - "Not cool, Monty!!!" - "It's okay!" said Paul and tried not to think about the accident anymore. It had been the most traumatizing experience he ever had and the fact most of his new face had come from a 3D printer wasn't helping either.

Suddenly he froze. There was a photo with them and the rest of their unit, shortly before they started their hunt after Professor Bates. He'd seen it a lot of times, even had a framed copy at home. But this version had something that wasn’t in his - a man in the background. Black suit. Pale face. Like the one in his dream. "Who is that?" he asked. "Some Government agent, I think. Agent Hutson or Watson..." - "Hanson! Wasn't he hunting for Bates before we came in?" - "You mean, before they declared him one of America's Most Wanted?" - "Of the world, Monty!"

Paul asked what happened to him. They weren't sure, but it was said Bates had altered his memory and made him believe he was a lion tamer. "A lion tamer?" Paul asked. Gomez nodded: "Bates had joined a circus for a while, pretended to be a clown. Travelled with them from one city to the next. A good cover! But he couldn't trick Agent Hanson!

Bates knew he was coming and convinced his fellow clowns this man was their new lion tamer. So, when Hanson finally arrived the whole circus believed it. And so did he! That's how Bates' device worked: The more people he convinced, the stronger the effect of the Mandela Field on others! Unfortunately for Hanson he wasn't that good of a Lion tamer. There wasn't much left of him afterwards!" It was then Montague realised: "You were there, Adlin!!" - "What?!" - "I just remembered: It was you, who'd told us about it! You climbed into the cage to recover his body, and swore an oath to end Bates, once and for all! Don't you remember?!"

He didn't. It was a side effect of the explosion: He still couldn't remember much about the hunt for Professor Bates, despite for some bits that didn’t make any sense. If only he could talk with Burt about it, but the whole ordeal had been Top Secret. As far as his family was concerned, there had never been something as ludicrous as a Mandela Field that altered other people’s memories.
It was getting late and he left his friends with the promise to meet again soon. On his way home he thought long and hard about the whole story. There he had the explonation for his strange dream though... or had he?


That night he had another dream:
He found himself in a red colored room, playing cards with some Firefighters. He had some good cards in his hand, when suddenly the Alarm went off. The other men sprung up from their chairs and ran towards the pole, sliding down to their truck.

"Whatcha waiting for? Come on, come on!" yelled one older man, with a mustache, maybe the Fire chief, while passing by. Adlin did as he was told, followed him, but in front of the pole stopped, unsure what to do next. "Jump, you idiot! There's a fire in the fifth!!!" In his panic he turned around to search for the stairs, but instead he saw something in the reflection of a window that startled him. It was still dark outside, so he could get a good look: It wasn't HIS face he was looking at, but that of...

"Everything is okay, I swear, just calm down!" said Burt, gesturing that he wasn't a threat to him. Adlin's heart was in a rush, it seemed as if he had a panic attack. He held a vase in his hand and it seemed he was ready to throw it at his husband.

"What... what happened?" - "What do you mean?! I was just sleeping and all of a sudden you jump at me like... I don't know what!" Adlin apologized and tried to make it up to Burt, who insisted he had to see a psychiatrist, there was definitely something wrong with him!

Adlin left the house and took a long walk. He had to think about what just happened. The fact that face he'd seen wasn't his and that he'd seen it before didn't help either. The night was freezing, despite the warm weather during the day. He passed a convenience store and decided to buy some stuff. Before he even entered, a new vision struck him...

He sat behind the wheel of a huge truck, driving down the Highway somewhere in the desert. Sweat was dripping from his sun burned face and he smelled musky like the muscle packed, bearded bear he looked like. There was nothing for miles, just the road and the infinite banks of sand. He took another hesitant look in the mirror...

Adlin returned to his body and found himself at the other end of the Shopkeeper's riffle. The clerk seemed freaked out by whatever he'd done. He ran out of the shop and into an alley, where he hoped he could finally get a grasp on what happened to him.

It had clearly to do with the Mandela Field, yet there was no explanation why he saw this of all faces in his reflection. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Except if he really was... No! That couldn't be true! It was impossible! He was Lieutenant Paul Adlin, dammit! He was married to Burt Davis, father of Emily Davis! He had all this memories, a history, friends and family! He...

Sneezed. And again. His nose was burning. A cat, startled by him, sprang out of a trash bin and ran down the alley. He looked after her. And then he realised: The allergy! He was allergic to cats! That was the reason they couldn't adopt one! Althought Emily was asking him every day, for months. But if he was... why would he climb into a lion cage, to recover the body of an already dead man?

It was still cold. He rubbed his hands. And finally noticed it...



Dr. Martins was working late in his laboratory. He'd promised the General to get his Test subjects travelling in between dimensions within the week! But the results were anything but promising.

He was about to make an adjustment to the machine when Paul entered. "Oh! What are you doing here up that late, Adlin?" Something was wrong, the good Lieutenant looked angry for some reason. "I... is everything alright?"

Adlin rubbed his hands and simply replied: "Have you missed me... Stinker?" This startled Martins. "What?!" - "Stinker! That's what we called you, back at the university. Don't you remember? Always on the hunt for some girls, far too much aftershave..." A sudden, horrifying realization struck Martin: "BATES?!" He tried to fetch a big metal pipe to defend himself, but his old colleague had him already at gunpoint.

"How is this possible? You died! They'd found your body, burned to a crisp at the refinery!" Bates grinned and explained, what they had found was the real Adlin. He'd knocked him out and dressed up in his uniform to escape. And he would have managed it, hadn't it been for the sudden gas explosion.

"But... how?" Martins demanded to know. Bates showed him the palm of his left hand and told him about his own MFM, his ability to alter other people's memories. It was the reason the medic team had mistaken him for the soldier and repaired him to resemble his supposed former self.

Nobody could tell, the MFM had filled in all the gaps and even fooled him into thinking, he was Lieutenant Paul Adlin. He could have continued in that delusion forever if it hadn't been for Martin's experiments. They corrupted his device, resulted in him slowly recovering his memories, and later: Uncontrolled mindjumps in between dimensions. It was just a question of time before he discovered who he really was.

"And now what?" asked Martins nervously. "If you kill me, if you even harm me in any way, General Hammersmith will find out and they execute you!" Bates laughed and explained: "They won't! Because it won’t be me killing you, but you killing yourself, over your failed attempts to reconstruct Hartford's machine. At least, that's what it will look like! They’ll see your failure, and the whole project gets canceled, before it can do anymore harm. Just look at what I did so far and I'm just one man. Imagine how far the government of the United States of America would go!"

Martins had to admit, he hadn't thought about it this way. All he saw was the glory and the money. Yet he wasn't ready to give up on that so quickly, and finally grabbed at the pipe to defend himself.

He was startled by Bates yelling at him: "Do that and I promise you, I WILL kill you the most painful way imaginable: A shot in the stomach! Don't forget, there's still some really messed up soldier stuff in this head!" Martins didn't move. He was too afraid, Bates would do what he said.

Bates realized he had to offer him something, otherwise he wouldn't comply with his plan: "You don't want to die and get your reputation ruined - I get it, really! But there is a way, we both get what we want!" Martins lowered the pipe and cautiously asked: "How?"

"I read Hartford's journal before destroying the Hard drive. I know what that thing's really capable of and there is a way I can permanently switch you to one of your Alter Ego's bodies. You could be rich and famous, a playboy even. Have the best sex you ever had!" - "But... my reputation...!" - "That's still here, Martins! What does it bother you when you're there? You could start anew and if you have a problem with that, just build another machine and try again!"

Martins was intrigued, but not still convinced: "How do I know, I can trust you?" Bates thought about it for a second, then said: "I could tell you a totally fabricated story about, how I safed you from Reggie Wallace, in the first semester. That we were friends and you can trust me. And you would believe it!" Once again he showed him the palm of his left hand.

"Instead I'm honest with you: This technology can't fall into the wrong hands and I will do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening. But I preferred it, not to have your death on my conscience. So, for the love of god, would you please trust me?!" Martins put the pipe away and after a while, replied: "Wasn't Reggie that shy guy with the Buddy Holly glasses?" he laughed sheepishly. "No!" said Bates. "As a matter of fact: That was me!"



Sitting in the chair, he watched Bates adjusting the machine. He was still a bit nervous and tried to distract himself by asking some things concerning Bates himself: "What happens to you, when all this is over? I guess you continue your journey, finally using that device of yours to its full potential!" Bates stopped for a moment, a sad look on his face.

"I can't! By killing the real Adlin I robbed his family of a good husband and loving father. I have a responsibility! When I'm done, I’ll turn the MFM back on one last time and become Lieutenant Paul Adlin for good." Martins nodded, yet secretly thought how stupid his colleague was. All that power at the palm of his hand and he was going to waste it for a family that wasn't even his own!

Bates injected him with a dose of his blood, that was charged with the energy of the Mandela Field, to compensate for the missing microchip and started the program. All the lights went on, the electromotors were buzzing, the machinery a noisy mess. For a while nothing happened. Martins just sat there, nervously waiting. Watching Bates turning some switches. "What are you doing? You won't get a contact at that high frequen..."

A sudden shift of view startled him. All of a sudden everything went blurry and made him dizzy. There was a strange smell in the air, of hay and dust.

Martins began to panic. Something was wrong. He tried to get out of the chair, but Bates came over to hold him back.

A tingling noise. Metal. His body felt huge, muscular and hairy. Nothing seemed at the right place.

"Stop!!! What are you doing to me?"

He was on all fours, unable to stand up properly. His hands and feet, they were hooves.

"Sorry, Martins! But there is only one way to switch places permanently!" - "You can't turn me into a freakin' hweee-heeee-heeee-heeee..."

He was inside a wooden box. Outside there where white tiles and a window. It was the middle of the night, the room just lit by moon light. He tried to scream, but instead heard himself whine like a horse. He tried to jump, but the weight of his huge body dragged him back down, on a layer of hay and his own feces.

Martins' body had a seizure and collapsed shortly after. Bates called for help, making it look like he'd tried to rescue him. When the guards came, it was too late. Martins was already dead.



The day after, Adlin was called to General Hammersmith's office to give a full report. The Soldier told him, he hadn't been able to sleep and went to the base to do some paperwork. When he saw there was still a light on in the lab, he went over to pay a visit to Dr. Martins. And there he saw him, sitting in the chair, having a seizure. All went according to plan. Martins had officially committed suicide and the Project Nelson was history.

After that, Bates took some time off and drove all the way to his old hometown. To take a last long look at his former life, at the institute, his old house and the bar he used to hang out, with his colleagues and some of his students. He even went to the graveyard, where he was supposed to be buried, laying down some flowers for the real Adlin. Apologizing to him, promising he would take good care of Burt and little Emily. And then, he drove home...

It was a beautiful day, not a single cloud in the sky. Late in the evening, the sun was setting in a deep red on the horizon, he stopped in front of the door. Took a last deep breath. He pressed the palm of his left hand and entered the house, where he was once again welcomed by his beloved family. Thus “ending” the eventful life of Professor Aldous Bates. Once and for all.



Martins came to terms with his new life as a racehorse. He wasn't all too fond of his jockey Adriano though, a small Italian man with the bad habit of smoking the most nauseating cigars. But he loved it to race against the other horses, feeling the wind and the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He was a chestnut colored Thoroughbred with white markings on his forehead, called Bellino. The youngest offspring of a whole family of great racehorses. Not the fastest though, which he learnt to compensate with his understanding of aerodynamics and mechanical movement.

After a half year of hard training he managed to get in 1st place and got famous after all. He got breed with a whole bunch of beautiful mares and had by far the best sex in his entire life. So, in a way, Bates had kept his promise after all.