2006
Cole shut the door behind him to enter a cramped and poorly lit room that smelled of cheap coffee and even cheaper air freshener. Cole had expected slightly more from his future-employers, but shrugged that thought aside. Behind the little synthetic-wood desk was a short man of perhaps fifty, with creases under his eyes and his greasy hair in a pathetic comb-over. As Cole stepped forward, the man idly fidgeted with a white mug that read in a dull font “I hate Mondays”, then spoke.
“Hello, Mr., erm…” the stout man ruffled through a few papers on his desk. “…Mr. Bradwell, welcome, welcome. My name is Kevin Vaughan.”
Cole nodded. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vaughan.” There was an awkward silence for a few moments before Vaughan motioned with his hand for Cole to sit down. “Oh yes, er, please take a seat.” Cole did so.
“So, Mr. Bradwell…” Cole was mildly irritated by the man’s obvious distraction, but didn’t say anything, just politely nodding his head. Vaughan continued. “I see you’re interested in our program.”
“Yes.”
“And you do understand what this means, exactly, Mr. Bradwell?”
Cole nodded.
“Alright then…” Vaughan once again rummaged through some papers on his desk. “We want to make sure you understand…” he droned on about confidentiality, blah blah blah, possibility of death, blah blah blah…” But what Cole cared most about was what this man said last:
“I must say, Bradwell, you’re one of the best candidates for this project…If you do decide to participate in the Terra Project, which you should get back to us within 48 hours, we’ll drop all the charges from past years against your family, from the, erm, incidents, I’ll call them.”
Cole knew precisely what he meant, and also knew that he
was going to participate, even if it was highly illegal. If these people could do what they told him they could, he would do it. But he still went back to his apartment, planning on calling later. He gave Vaughan a brisk nod, and turned to leave without another word.
“Oh, and, Mr. Bradwell, sir, uh, you need to know that you may not, under any circumstances, let any others now of the Terra Project and your possible involvement. There will be…consequences, you understand?” Vaughan barely managed to get the words out—the ‘script’ they had given him didn’t sound like him at all, and he disliked that.
“Of course.” With that, Cole Bradwell left the room, walked down the hall to the stairs, exited the building, and hailed a taxi to his apartment. The thing he didn’t know was that it would one of the last times he would ever do that.
2008
Garret Murrell had a stare that would make most children run a nice far distance away, and for that matter, adults, as well. This included Mr. Kevin Vaughan, whose personality seemed to rather replicate that of a sheep’s.
“Vaughan.”
“Yes, Mr.—erm, I mean, sir?” Kevin corrected himself. He idly slicked back his combed-over hair, like this would hide his balding rather than draw attention to it.
Murrell let out a sigh.
I never should have hired him in the first place, he thought, then said, without a moment’s hesitation, “You’re fired.”
There were several seconds of silence, then Kevin C. Vaughan’s face paled.
No ‘We’re going to let you go’ or ‘Sorry, Mr. Vaughan.’ No damn explanation, Kevin thought. A flare of anger crept up his spine like a forest fire. The thing that didn’t seem to mimic a forest fire was that this flare of anger quickly died out, with a little pathetic sputter. He had known this day was coming. At least he got a chance to work here for a few years.
“Remember, Vaughan, any word of this to anyone…friends, family, government…anything…you know what’ll happen.”
Kevin exited the room without another word.
────────
Pacing around the apartment that was equally as boring as his old office, Kevin frowned. It had been about an hour and a half since he was fired from the Industries, as most of his old co-workers had called it.
Not that it really had a name, he thought.
Not that it needed
a name. Thoughts about this old place he worked at, this goddamn
stupid place, he thought now, swirled around in his mind. They had promised him a spot working in the Project, but instead, HR. F***ing HR.
Once again, that anger crept up his spine, but this time, it was a real fire, he was doused in kerosene and flaming with that anger. No, that
rage. It consumed him, just like a campfire hungrily consumes a piece of newspaper.
Consequences, he thought.
Consequences. Well, I’ll show them consequences. He picked up his cell phone, which was from 1998, and dialed the local police, who went through to the FBI.
Several hours later, he thought,
Worth it. Worth it. Definitely worth it.
He was killed by one of the Industries’ agents shortly thereafter. They had tapped his phone. But what he did had still worked. The Industries were shut down, and so was Project Terra. Or so they thought.
