by Zachery Nims
Chapter 15: Sector 8
Source: Personal Computer Log
Name: Mr. Smith
Location: Sector 8
The room was metallic, an underground fallout shelter that resembled the one in the Cheyenne mountains. The pinnacle of our technology during the fifties sat in an eternal slumber, now covered in several inches of dust. All my forgotten old friends beeped the tune of a dying soul on the final moments of life support. There would be no savior for them, as there was no savior for me.
Vultures starred at me, perched in their comfy nests of seats, reviewing paperwork as a formality. They eyed me like a carcass, awaiting my final death spasms so that they could devour my rotting flesh.
Gothamsreckoning had escaped my foolproof plan. These ancients relied on me to get the job done. Observers, is what I liked to call them, too weak to carry out the dirty work themselves. They weren’t men, they weren’t even human. They spoke in a vague new dialect that was open to interpretation. It was developed for the sole purpose of deniability; nothing said could incriminate them. Over time, dinosaurs like me learned to decipher it.
The language went as follows: General Davis has become a problem - Kill Davis, leave no witnesses, make it look like an accident. General Davis will be resigning and taking a vacation with his family - Kill General Davis and his entire family, leave no witnesses, make it look like an accident. It would be good if the Russians met General Davis - Kill General Davis and make it look like the Russians did it. General Davis could say some harmful things - Lock him up in a prison cell until ordered otherwise.
There was never an exact translation. It was open to interpretation, but when you had worked as long as I had, you had an idea. I only knew that if General Davis had an accidental death, I didn’t get a call the next morning.
I could feel the anger building in the pit of my stomach, boiling hatred twisted at my insides. My outward appearance was calm, standing in front of the five board members. I had trained myself to never show physical signs of weakness.
“Mr. Smith, we gave you this position because we felt you were qualified for it,” said one of the board members with a flat narrow face. You failed us you pathetic piece of shit, my mind translated. The man looked around at his other colleagues for assurance, “The board feels that we might need to make a change of management.” - We are considering slitting your throat, convince us otherwise, he said. I nodded, placing my hands behind my back.
“Everything is under control. Setbacks happen with every schedule but it will soon be corrected.” – I’ve got the little bitch in my sights, just back off and let me do my job, I said. One of the overweight blobs leaned forward, his nose hung awkwardly upon his face like a turkey’s red snood.
He said, “The position was comfortable was it not? How can we be sure that you will be cooperative if we continue your employment?” - How could you fuck up with a secure ambush in a low ventilated building? Why shouldn’t we just kill you and find someone else to kill Gothamsreckoning? I dug my finger hard into the base of my back, my nail ripping at flesh; I could feel the blood begin to drip down my leg.
The voice crept up slow, a subtle whisper to poison my mind. You will let them win. They will replace you and leave someone else in control. They can’t even trust you to kill a woman. What happened to you? Maybe you need a hug or maybe you need some social networking. Disgusting cockroach, they should exterminate you. I shook awake from my thoughts and came to, a moment or a minute later but the vultures still watched silent. My thumb had managed to make the cut into a gash during my mental absence. Blood was now pooling on the floor behind my right heel.
The flat-faced vulture leaned forward and said, “we feel that we have made a mistake, we won’t be...”
“The mistake,” I said cutting him off, “is that I decided to come to this room to be lectured by this board. I have served my country faithfully for forty years, and not once have I made a mistake. This world has come to fear my shadow, because when the sun sets, it engulfs the earth and someone goes missing in the night.”
“Excuse me?” One of the board members said.
I couldn’t hold back anymore, “No, you may not be excused. This country would be sucking on the tit of China if it weren’t for men like me. You all sit up there in the sun, exposed and oblivious to the costs of your freedom. You think you know but you don’t truly want to know what hides beneath the shadows of these eyes. You’ve never pressed a father’s hands around his seven year old daughter’s throat, watching the whole time while her eyes bounce from misunderstanding, to fear, then pain, desperation, and finally acceptance. They seem to give up at a point just before they go blank. The depths of my evil would haunt you. Your worst nightmares are a cute representation of the darkness that we encompass,” I said.
The room danced in silence and it was music to my ears. I continued with haste, “This country has been protected by shadows like me for the last two centuries. The things I do for your fucking sunshine…” I paused looking up at them with the sickness plaguing my stomach again. “The sun will set soon and Gothamsreckoning will be dead when it rises and on that day I don’t expect to get a fucking phone call.” I turned on my heels and walked out revealing the pool of blood at my feet. The board sat silent, not a single whisper heard as I disappeared into the shadows once more.
