I wrote this years ago, talking when I was like sixteen. Found a FLOPPY DISK rofl I'm curious what people think. I only read a quarter of it before pasting here.
I fcking hate elevators. don't get me wrong their a technological marvel, But I a still fcking hate them. Not that I'm one you would assume uses the stairs on a daily basis…I just cant stand confined spaces, I was a P.O.W. in desert storm. they kept us in cages the size of a luggage case, just big enough to occupy without having to cut your legs off…bad times… I do that sometimes. this damn elevator…every time I step into one of these i FEEL LIKE i'm back in that steel coffin in the middle of the desert…the tension starts to build…the three months all pass painfully slow, dredging out every bad memory and drawing them out like a blade that will cut into me and leave a scar that reverberates into this time, like clanging metal in an abandoned building reaching a passer-by on an empty street. just as the dings start to overwhelm,as I start sweating, listening to the dreary old music dully playing behind me, I hear the the sarge yelling simper fi while having his earlobes roasted by heated tongs, and I remember how I came within seconds of death, with the noose around my neck….I begin to feel tight at the collar, "Ive gotta get out…gotta get out" I start to think over and over assured that if I do so one more time it'll make the fantasy a reality. "gotta get out gonna die in here..gonna die gon-" then the door opens with a small hiss, and a ding with the light on the button panel based on the 33rd floor. I can't contain myself I exit with the speed of a shocked new york roach. I hold my knees in my hands as Im bent over in front of the mens room mirror, then raise my head to look in the mirror at the middle-aged shell of an intelligent, young athlete with the world at his feet. now just a shaggy bearded balding man with a stigmatism and a beer gut. I shake off the feelings of self-loathing, crawl back inside myself, and remember my old days on the field, "time to put on your game face roy" I tell myself, just as the coach used to so long ago. I fix my loosened tie, wipe my face of the dried sweat, put on
a comfortable smirk, and enter into the lions den.
What I do, now, is handle insurance claims. Im on the 33rd floor of Rictor Corporation Head Quarters. We'll get to there history in a bit. I'm here because the owner of the wealthy organization has disappeared…literally up and vanished. he was last seen getting on a jet en route to china, but his plane never landed. you understand what Im saying? He didn't just disappear, the plane, the crew, the pilots, everyone just…poof. So Im here to figure out if the claim is legitatment or a fraud by another rich man trying to become even richer. you'd be surprised how often that happens..or not depending on your perspective. I've rounded the corner now to the central conference room where Im greeted at the cut of the corner by a young scrawny kid with glasses and parted blonde hair.
"Roy Wright?" He extends his hand, making it obvious he knew who I was, and just likes to waste breath, from just meeting him I already know this guy is full of shit. then again this whole place could be one big septic tank filled to the brim with pieces of shit. John Rictor wasn't an open man, not many knew how he came about his empire, only that he suddenly sprang up twenty years ago and began dominating the weapons industry with tech that scientists of the time didn't think was possible to even begin theorizing until this time, 25 years later. since then he's been known as a suspiciously hidden and somewhat eccentric, entrepreneur. He had a hand in other early stage markets that have expanded over time, from the internet to cellphones, from reagan to obama. And now a man that powerful is gone without a trace. I stared down fighter planes directly in front of my nose, so close I could see the pilots girlfriend on the dash, but this man…thinking of how literally limited his resources are….It'd make hitler shutter at the thought. I shake the brittle pale faced kids hand "Thats right. I wasn't aware my assistant had called ahead of me.." I say with a hint of suspicion "Oh, she didn't mister Wright. we like to stay on-top of all funds related issues, and this is one that must be addressed above others" yeah because you pencil dick jerks want what the guy earned for yourself instead of finding him "right, right…So lets get started then"
"Of course of course right this way, my office is down the hall", I stop him by grabbing his mid-turned shoulder, this kid must weigh a total of 98 pounds, max. "no i need to start with Mr. Rictors main work area" I say barely trying to sound official, "Hopefully find some evidence of this being what I think it is" thats it roy, lettem know "Oh? and please mister Wright, tell me what we're up-to…allegedly"
He says opening the door to the C.E.O. office at the end of the hall.
"Not sure, could be a number of things. just like how when my garbage stinks," i set my case on the desk after crossing the condo sized office, and pull down a latex green glove over my hand "it could be anything, but Im not going to focus too hard on what it is that smells so rotten…just the fact that it needs to be taken to the dump with the rest of the stinking crap. " the small man lets out a small giggle, yet the sweat from his forehead is making the glasses slide off of his narrow nose, I hit a cord. "hmm. mr.Wright, I can assure you, there was no foul play in the disappearance, on our part in any case, of president Rictor"He uses his clicking finger to push his heavy coke-bottle lens designer glasses back onto his spearhead nose.we are all deeply upset about the-"I stop him short of his soulless and memorized press speech "yeah uh-huh, why don't you take a walk, I'm sure we'll be speaking again short enough mister…" "steinberg, Franklin steinberg…"hehe. he seems offended, guess he thinks himself as someone important "right, figures. anyway ill call if I need anything, or anybody." I say with my back turned giving him a dismissive wave of my hand "….Please do…." he turns with a strange goose step army twist, then walks out the doors, closing them behind him.
ICARUS' S FALL
In the desk I find some old progress reports, a few shipping documents, and a bottle of vintage scotch. These fat cat big corporation types, every time I investigate one, its like these damn european desks are shipped with a bottle of scotch. I take a swig after bagging the glasses and move onto the computer. For someone who helped bill gates with windows startup, he didn't invest too much in software with security measures, guess he deemed himself untouchable a long time ago. On his desktop marked clear as day, after bypassing a firewall and finding a backdoor, is a file that says chem. 23. my investigative training takes over and im skimming for all the keywords Im looking for and get stopped at the second page by diagram of the chemical composition of this, 23. apparently, im no biologist or chemist,this seems to be a pathogen, an airborne disease capable of rewriting dna and imprinting its own information… so maybe I took a semester or two on chemistry. if this is possible you could change genetic traits caught thru inheritance, like alcoholism, abuse, mental illness, physical deformity….or add those traits or worse to an innocent persons core individuality. But how could Rictor possibly begin to understand this information, let alone apply it or find the correct formula? A lot of random pieces to this puzzle… on etchings certain it isn't for the greater good or all that shit rictors campaign implies. I knew these guys were shady I didn't think they were down right villains…just like im sure they didn't think an insurance claims investigator could crack an encrypted file on the C.E.O's hard-drive, which obviously the police haven't even thought to go snooping on, most likely paid in full. Nothing much here….I think scrolling down the list of hidden files. mainly a few blackmailing photos of senators with underage teens, some boys. others of evidence against known crime figures and terrorist organization leaders through out the world.
Jesus Christ, this guy was second to satan. "Hello-" I catch out of my peripheral a file that read chem. 23, sub-level 12….with this address on the blueprints, which are of an unpublicized 30 level sub-basement. Rictor popped up twenty year ago this blueprint is dated 25 years ago, whatever this its been in the works for a long time, maybe his whole point of starting this business, just to fund chem. 23.
I wish I could investigate it now but without a warrant its inadmissible in court, and I wouldn't be able to pin it on anybody because the mastermind is gone, and he's made sure no one else would be implicated with painstaking precision….hm ill just put this on my flash drive for later….the download completes and I walk out onwards the office of Steinberg, and knock on his door. "Mister Steinberg, I'm done with my investigation for the evening, and Ill be leaving now" I say while keeping my hand on the knob, ready to make a swift get away with my evidence, but of course steinberg wants to dig for any sign of reassurance that he wont be known as the bitch of tier 3. 'er mister wright mister wright please no need to be so abrupt, please come in have a quick coffee, I think we could help each other here….don't you?' he raises his brow at me and looks over his malcolm x goggles, with an exaggerated presumption of bribing me. Seems as though he knew what was on that hard drive, or at least had an idea, but not enough time to handle it, obviously or he'd have been gone already,"highly doubtful…and I don't drink coffee… is that a ming dynasty original?" I point at the vase taking a shot in the dark with what little I knew about art, hoping watching 60 minutes paid off for something other than talk around the water cooler. "Why..yes it is, im surprised Mr. Wright, and impressed perhaps your more resourceful than you look." Oh he has no idea, i think. I notice a pass card clipping to his desk lamp that says sub pass, its got to be to the lower levels. "I've often had that effect,surpassing expectation is what I do,"I stroll slowly towards his desk with my hands in my pocket, "well I cant say I don't make myself fit the image of an incompetent, it helps throw off the" I use my fingers to make imaginary quotes "bad guys." Steinburg,as insecure as I assumed he was, broke eye contact and swiveled around to his wall sized office window and stares out,"Hah, well played, well played." The card is within my grasp, right in-between his wasteful double usage of well played I swipe the card from the lamp with not so much as a clang. "yes well, I should be going, you be careful..Franklin Steinburg" I walk out then turn before closing the door"oh, Steinberg? word of advice? next time try and spring that extra dollar on the encryption software huh? you be careful" I click his door shut,not before hearing a small choke in steinburg's throat, and head for the coffin on a rope. the suns just gone down and I realize the building is emptier than a dope fiends wallet. I pay it little mind, its after 5:30 anyway makes as much sense, I don't think much of it.
Im in front of the elevator, I press the large lit triangle and wait for the matchbox to ascend from hell. The door hiss's and opens with a ding. I step in, and turn around only to be facing steinberg and a .45. Bastard walks like a housecoat "You thought I was some sniveling coward didn't you, mister,wright, you thought I'd just let you just come in here and destroy everything we've built.. over an insurance claim?! You talk to me as though I'm the nerd in your high school, try to intimidate me..! You thought of me as some kind of coward! and whats more" he pulls back the hammer "you thought I'd take it sitting down"