May the 4th
2010
21:00 hour (9pm)
The lights above me flicker and buzz, their harsh glow fading in and out like a dying heartbeat. For a high-tech government facility, you'd think they'd fix something as simple as a lightbulb. Hell, I could do it myself—free of charge. But I don't do free. Not anymore.
The job pays well, and the benefits are decent, but working under superiors who don't know their left from their right makes every day a special kind of hell. Their incompetence trickles down to us, the fodder, and I'm left picking up the pieces. It's exhausting. It's soul-crushing. And it's why I've stopped caring.
These people aren't worth my time or my peace.
I spend my days clicking and clacking on my keyboard, surrounded by a paper wall that separates me from my three coworkers—my only company in this underground labyrinth. Across from me sits Bob, though I've taken to calling him Bobby. He doesn't seem to mind. At least, I hope he doesn't. The other two are girls—Celsius and Phopheona, or something like that. Honestly, I've never bothered to learn their real names.
They talk. A lot. Most of the time, it's background noise, but occasionally, I catch something useful. Like the other day, when they mentioned teams on the upper floors being promoted to work with the "Vanguards."
The Vanguards.
They're some kind of elite unit, working directly with the scientists and handling the weird stuff—stuff I'm not cleared to know about. Whatever they do, it's a step up from this monotonous grind. Rumor has it they get better pay, better equipment, and access to parts of the facility the rest of us aren't allowed to see.
But here's the catch: the lower you go in the facility, the more secure—and isolated—you are. The higher you climb, the less you're paid, but the more you see. The Vanguards operate on a different level entirely. They're not just confined to this building; they travel the world, responding to incidents and collecting… whatever it is they collect.
Lately, though, they've been coming back to the facility more often. Stocking up, maybe. Or something else. Something I don't want to think about.
I need to get out of this dead-end position. The Vanguards might be my ticket. But the thought of applying terrifies me. What if I'm not good enough? What if I get in over my head?
As I type away, lost in my thoughts, Bobby rolls over in his chair and taps me on the shoulder.
"Gale, you want some coffee?"
I glance down at the cup in his hand. It's steaming, and the smell is almost enough to wake me up. Almost. I take it, nodding my thanks, and check the time on my monitor. Nine o'clock at night. Late for coffee, but not for this place.
"You doing okay? You look worse than usual," Bobby says, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes are dark, shadowed by exhaustion.
"This is what happens when you work here too long," I mutter, taking a sip. The coffee's bitter, just like everything else in this godforsaken building.
Bobby chuckles, but it's hollow. He looks down at himself, his once-tall frame now hunched and softened by years of overtime and too much caffeine. "Yeah, I know the feeling."
He rolls back to his desk, leaving me to my thoughts. I finish the coffee and stash the empty cup in the mini-fridge under my desk. Opening it, I'm greeted by rows of untouched energy drinks—all Bobby's. He's been leaving them here for weeks, a silent testament to how little he takes care of himself.
I should remind him to get some rest tomorrow.
Shutting the fridge, I log off my computer and grab my bag. I'm done for the day.
The walk back to my room takes about five minutes. I pass the cafeteria, where the night shift workers are grabbing their meals, and a few offices still lit with the glow of monitors. Eventually, I reach the dorms.
My door is easy to spot—it's the one with the flickering red and blue light above it. I installed that myself, along with the "Welcome" sign and matching doormat. The boss said I could customize my room, so I went all out.
I don't like surprises. That's why I've rigged my door with cameras and extra locks. You never know who—or what—might show up unannounced.
Lifting my badge to the scanner, I wait for the click of the lock before stepping inside. The room smells like home—wood, metal, and a hint of coffee. It's small, just a single space that doubles as a bedroom and living area, with a bathroom tucked in the corner.
I've made it my own. The walls are lined with shelves filled with tools, gadgets, and a few books. In one corner is my setup—a laptop and a mess of wires where I tinker with software and hardware in my spare time. It's not much, but it's mine.
I change into something more comfortable and collapse into my chair. My eyes drift to the family photo on my desk—my little sister, Amy, and my mom, Mabel. I send money home when I can, but with Mom's Alzheimer's getting worse, I might have to go back to Kansas soon.
For now, though, I'm stuck here.
I open my laptop and start working on a personal project—a little something to make life in this place more bearable. As the lines of code fill the screen, my eyelids grow heavy. The day's exhaustion catches up to me, and I drift off, the hum of the facility fading into the background.