Warning: this story includes concepts such as suicide and derealization. Granted the suicide is non-explicit, and is simply a player resetting their video game character, I recognize the importance of providing viewers discretion. That said, this is something of a dark comedy (with just the right amount of existential dread,) so for those with a bit of gallows humor, I hope you enjoy.
It was eleven am, February nineteenth, I knew this because I’d been going over shipping manifests for the past three hours. Dates, times, locations, all of them blurring together on the spreadsheet which seemed in danger of burning itself onto my monitor.
Why I was doing this on a Sunday morning, rather than the accountant, was unknown, but one didn’t complain with the largest PMC breathing down your neck. I sipped my coffee, it’d gone cold by now, and continued filling out the inventory. A lot of goods ran through Wargate, it was one of Steel Cove’s premiere supply depots, which made it a nightmare whenever the yellow–bellied commander decided his IT head would make a perfect substitute for an actual CPA or at the very least an inventory manager.
“I mean, it’s just lists, right?” the man’s words ring in my ears. What I wouldn’t do to wipe that arrogant look off his face. Still, I was a professional, I may whine about it, but I was getting the job done, and moreover I was getting that overtime. So I continued, I checked the contents of hundreds of shipping crates, most of them being food supplies, ammunition, or the occasional Confidential item. Likely either controlled substances or stolen antiques acquired from the many conflicts Steel Cove liked to involve itself in.
After a good half an hour I had finally reached today’s manifest, a single container, brought into the second Cargo-bay. Its label read Confidential as well, with its weight and contents redacted. That was odd, to say the least, even if most confidential items had their contents hidden, the weight was usually listed to make sure it could be safely hauled by the crane. I was about to report it, when a knock sounded at my office door.
“What now?” I grumbled as I rose from my chair, I didn’t bother to push it back in. It was only a few steps to the door, but it felt like walking across a continent. Eventually I made it, opening the door to reveal… Someone I didn’t recognize, I couldn’t make out any detail save they wore a technician’s uniform, but I’d never seen them before. As I was pondering who they were, they clumsily dropped a gun out of a satchel at their side.
I stood there shocked for a moment, before nearly pulling the landline from the wall.
“We’ve been breached, armed tresspasser, sound the alarm!” I exclaim into the receiver, the sound of klaxon fills the air, and I make to sprint past the figure. But before I’m out the door, I hear a curse, followed by a gunshot. I look in the doorway, and the indistinguishable figure lies dead. I freeze, I don’t know what to do, why would they–
It was eleven am, February nineteenth, I remembered because today was my assistant’s birthday. We were planning to meet up at the site’s bar after our shifts to celebrate. Until then I was stuck in the office, answering calls that could have been emails, and emails that should have been calls. At that moment I had one of the analysts screen share, so I could investigate the “virus” that had slowed their computer to crawl.
“Alright,” I said, after waiting several seconds for my right click to register before clicking on the task manager bar. Another second or so past, and eventually the task manager opened and showed the myriad of programs the computer had been running, pushing their CPU and memory to the limit. I nearly balk, at the sheer number of Chrome tabs. “…I believe I’ve found the problem.” I say, in a monotone voice to hide my sheer disgust.
“Oh, right,” the analyst said on the other end. “I thought they closed when the computer went to sleep?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Did you make sure to sign out first?” I asked, praying that no one could be this ignorant of computers.
“Of course not, do you know how long it takes to login? It’s far more efficient to just keep it signed in.”
I sighed. “Look, just remember to close your windows, and logout at EOD. I don’t care if it is less efficient, it’s a security risk. Hope you have a nice day.” I hung up, before the analyst could respond. If he thought I’d been rude he could just call back, after all, it wasn’t like the commander could remove me. I was far too competent to replace. I leaned back in my chair, and began to rest my eyes for a moment, when a knock sounded at the door.
I rose from my chair, and crossed the room. I opened the door, standing there with someone I didn’t recognize. I only registered that they’re dressed as a technician briefly, before they pulled a gun on me. I shouted, begging them not to shoot. They ordered me to follow them, holding the gun all the while, I was about to start walking when I heard another voice.
“What’s going on here!” a gruff voice called out, and I saw one of the bucket-heads reaching for his radio. “Command, sound the–
The guard dropped a single bullet to the head. The figure had turned with inhuman speed, and shot the only hope I had. Yet, as the guard’s body hit the floor, I heard the figure curse under its breath. Then the thwack of the intruder’s suppressed handgun sounds in my ears, and they drop, same as the guard.
I looked out on the tableau, wondering what in the world was going on, when–
It was eleven am, February nineteenth, I remembered because… Well, I just did. I kept track of dates, it was part of my job. I sat at my office desktop, and sipped the terrible coffee that the guards in the breakroom had made. It had gone cold half an hour ago, but the caffeine helped me focus.
I was writing a report on the faulty intercom at the checkpoint. It was odd, the system was brand new, and should not have had any problems. After all, it had only been installed… Funny, I couldn’t remember when it had been installed. It felt like it was only yesterday, but that couldn’t be right, actually I couldn’t remember what happened yesterday, nor the day before.
A chill ran down my spine, and I suddenly had the strangest sense of deja vu. Like I had been in this one spot my whole life, but that couldn’t be true. Could it? I was more than this room, this job, surely I was… but then, why couldn’t I remember yesterday? Why couldn’t I remember what I had for breakfast, or the name of my assistant? My mind reeled, and I opened a new folder, not thinking about what I’m writing, just letting my fingers run over the keyboard, somehow they knew what to type.
Something was wrong, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew… I knew something was happening. Something that shouldn’t ever have happened.
Then there was a knock at the door, the sound broke me from my spiral as I crossed the now claustrophobic office space. I opened the door, and found…
Someone I did not recognize. They were aiming a gun, straight at me, and before I could even breath they told me to be quiet. They shoved me back inside the office before slamming the door shut. They ordered me to walk away from the door, as they began to pick the lock on the closet door. I felt my chest seize, I thought of the safe and credential reader inside the room. If the intruder got in there, and could crack the safe, they’d potentially have full access to the facility. I thought about running, but the sight of the gun, hidden just beneath the blue technician shirt, kept me frozen.
After a few seconds, the closet unlocked with a click, and the figure ordered me inside. I followed, and the intruder stood me against the far wall of the cramped room. I feared what’s about to happen, but instead of the hot pain of a bullet, I felt the dull thud of a gun barrel. In my last moments of consciousness, I heard my captor mutter. “Finally,” then everything goes dark.
It was eleven am, February nineteenth, I knew this because I’d been going over shipping manifests for the past three hours. Dates, times, locations, all of them blurring together on the spreadsheet which seemed in danger of burning itself onto my monitor.
I sipped on my cold coffee, begging for the torture to end. I never thought that I could see too many spreadsheets, but my opinion had since changed. I sighed, putting the cup back on the table, it was terrible as always. Apparently, despite being a multi-billion dollar operation Steel Cove could never seem to shill out for the good grounds.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to lessen the strain that the black and white expanse is placing on them, finally I gave up. This was a job for someone else, I knew that, and so did the Commander. I closed out the tab, and was greeted with the pleasant view of my Windows 7 background, not quite as good as XP’s had been, but charming in its own way. I stared into the blue depths of the default image, when something caught my eye.
It was a folder near the top of the screen, one whose title I did not recognize. It read, How Long has it Been? A strange shiver ran through my body, and a sense of deja vu washed over me. My cursor hovered over it, and I wondered if I dared to open the ominous manilla icon. Eventually curiosity won out over judgement, and I clicked. However, just before I could make the next click, there was a knock at the door…