Goodwill
Well-Known Member
Gerard had narrowly escaped death.
It was Sunday. Sabbath. The sky was a murky grey, suggesting rain.
Gerard trudged through the lackluster, monotonous current of people on the street. This mass seemed to meander – Gerard was taking purposeful steps. He had places to go, destinations to reach, and business to transact. He barreled through everyone, paying no attention to them or, for that matter, his surroundings.
Gerard's only passion in life was his work. He had nothing else – his field of work required him to make sacrifices; any personal investments would have compromised his business' goals. All Gerard ever asked for was to be successful.
Then, at last, he reached the location he had been trying to reach.
Amongst all of the skyscrapers, examples of the modern craft of construction stood a wooden cabin. Gerard stood across the street, perplexed. It looked like it had stood there for centuries – the cabin most likely hosted colonies upon colonies of termites only emphasizing how neglected it was. Window pains were shattered or missing and the door clung to its hinges so arbitrarily that a moderately strong wind probably could have discarded it with great ease. What was so unusual, though, was that the stream of people on the other side of the street never acknowledged it. He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a piece of papers. There were directions scrawled across it. They read:
Walk north along Pennsylvania Blvd., counting 19 sidewalk tiles. Come prepared.
Gerard had followed the directions perfectly – his supervisor wanted him to be at this cabin. For what reason was beyond him, but he never asked questions. He waited obediently at the stoplight waiting for "walk" to illuminate so he could reach the cabin.
While he crossed the street, Gerard wrestled with the ambiguity of the end of his note. "Come prepared". What in God's name did he need for a place such as this log cabin? He hoped that what he always carried – a handgun, a pack of cigarettes, his wallet, a cell phone, and his degausser – would suffice. He wasn't confident with his provisions, given the absurdity of most of the tasks he had to complete, but Gerard had arrived at the porch of the cabin. There was no turning back now.
With each step, the entire house lurched. Gerard feared that if he persuaded even a splinter to move the place would collapse. He took cautious steps to the door and examined it closer.
There were markings included in the door knocker that assured Gerard that he was at a safe place. Above the knocking instrument, there was a symbol resembling a man with eight limbs incarcerated in a circle carved in the wooden doors. It was weathered, but Gerard could recognize the emblem of his organization in any circumstance.
He tried the door – it opened without trouble.
It swung opened, squealing irritatingly, into a one room residence. As if to solidify itself neglectful, the house had attracted a blanket of dust on the walls, floor, and to Gerard's puzzlement, the ceiling. The room itself was stocked with all sorts of antiques and different odds and ends, probably all spanning between a number of centuries. It looked very much like a garbage heap that his great grandmother might've amassed in her basement. Ancient umbrellas, porcelain dolls, wardrobes, and columns of old, rolled up carpets filled out the room to the point where Gerard, initially, thought there was no more room to walk other than what was in front of him.
Immediately, Gerard's mind snapped into his occupational mindset. He was substantially alert, ready to interpret any mystery that he would need to uncover to complete his task. With his ears perked and nostrils flared, he hunted throughout the house like a vigilant wolf rummaging around for its prey. His devotion to his work ran clearly through his thoughts and actions, such precision was commended by his advisors, however; consequently, this was the characteristic that kept Gerard detached from anything else other than his job.
He navigated through all of the antiques until he finally reached a clearing – there was, amongst the objects, a spot on the floor not touched by anything. Gerard was even surprised to find there was no dust there, either. He did notice another etching of the same eight-limbed man he had seen on the door. Assured he was still doing what he was supposed to, Gerard bent forward to examine the mark.
It was a hatch. The etching signified the entrance to something. To what, Gerard was not sure.
He lifted the board carefully and found a vast pipe running directly downwards. It was large enough for a person to fit. Gerard sighed and searched his pockets for his cell phone. Using the light, he got a visual image of how deep the pipe went. It was well deeper than he initially realized, however, he did notice about 6 feet below a ladder began.
This time, Gerard grunted out of annoyance, and began to descend. As he did so, he considered what "come prepared" might've actually meant. Things like "bring a flashlight" or "don't wear your business suit to work today" came to mind.
Another 13 feet and Gerard had reached the bottom.
No light existed in the room although he could tell it was voluminous from how incredibly drafty it was. He reached for his cell phone light again but –
Then, there was light.
It was one of the few times that Gerard had ever been caught off-guard. Enormous white lights suddenly ignited along the ceiling, revealing what looked to be a subway station stop. Everything was constructed from cement – large pillars supported the niche under the house and the boarding dock was a massive spread with two benches pinned down to it. Gerard reached into the breast pocket of his coat, wrapping his fingers securely around his handgun. He strode slowly towards the benches.
"Gerard—"
A voice, belonging to a woman, called from behind him.
He swiftly twirled around and pointed his gun offensively at the speaker.
"Calm down. It's just me."
"Ness?" Gerard recognized the woman as his boss, Vanessa. He put his gun away as he reassured himself that he was not dreaming. After all, he had come from a dilapidated cabin to this God forsaken subway stop to find his boss waiting for him. "How long have you been down here?"
"You've been promoted."
"Promoted?"
"Sorry I don't have a merit badge to give you or anything. You are now one of three," she paused for the shortest second and continued, "No, four people who know about the Train. Congratulations - you're moving up in the world."
Vanessa was a fast speaker – not in the sense that no one could understand her, but in the way she combined her words so coolly. Her words were her weapons, as some would say about her. Gerard never grew used to this despite the fact that he admired it very much.
"So, what are we now? Partners?"
"You guessed it," Vanessa said as she swooped past Gerard and took a seat on one of the benches. Next to her was a control panel. She started pressing buttons before putting her hands in her lap.
Gerard did not hesitate to sit beside her. "So, what is this 'Train', anyway? What's so important about it that you have to hide it from everyone?"
"Gerard, you know our business. You're either a failure or a success story based on two things – how much the Boss can trust you and whether or not you can make sacrifices for a cause." Not once did Vanessa look at Gerard, although his eyes never left her. "Not everyone in this organization can be trusted," she remarked vainly.
"And the Train?"
As if his voice had summoned it, a subtle vacuum began and a droning sound shot through the track. Gerard could tell that it was drawing closer and closer to them by listening to its mechanic lament.
In an instant it arrived. It looked like a single silver bullet.
"The train," Ness said approaching it with confidence "is essentially a way to travel through time. You have your degausser, right?" She began pressing buttons on the side of the vessel.
Without answering her and, instead, bringing it out of his pocket, Gerard revealed his degausser. At first glance the object resembled a pen but there were buttons and switches alien to that of the writing utensil. Gerard used the device in his line of work to wipe the memory of anyone who compromised the well-being of his organization or his task at hand. He took the function of the device seriously and did not abuse it. He humored himself by considering himself as the equivalent to Tommy Lee Jones' character in Men in Black although, admittedly, he didn't have the kind of Clint Eastwood swagger he did.
The door on the silver bullet train slid open and Ness and Gerard entered. It reminded Gerard of a cockpit in an airplane – a complicated system of buttons ran on the dashboard and throughout the cabin. Nailed to the floor were two seats, one for the pilot the other for co-pilot. Behind them seemed to be a first aid kit and a glass refrigerator filled with refreshments. Naturally, Gerard sat in the cockpit while Ness took the command. Gears began shifting and belts shot across either of their wastes, securing them to their seats.
Although he would never admit it, Gerard was frightened to death of the Train at first. It seemed so unforgiving for a machine, so bear and grim that it was coffin-like.
Nevertheless, Gerard was eager to learn about the Train and his new position. He lived for his job. In his line of work, he never found it unusual whenever he discovered something his company was capable of. There were so many things throughout his life that defied all meaning or understanding that he was used to it by now; even welcomed it. In the midst of all of his devoutness towards his career, Gerard also boasted a tremendous amount of faith. He may not understand how it was happening, Gerard just understood that it was happening and therefore should not question it.
"Time travel, huh? What's the matter, you couldn't find a DeLorean?" Gerard quipped.
Ness was not amused in the least.
"At one point in time this was a subway station, well, was going to be one but construction crews dug too deep. The track didn't line up with the others and they had to abandon it. We bought it because there was enough track for what we needed and, most important, we could operate in secret."
Ness paused a moment and began fidgeting inside of her coat. She brought out a Degausser and plugged it into the dashboard, into the keyhole. She tugged on it to make sure it was secure and hit two buttons beside it.
"Are you ready to get going or what?"
"Wait," Gerard proclaimed, passively. "Where are we even going to? Hell, when are we going to?"
It was Sunday. Sabbath. The sky was a murky grey, suggesting rain.
Gerard trudged through the lackluster, monotonous current of people on the street. This mass seemed to meander – Gerard was taking purposeful steps. He had places to go, destinations to reach, and business to transact. He barreled through everyone, paying no attention to them or, for that matter, his surroundings.
Gerard's only passion in life was his work. He had nothing else – his field of work required him to make sacrifices; any personal investments would have compromised his business' goals. All Gerard ever asked for was to be successful.
Then, at last, he reached the location he had been trying to reach.
Amongst all of the skyscrapers, examples of the modern craft of construction stood a wooden cabin. Gerard stood across the street, perplexed. It looked like it had stood there for centuries – the cabin most likely hosted colonies upon colonies of termites only emphasizing how neglected it was. Window pains were shattered or missing and the door clung to its hinges so arbitrarily that a moderately strong wind probably could have discarded it with great ease. What was so unusual, though, was that the stream of people on the other side of the street never acknowledged it. He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a piece of papers. There were directions scrawled across it. They read:
Walk north along Pennsylvania Blvd., counting 19 sidewalk tiles. Come prepared.
Gerard had followed the directions perfectly – his supervisor wanted him to be at this cabin. For what reason was beyond him, but he never asked questions. He waited obediently at the stoplight waiting for "walk" to illuminate so he could reach the cabin.
While he crossed the street, Gerard wrestled with the ambiguity of the end of his note. "Come prepared". What in God's name did he need for a place such as this log cabin? He hoped that what he always carried – a handgun, a pack of cigarettes, his wallet, a cell phone, and his degausser – would suffice. He wasn't confident with his provisions, given the absurdity of most of the tasks he had to complete, but Gerard had arrived at the porch of the cabin. There was no turning back now.
With each step, the entire house lurched. Gerard feared that if he persuaded even a splinter to move the place would collapse. He took cautious steps to the door and examined it closer.
There were markings included in the door knocker that assured Gerard that he was at a safe place. Above the knocking instrument, there was a symbol resembling a man with eight limbs incarcerated in a circle carved in the wooden doors. It was weathered, but Gerard could recognize the emblem of his organization in any circumstance.
He tried the door – it opened without trouble.
It swung opened, squealing irritatingly, into a one room residence. As if to solidify itself neglectful, the house had attracted a blanket of dust on the walls, floor, and to Gerard's puzzlement, the ceiling. The room itself was stocked with all sorts of antiques and different odds and ends, probably all spanning between a number of centuries. It looked very much like a garbage heap that his great grandmother might've amassed in her basement. Ancient umbrellas, porcelain dolls, wardrobes, and columns of old, rolled up carpets filled out the room to the point where Gerard, initially, thought there was no more room to walk other than what was in front of him.
Immediately, Gerard's mind snapped into his occupational mindset. He was substantially alert, ready to interpret any mystery that he would need to uncover to complete his task. With his ears perked and nostrils flared, he hunted throughout the house like a vigilant wolf rummaging around for its prey. His devotion to his work ran clearly through his thoughts and actions, such precision was commended by his advisors, however; consequently, this was the characteristic that kept Gerard detached from anything else other than his job.
He navigated through all of the antiques until he finally reached a clearing – there was, amongst the objects, a spot on the floor not touched by anything. Gerard was even surprised to find there was no dust there, either. He did notice another etching of the same eight-limbed man he had seen on the door. Assured he was still doing what he was supposed to, Gerard bent forward to examine the mark.
It was a hatch. The etching signified the entrance to something. To what, Gerard was not sure.
He lifted the board carefully and found a vast pipe running directly downwards. It was large enough for a person to fit. Gerard sighed and searched his pockets for his cell phone. Using the light, he got a visual image of how deep the pipe went. It was well deeper than he initially realized, however, he did notice about 6 feet below a ladder began.
This time, Gerard grunted out of annoyance, and began to descend. As he did so, he considered what "come prepared" might've actually meant. Things like "bring a flashlight" or "don't wear your business suit to work today" came to mind.
Another 13 feet and Gerard had reached the bottom.
No light existed in the room although he could tell it was voluminous from how incredibly drafty it was. He reached for his cell phone light again but –
Then, there was light.
It was one of the few times that Gerard had ever been caught off-guard. Enormous white lights suddenly ignited along the ceiling, revealing what looked to be a subway station stop. Everything was constructed from cement – large pillars supported the niche under the house and the boarding dock was a massive spread with two benches pinned down to it. Gerard reached into the breast pocket of his coat, wrapping his fingers securely around his handgun. He strode slowly towards the benches.
"Gerard—"
A voice, belonging to a woman, called from behind him.
He swiftly twirled around and pointed his gun offensively at the speaker.
"Calm down. It's just me."
"Ness?" Gerard recognized the woman as his boss, Vanessa. He put his gun away as he reassured himself that he was not dreaming. After all, he had come from a dilapidated cabin to this God forsaken subway stop to find his boss waiting for him. "How long have you been down here?"
"You've been promoted."
"Promoted?"
"Sorry I don't have a merit badge to give you or anything. You are now one of three," she paused for the shortest second and continued, "No, four people who know about the Train. Congratulations - you're moving up in the world."
Vanessa was a fast speaker – not in the sense that no one could understand her, but in the way she combined her words so coolly. Her words were her weapons, as some would say about her. Gerard never grew used to this despite the fact that he admired it very much.
"So, what are we now? Partners?"
"You guessed it," Vanessa said as she swooped past Gerard and took a seat on one of the benches. Next to her was a control panel. She started pressing buttons before putting her hands in her lap.
Gerard did not hesitate to sit beside her. "So, what is this 'Train', anyway? What's so important about it that you have to hide it from everyone?"
"Gerard, you know our business. You're either a failure or a success story based on two things – how much the Boss can trust you and whether or not you can make sacrifices for a cause." Not once did Vanessa look at Gerard, although his eyes never left her. "Not everyone in this organization can be trusted," she remarked vainly.
"And the Train?"
As if his voice had summoned it, a subtle vacuum began and a droning sound shot through the track. Gerard could tell that it was drawing closer and closer to them by listening to its mechanic lament.
In an instant it arrived. It looked like a single silver bullet.
"The train," Ness said approaching it with confidence "is essentially a way to travel through time. You have your degausser, right?" She began pressing buttons on the side of the vessel.
Without answering her and, instead, bringing it out of his pocket, Gerard revealed his degausser. At first glance the object resembled a pen but there were buttons and switches alien to that of the writing utensil. Gerard used the device in his line of work to wipe the memory of anyone who compromised the well-being of his organization or his task at hand. He took the function of the device seriously and did not abuse it. He humored himself by considering himself as the equivalent to Tommy Lee Jones' character in Men in Black although, admittedly, he didn't have the kind of Clint Eastwood swagger he did.
The door on the silver bullet train slid open and Ness and Gerard entered. It reminded Gerard of a cockpit in an airplane – a complicated system of buttons ran on the dashboard and throughout the cabin. Nailed to the floor were two seats, one for the pilot the other for co-pilot. Behind them seemed to be a first aid kit and a glass refrigerator filled with refreshments. Naturally, Gerard sat in the cockpit while Ness took the command. Gears began shifting and belts shot across either of their wastes, securing them to their seats.
Although he would never admit it, Gerard was frightened to death of the Train at first. It seemed so unforgiving for a machine, so bear and grim that it was coffin-like.
Nevertheless, Gerard was eager to learn about the Train and his new position. He lived for his job. In his line of work, he never found it unusual whenever he discovered something his company was capable of. There were so many things throughout his life that defied all meaning or understanding that he was used to it by now; even welcomed it. In the midst of all of his devoutness towards his career, Gerard also boasted a tremendous amount of faith. He may not understand how it was happening, Gerard just understood that it was happening and therefore should not question it.
"Time travel, huh? What's the matter, you couldn't find a DeLorean?" Gerard quipped.
Ness was not amused in the least.
"At one point in time this was a subway station, well, was going to be one but construction crews dug too deep. The track didn't line up with the others and they had to abandon it. We bought it because there was enough track for what we needed and, most important, we could operate in secret."
Ness paused a moment and began fidgeting inside of her coat. She brought out a Degausser and plugged it into the dashboard, into the keyhole. She tugged on it to make sure it was secure and hit two buttons beside it.
"Are you ready to get going or what?"
"Wait," Gerard proclaimed, passively. "Where are we even going to? Hell, when are we going to?"
