The Thirteenth Union: Prelusion

Chapter Nine: Devil's Angel

After months of people teaching me different uses for different computer programs, I finally was able to start "tweaking," as they called it. Though the program had the ability to run by itself, I obviously hadn't proven myself enough for them to modify it so those capabilities would show themselves and turn my life into a less hellish niche to live in. My shell shocked state of insanity only lasted for a week. I had come to terms with this place and that I would not be leaving any time soon. This place, what seemed to be a rusty old abandoned warehouse behind a train station, was less a dauntingly frightening prison to which there was no escape and more of a temporary kennel for the weekend.

Cassielle came by every so often, and, each and every time, she had a load of food for me to last a couple day's meals. I dreaded the interactions with her. If there wasn't a picture next to the word 'insane' in the dictionary, then I would strong petition that hers be placed there. That woman, no matter how short and thin that she was, could pack a punch that left dark nasty bruises. She was quick to anger like fire next to an open gas lit oven, but she came as sweet as sugar. I never dared to speak to her first. For fear that I would put a target on my head for more beatings, I left the conversation-starting to her-and her only. If I had a question, it didn't leave my lips.

Thankfully, she hadn't been by in a week, which was relaxing enough. I was in need of supplies for my makeshift kitchen-a camp stove, mini-fridge, and coffee table and a small cabinet for dishes and cookware-but it was up to her to cater to my needs.

Alongside the technicians and engineers that bustled around the computers for scans, daily diagnostic tests, and software updates, which led me to believe that this "program" was full proof, I had a squadron of mysterious men drop by every now and then with heavy boxes filled to the brim with file folders, some from over a hundred years ago. They told me to "do my research" and "mind my own business." I looked through them from time to time. Most of the folders were personnel files on various government workers in various positions ranking from the highest decorated soldier to the lowest, menial desk worker in some office building in St. Louis. There were even ones for ex-cons and high school students.

I had a nest of wires and monitors to keep me busy for most of the day. My job really was to tweak. I scrolled through thousands of documents every day. If I ever heard someone complain about paperwork ever again, I swear-

Luckily, whoever was responsible for this machine gave me some luxuries. Things only appeared when they disclosed national secrets-and there seemed to be quite a lot that needed to be "reworded." If something was of vital importance that I fix, it popped up in red and I worked on it as fast as possible before it aired on national television, local news, or in magazines or newspapers.

Every publishing company would have bowed before my feet if they knew what I had at my fingertips. I was chief editor, chief journalist, chief scientist, CEO, chief anything. If it needed to be changed, I did it, because I feared the consequences of my disobedience more than I feared the reason for why I was deceiving an entire country.

I was so sheltered before. If anyone knew what the real world was like, they'd go suicidal, and it took everything in my power to not stick my finger in a light socket during a thunderstorm. Everything was different. Everything was...a lie. The real truth-the truth that would destroy any semblance of a utopia-was something that not even I could comprehend. The beautiful thing about it is that I couldn't breathe a word of it to anyone. Not only would no one believe me, but I would most likely be dead within twenty-four hours of mentioning it-and no one would ever find out.

If I told you I hadn't tried to escape, I would be lying. Every six hours, someone came in to check on me. I had an entire what seemed like a warehouse room to eat, sleep, and such, and there weren't many places to hide. So escaping was a lot harder than one might think. My first attempt was using one of the lesser monitors to bash someone unconscious and run out through the heavy iron door, but they caught me. The second time, I tried to schmooze with the guy to get close to the door and then I forced his head to connect with the corner of the door. And even thought I bolted, they caught me.