Eden Can Wait

Chapter One: Plan C

I don't know how long I've been living here.

In fact, I don't even know where "here" is. If I were to write down every piece of information I know about this place, they would all fit on a single page. The list of questions I have about my new home though would easily fill a thick notebook. But writing them down would be a complete waste of time, because no one would bother to answer. Moreover, I've been strongly cautioned against asking questions. The only exceptions are questions we are allowed to ask in class, but these are not the kind of questions I have in mind. So I don't ask questions anymore. I've even almost stopped pondering about possible answers. Everything has an expiration date. Even curiosity.

Memories on the other hand, remain fresh and vivid. More vivid than they have ever been. And this is no wonder, since they are my only link between "here" and the real world. Between this strange existence and real life. Memories, clothes and dumbbells. Everything else was left behind. Things, places, sounds, concepts . . . And people.

Even in jail you are allowed to have visitors. Even in a prison cell you are permitted to write to your family. But not here. Forget visits—here we are not allowed to speak about those who matter to us. We are very strongly recommended not to utter a word about our friends and families. And this is just one of many, many things we are prohibited to do or strongly cautioned against. For instance, are not recommended to think about our past. They know they can't prevent us to from venturing in our memories wherever we like. And yet, they strongly advise us against doing so. Why? Who knows. They must have their reasons.

We're strongly advised against discussing literature, politics, sociology, arts, medicine, movies and—for some flabbergasting reason—agriculture. 

But you have to give it to them—they are rather lenient about minor violations. It's tough to say what they would do in case of a major one, since we haven't had one to date yet. And truth be told, despite all the similarities, this is not a prison. Prison, no matter how luxurious, is not a place where one goes as a prisoner on his own. But I came here voluntarily. And I can leave anytime I want. Except, I will never find my way back. I won't even know where to look. These guys make secret government agencies seem like amateurs. But even if by some miracle I find my way back I would never enter this building again. They won't let me. This bridge can be burned only once.

And so I stay put and study. Study . . . 

I am Five, I am Five, I am Five . . .

* * *

They say that every reporter wants to write a book. Baloney. Maybe this is true for veterans with thousands of stories under their belt. But when you are a fresh journalism grad all you want is a job. A job that would allow you to write good stories, make some real impact and pay your bills. 

That was my plan—to get a job and to make the best out of it. But we all know what happens occasionally to the best-laid plans of mice and men. In my case, no one interfered with my desire to get employed. I successfully did it myself with some help from a couple of soon-to-be-graduated friends. 

It was Jeremy's idea: instead of selling ourselves to corporate buyers we should build a company of our own. A company that would do a different kind of journalism. It didn't take him long to convince me. I had always dreamt of writing stories I want, not just getting assigned to cover some random news. We teamed up with Kim, a tech genius who somehow ended up getting a degree in journalism and the company was born. Journalism Done Right was our motto and the only goal we didn't have in our business plan was taking over the world. Nevertheless, some of our ideas came pretty close to that objective. 

Jeremy was in charge of the business, Kim's job was to make the tech part work smoothly on a very limited budget and I was our editor-in-chief. My job was to write mind-blowing original content and in my spare time edit submissions from yet-to-be-found external contributors. Jeremy promised to get the money and much to our surprise he did. The investor he had found got sold on our bold vision, believed in government and business transparency, was fed up with mass media and was willing to invest enough to keep us going for six to nine months depending on how quickly we will burn through our cash. We thought that was more than enough to get started.