Before It Happens

Chapter II

The hotel room was cheap. Despite Ivan’s new team’s up-and-coming status, their wallet evidently had no wiggle room, and Ash found himself crashing in a dilapidated motel room, along with the rest of his crew and all their camera equipment. There were five of them in total-- four boys, and one girl. Ash was, of course, the reporter. Oswald was the cameraman, the intern (most people called him as such) was called Killian, Christopher took care of food and scheduling, and Mary acted as transportation. The crew ranged from ages twenty-seven to late thirties, and so trying to fit them all into the two full-sized mattresses that likely housed a small army of lice and tics was going to be no small feat. Already, however, his tie lay strewn across the off-white sheets of the bed, shirt half unbuttoned and hair combed out of its previously-neat form.

    Despite his quite large team, Ash was alone for the time being. The rest of the crew was likely in some café, living off of a latte and free wifi. He sat down, and the bed let out a soft squeak of protest. He ignored it, however, pulling the notepad out of his pocket and glancing at the signature before tossing it on the floor and laying back on the bed, staring at the chipping and cracking ceiling and sighing melodramatically. The day had been long and fruitless. Despite his courtesy with the interview, this Seraph character had given him nothing to work with, and he had three days until he had to crank out a story worth listening to and prove his worth to the execs. Sitting up, Ash pushed himself off the bed and pulled out his cell phone, flicking through the contacts he had gathered before clicking on Christopher’s and holding the phone to his ear as it began dialing.

    And it rang.

    And it rang.

    Finally, the phone picked up and Christopher answered in a hushed tone. “What is it, big guy?”

    Ash resented the term-- he thought Christopher new that. “Where are you?”

    “Starbuck’s. Found one at the far end of town, near a 7/11.”

    Not sure what he had expected, Ash ran his hand down his face and said, “We need more interviews.”

    There was a pause.

    “Look, Chris. This can-”

    “-Make you or break you.” Christopher finished his sentence in an annoyed tone.

    Although not being the brightest person to grace the Earth, Ash knew when he was being mocked. “Yes. And it will also determine which direction the decimal will be moving on your next paycheck. Us landing this interview is in our mutual fucking interest.” He spat.

    There was a chuckle at the other end. “Look, Ash. Don’t get all worked up. I’m just tired of hearing you going on and on about how great and edgy and up-and-coming you are. Pull the pole from your ass, and I’ll have the crew and Mary at the motel within the next two hours.” He hung up, still chuckling.

    Ash buttoned his shirt, looking in the mirror in a sort of passive way and taking in his appearance.

    He decided that he didn’t want to take in his appearance, and stepped away, picking up the tie and looping it around his neck.

    There had been a time where Ash would have looked in the mirror with great pride. That time, however, had been left behind somewhere around his graduation from high school. Granted, Ash wasn’t exactly a hideous thing-- at five-foot ten, he stood at an ideal height for someone his age, but the roundness of his face and stomach and thighs left much to be desired in the eyes of others.

    Tightening the knot on his tie, Ash stretched and opened the door from his room, taking the key from his pocket and locking the door as he left. The hallway smelled of fish and microwave dinner, and yet he walked down it with the utmost confidence, knowing that if he faked it long enough, it would start to seem real. He passed the desk, where some twenty-something-year-old single mother sat chewing her gum loud enough for him to hear it as he opened the door and stepped outside.

    The thing about Marn was this: the air was hot, but the wind was chilling. The sun was bright, but the clouds were thick. Everything about it had a certain equilibrium. Even the Unity Law Building was balanced out by the shorter, squatter strip centers that ran up and down the streets. Ash noticed this only then, pursing his lips and deciding he’d try and work it into one of his voiceovers. If there was one thing that news watchers loved, it was groundless metaphors with pretty words. Maybe it was because it made delivering information they wouldn’t care about easier. Maybe it was because it made them want to watch the TV a little bit longer. Either way, it made everyone happy, so Ash added fruity-sounding speech to his repertoire.

    It seemed, however, that Christopher had decided to spend a little bit more time at the café.

    So Ash stepped off the curb and across the street, setting foot on a vacant lot and tucking his hands in his pockets. A few stray pedestrians walked in the same careful and divided and cautious manner as Seraph had- hands tucked away, head bowed, feet shuffling. They existed as a city but not as a people, an anomaly existing in the shadow of a miracle. Something about the city was different, truly. And not in the quirky, small-town way. But rather in the massive, overbearing, unbelievable way. Ash continued his stroll wordlessly, wondering if Unity had done this to them, or if they had become so drastically autonomous that they no longer seemed to possess the things that made them human in the first place.

    Maybe it was paranoia. Obviously there was nothing supernatural about the town. Even as Ash walked briskly across the front of a strip center filled with bakeries and clothing stores and bike shops, he knew that Marn was normal. There was truly no denial of that simple, bold-faced truth. It was simply that the people who occupied it were not. They had been changed (not necessarily hurt or oppressed, but changed) by the environment in which they lived. Were they advanced? Had they fallen back in the evolutionary line? Ash wasn’t the one to determine such a thing. Instead, he found himself stopping at the end of the strip center and recognizing the bold green-and-black logo of Starbuck’s almost immediately.

    In the window, Ash couldn’t see camera crew. They were not at the café at all! The logo was peeling and faded, a half-broken (and obviously out-of-order) Open sign dangling behind a yellowing window covered in cobwebs. What lying bastards! Quickly, he ducked away from the view of the window, finding himself standing in front of a video rental store. Whipping out his phone once more, he dialed Christopher and waited impatiently as the phone rang.

    And rang.

    And then Christopher was picking up. “Hey Ash! My main man!” He said cheerfully.

    There was no doubt that he had been drinking. “I sure hope that Killian hasn’t been drinking as well, Chris. The station will never let us hear the end of it if our intern gets drunk on this trip.”

    Christopher chuckled. Ash distantly wondered why he found everything so damn funny.

    “Get out of wherever you are, and meet me in front of the hotel. We’ve got B-roll to capture, and interviews to film.” Ash hesitated before adding, “And if you drink with the intern again, the execs will hear of it.”

    The threat was hollow, Ash was sure Chris new. But the severity was real. Killian-- the intern-- was a good kid. He was also, however, incredibly underaged and not at all in shape to be drinking. Ash was not in a place to be a judge of body shape, but he did so anyways. Killian was frail kid, who hardly even cast a shadow. There was no way in hell that Killian could survive past a few drinks. A passed out intern would set the wrong reputation not only for the station, but also for the entire internship program.

    Ash had a few simple pleasures in life. None of them, however, included screwing himself over.