At twenty-two-years-old, a journalist named Charles Munakata got a chance to improve his career by contributing to a project involving Soma, a tropical island occupied by scientists. While he was there, he learned some upsetting truths about the isl...
I became nervous in the elevator and wondered if Mr. Peterson would be standing in the hall like the last time. My body tensed up when the door opened, and I hesitantly stepped into the white hallway. When I looked to my right, I saw Mr. Peterson closing his room door. He calmly approached me while I waited awkwardly in the middle of the corridor.
He stood directly in front of me and reached into his pocket. His face wasn't completely devoid of emotion as usual; he seemed nervous about something.
"Take this," he ordered.
Mr. Peterson pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to me. I looked down at his outstretched arm and saw a folded paper in his hand, but that wasn't the only thing I noticed. When he raised his arm, layers of gauze bandages under his sleeve became visible. Out of curiosity, I glanced at his left arm, which rested at his side. Just as I suspected, there were some white bandages peeking out from under that sleeve, too.
Before I could elaborate on what that meant, Mr. Peterson caught me staring. "What are you looking at?" he hissed.
"N-Nothing. Sorry." I timidly reached for the paper and hoped to get out of there quickly.
When I grabbed the paper my hand inadvertently touched Mr. Peterson's fingers. Surprisingly, he actually reacted. His reaction was subtle, but still noticeable. He froze in place even after I had taken the paper from him. At first, he was pale, but moments later his face reddened slightly.
That's when I was finally able to get a good look at his face. I mean, I had seen it before, but I generally avoided looking at him excessively due to intimidation.
I had been so busy being afraid of him before that I didn't realize how fucking beautiful he was. He had a smooth complexion and his face showed almost no signs of aging at all. He strongly resembled the man from the sketchbook, actually. I didn't know what that meant, either, so I just assumed the drawings were Mr. Peterson's, which kind of made sense considering Narrator had access to them. Maybe the man in the drawings is just one of his relatives or something, I thought. At that moment I was willing to believe those drawings had little meaning.
Mr. Peterson furrowed his brow somewhat and cautioned,"Do not show this to anyone. Don't even unfold it until you are alone in your room."
"Yes, sir," I bowed slightly. "Is there anything else...? Er..."
"No, that's all," stoic Mr. Peterson told me as he turned around and walked toward the Control Room. He then suddenly stopped after taking a few steps. "And never bow to me again," he made a fist with his right hand.
I clearly didn't understand. "Wha–? May I ask why not? I mean, you're in charge..."
Mr. Peterson stopped walking again. "You should know by now," he mumbled.
"Huh?"
With that, he resumed walking and entered the Control Room without saying anything else.
I stood still for a short while and held the paper in my right hand. I stared at the folded note seriously contemplating disobedience, but I decided to open it in the privacy of my room. As the elevator headed downward, I thought about the awkward encounter I just had. I couldn't think clearly until I reached my room. I knew Mr. Peterson was watching from the moment I stepped out of the elevator, and that made me uneasy.
I felt my pulse quicken once I shut my door and hastily unfolded the white paper. At first glance, the note seemed like a bunch of nonsense.
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