Chapter 01 – July 201x
I grunted as I lifted the bulky suitcase onto the bed. I was starting to regret bringing almost everything I owned. But I'd rather regret a few extra pounds (or perhaps more like tons) now than regret leaving something at home for my time here.
I started carefully examining the room. It wasn't anything to write home about, not that I could anyway. The walls were bare except for a coat rack, a curtain looking out over a fake cityscape, a crudely detailed map of the facility, and a poster depicting a kitten dangling from a tree with a caption saying “Hang in there!”.
There were two queen-sized beds with maroon covers. Two nut-brown dressers were positioned across the feet of the beds, but pushed together, holding up a flat-screen television. A box was hooked up to the TV with a remote sitting beside it.
The most striking thing about the room was the security camera looming in the upper corner. I felt uneasy looking at it, because I knew someone was most likely looking right back at me. Then again, I wasn't really surprised. The company was well known for their security.
Sitting down on the bed, I looked at the schedule for new arrivals. It was 2:35 at the moment, leaving me a little less than a half an hour before orientation. While I wanted to sit down, I decided it'd be a good idea to walk around the facility a bit. The facility map reminded me of a Rorschach ink blot. Maybe it was just because I was terrible with maps anyway.
As I opened the door I noticed two small, wooden name plaques with white engraving. The one on the right read the name “J. Millen”, and the one on the left read my name. I sighed; I was really wanting the one on the right. It was almost an OCD thing. Whenever I would stay at a hotel or anywhere that included two or more beds in a room, I would always try to get the bed furthest from the door if it was possible.
I walked over to my suitcase and mumbled “I hope this J. Millen guy likes his damn bed.”
“Well,” started a voice that made me jump out of my skin, “If it means so much to you, we could switch if you'd like.” His voice was condescending and oozing with arrogance, amplified by his Australian accent.
I looked over to see a somewhat short but muscular man. Good for fighting, not so good for running. He had a military styled buzzcut and appeared to be nearing his 40's.
It was odd how different he was from me. I was tall and lanky with my hair at chin level. I was starting to wonder if the company placed us together on purpose as some sort of joke.
“Nice to meet you. I'm Eric Strome,” I greeted while mentally slapping my forehead, “You must me Mr. Miller.”
“Yeah, Jack Miller,” he nodded as he tightly grabbed my hand, “What department are you in?”
I put my other hand behind my head. How long was he going to crush my hand?
“Um, I'm in biotech. You?”
He finally released my hand, now throbbing, and boasted “I'm in security. Former Interpol."
Raising my eyebrows, I asked "What made you 'former?"
He gave me a smug grin and replied calmly, "The cash."
It took every effort to stifle a chuckle while this short Aussie was acting his part. I thought to myself how much this reminded me of the things my mother used to watch. Cheesy romances with cheesy plots and horrendous lines.
The alarm on my BG issued wristwatch began to bleep ang glow. The words "Report to orientation," started to roll across the face.
***This is chapter I of the Deep Orchestra. If you have suggestions, please be open and honest. I can't deliver a good story without feedback from both fans and critics! I ask that if you find a problem with my stories, from plot holes to legalities, please inform me.
Thank you.
Andrew C. Shreffler
