Experiment 82

Prologue

2 years ago.....

"Please state your name, age and current occupation for the record", the man in the grey suit said, pushing the microphone towards me. A red light was blinking at its base. A camera right in front of me watched me like an evil black eye. A red light was blinking on it too.

"Adrian Chase", I said, and he scribbled it down on his clipboard, "27 years old and I am a freelance graphic designer". The scribbling continued. A few more seconds went by and then the man stopped writing. He put his pen down. He spent a couple more seconds straightening it.

I thought back to when I first walked in here. I was shown in by a pretty girl in a navy blue business suit. She must be the secretary to whoever worked here. I remember her telling me that someone will come shortly and being asked to have a seat. But I had nervous feet. I had to walk around.

The room was very modern, very minimal. It must've been about 10x10. There was a wooden desk right in the middle of the room that held the camera and the microphone arranged neatly and plugged into a laptop which had a closed lid. The wires were all neatly bundled and tied, not a single thing out of order.

The wall behind it was glass. That made sense. We were on the 20th floor, and the view from here was quite breathtaking. It looked over the cityscape. From here, people on the ground looked like ants. The cars were bigger ants taking the smaller ants to wherever they wanted to go. Looking down, it was easy to feel jealous about how birds saw the world every day.

There were no bookshelves adorning the walls. Instead, one wall was covered with computer screens showing maps, weather, calendar appointments, time in different parts of the world and another one tuned into CNN, now muted of course. The other side of the room and its wall were blank except for the brown leather couch and small table that held three empty glasses and a decanter that held a brown liquid. Whiskey maybe?

Maybe five minutes would have gone by, the door opened and a man in a grey suit walked in, tearing my gaze away from the decanter. He took a seat and asked me to do the same. The name plaque on his desk read Edward Packard.

"So, Mr. Chase," the man suddenly said, snapping me back to reality, "I'm sure you know why you're here. But allow me to clear your doubts further. As you very well know, 'Explorex Frontier' is a company that made its name commercializing space flights. And more recently, 'Explorex Health' made the news. Once again, I'm sure you know that we specialize in medical research. Your role in this is very simple. We want to study you." That wasn't very surprising. It was very, VERY strange, but not surprising at all. The brochure said the same thing.

But I must've had a very skeptical look on my face because the man quickly continued, "This will be a very advanced and extremely confidential study as you go about your daily life. What we will be doing is embedding a small tracker at the base of your skull right here," he said pointing to the back of his neck just under the skull, "which will pick up everything from your vitals like your heartbeat, your respiratory levels, adrenaline and so on." That surprised me. But much more importantly, it scared the hell out of me. I had never heard of something like this. This was the stuff of movies. There was no way in hell he was serious.

"A WHAT!?! Your brochure never said anything about any surgery!!" I was shocked. There was no way in hell that I'd let them put something in my head. The man calmly continued, "For the sake of secrecy, the company decided to withhold certain information until appropriate steps were taken, as is very apparent to you I hope, considering the non-disclosure agreement you signed when you entered the premises. I sincerely hope you understand the gravity of the situation. Breach of this contract will mean significant legal trouble for you." It almost sounded like a threat, but I dismissed the thought. After all, I had signed NDAs before. "And I can assure you, the chip is only meant to collect data and it will sit just under your skin. You won't even know it's there." He concluded.

"How did you select me anyway?" I asked. It was a question that I had since the day I found a large envelope on my doorstep. It said I had been chosen for a study, told me a place and a date and time and asked me to be there if I was interested, and if I chose to participate, I would get paid. That was why I was here after all. I needed the money. I hadn't been getting much work lately and I was behind on my bills. "I'm afraid I cannot answer that until you've signed the contract for the study." he replied.

This was getting shadier by the minute. How did these people know me? Did this thing they were going to put in my head safe? All good questions. It would probably have been a safer play if I walked away instead. But I was desperate for the money. So I went for the million dollar question, "What's in it for me?" The man in the grey suit seemed to be satisfied by my change of heart. He opened a drawer and brought out a file, laying it perfectly centered in his workspace, perpendicular to everything else. Before opening it he said, "The study will pay you $10,000 upfront and your continued cooperation will entitle you to a further $20,000 upon the completion of the study, which is in 24 months."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. $30,000 for just 2 years of doing practically nothing? This was unreal. This had to be a joke. They had to be pulling my leg. I had to call his bluff. I had to walk out of here. I really should find out what these people do. Instead a voice said, "Where do I sign?"

The little red lightskept on blinking. It looked like they were laughing. It was like they knew whatwas going to happen. What had I gotten myself into?