"In the search for contentment, sometimes we are too caught up in the material, what we have and do not have, and sometimes we are too detached from the physical, forgetting what is important to us; family, friends, people; all the things that are so fleeting and so precious, each treasured moment of life that we have. And by concerning ourselves with the present, we may change the future for the better."
Something is moving. And it can't be stopped, or changed.
It's too big for that. And it is inevitable.
The receptionist looked up briefly at the man, and smiled brilliantly. Thank God for the bonus I spent on my teeth. Totally worth it for $5000. "Are you a visitor? We don't often get people coming round here."
She stared at the ID. "I'm just here to write a quick article on the company, I got sent by the Times." The smile shrank by several teeth.
"Oh…" she stammered. "I'm not sure if I can do that, really… the work here is highly confidential." She looked up at the stranger beseechingly, aware of the fact that she hadn't re-dyed her hair this week. He was getting his glasses out, reading a leaflet.
"By the way, what kind of biotechnology research actually gets carried out by Pinehearst? It doesn't seem to say here," waving the leaflet at her.
"…I don't actually know, I'm not involved with any of the research part of this company. You'd be better off talking to my boss, really." He won't be happy about this. "Do you want to talk to him? He's in a meeting right now," she told him.
"That would be nice, yes," he said, and smiled back at her. She blinked, and suddenly her day seemed a lot better. She picked up the phone. "Arthur?... Yes, there's someone here who wants to talk to you. A reporter from the Times, apparently. All right." She put the phone down, and looked up. "He'll be with you, but he might take a while," she said.
He smiled again, and she felt her heart speed up. What is it with me today? "That's okay," he said, sitting down. "I'll wait."
The boss walked down the corridor. A reporter, eh? From the Times. He lifted his mobile up, and entered a code. There was a single ring, then the person on the other end picked up. "Yes?"
He smiled. "We have a test subject for the research. Room 8. Prepare him for your serum, if it is ready."
Silence. Then, "A volunteer for this?"
"Not quite. But you may have another subject shortly." He ended the call.
About a quarter of an hour later, I looked up from the pamphlet to see a grey-haired man with an air of seniority walking towards me. He extended a hand. "Arthur Petrelli. And your name is?..."
"John Smith," I replied, shaking it. I felt slightly dizzy for a second, and let go quickly. What just happened? Arthur staggered for a second, and looked strangely at me for a second. I blinked, and the moment passed.
"Anyway, I take it you're the reporter from the Times newspaper then? It's good that we're getting extra publicity these days. Although I have to say, you're a long way from home," he said, smiling. It looked a little forced. He opened the door to a set of stairs downwards.
I looked at him, startled. "What?"
He laughed. "Your accent. You still sound English. How many years have you lived here?"
"A few. And yes, I am a long way from home. I don't regret leaving, though." Lie. Lie. Lie.
Arthur sighed. "Well, I'd better give you the guided tour of the laboratories. They're all here, you know. It helps keep things more… secure, after all. There are rival companies trying to achieve similar things." I became aware of a couple of bodyguards falling into step behind. This was worrying.
I raised an eyebrow. "Top secret works, then?"
"Exactly. It would be highly expensive if anyone managed to get their hands on what we were doing, which is why we don't generally get people down here. Currently, we're working with human DNA to create new combinations of genes. Speeding up human evolution, in a way."
"You do realise that a lot of people think that we've already reached the pinnacle of evolution, then?"
His eyes narrowed. "Yes."
Obviously a sore point, then. "So you don't agree, then."
Silence. Make that a very sore point. He reached a door numbered 9, and stopped outside it. "You understand that all of this has to be kept secret, then. As a matter of fact, we don't need reporters round here. If there ever are any, they phone beforehand. As opposed to, say, a man who turns up out of nowhere. ID, please." He held out a hand.
I rummaged in my inner jacket pocket, pulling out a banana and the psychic paper, passing it to him. "Here."
He stared at the banana, then looked at the paper. "This is blank." He turned around. "Take him away, boys." The men stepped towards me, and Arthur pressed his hand against a panel. The door slid open, revealing a cell. Oh shit.
"What?!!" I yelled as they grabbed my arms and shoved me unceremoniously inside. "This is illegal!"
"Yes, well," he said, as the door slid shut, "technically, it's not a crime if the person who vanished doesn't exist in the first place."
I stared at the door, and pulled out the trusty sonic screwdriver. Unfortunately, the door was remotely deadlocked. So I'm stuck here.
I ate the banana, and decided to wait.
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