Wandering into the lobby, he stopped at the front desk and chatted up the peppy secretary, only to make eye contact with a tall, grinning man in a suit standing nearby. He'd seemingly been standing there a while, and Silvio stood upright, shooting him a smile. The man did not budge for a time, but seemed content to remain in place, scrutinizing the young boxer with a narrow gaze and an unmoving smile. The effect was markedly unnatural, giving the man the look of a large insect observing its prey. This fellow, a good head and shoulders taller than Silvio but thin as a rail, wore a black suit and white dress shirt. All of it was tailored to his gaunt frame, which only served to highlight his sickliness. His greying hair was combed over to one side, barely hiding a thin patch.
“I'm, uh... I'm here to meet someone. For an interview?” He cleared his throat. “Name's Silvio Echegaray?” He leaned over the counter. “You have a date book or something? I made the appointment just yesterday with a Mr. Trask.”
The secretary beamed and turned slowly to the grinning man, who now took long strides towards the desk. Just what he was thinking, or why he'd taken such an intense interest in Silvio, was unclear.
Silvio turned. “You're, uh... Mr. Trask, I take it?”
The man nodded, extending a pale, chill hand.
Silvio shook it, and then recoiled subtly. It felt like cold rubber.
“It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Echegaray,” said Trask, his grey lips parting to reveal a set of sharp, translucent teeth. His voice was smooth and even, just like it'd been on the telephone. In-person however, the sight of the man robbed the voice of its calming quality. “Please, come with me,” he continued, waving him on towards a door behind the counter.
At first, Silvio hesitated to follow. Though it was probably just superstition on his part, he maintained that his years in the ring had given him the ability to somehow read other people. Their movements, their mannerisms, gave him a window into their intentions, and for whatever reason Silvio didn't like what he was seeing in Trask. It was a vague unease, one that he brushed away after a few moments, but it reached out to him nonetheless.
He couldn't get a read on this guy. What's his game? wondered Silvio. I guess he's just your typical businessman. He shrugged it off. He didn't have much experience with business elites and figured he was reading something sinister into the man that wasn't there.
They entered the doorway, starting into a long, carpeted hall lined with hefty doors. Phones could be heard to ring all along this stretch from the closed-off rooms, and loud, booming voices came in answer. Silvio straightened his collar, sniffing the air and keeping pace with the tall man. It took him two paces to match every one of Trask's.
Trask didn't speak, and though Silvio couldn't much tell from behind, he wagered that the strange smile had faded from his face nearly the moment they'd left the lobby, almost like a mask had been promptly removed. When Trask finally spoke to him, nearly at the end of the hall, the spirit of his voice proved his suspicion correct. There was a coldness there now where only moments ago there'd existed a forced warmth. “Your resume intrigued us, Mr. Echegaray,” he began, pushing open a door at the end of the hall and marching into a massive office. There was a rich desk, behind which Trask stationed himself and waved to a pair of leather chairs. His expression was indeed relaxed, and the absence of the smile lent him something of graveness. Something Silvio didn't much like.
Silvio sat down in one of the chairs and pawed at his pant legs, glancing about the space. There were some potted plants about the room, probably fake. The desk was free of clutter; save for a couple of token office supplies, it looked positively unused, in fact. There was a laptop computer there, closed, and a printer on a small table across the room. It was a windowless room, and its pristine appearance gave the impression that it was a space Trask never visited. The name plate on the desk, reading R. Trask, was about the only personal touch in view. Everything else was generic, fake, bespeaking a marked lack of occupancy. This may have technically been Trask's office, but it was not a space he utilized for anything but interviews like this one. A little something to keep up appearances with.
“Oh?” said Silvio. “You liked my resume? What about it?”
The man was lost in thought for a moment, flickers of that sickly smile returning to his lips as he seemed to lose himself in studying Silvio's bruises. His eyes, dark and narrow, scanned Silvio's face searchingly before he responded. “We at Aderhold Corporation think you may be a good fit for a brand-new program. It's an exciting prospect.”
Silvio smoothed back his hair and leaned back, cracking a grin. “Sure, but I thought I was gonna be stuffing boxes. That was the job I applied for anyhow.”
Trask nodded. He didn't say anything.
“What's this new program about?”
“Robotics,” said Trask, clasping his thin hands together. “It's a robotics program, and you might make a good fit. Interested in hearing more?” He didn't even give Silvio a chance to reply, but instead launched headlong into an explanation. “Aderhold is looking to expand its robotics department. It's one of the few industries we haven't gained a foothold in yet, but with the work we've been doing as of late, I expect that to change. How would you like to be on the very forefront of robotics research, Mr. Echegaray?” He answered his own question with an almost condescending chuckle. “Indeed, I know you'd like it very much.”
Still, Silvio wasn't getting it. What the hell was this guy going on about? Robots? Silvio didn't know a damn thing about robots. “Sorry, but are you getting me mixed up with someone else?” he asked. “I didn't apply for a robotics job. I applied for a warehouse position... stuffing boxes and slapping shipping labels on 'em. This, uh... this is outta my league, Mr. Trask.”
Trask's lips curled up into a smile. “No, no, you're just the man. We're doing work in exciting new areas.” He pointed to his right eye, giving a slight nod. “People with disabilities and wounded war veterans are of specific interest to us. Your skill-set as an athlete is an added asset to our research.”
“Ok...” Silvio was beginning to feel excited. Just what sort of work were they doing? Could they possibly be working on something that could fix his sight? “So, tell me, what kind of work is this? Are you able to fix blindness?”
Trask shook his head. “No. Not yet, anyhow. But that is a possibility in the not-too-distant future, rest assured. Our current work is of a different sort, tailored more to robotics. And your disability won't interfere with this position, either. If anything, it could be an asset. It may really give us a chance to explore the limits of our technology.”
Silvio's eyed widened. Now Trask had his attention. “So, what do you need me to do?”
Pleased that his sales pitch had worked, Trask opened a drawer and pulled out a small stack of forms in near-microscopic print. A grave-looking block of legalese crowded each and every page, and Trask shuffled through them one-by-one, laying them out on the desk before Silvio after marking the areas in need of signatures with a black fountain pen that probably cost an arm and a leg. “In order to make sure you're really the perfect candidate, we'll need you to submit to a few tests. Nothing too rigorous, I assure you, and there's virtually no risk. We just need your signature. The usual legal paperwork, you understand.”
Here, Silvio hesitated. Tests? What kinds of tests? Silvio felt like Trask was being intentionally vague, and he wasn't much interested in becoming a glorified guinea pig. Aderhold was working on some cutting edge tech that might someday cure blindness. That was exciting. But was Silvio really going to put himself at risk in testing the stuff out? What might happen to him? He'd never done work of this kind before and knew he didn't have the knowledge. If they simply needed some lab rat to push levers or hit buttons, well, why hire him in particular? When Trask assured him that there would be no risks involved, it only cemented Silvio's suspicion that there were indeed going to be risks. Probably lots of them.
“If your assessment goes well, you will have an intervie
w with the company's CEO, Mayer Aderhold, and he will offer you the job personally. The pay, I will say, is very good,” said Trask, leaning forward and offering his pen. “Full benefits, too. Better than you will find elsewhere by a wide margin.”
That was all Silvio needed to hear.
He swallowed his doubts and starting signing and initialing the forms.
Great pay with minimal experience? Benefits? How could he say no, especially when the breakthroughs gained through this research might someday lead to a recovery of his sight? He'd worry about the specifics later. Right now, he just had to throw himself into it.
He recognized the name of Mayer Aderhold. He was a big-shot, one of the richest men in the world. Silvio had seen his face in advertisements for Aderhold Corp. He seemed like a big guy in those adverts, a clean-shaven head and wide, pearly smile. If the news stories were to be believed, he was something of an eccentric, too. The guy owned a number of secluded, fortified properties, was considered a visionary in the tech world and had supposedly even bought his own private army. The thought of meeting face-to-face with a guy like him, of accepting a job from one of the most powerful men on Earth was sufficient to make Silvio nervous. Very nervous. Suddenly this whole thing seemed much bigger than a simple ad in a newspaper. He'd sent off his application in the hopes of working in a warehouse. Now he was signing a non-disclosure agreement and agreeing to take a battery of tests so that he could work on one of Mayer Aderhold's pet projects. It all seemed too good to be true, absolutely surreal.
When the signing was done, Trask gathered up the sheets and extended his cool, rubbery hand once more. “Excellent.” He stood, sealed the paperwork away in a large yellow envelope and fastened it with a metallic closure. “Now, if you'll follow me, we'll head to the testing facility.”
Silvio did a double-take. “Wait, what? Now?”
Trask nodded. “That isn't a problem, is it?”
“Erm, no...” Silvio got up out of the chair slowly, drying his clammy palms on his pant legs. “I just didn't think we'd be doing this today.” He gulped. He wasn't going to have a chance to think any of this over, to back out. One minute he'd been in for his interview, the next they were heading off to a laboratory? This company wasn't wasting any time. What was the rush?
Well, he thought, I guess it's time to go play the lab rat.
“Very good,” replied Trask, leading him back out into the hallway and shutting the office door quietly behind him. “If you'll follow me, we have a driver waiting.”
Silvio wasn't sure how much he could trust these Aderhold guys, but reminded himself as he fell into step behind Trask of why he was doing this at all. Sarah would be tickled to hear of his important, well-paying job with the Aderhold Corporation. Trask hadn't outlined just what “well-paying” meant in this case, but he wagered it was a good deal more than he'd been earning by getting his ass kicked in the ring.
Trask threw open an exit and led Silvio across a roped-off parking lot where a black sedan, windows tinted, could be seen to idle near the complex's flank. “And here's our ride,” said Trask.
Showtime, he thought, balling his fists. Let's hope this testing is really as risk-free as he claims.
5
The testing facility looked more like a military bunker.
Trask referred to it almost affectionately as a “lab”, but the concrete walls, layers of security clearance and armed guards walking the grounds gave a very different impression. Silvio did his best to tune it all out, remembering the CEO's alleged eccentricity, however the deeper they went into the complex, being escorted by a pair of men armed with assault rifles, the more apprehensive he became. Just what had he gotten himself into?
Things moved briskly from that moment on. Upon entering the testing area, Silvio was met by a pair of enthusiastic young men in white lab coats. They never gave their names and never asked Silvio his, leading him to believe that Trask had had some sort of secret contact with the lab while in transit. Perhaps their entire interview back at Aderhold HQ had been recorded and relayed to them somehow?
Trask broke away from the group as Silvio was led down a sterile-looking hallway. Well-lit, white-floored, white-walled. It was unbearably bright, causing him to walk with his head low. Even then, the bright fluorescents were reflected in the polished floor, blinding him still. His eyes were some time in adjusting.
Unceremoniously, Silvio was taken into a small holding area and helped out of his clothes by the men, who offered a paper gown. He stripped down to his underwear and put the thing on, fidgeting as the coarse material met his bare skin. He was then led into a large area crammed with diagnostic equipment, much of which he didn't recognize. The place was crawling with laboratory workers, many of them hard at work behind monitors. There were chairs covered in wires, each of them a weird cross between a hairdresser's chair and an electric chair. Large monitors were embedded into the walls, allowing the staff a clear view of different figures. Certain parts of the room were blocked off by thick panes of glass. Behind them, clipboard-wielding staff ambled about in wait.
He was guided into a chair, asked to sit by one of the calm young lab techs. Sticky leads were attached across his chest and sides, and then a number of them to his neck and temples. “First we need to do an EKG and an EEG,” explained the man.
Silvio had had both of these done in the past. Once, after an early bout in high school, he'd gotten smashed in the head. It'd earned him one hell of a concussion. Sometime after the fact he'd been taken in for a consultation with a neurologist, who'd declared him fit to box again. That'd been years ago, and in the interim Silvio had taken many more shots to the head. What would the EEG show him now? He felt a strange dread wash over him as he sat back in the chair and watched his vitals pop up on a number of screens. He felt like he was laying his soul bare, giving these strangers a look into his deepest, darkest secrets. It's not like they can read your mind, though, he reminded himself.
Or, could they?
There was the 12-lead EKG, showing his heart rhythm in real time. The EEG was something he couldn't even make sense of, the display before him making strange sounds. A sensor had been attached to his finger, probably to gauge his oxygen saturation. As he sat, he began to tap his foot impatiently against the polished floors of the lab, his body growing sweaty. The set-up had taken about fifteen minutes, but it'd felt like an eternity.
From behind the glass, the staff monitored a number of bio-markers and conversed amongst themselves about what they saw. Good or bad, Silvio had no idea. The ringing and chirping of the apparatuses made him suddenly irritated and he wished he could stop the tests. Minutes went by, his ears filled with obnoxious dinging. The longer he sat there being scrutinized, the more he began feeling nauseous and annoyed. Still, he stayed his hand, sitting back in the bulky leather exam chair even as his damp skin began to stick to it.
From the side, a pair of men in green scrubs wheeled in a massive machine on wheels. The base was wide, and featured a console full of buttons and levers. Atop it was a long arm which was topped by a wide panel. This panel almost looked like a light fixture sans bulbs. The upper portion was arranged so that it stretched out towards him, and then the pair of men hit a single button and took three steps back apiece.
There was a flash.
They re-arranged the upper portion of their machine, folding the long arm this way and that, and then hit the button again.
Another flash. The machine sounded like a giant camera, some component deep within its metallic bulk whirring and roaring every time it flashed. They were taking X-rays.
Finally the thing was wheeled away and Silvio was left once again to squirm in the chair. Whether the staff had found what they were looking for in his tests was impossible to say. One glance through the glass wall showed them all to jot down notes and murmur amongst one another.
Then, lurking behind the rest of the group like a lion on the prowl, Silvio saw him.
Trask.
Trask was wearin
g his signature smile, that Halloween mask of a grin, and approaching the glass from behind the line of studious lab workers. Standing before a console, he leaned down and tapped a button, speaking into what appeared to be a microphone. His smooth voice filled the air, streaming down from a speaker positioned somewhere in the ceiling. “Mr. Echegaray, if you could do me one favor and close your eyes.”
Silvio tensed. “W-what?”
“Close your eyes.”
Oh, boy. What the hell are they going to do to me now? Silvio reticently complied.
“Good, good,” came the voice. “Now I'd like for you to imagine something. Your last fight, the last boxing match you took part in. I want you to think about your opponent. About how you felt at the end of that bout. About any pain you may have felt or injuries you might've sustained.” He paused a moment. “I want you to think about the anger you feel when you get hit.”
Silvio grit his teeth. What the fuck is he asking me that for? He felt his muscles tense, felt his breathing quicken. It wasn't often that he willingly sat down to have flashbacks about his old fights. Especially this last one. He'd played out that last fight in his head more times than he could count, and never of his own accord. It was a nightmare, a dread vision that haunted him at all times, springing forth from the shadow of memory when he least expected it. That fight had seen him lose his eye, had seen his hopes for a career in boxing obliterated. It was the last thing he wanted to think about right then.
“Think, Mr. Echegaray. Think.”
Goddammit, I don't want to, thought Silvio, a fat bead of sweat rolling down his brow. But it was impossible to avert his thoughts now. He was in the ring again, the noise of the crowd swelling in his ears and temporarily drowning out the beeping of medical equipment. He could feel the gloves on his hands, could see the no-name boxer dancing before him.
Bonecrusher: A Kaiju Thriller (The Armageddon Tetralogy Book 1) Page 3