Jack in the Box

by Shaw, Michael

  I felt my face. Nothing seemed to be majorly wounded. My nose was fine. It just had a bleed. My teeth hurt, but none were knocked out.I'll be fine,I closed my eyes.So, they won't kill me, and no, I won't kill them.I squeezed the ice packs.But still,theymight just 'not kill' me to death. And why is the referee so violent now? If it wanted to keep me from passing, it could've beaten me down in the very beginning.I let out all my breath. Tried to relax.But I will pass it. I will.I held the bags back up to my face.And next time, it won't be able to stop me.

  nine

  "And now, ladies and gentlemen," he said through the microphone, "I'd like to introduce to you a very bright young man."

  I looked around. I was in a large room. About a thousand people filled it, facing the speaker. Some sort of conference, or meeting. Projector screens on either side of the man displayed his upper half.

  I was in the front row. In a suit. Once I noticed it, I realized everyone was dressed nicely.

  "A young man, who has many times been called a visionary." The speaker smiled. "Now, we all get to get to call him 'boss.'"

  A polite laugh resounded from the audience behind me.

  "This man has fantastic vision; since he started here at OTB Industries nine years ago, he has made incredible technological and mechanical advancements in our products, while simultaneously bringing his own inventions to the market. And with great results. Of those inventions include these best sellers that I'm sure you're all familiar with."

  The screens displayed some different products. Everything had an OTB logo on it. The audience applauded.

  I felt myself smiling. Looking at the speaker, I realized something. He was the guy who had disapproved my project nine years ago. Nine years ago. So, I was twenty-four in this dream.

  "It was clear to see his potential from the beginning. In spite of his youth, I never doubted this man."

  I smirked.

  "But why sit here talking about him when you can hear from him yourself?" he held his hand out toward me. "Our new CEO, Mr. Jack Colson."

  I walked onto the stage and shook his hand. "Thanks, Bob."

  He smiled and squeezed my hand. What an artificial grin.

  Bob sat down, and I grabbed a remote from the podium.

  "Thank you, fellow OTB employees, for coming to this mandatory conference."

  Another polite laugh from the audience.

  "The past few years have brought some drastic changes. Ten years ago I wouldn’t have even dreamed of this." I held my arms out and looked to the screen. It displayed my name, and CEO right next to it. "But, it's not that I was unprepared. On the contrary, I have plans for this company that will bring it to a very bright future." I clicked a button on the remote. A blank screen popped up.

  "As you all know," I continued. "The tragic Resource Crisis three years ago was a blessing and a curse." I clicked the remote again. Pictures of various metals, among other materials, popped up.

  "Our economy was already in a recession, and then every technology provider tanked, due to the corrosion, erosion, and otherwise decomposition of vital resources." I cleared my throat. "This tragedy was the direct result of the electron-magnifying technologies 'revolution.'" I said, making air quotes with my fingers. "Every company that had sold any items with technology, that being automobiles, computers, household items, anything, used this electron-magnifying principle to allow their products to burn out more quickly, and thus get more revenue as people bought replacements, or upgraded more often." I placed the remote down. "But they were unaware of its result. It spread a sort of. . . pollution. . . which led to the destruction of the very resources the companies needed to survive."

  I could tell a few people in the crowd were getting bored. "But," I said a little more loudly, "we as a company were ready for this tragedy."

  The audience applauded.

  "While everyone was chasing electron-magnification, we started our technology recycling program." I switched the screen to show a recycling symbol. "This led to our efficiency as a company, and our resources weren't destroyed."

  I shifted my weight. "Now, you've heard the 'curse' part. But I'm sure you already know about the 'blessing' part too. Last year," I turned the screen off. "The United States government made OTB a legal monopoly, giving us access to all the necessary resources for a company in technological industries to survive. These resources were so limited, that allowing each industry to continue on competitively would have completely exhausted those resources. At least, the ones that hadn't been destroyed from the electron-magnifying crisis.

  "With these resources, and the technology-recycling program, we have continued as the United States's sole provider for electronic devices, automobiles, household items, and military equipment."

  A big applause from the audience.

  I loosened my tie. "Until now, our company has received no funding from the government. We've been successful, but we've not been able to advance as rapidly as we would like to. However,"

  Everyone that was bored before wasn't now. Funding would mean more revenue, and more revenue would lead to better pay of our employees.

  "Under the new presidency, the government is providing funds for OTB, that we may always be improving, and providing better advances in technology for the country."

  Applause.

  I looked down. My hands were in fists. I loosened them. Relaxed my fingers on the podium. "Now that I am the CEO of Out of The Box Industries, I have a bold new vision for the company." I rotated to face the screen and turned it back on. It displayed the words, "Making a Better Mankind."

  "This," I said, "is not just our company's new slogan." I fixed my gaze back on the audience. "It is our focus. "Our products have always been focused on one thing: to better help mankind." I took a deep breath. "To betterhelpmankind. Now, we will still be doing that. However, we also want tobettermankind, while we betterhelpmankind. This will be done with what is now being called Project B."

  I heard Bob, sitting in the front row, whisper to someone next to him, "Whatever happened to Project A?" They chuckled quietly.

  "There was no Project A, Bob." I said.

  He turned in his chair, surprised.

  "The B is an abbreviation. It stands for something; a naming system based on order of failed attempts would be juvenile, as well as demoralizing."

  He sat straight up, eyes opened wide.

  "Oddly enough, it's the project you disapproved nine years ago."

  He slowly lowered his head.

  "He never doubted my vision. . ." I mocked.

  The crowd laughed. This time sincerely.

  "Now," I perked back up. "I've been rambling up here long enough. The main thing you need to know for the time being is this.

  All eyes were on me.

  "Employees of OTB Industries," I scanned all of their eyes. "We will prosper, and wewillbetter mankind."

  I received one final, large applause.

  I waved to all the employees present, and took a step back, away from the microphone. "And so far," I whispered. "everything's going according to plan."

  →

  "Okay, who's first?" I asked.

  An employee next to me reached into a basket and pulled out a small slip of paper.

  "I still don't approve of your idea," Bob said.

  "Well, I evaluate your performance, so now you do," I replied.

  He grumbled.

  The man with the slip of paper read the words on its face, then nudged me.

  I read the slip. Looked up at Bob.

  He opened his mouth. Waved his hands. "No. No way."

  "Just step inside, Bob."

  "Jack, I told you this machine was a bad idea." Bob was sweating.

  "Step inside," I repeated.

  "What if I die?"

  I pulled a form out from a folder in my hand. Pointed at the bottom of the sheet. "Is that your signature, Bob?"

  He glared at me. "Yes. . ." he said through gritted teeth.

  "I always read fine
print, Bob. Do you?"

  He put his head in his hands. "Oh my. . ."

  "Now just step inside, Bob."

  →

  The president walked into the room.

  We all stood up. We being myself and the employees on either side of the table.

  "Hello, Mr. President," I said. We shook hands firmly.

  "Hello, Mr.-"

  "-Sir, I don't deserve 'Mr.' from you." I looked around the room. "I feel like a child at a grown up meeting. I'd be more comfortable with ‘Jack,’ if that's okay."

  He grinned. "No problem. Nice to meet you, Jack."

  "Nice to meet you, sir," I replied.

  He sat down at the other end of the table. "So this is about Project B?"

  "Yes, sir," I sat down.

  Everyone else did the same.

  "Did you get the attachments in the email I sent you?" I asked.

  "Yes," he pulled his chair forward, “and the hard copies. "I read all of it. The prints, the essays, everything."

  I held my hand under the table. "And what did you think?" Crossed my fingers.

  He pulled out a folder. He seemed hesitant. He wanted to speak, I could tell. Something was holding him back. He leafed through the pages of his folder. "What do I think. . .." he said.

  I scanned the eyes of my employees. They were all on the president.

  ". . .I think I need to speak to you about this," the president glanced up, "in confidence."

  I nodded at my employees. They awkwardly stood up and left the room.

  The president pulled the papers of his folder out.

  I scratched my head.

  "It's radical." The president said.

  "Yes, sir, it is."

  "To say the least," he laughed, "it's radical."

  I folded my hands on the table.

  The president's smile quickly vanished. He was still going through all the papers. Not looking up. "My party would be appalled."

  "I know," I replied.

  "Everyone would be."

  "But would it be worth it?"

  He finally returned my stare. "Most definitely."

  I smiled.

  The president leaned back. "How did you know that I would even be open to such an idea as this? It's far outside public policy."

  "Well, sir, it's far outside our nation's laws in general."

  He nodded.

  "But I knew you would be open to. . . reform." I scratched my chin, still grinning.

  "How can we do it?" he asked.

  "So youare on board?"

  He looked down. "Jack, it's what the world needs. But in the eyes of the people? They'll know that many will die from this."

  "Yes," I said.

  "They'll know," he continued, "that theythemselves might die."

  ". . . I know."

  "I mean, by the very nature of it, Jack, at least. . . At least half the US population could die in this thing."

  I nodded. My dream self wasn't fazed. I just listened. Listened to these facts. About my own invention. Facts that should have been surprising. Or at least saddening. But I treated these facts as old news. Nothing out-of-the-ordinary. "I am aware of this, sir. But frankly, the population decrease resulting from Project B is, well. . ."

  ". . .supposed to happen," the president said, a look of understanding in his eyes.

  ". . . part of the plan," I finished.

  He nodded.

  "It needs to happen," I said.

  "But, bytheir values, their standards, it's-"

  "-it's not right. . ."

  "To them, no."

  I answered the question he had asked just a few moments ago, "I knew, Mr. President, that you would be on board, because I do my research."

  He tightened his lips and shook his head. "No one knows that I'd be open to an idea such as this. You couldn't have researched it."

  "I didn'tread that you would be. I took all the research," I stretched my arms out, "and my own observations of you, and. . ." I brought my hands together. "Compiled it. And then, I made a conclusion. I'd been waiting for someone who would enable this to go forward." I leaned forward. "It's you, Mr. President."

  He closed the folder. Looked up at me. Oddly. "You got that from mere perception?"

  I pointed at my head. "Learning never fails me." I proceeded to narrow my eyes. "And do you want to know what else I've learned?"

  He breathed in. A grave air was in the room. "What's that?" he said softly.

  I took a deep breath through my nose. "I learned," I exhaled, "that the survival of many is a higher priority than the survival of one."

  He rubbed his hands together. Bit his lip.

  "It's necessary," I tried to assure him.

  "I. . . I know," the president replied.

  "Sir, you read the purpose of Project B, correct?"

  He nodded. "To reap efficiency inside the individual." Paused. "To better mankind."

  "Yes," I said. "Efficiency." I reached down, next to my seat. Pulled out a briefcase. "And right now, we will need to ensure that we ourselves, are efficient."

  The president tilted his head.

  I pulled out several papers. "As I've already said, I do my research." I slid the papers across the table to him. "And I've used that research to find some convenient. . . loopholes. . . in this country's legal system."

  He chuckled, "There's no way you can find a loophole for what we're doing."

  I waited a few seconds for him to scan some of the papers.

  He raised his eyebrows. "Well, this actually looks. . . interesting."

  "It's not perfect," I said, "but it is enough to convince the ignorant leaders of America." I smirked, "Which there are plenty of."

  He nodded, still reading.

  I closed my briefcase. "As for the rest of America, they won't be able to say no."

  He raised his eyes. "Really? What's the plan for that?"

  "Think about it, sir." I put my hands on the table. "OTB is the supply for appliances, computers, phones, automobiles, medicine, and. . ." I cracked my briefcase open and pulled out a piece of paper. On it were the pictures of several individuals. ". . . military."

  I slid the paper to him. His eyes searched through all of the people on the page. Military leaders. US military leaders. He stared at me. "They're. . ."

  ". . . all in, sir."

  He put his hand on his head. Ran it back through his hair. "I had. . . no idea that they knew."

  "No one will be able to say no," I said again. "We will disable their phones, disable their internet," I smiled, "withhold their medicine, and if they are still noncompliant," I pointed to the paper, "we will be 'necessary and proper' in our persistence."

  Once again, the president nodded slowly.

  I started to tap my foot. Watched the president come to terms with everything.

  "It's time for Project B, sir."

  Another nod.

  I reached into my briefcase one final time. I pulled out five more pieces of paper. Like the paper with pictures of US personnel on it, these had military individuals pictured on their fronts. They weren't from the US, though. "And it will be big."

  He stared at the pages. His mouth actually hung open."It's. . ." he grabbed the papers. Looked closely at each one. "It's. . ." he put the pages down. Looked into my eyes. ". . . the world?"

  I smiled and leaned back. Put my hands behind my head. "The world."

  →

  Breakfast was good. Brian and I didn't say anything. Of course, he did say "Good morning." I thought about the food in this place. It had always been good. Why, though? If this place were hell, wouldn't the food be bad? Actually, why would I get food in the first place? It didn't make sense. But that was nothing new. Not making sense was the test's forte. The way this place worked definitely qualified it as hell, but it didn't match my expectations of what it was supposed to be.

  Finally I spoke up, "So, we're in hell?"

  Brian lifted his head. Stopped chewing. His face communicated that I had asked
a stupid question.

  "Yeah, okay. But, some things don't make it seem that way."

  "Like what?" he resumed chewing.

  "Like," I said, "we get food."

  He nodded, "Yup,"

  "And," I continued, "We can sleep. We can dream."

  He put his fork down. "Right again."

  "And, we can die here, even though we're already dead." I lifted my hands off my plate. "How can it be hell?"

  "How do you know what hell is?" he immediately shot back.

  "Because. . ." I stopped.

  "I've been in this place much longer than you, Jack. Now tell me, what are you basing your knowledge of hell on?"

  "Well," I tried to explain, "I just thought that it-"

  "-Right." Brian pointed his finger at me. "You just thought." He picked his fork up. "So don't tell the guy who's been here longer than you about hell. How do you know anything about hell? From your memories? But you haven't dreamed a thing about hell. From your reason? You're dead, Jack, things might not jive with your 'reason.'"

  I shook my head. "But. . ."

  "And if you don't think hell's bad enough for you yet," he pointed behind him. At the door. "There's a referee waitin' for ya out there."

  I slumped down. He was right. How would I even be able to know what hell was? The only person I could trust was Brian. But at the same time, he was the one who had to keep me from getting out.