The Conversation-Prologue

Friday, February 2, 2001.

That was the day of The Conversation, the one meeting that changed my future forever.

All of us had been informed ahead of time, that we would be called in for an evaluation meeting with the Director, Dr. Kampmann as we called him then. It was at this meeting that our future in the program was going to be decided. Our handlers made sure that we understood that the Director was willing to shitcan the entire team and start fresh if he had too, there were no guarantees based on the need for a certain number of candidates going forward. Of course, they also made it clear that if things didn't go well, the bonuses would stop immediately, and there was no chance of getting back on the team if we flubbed up this meeting.

I felt my marriage had become dependent on the extra income from this project, even if the stresses caused by the number of out of town trips seemed to be getting pretty bad. I had ignored my wife's requests for me to drop out of this program and to spend more time at home as just her way of showing she loved me. I figured by bringing home the extra money to buy the new furniture I knew she wanted so badly, or to buy the new car that we needed was my way of showing how much I loved her. Shows how much I understood about love back then.

I was nervous about the upcoming meeting, my relationship with the Director was much more formal and one sided than it is today, I still respected the asshole then.

I arrived early in the morning, having flown in the night before and been put up in a local Holiday Inn for the night. The Director liked to start his meetings promptly at 8AM, and go on through lunch without stopping, until his prey was squirming with hunger and fatigue. He never allowed food in his meeting rooms, and provided only a pitcher of water to drink. A number of the team members liked to see if they could outlast the Director and hold off from taking a drink during any meeting with him, but even though he always kept a glass next to him that was maybe three quarters full, no one could ever remember him actually taking a drink from the thing, so everyone who tried to match him always failed.

Looking back on it with the knowledge I have now of him and what he had done to himself, I completely understand how he could go so long without food or drink. You see, I fully believe that he was his own first experiment. Except that while I am his first subject to have been successfully brought back from the dead, I believe that Drake never died. I am certain that he has made changes to his own biochemistry while he was still alive, sort of like extreme plastic surgery, except I think he replaced his heart, and his whole digestive tract, among other things. I have seen glimpses of him in private moments, and I have seen some of the bizarre equipment he uses to replace his need for food and drink. Most of it involves IV bags with what looks like fresh blood, and some sort of charging device. I guess you could say that he appears to be some sort of living vampire, while I would fit more into the mummy/zombie/Frankenstein category.

The meeting room was in the very back of the rather bland looking office building, and always kept rather dimly lit. The doors to the room were far more solid than anything else in the office, and like the room itself, were completely windowless. There was an intercom near the door, where you pressed this button to speak to whoever was inside. There was no keyhole, or even a card reader to open the door, the Director had a special remoe control for this door, and that was the only known way to lock or unlock the door.

I arrived promptly, and saw Betty, the middle aged receptionist with a beaming smile and a quiet voice, at the front desk. She greeted me with a smile and and a couple of pleasant questions about my family before she picked up the phone and called the Director's office to notify him of my arrival. She looked up from the phone, and motioned for me to head back towards the meeting room as she answered the ringing phone on another line. I have always liked her, and I miss seeing her smile. When I come to that office now, she looks more frightened than happy to see me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, I have seen how I look in a mirror, and I would have a hard imagining anyone being happy to see me now. I look more like a serial killer on steroids, or maybe a little like Arnold in the Terminator movies after a couple of messy battles...

I remember the walk back to the meeting room seemed to take a lot longer than the two minutes it actually took, and that the hallway seemed even darker and quieter than normal, or maybe that is my mind adding some dramatic flare to the memories of this day. In any event, I made my way back to the meeting room, and pressed the button on intercom, identifying myself to faceless person (or people) beyond the door. "Officer Smith here."

Instead of any answer over the intercom, the door clikced softly, and opened slowly towards me...