Nexus [COMPLETE]

3. Winston

(May, 2013) 

It was Déjà vu.

Getting to Area 51 felt a lot like going to boot camp again.

I got off my plane at the McCarran International Airport and met up with a group of about 20 at the USO. We were all in our respective military dress uniforms, as required by the program. I was the only marine. There was a lot of awkward conversation going on, and I found myself chatting with the sailors more than the others. Waterdog solidarity and all that.

We waited around for an hour or so, before our contact finally showed up. He was a tall, muscular black man with a serious face, and he wore a uniform that I didn't recognize. He introduced himself as Brucker O'Doyle, a recruiter for Pluto, then led us to the parking area where we rushed onto a retired, yellow school bus.

"I imagine this is what it feels like to go to prison," I told the tall, blond Airman who sat beside me.

"This is probably worse," he said with a shy grin, before holding out a tanned hand for me to shake. I shook it, surprised by the strength I found there.

"I'm Winston."

"Michael."

We settled back into our seats and an awkward silence began. About thirty minutes later and a fair distance into the desert, I realized that the bus ride might take a while. I spent my time watching the passing landscape. There were long stretches of sand interrupted by the occasional abandoned building. It didn't take long for me to get bored. Finally, I hand to give up on tireless gazing and struck up a polite conversation with my seat-mate.

"Ever been to Nevada before?"

"No," he replied. "I'm from Texas, never been anywhere else."

I nodded. "Same with me, but I'm from Louisiana."

"I figured. You got that accent a bit."

"You don't."

"You know how if you get with a group of people from different walks, you get that sort of neutral tone going?"

"Makes sense." I nodded. "But yours is damn near nonexistent. I wouldn't have guessed Texas. One of the Carolinas maybe."

Michael shrugs. "Most people expect Texans to be prejudiced, uneducated idiots."

"I got family in Texas."

Michael faltered and turned his dark green eyes in my direction. "I'm sorry, Winston. I didn't mean to offend."

"Alright," I said, letting the issue drop. Truthfully, Uncle Stevie was a racist asshole. I wasn't even sure why I was feigning offense on his behalf. Something about Michael just rubbed me the wrong way. "What do you think'll be out here?"

"I think-"

At that very moment, Brucker O'Doyle stood up and all side conversations silenced. Michael pressed his lips together and focused on the front of the bus.

"The gate checks are pretty standard," Brucker bellowed over the bus-engine. "You'll be searched when we pass through. From here on out, you are to refer to the facility as 'Pluto', not Area 51. The base is set on the surface of a dry lake. High Security military operations do take place there. You are not authorized to interfere with work outside of your own department. When we arrive, you will be briefed by our Lieutenants and escorted to our legal department. There, you will finish up your paperwork and officially check in. After that, you'll be situated in the Trainee barracks until completing a medical check in. Then you'll be given a temporary bunk in a training compartment. Once the finer details are settled, you'll be rotated into the Trainee program."