A newspaper clipping from The Fourth Estate (Translated to English)
THE FOURTH ESTATE THROUGH THE EYES OF DR. V. FERGUSON
Date 5023.0007.0001
"I'm a walking history book"
'Doctor Ferguson kindly let me visit his lab for our interview today, willing I was considerate of the scientists working on the other side of the glass, and that I washed up before entering. As I walk in the large metal door, I see the glass wall he speaks of, with young-looking scientists on the other side, working efficiently. Doctor Ferguson kindly greets me from inside in a shrill, unpleasant voice, ushering me to a table near the wall. He is wearing a long, white lab coat, his hair in a frizz, and an eerie expression on his face.'
Interviewer - How are you today Doctor?
Doctor - Fantastic, how are you?
Interviewer - I'm doing fine, you know I've heard, you're one of the oldest people to go through The Resurgence, is that true?
Doctor - Yes, it is.
Interviewer - How does it feel witnessing so many historical events throughout your life?
Doctor - I've been told I'm a walking history book, but I hardly witness much, I prefer being locked up in my lab most days.
Interviewer - I know you are high up on the board at GKO, and was wondering about your relationship with the GKO's director, Aiden Copper?
Doctor - Mr. Copper and I are close, personal friends. I've known him since I started working for the government ages ago.
Interviewer - And I know the board has already spoken about this, but there are still rumours going around that The Resurgence Advancement Tests are the causes of these dissociations happening throughout the world. Care to debunk?
Doctor - I can assure the public, we've done hundreds of tests, and there isn't a single link between the two. I constructed The Resurgence Advancement Tests with such flawlessness, that would be impossible.
Interviewer - Do you have any plans or ideas relating to this global issue?
Doctor - Yes, in fact, we are working on it right now.
Interview continues on pg. 5
GKO
We are standing outside at the deepest hour of night, half a mile away from the GKO headquarters. The only things protecting our vision from pitch-blackness are 8 foot tall poles with glowing lights attached to the tips. One on each side of us, creating a pathway forward, all the way to the entrance of GKO. A vague looking man stands with us, his eyes full of suspicion, waiting patiently for a particular person.
The 'last steps to begin the first steps', said Dr. Ferguson. This meant exactly what it meant it to, for only days after, the preparation had begun. The preparation for what, you might ask? Well only four people in the entire world knew that. And there's one of them walking this way.
"Hello," says Vincent K. Ives, a lively look in his eyes, despite the strange time of day.
The other man does not introduce himself, but instead whispers, "I have the people you need."
"Good, and remember, you shall never mention this to anyone."
"Is that a threat?" The unknown man asks.
"It can be." Says Vincent Ives who is then given a long piece of paper from the man. From where we're standing we can see a list of scribbled names written on it. He walks away from him, back to the GKO headquarters, the first step complete.
1,600 miles away, Aiden Copper stands in front of a group of people at the GKO Test Site. Where he is, the sun is blazing down, scorching the endless sand on every side of him.
The conversation between him and the group of engineers and globally respected pilots is much more official than that of Vincent's. They all look at him with professional understanding, and when Copper is done explaining, they disperse.
On the other side of a sandy hill left of Copper is Arabella Gunn. She similarly is with a group of engineers, but of which are mechanical and aerospace. She stands in an immense base, full of scientific equipment, every single person hard at work.
Gunn, looking down at her watch, starts driving toward a camp of small buildings. As she goes, she passes many of these buildings, and eventually stops at one with a black military helicopter on top. She is greeted by Aiden Copper.
"Good afternoon Copper." Gunn says as they walk up the narrow staircase up to the roof of the building.
"We'll be at the headquarters in two hours," says a voice when they step into the aircraft. We watch the helicopter take off and follow the two through the blue skies.
Hours later, Ms. Gunn and Mr. Copper arrive at the landing site on top of the GKO headquarters, they start straight for Aiden Coppers office. They walk down the flight of stairs, and arrive at a large door that happens to have only two keys. Standing inside was Vincent K. Ives.
"Operation Arena began three days ago," says Arabella.
"I have just started Wrist today, " Copper replies, "Ives, what about you?"
"Operation Jewel will take a while longer." He answers. The other two nod, and leave the room.
Ives exits after them both, and walks to Dr. Ferguson's lab, desperate for the answer to a question that had been eating at him for a while now. When he arrives, the odd smell of various chemicals once again hits him. He sees the doctor sitting at one of the tables, writing something in his old brown book.
"Hello Vincent," Dr. Ferguson says quietly, without looking up.
"Doctor I have something to ask you." Ferguson stops writing in his book and looks at Ives, gesturing for him to sit down across from him.
"The 45 people we hired," Ives begins, "I can't seem to grasp why you picked them."
"Ahh," says the doctor, "What we're doing here is classified-"
"I understand that, doctor but-"
"Will you let me talk, child." Ferguson says sternly, "What we're attempting is classified, as is most operations. But this one, this one could send the world into a great uproar of tumult, one that we would never be able to fix. Due to this, we shall bring in the lowest amount of suspicion from the world. Everyone who has gone through an advancement test is in harm's way, so the only people that aren't are the ones under twenty. This is the only way Operation Jewel can work, and those 45 people are the only ones that can make it work without any skepticism."
"I see doctor," Ives says, comprehensively.
"You trust me, don't you Vincent?" says Dr. Ferguson.
"Yes, doctor, of course."
With those four words, Vincent K. Ives left the lab, and resumed the construction of Operation Jewel. He left without another doubt in his mind, loyal to Dr. Ferguson, maybe too loyal.
A few hours later, when the night starts to fade into morning, we return to the GKO headquarters to the same small room three people were conversing in earlier.
"Ives, we can't begin until Jewel is taken care of." Says Copper, "Why is it taking so long?"
"I assure you, it's nearly finished." Ives says.
A man from Ives' previous group walks in the room and says, "Sorry to disturb you." He then walks up to Ives and whispers, "It's done."
He must have said it loud enough for Copper to hear as the officer says, "I'll alert Dr. Ferguson."
"No let me," Vincent insists. For the second time today, Vincent leaves Copper's office to go to Ferguson's lab.
"We have the 135 children." He says when he gets there.
"Perfect."
HOWARD
We stand on a sunny, tree-lined sidewalk. Being a nice day for a stroll we walk along, breathing simultaneously with the evergreens. Many cars pass by, only one relevant. A white, ordinary looking car not going three miles faster than the limit. Inside this stodgy car is Mr. Daniel Howard, taking a break from his usual lifeless routine at Resurgence to do something in his opinion almost as uninteresting. Today is Howard's 80th birthday, a day meaningless as any other. He is on his way to one of the hundreds of GKO labs around the world to take a brain test. If everything is found okay, he is to go through a DNA editing surgery, and if one single thing is found wrong, he is sentenced to death. He recalls the very first time he visited one of these terrifying labs, 140 years ago, when he was told he would survive. So positive and buoyant, you would hardly recognize the drained, gloomy person that now stood in front of the very lab he was first tested in.
The building looks medium-sized from the outside, but on the inside there is an uncountable amount of testing labs awaiting people, deciding their fate.
Howard steps in and is greeted by a steely looking man, almost half a foot taller than him standing behind a small black desk, and in front of a large screen. The desk is completely blank other than a little box, Howard presses his finger to the box and the screen reads,
'Daniel Howard: 160" 80: Room 29'
Without a word to the man, Howard walks to a great door to his right, entering an ominous hallway, we walk past door 1, to our left, then door 2, to our right. On and on the doors pass, when eventually, Daniel Howard faces number 29.
With the identical vacant look in his eyes, he opens the door and sits in a black dental-adjacent chair. A spine-chilling person walks up to him wearing a full bio-hazard suit. A sight that would frighten most people, but Howard doesn't show any panic. The sinister man is the last thing Howard remembers, as a vapour sprays the entire room immediately putting him to sleep.
What happens now, only us and the man in the suit witness. Dozens of lasers coming from the same place as the vapour appear, all pointing at Daniel Howard's head. In only a few moments, a screen unseen till now, on the far wall of the square room reads,
'All tests positive'
Another vapour sprays and, as fast-working as the first, Howard awakes. He gets out of the chair and is escorted into a door in the wall in front of him, the second part of the test awaiting him. The door closes behind them and we are left in the dark room with the ominous dental chair.
The next morning, Howard faces the panoramic window in his white-walled room once again. It starts quietly drizzling and the wind starts to pick up. The sight looked strangely like the one from a while ago, except that now, the man sitting at the wide desk could easily be mistaken for 20.
In the usual matter, Mr. Waltham knocks at the door, coming in without an answer.
"Good morning," he says, a little less cheerful than normal. They hadn't since talked about Howard's sudden fit of rage.
"The same to you."
David Waltham leaves the room, no mention of Howard's new appearance.
FARAH
The judgment hour had finally dawned on our dear Ms. Emily Farah. In just a few minutes, she would go through the same thing as Mr. Howard to see if she was qualified to keep living. She paces back and forth, refusing to admit to herself that she is afraid. She looks around at the small apartment surrounding her, decorated colorfully and piled with books and newspapers. But, it is incredibly dim, all of the windows that were usually wide open were slammed shut. A horrible thought runs through Emily's head. A group of people are emptying the room at this time tomorrow. She thought about never seeing anyone again, she thought about never getting the chance to work at The Fourth Estate. She had just got the job, and it was her lifelong dream. She continues pacing, thinking about every person she'd ever met, strangers smiling at her, acquaintances she hadn't spoken to in ages, friends she'd known for her entire life, her parents, her grandparents. All people she was too scared to say goodbye to, so didn't.
Ms. Farah didn't tell a single soul about her exam today, trying to convince herself it wasn't important enough to cause alarm. Maybe she wanted her loved ones' last memory of her to be happy and sweet, unable to bear the faces of people when she told them they might never talk to her again. She looks down at the watch on her wrist, the little hand moving slowly, but not slowly enough. A curse was upon her, the curse of time. She wanted nothing more than for the little hand to freeze in it's loop, but nonetheless, it continued, making a soft click every time it reached the 12.
Time, an idea as tricky as death I suppose. Both made up, both allusions. For Farah never spent a moment of her life wasted, but now, almost at the door of judgment, couldn't help but feel she could've spent every moment more fulfillingly. She questioned her mark on the world, wondering if she was the right person, or at least a decent one. If they were in the room, every person who'd ever met her would say her time in the world wasn't over. Though, in the end, fate is the only decider.
Ms. Emily Farah picks herself up and walks dismally to the lobby of her hotel, her head filled with outplayed scenarios. She knew she would either get the pill of death, or be put through The Resurgence Advancement Test, the one allegedly causing the spasms she'd heard about from Cody. Cody. Farah tried her hardest not to think about her. She was her best friend, the one who'd been with her since the moment she'd first moved in and bumped into her at a coffeehouse. She hadn't even told her dear friend that yesterday could've been the last time they'd ever share a muffin together.
"Where to today Ms. Farah?" Said a kind, familiar voice at the door of her apartment.
"Anywhere and everywhere," Farah responded, holding back tears, and giving the doorman an uncalled hug.
She steps outside and takes a long breath of the morning air, the skies almost as foggy as her mind. Ms. Emily Farah grimly walks down the sidewalk, savoring every last building and person she sees, the calling of The Reaper making every step of hers heavier than the last.
She arrives at the ghastly looking building and steps inside.
"Hello, I'm Emily Farah." She says to the hard-nosed man standing behind a small desk.
He looks at a small black box on the table. Emily places her thumb on it and the screen orders her to room three.
Ms. Farah hopelessly opens the large door to her right, entering a dim-lit hallway. She passes doors one and two and can't help thinking that more than a third of people would enter these rooms but never exit. She stands in front of door three, the pounding hand of fate rattling it's hinges.
MARCEL
92,000 feet in the air a large military aircraft floats, filled with pressurized air and painted pitch black to blend in with the night sky. A large group of people are held inside, dubious and jumpy, with no destination in mind. They sit quietly, a wave of cold air taking over them as the aircraft flies through a giant cloud. If the sturdy windows around us weren't tinted, we would see a euphoric midnight sky surrounding us. A field of stars lay above, and blurred canyons and lakes lay below. Commercial airplanes fly 54,000 feet underneath us, unable to spot the Mach 14 aircraft flying so swiftly. The airplane starts losing speed, now cruising at Mach 6. The terrain we are over becomes clearer, we see sandy hills and small temporary households coming into view as the aircraft loses altitude. We glide gracefully onto the ground, and not a second before we hit it do two lines of runway light flash on, immediately turning off as the plane reaches a halt.
Two familiar men stand outside, one tall with pepper hair, another crouched with a wicked smile plastered on his face. The men inside the aircraft trickle out, one man specific to our story coming out near the end.
Mr. Clint Marcel, a tall, black haired man with soft, wise eyes and a bewildered painted on his face, a man who would soon be a crucial worker to the most highly classified government operation of all time. One of the world's most honored nuclear physicists, at only 45 years old, who'd been offered a government job at a test site down south that paid five times his normal salary. All Mr. Marcel knew about Operation Wrist is that he couldn't tell a single soul about it, not even his wife or son. Marcel was baffled with the people standing outside to greet him. He recognized one of their faces from a GKO conference that had gone viral with accusations of lies and conspiracy. The other face he had seen in The Fourth Estate, an interview he couldn't place his finger on. Doctor... Fernson was it? Marcel stood nervously, dazed from the long flight, still with no clue where he was. A strong voice interrupts his train of thought.
"Hello gentlemen, my name is Aiden Copper, and what I am about to tell you now must stay between the people right here and no one else"
Obeying Mr. Copper's commands, we leave Clint Marcel alone for the night and revisit him the next morning, only miles away from the cold, deserted runway we left him at.
The air is hot and humid, flies are buzzing around rapidly, and a group of people haul tons and tons of uranium in from an underground mine. We stand in the GKO test base, a large area of land owned by the government for top secret operations such as this one. The temporary homes where Marcel and the others were staying at were on the other side of the base, an hour drive from where we stand. Through a window nearby, we see Mr. Marcel wearing a white lab coat, eye caught in a large microscope, examining the nucleus of a plutonium atom, writing down incomprehensive terms on a clipboard. A small clock in the corner of the room dings, signaling Mr. Marcel to pack up what he is doing. He steps out into the steamy outside air and sighs, not used to the boiling heat. A man he met the day before comes up to him, sparking small talk while they sit down to eat their lunches. A couple minutes pass, and Marcel finishes his sandwich, now opening a small can of stew, the other man now simply rambling on.
"I heard some rumours that there were two more test sites identical to ours just opposite those hills over there", Marcel's acquaintance says, pointing to a faraway landmark.
"They must just be some more military operations, this region's full of 'em," Marcel says, sipping his stew.
"I don't know, this whole area gives me the creeps, especially that scientist, Ferguson, the one always hanging around Mr. Copper."
Marcel nodded hesitantly, looking around to make sure no one had heard his associate badmouth an official.
"Don't you ever wonder what this place is really for, it must be dangerous, they don't even let commercial airplanes fly very close by. And isn't it weird that they brought us all here in that black aircraft? I've been working in airplanes for 35 years and I've never seen one go so darn fast. They won't even tell us what we're doing here, we might as well be aimlessly building some sort of catastrophic death machine."
"I should get back to the lab now, excuse me," Marcel says kindly, but packing up fast, and getting away from the man as quickly as he could.
Clint Marcel had been working for government agencies all his life, and he knew that being too curious could cost a man his job. He was to do exactly what he was told at this base, nothing more, nothing less. He could be building a death machine for all he knew, but he would build it impeccably, and without a single concern.