Story code: ST-001328
Part 1: The PR Machine
Cold water blasted from the motion-sensor faucet, but the pink stain on Elias’s white collar refused to yield. He scrubbed at the starched fabric with a rough paper towel, tasting fresh copper from where he had bitten clean through his own lower lip. The sterile, gray-tiled walls of the forty-second-floor executive washroom seemed to hum with the building’s oppressive climate control. He pressed the wet wad of paper to his mouth, leaning heavily over the polished marble basin. His hands shook violently enough to rattle his heavy steel watch against the stone.
A sharp, staccato knock echoed against the frosted glass of the heavy oak door.
“Two minutes, Elias.” The voice belonged to Chloe, the senior public relations director, pitched to a practiced, sing-song brightness that cut straight through the solid wood. “The photographer wants to catch the morning light catching your medals. Everyone is just so excited to meet our favorite hero.”
Elias stared at his reflection in the vast, spotless mirror. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the iris and making his eyes look like dark, empty pits. He forced a deep breath into lungs that felt packed with wet sand. He tried to pull the corners of his mouth into the grateful, stoic smile he had practiced all week for the board of directors. The cracked lip split further under the tension. A fresh drop of red swelled and dripped, landing squarely on his silver silk tie.
He grabbed another coarse paper towel from the stainless steel dispenser. He needed to stop the bleeding instantly. He needed to stop seeing the jagged lines of data from his workstation screen overlaying the pristine marble of the sink. Every time he blinked, the bright afterimage of his secure terminal flashed behind his eyelids. The endless scrolling logs. The rapidly shifting coordinates. The raw numbers that translated into things he could never wipe from his memory.
“Elias.” The knock came again, a little sharper this time. The brass doorknob rattled loudly as Chloe tested the lock. “Do not be shy today. Mr. Sterling is bringing the platinum-tier investors around the gallery right now. We need you standing right next to the ‘Veterans in Tech’ banner. It is the absolute centerpiece of the entire quarterly campaign.”
Elias leaned his full weight against the sink to keep his knees from buckling. He reached into his tailored suit jacket and felt the cold plastic of his high-clearance security badge. The thick lanyard was branded with the company logo, a stylized, friendly sunburst that looked entirely innocent on the towering highway billboards but felt heavy as an iron chain around his neck. The corporation had given him the pristine corner desk with the ergonomic chair. They had bought him the charcoal suit that fit perfectly over his rigid posture. They had paid for his mother’s expensive assisted living facility without a single moment of hesitation. They loved the public narrative. The broken soldier, rescued from the edge, rehabilitated and given a vital purpose in the private sector. It made for incredible press releases. It made the shareholders feel warm and ethical while the stock price climbed to record highs.
He simply had to keep his mouth shut about what he actually did when the corporate cameras were off and the reinforced steel door of Sector Four locked securely behind him. He just monitored the incoming feeds. That was the sterile phrase they used in the orientation manuals. Monitoring feeds. It sounded so clean, so completely detached from the reality rendering in high definition on his primary monitor.
He dabbed frantically at the silk tie. The bloodstain was only spreading, turning the light silver fabric a muddy, undeniable purple. He stripped the tie off completely, letting it drop to the immaculate tile floor and kicking it under the sink. He buttoned his suit jacket higher. He could hide the ruined collar. He could hide the violent trembling in his fingers by keeping his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. He turned the hot water on full blast, thrusting his bare hands under the scalding stream. The sudden, biting heat shocked his nervous system, grounding him just enough to drag his mind back to the reality of the executive bathroom. The intense physical pain pushed the shadows of his workstation away. He stared at the water spiraling down the silver drain. It was perfectly clear, completely unlike the images burned into his retinas. He focused on the steady, mechanical hum of the air vents, using the white noise to drown out the phantom sounds of his shift.
“I am coming in, Elias.” Chloe’s voice lost the sing-song quality, dropping instantly into a flat, corporate command. A metallic scrape sounded as she slid the emergency override key into the lock. “You cannot keep Mr. Sterling waiting. He hates waiting more than anything. Put your game face on right now, buddy.”
Elias gripped the edges of the sink until his knuckles turned entirely white. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the static and the silent screams that lived entirely inside his head now. He forced his facial muscles upward, locking his jaw into the company-approved grin. The heavy deadbolt clicked loudly in the quiet room. The heavy oak door began to swing inward.
Cold water blasted from the motion-sensor faucet, but the pink stain on Elias’s white collar refused to yield. He scrubbed at the starched fabric with a rough paper towel, tasting fresh copper from where he had bitten clean through his own lower lip. The sterile, gray-tiled walls of the forty-second-floor executive washroom seemed to hum with the building’s oppressive climate control. He pressed the wet wad of paper to his mouth, leaning heavily over the polished marble basin. His hands shook violently enough to rattle his heavy steel watch against the stone.
A sharp, staccato knock echoed against the frosted glass of the heavy oak door.
“Two minutes, Elias.” The voice belonged to Chloe, the senior public relations director, pitched to a practiced, sing-song brightness that cut straight through the solid wood. “The photographer wants to catch the morning light catching your medals. Everyone is just so excited to meet our favorite hero.”
Elias stared at his reflection in the vast, spotless mirror. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the iris and making his eyes look like dark, empty pits. He forced a deep breath into lungs that felt packed with wet sand. He tried to pull the corners of his mouth into the grateful, stoic smile he had practiced all week for the board of directors. The cracked lip split further under the tension. A fresh drop of red swelled and dripped, landing squarely on his silver silk tie.
He grabbed another coarse paper towel from the stainless steel dispenser. He needed to stop the bleeding instantly. He needed to stop seeing the jagged lines of data from his workstation screen overlaying the pristine marble of the sink. Every time he blinked, the bright afterimage of his secure terminal flashed behind his eyelids. The endless scrolling logs. The rapidly shifting coordinates. The raw numbers that translated into things he could never wipe from his memory.
“Elias.” The knock came again, a little sharper this time. The brass doorknob rattled loudly as Chloe tested the lock. “Do not be shy today. Mr. Sterling is bringing the platinum-tier investors around the gallery right now. We need you standing right next to the ‘Veterans in Tech’ banner. It is the absolute centerpiece of the entire quarterly campaign.”
Elias leaned his full weight against the sink to keep his knees from buckling. He reached into his tailored suit jacket and felt the cold plastic of his high-clearance security badge. The thick lanyard was branded with the company logo, a stylized, friendly sunburst that looked entirely innocent on the towering highway billboards but felt heavy as an iron chain around his neck. The corporation had given him the pristine corner desk with the ergonomic chair. They had bought him the charcoal suit that fit perfectly over his rigid posture. They had paid for his mother’s expensive assisted living facility without a single moment of hesitation. They loved the public narrative. The broken soldier, rescued from the edge, rehabilitated and given a vital purpose in the private sector. It made for incredible press releases. It made the shareholders feel warm and ethical while the stock price climbed to record highs.
He simply had to keep his mouth shut about what he actually did when the corporate cameras were off and the reinforced steel door of Sector Four locked securely behind him. He just monitored the incoming feeds. That was the sterile phrase they used in the orientation manuals. Monitoring feeds. It sounded so clean, so completely detached from the reality rendering in high definition on his primary monitor.
He dabbed frantically at the silk tie. The bloodstain was only spreading, turning the light silver fabric a muddy, undeniable purple. He stripped the tie off completely, letting it drop to the immaculate tile floor and kicking it under the sink. He buttoned his suit jacket higher. He could hide the ruined collar. He could hide the violent trembling in his fingers by keeping his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. He turned the hot water on full blast, thrusting his bare hands under the scalding stream. The sudden, biting heat shocked his nervous system, grounding him just enough to drag his mind back to the reality of the executive bathroom. The intense physical pain pushed the shadows of his workstation away. He stared at the water spiraling down the silver drain. It was perfectly clear, completely unlike the images burned into his retinas. He focused on the steady, mechanical hum of the air vents, using the white noise to drown out the phantom sounds of his shift.
“I am coming in, Elias.” Chloe’s voice lost the sing-song quality, dropping instantly into a flat, corporate command. A metallic scrape sounded as she slid the emergency override key into the lock. “You cannot keep Mr. Sterling waiting. He hates waiting more than anything. Put your game face on right now, buddy.”
Elias gripped the edges of the sink until his knuckles turned entirely white. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the static and the silent screams that lived entirely inside his head now. He forced his facial muscles upward, locking his jaw into the company-approved grin. The heavy deadbolt clicked loudly in the quiet room. The heavy oak door began to swing inward.