The New Guard: Below the Corporation

 

A handsome 40-year-old Claude Mikel with a firm jawline, brown eyes, and shoulder-length hair tied in a neat ponytail, looking into a mirror with a confident grin showing dimples, wearing a simple but clean button-down shirt.

The New Guard

Claude has been a jack of all trades; there is no profession he hadn't done. He had been an electrician, a plumber, a mason, a tiler, a welder, and many more. He had been doing those works to survive the harsh reality of the economy.

He sat in his room that faithful January morning, thinking about his life and what he needed to do this time as it is a brand new year. He wanted something different this time; he knew he was getting old and he needed something that would make his old age soft, so he could relax. He is not married at forty; he never thought of a wife and kid. His focus has always been about making money, and he regretted to say all those handworks had never given him something he could call a retirement plan.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror: handsome, with a face he swore was the carbon copy of a movie star. He grinned, and he could see the dimples on his cheeks that had made many young women his companion. Brown eyes, shoulder-length hair he tied in a ponytail, a firm jawline, and a little gray just peeping at his temple—at 5.7ft, he thought he was tall enough.

He was thinking what to do, and even thought of getting married this new year. Since he had been dismissing such ideas, he thought a family would make him be responsible and be saving instead of enjoying life to the fullest. Though he still had plans of reaching that fullest, he was deep in thought when...

The Phone Call

His phone suddenly vibrated, and Vanessa Williams: Save the Best For Last could be heard playing. He waited a moment to listen to the tune because it was one of his favourite songs. He had always been a sentimental fool, and sometimes he thought those words gave him the tips on how he approached a woman, because many sweet words are hidden in lyrics and people like Diana Ross and Vanessa Williams had them plenty.

He sighed as he picked the phone and answered the call. "Hello."

"Is this Claude Mikel?" the voice from the other end asked.

"Yeah, who am I speaking with?"

"This is the HR officer at BlueWaters Corporation."

Claude Mikel paused for a moment and thought, what the hell. "So?" he asked.

"Your application to be a security guard has been processed. Please come to the head office for further information."

Claude was silent for a moment. He was thinking about when had he really applied for a job there? Come to think of it, he had submitted applications to so many business outfits that he couldn't even remember one of them. If he remembered right—and he had always been right—it had been more than two years since he submitted his last application, as he had been doing his handwork then and hadn't heard from any of the offices he had applied to.

"Are you there?" the voice asked, jostling him from his thoughts.

"Yeah, sorry. I will be there," he said as the line went dead.

He was still wondering if he could give the job a chance. He thought it was not part of his plan for the new year, but skill work was getting scarce due to competition and businesses folding up as the economy plummeted further. He wondered how it had come to this: him, Claude Mikel, a security guard. He laughed out loud. This is really not cool at all, he thought.

"Anyway, let me give it a chance," he muttered as he dropped his phone and looked at his wardrobe and muttered, "Shit."

There was nothing there he could call nice clothes; almost all of his clothes were faded. He thought he saw a shirt that would do for the interview or whatever he would face at the corporation. He brought the shirt out and dusted it with a grimace, wondering how he lived with dust and he didn't know about it until a call from an unexpected place came in.

On The Way To The Corporation

Claude Mikel put on the shirt he had dusted, whistling a tune. He tucked his stomach in to let it fit and grinned as he patted his stomach. "You're getting lazy," he said to his stomach, putting a plan on his workout in the future.

He came out of his house and walked a short distance to the cab stand. It was nice getting the fresh air on his face. It had been a weird December last year and he wondered if the world was coming to an end. He hadn't seen a December that doesn't snow, and a January that is as hot as hellfire. He wondered what was going on; he had heard on the news about climate change but he had never given it a listening ear, but experiencing no snow in December and hot weather in January called for concern.

Soon he entered a cab and the driver asked him, "Where to?"

"BlueWaters Corporation."

"Sure," the driver said, and he put the car into motion.

It was a nice ride and he watched people on the sidewalk going about their business. He looked at the young women and wondered which of them could be his future wife. It was a short ride, and very soon they reached the corporation head office.

The Foreman’s Warning

As he walked toward the corporation, he thought of his first day as a mason and he smiled. He had been desperate for work then and he was out on the street looking for anything to do when he had come across the construction site. He had met the foreman who looked at him from head to toe and said, "Son, this kind of work doesn't suit you; you're not built for this work."

Claude had gotten angry and he had said, "Don't judge me yet. Besides, this is about putting food on my table so I can do it rather than to starve."

Turned out the foreman had been right. Just under an hour, he was panting and he could feel his muscles locking up. The exhaustion was so great he nearly fainted. He had tried to carry a block and the weight was so much that his back had nearly cracked; those around could hear his bones as they made a popping sound, and all heads had turned to look at him while he bent over coughing. He had met the foreman and asked him, "When is the break period?"

The foreman had laughed at his face and said, "In about three hours' time."

He had exclaimed, "Three hours!"

"If you can't do it, beat it, but there would be no pay."

That memory always haunted him. Anytime he thought of that day, he would just shake his head and look at the sky and say, "You saved me."

The Wrong Door?

Soon he was at the corporation reception desk. "Good morning, my name is Claude Mikel. I have an appointment today with the HR officer."

The receptionist clicked on the computer with a frown; he watched when she shook her head in confusion.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"You said HR officer?"

"Yeah, no name was given. Is this not BlueWaters Corporation?"

"This is Blueberry Corporation," the receptionist said.

Claude could only look and get angry. He thought he had been a victim of a prankster and they had made him waste his last bucks he could have used to hold his hunger. He thought of the cab driver and wondered if he was dreaming, because the cab driver had looked at him funny when he said BlueWaters Corporation and his eyes had shifted before he had said, "Sure."

Cold-Ice

There was a commotion behind him and he turned to see a man in his mid-fifties, bulging stomach and a bald patch at the center of his head, screaming, "They are here! The dead are here! Everyone run away and never look back! They will kill you and they would make you go mad! Beware! Be warned!"

He felt a nudge on his hand and he turned to see a man in a three-piece suit standing just beside him. He never saw him coming and even the receptionist was startled by his appearance.

"Claude Mikel?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Cold-Ice, the HR officer of BlueWaters Corporation."

The man turned to the receptionist and said, "Look again at your computer, Mary."

The receptionist looked at the computer and could only nod her head.

"Come on, this way, and don't listen to that fool over there," Cold-Ice said as he steered Claude toward a step leading below.

The Descent

As they descend below the corporation, Claude could feel the cold seeping into his body slowly and his breathing become foggy. He could see his hands started shaking and he could feel his feet getting number; he looked at the descending stairs and he could see the fog swirling around Cold-Ice. It is like he is part of the fog.

Claude was feeling uneasy and so he tried to get Mr. Cold-Ice to talk.

"Why now, after more than two years?" he asked.

"There was a long process after the patron was cold by the hand of death."

"Patron? Death? You're not making sense," Claude said. He could feel something was off—a December without snow, January as hot as hell, and now this. "Who are you?" he asked.

The Gatekeeper

Mr. Cold-Ice stopped. He was just two steps ahead of Claude but he never turned; only his head did the turning while his whole body was still facing front.

"I'm known as the gatekeeper, or let me say, the one who opens the path."

Claude stopped in his tracks and took a step back, but an invisible force stopped him.

"Come on, let us keep moving. We aren't at the corporation again; we are about halfway to the gate."

"I never signed for this," Claude said, still not moving. "Please, let me go."

"Sure. Not until we reach the gate."