Welcome to the Marines (Corporate Marines Book 2) (4 page)

T
he nameless government man leaves me in the waiting room and the guards come back in. They unchain me and escort me down the hall to another room. I am still in the prison jumpsuit but the things that I had been carrying when I was picked up are brought to me in a plastic evidence bag.

The guards stay with me but I am not chained up again. I am still wearing the hand and leg cuffs. But I don’t feel like a chained monster now. The guards have been good all the way through and professional. Never once did I have an “accident” nor did I ever get treated like the scum that I am.

I don’t know why I feel better, and I don’t care. I am not chained up.

Life still does not mean anything to me and I keep hearing the voices screaming for me, begging for me to help.

But for now I am not going to join them and see their fear and hatred because I was not there for them.

Three large men in suits come into the room. They all look the same to me, with short hair and dark glasses. The man in the lead looks at the guards and says, “Please release him.” The guard comes over and un-cuffs my legs and then my hands.

I stay sitting and watch the men in the suits. They don’t seem threatening either. No one appears to be threatening me at all; this is not what I expected.

The first man throws me a package with clothes in it and says, “Put these on quickly; we have to go.” Then he ignores me. He has that look of someone communicating with their implants.

I get changed quickly. These are not my clothes, as those were soaked and ruined with blood. But these clothes are okay and they are all my size. The jeans feel good and the fleece hoodie was always my favourite type. There’s a pair of generic running shoes that fit unlike the prison shoes.

I even have a generic baseball hat and sunglasses. I put the sunglasses in the pocket of my hoodie and stand up, feeling nervous.

This isn’t the way it’s supposed to go. They aren’t supposed to tease me like this with my freedom. Just sentence me and send me away or execute me.

The suits take a minute to talk amongst themselves while I stand there fidgeting. Then they turn to me.

“We are going to walk out now. You will stay in the middle and not talk or make eye contact. The press is all over the building, so we are going right out the front door. Not wearing the sunglasses is likely a better choice when dealing with the media.” He stops and looks me in the eyes. At least I think he is, as I can’t see him behind the glasses.

“You are NOT to talk to anyone or say anything to anyone. Do you understand this?”

I nod yes and keep my mouth shut.

The guards have been quietly standing there the whole time. At a nod from the leader, one of the guards opens the door and the other guard leads us out. The three suited men form a triangle around me and I hear the door closing and then the last guard’s footsteps behind us as we slowly walk down the cinder-block hallway.

We come to the end of the hallway and I am used to turning right and heading to one of the small courts. We turn left and, after a few paces, take another left. We come to a steel security door and stop.

The guard at the rear comes to the front and swipes his hand over the scanner. There is a click and the door opens. Again he holds the door while we move through and then he falls in behind us. We are at the front of the building. That security door opens out onto the front lobby. We are off to the side so I get a chance to see the circus going on out front.

It looks like the entire city is here with every camera crew available. I’m guessing that this is to do with me.

I just need to put my head down and we can walk through the crowd to whatever transport is here.

As we come to the main doors, the two guards step to the side and stop.

The suits ignore them and look like they are waiting for something to happen.

Some sort of large armoured vehicle is pulling through the congestion in front of the building and the suits are focussing on that.

I can see the leader working his implants again for a second, and then there are eight police officers in riot gear moving to the front of the building. I guess they are there to act as an escort for my escort.

The lead suit turns to me and says, “We are going out now. Walk with your head down and stay in the middle. We take care of everything. Hands out of your pockets.”

I pull my hands out and tense up as I prepare to move.

One of the security guards calls out to me. “Good luck, kid.” I am surprised. No one likes me and no one wants anything for me except bad things, after everything that happened.

I look at them both and they both nod at me. I nod back.

Maybe somebody out there knows what really happened and doesn’t hate me.

The suits move out and I feel their hands pushing me forward to keep me in the centre of our little triangle.

The door opens and we are out. The sound hits me like a hammer in the face. It feels more like a concert with the noise level than a gathering in front of a public building. I can see tons of signs saying everything from “MURDERER! KILL HIM!” to “ABOLISH THE DEATH PENALTY!” There is even one sign saying, “MARRY ME!” Of course, it’s being held by a fat guy that looks like he hasn’t washed or changed his clothes in a while.

As we come out, the police make a larger circle around us and advance. They have riot shock batons and those big riot shields. I can see other police officers in small groups with dogs and more on the rooftops watching us.

Everyone is watching us. Or rather, they are watching me. I can feel the glares.

When the press and all the rest of the people there for the circus recognize me in the centre of the group, the noise increases further. There are a dozen camera crews and just as many drones with cameras covering me.

We are just out the door and the crowd is pushing forward and surrounding us. The circle of cops is pushed right up against the suits and they are being careful to only use their shields as blocks instead of clubbing people out of the way.

So many of the people are red-faced and screaming. Two of the protesters carrying signs start hitting each other with their sign. “KILL THE MURDERER!” and “ABOLISH THE DEATH PENALTY!” signs are suddenly covered in blood and the people holding them are clawing at each other.

Other police move in and drag them apart and blood is flowing.

This is just like a big wave washing over me. It is all incomprehensible. I can’t even see the vehicle anymore and we are just at the stairs.

There are five stairs to get down and I am on the top one when the crowd pushes up against the one side of the circle and people are pressed up against me. I can’t do anything and try to lean away.

Then I recognize one of the women. It’s the mom of one of the girls. She is Terrie’s mom and she was one of the most vocal in court so they had to drag her out. She was on the media lots, calling me a cold-blooded psycho that had killed her little darling baby and then she would break down and cry.

I remember how her darling giggled and took pics while there was screaming. She had laughed at me and told me to man up. Then she made out with her boyfriend. I remember her screams and I just don’t feel anything.

Terrie’s mom is even dressed up with a low-cut top and clinging clothes so she looks good for the media. Her husband is probably at work brokering another multimillion-dollar deal and having the company lawyers figure out some other way to make my life hell.

I just look at her and can’t do or say anything. I hear her words over the rest of the mobs. “You fucking bastard! You killed my little baby! She never did anything wrong! You tried to make her and her friends into the bad guys, but I know the truth! You should burn in hell with the rest of your scum family!”

The crowd almost seems to pull back and there are cameras everywhere zoomed in to see this confrontation, and all I can do is stand here with my hands out looking like a stunned cow. What do I do?

At point-blank range I can see that her makeup is running while she cries, which it never did before. I guess she wore something that would run to look even better for the cameras.

She is pointing a finger in my face and she is just screaming. Then her other arm comes up and I can see a letter opener slide into her hand from up her sleeve. She is stabbing it at my throat and we are so close I still can’t do anything.

She is going to stab me and try to kill me because of her bitch daughter.

An arm comes in from the side behind me and catches her hand less than a foot from my throat. That hand stops and she and I both just stare at it.

Then that gripping hand bends her stabbing hand in a way that hands are not meant to bend when connected to an arm.

It seems like everyone should be able to hear the loud snap. If they can’t hear the snapping of her wrist, then I know they can hear her truly piercing shriek as her hand is bent at an impossible angle.

That gripping hand releases her and disappears, taking the letter opener with it. Her arm drops a bit and she is holding the damaged arm with her other one. Then, two shields come out of nowhere and she is body-checked away from me and mashed up against other protesters.

I hear a voice yelling, “…under attack! GO GO GO!” Then the small circle of police raise their shields and take off at a run, pushing everyone away and body-checking those who are slow. We are heading at a run for the back of the armoured vehicle and everyone scatters away from us.

Just as we get there the back door opens, the police stream around the back and form a wall of shields while the lead suit leaps in and then grabs me and pulls me inside while the other two suits push.

I am sprawled on one of the bench seats while the other two suits board. The back door slams shut and then the vehicle heads off at high speed. I would have been thrown to the floor if one of the suits had not kept a solid hold on me.

They help me sit up and clip in to the five-point harness seatbelt.

I look at the leader with a question on my face. He nods and says, “You can speak now while we are in here.”

I find myself shaking from adrenaline. She wanted to kill me and tried it. The only reason that I am not dead was because the suits were faster and stronger.

I look at the leader. “Why did that all happen back there?”

He stares at me for a moment. “You had no access to any media while you were inside during the trial, correct?”

I nod. He continues by pulling out a pad and flicking it on and setting it to a news channel. “Check this out.” I stare at the screen and watch archived footage of my arrest and everything up to our departure from the facility just now.

I look at the suit and have to ask. “That’s a lot of information. Why did you get this all done?”

He finally takes off his sunglasses. His face is still expressionless and he has brown eyes. “You work for the Corporation now. Every bit of data was collected and collated to verify that you would be a worthwhile candidate. When it was decided that you were and you agreed to join the program, this material was pulled. This is public information. Look at this.”

He uses his plants to change the info stream on the pad. Additional data from different sources including what must be AI analysis moves alongside the same information.

I jolt back from the screen. “This information is being manipulated? Is the corporation doing this?” I look at the suit.

He shakes his head no. “Analysis indicates that the parents have instituted a smear campaign. Some of your information was supressed and the media campaign was assisted by professionals. They have thrown a lot of money at this because they want to win. They are very good, but the Corporation is much better.” He stops and stares at me unblinkingly.

I still do not get it. So I ask, “Why? Why are they doing this? I know they hate me, but after everything that happened…”

The answer is short. “They appear to be doing this for their benefit. Anything else is conjecture at this point. Finally, as hard as this will be for you to do, you need to let this go.” I just stare at him when he says that and I am amazed that I am not drooling on myself like an idiot. “You work for the Corporation now. They are irrelevant. Move on and stay focussed on your job.” He looks me in the eye. “Am I clear? Say yes if you understand.”

I nod yes and then, clearing my throat, say, “Yes.”

He nods at me and says, “Good.”

He takes the pad away and we continue in silence.

We pull up at the airport and, after being scanned through by some security types, we drive to a part that is off-limits to the public. We pull up to a hangar and I am escorted inside by my three suits. There is a really nice little lounge with large tinted windows and a small, well-stocked bar. There is another person there with two more suits. I don’t know if I am allowed to talk yet, but it’s like my suit knows what I am thinking as he hands me an entertainment pad.

The pad has no wireless connection to the outside. It seems to be connected to a local server and has a bunch of games and old programs that I can use. I still have no access to the real world.

The pad will do, even if it is a bit old in the way of tech.

What is really interesting is that the other guy is also using a pad. So whatever they are doing with us, they don’t want us communicating with the outside world for now.

My suit gestures for me to take a seat and then asks, “Do you want anything to drink? If so, just help yourself.”

I nod and then as I look up, he continues. “We will be leaving soon; we are just waiting for the plane.”

I walk over to the bar and grab a container of fruit juice. This is the good stuff, not that crap that was in the holding facility.

I sit down in a nice, comfy leather recliner that vibrates and start flipping through the pad’s entertainment, looking for news. I find two different streams: one local and one national. They are both showing my picture and going on about how I left the facility and the court’s findings were overturned. I just catch the end of a commentator’s statement: “And he will do a much greater service giving his all in these pursuits then he would if he were executed for his actions…” I tune it out.