Post by Chuck Matthews on Aug 20, 2017 16:21:42 GMT -5
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Writer's Note: This was a collaborative work alongside Betsy Granger.
For the previous RP in the series, see here: redemptionfed.boards.net/thread/1435/expo
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Chicago, Illinois
Matthews Residence
Present Time
Betsy Granger watched the rains patter against the window as the cab driver slowly made his way towards the home of Chuck Matthews. She had her head pressed against the window, her mind a whirl with everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. Her short trip in London with Elizabeth. The night she spent with James Raven in that hotel room… A perfectly innocent night, save for the heart-searing kiss the two had shared....
Even as she thought about it again, the stab of guilt cut into her heart again. She knew Chuck had been in the hospital with the head pains. He had probably needed her, even then. He had trusted her alone with James, trusted her to use her best judgment… Trusted her to act with honor and faithfulness. There were no excuses, no use rationalizing what had happened. She invited him to that room. She kept pouring the whiskey for the both of them. She had initiated the kiss itself. She had acted selfishly and with no regard for how anyone else might feel.
Chuck would never forgive her if he knew. James had absolutely no reason to keep being so kind to her when she was clearly just leading him on. And yet… Despite how things COULD have gone that night, they didn’t. Was it guilt? Was it love? Maybe it was both. She didn’t know, but she didn’t have time to dwell on that now.
When Chuck had started tweeting the odd, cryptics messages, she knew right away something was wrong. There was no rhyme, reason or logic to what he’d been saying. He seemed scattered and lost… Very unlike Chuck. Despite her desires and temptations there in London, duty and love brought her back. She felt the cab stop and looked out in front of her. She was shocked to find herself in front of Chuck’s house, already. Quietly, she pays and tips the cabbie and throws her hood over her head. She grabs her light traveling bag from the seat beside her and slams the door shut before turning.
Betsy looks up at the house she once couldn’t wait to enter, the rain falling into her face. It ran down her cheeks like tears and she felt to make sure there weren’t any falling. She dreaded what she was about to walk into and felt the guilt grip her stomach this time as her thoughts briefly drifted to London once more… But she dismissed them. ‘He needs me’ she thought staunchly, stiffening her shoulders. ‘It’s time to stop being a selfish child and be the woman Chuck needs me to be right now. Be strong. Be brave.’
She digs through her purse to find the key to his front door, but she can’t find it. Of course, she didn’t pack it… Why would she need it, she hadn’t been expecting to leave England so early to end up at his front door. She climbs the steps up to his porch and finally finds shelter from the rain. She raises her fist to knock loudly and pauses. She can hear scrambling inside and his voice drifting loudly through the house. Hearing the gibberish in person was even scarier in person and her heart dropped to her feet. She knocked on the door loudly and waited.
And waited… and waited. His voice stopped momentarily as the knocks echoed through, but he doesn’t answer. Everything falls deadly quiet for several long moment. Betsy holds her breath, waiting for Chuck to come to the door. Instead, she’s greeted with his voice starting up again. She can faintly hear him talking of knocking… stocking… blocking? It was enough to drive anyone mad, but her fear grows and she knocks even louder, calling out this time.
Betsy Granger: “Chuck? Open up, it’s Betsy. I don’t have my key…”
More muttering. She can hear her name along with some choice adjectives in between. Association words. The lump forms in her throat as tears of desperation roll down her cheeks.
Betsy Granger: “Let me in… Let me in! Chuck, please… Snap out of it and let me in!”
Desperately, she begins to slam her shoulder against the door, hoping it would open up. But the door was stronger than her slight weight and didn’t budge. She begins to pace around the porch, her panic rising. The rain grew harder above her and the sound of it hitting the roof of the porch made her look up. She closed her eyes and a let the sound wash over her. She blocked out her panic and controlled her breathing. The tears still spilled down her cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them away.
Slowly, she opens her eyes and begins to use her brain. She starts looking around the porch, lifting up items, feeling around. She knew there had to be a key somewhere… All she had to do was think like Chuck. For her, that wasn’t too difficult. She closed her eyes and continued to feel around… And was rewarded when her fingers left wood and paint and touched cool metal. She opened her eyes as she gripped the key between her fingers. She took a deep, calming breath and unlocked the door and rushed inside. When she entered the living from the entrance hall, what she saw broke her heart.
Chuck was sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers with scribbles. His hair was unkempt, he was unshaven and it was obvious he hadn’t slept for days. His clothes were wrinkled and she wondered when the last time he’d moved from this spot was. She drops her stuff and rushes over to him, falling to her knees in front of him. She grabs his face and forces him to look up at her. She peers into his face and sees his eyes flicker with recognition. She sighs softly and shuffles next to him, pulling him into her and running her fingers through his hair.
Betsy Granger: “What is happening to you…”
She whispers, feeling the lump in her throat rising again.
Chuck instinctively wraps his arms around her, breathing heavily. He grips her tight, clutching her clothes… almost as though making sure she was really there.
Chuck Matthews: “Betsy…”
He pulls away from her, his eyes darting around the room, quickly scanning each wrinkled page that littered the floor. He sifted through them, frantic, almost in a panic, looking for something he couldn’t seem to find. Finally, he slumped back, leaning against the sofa, looking defeated. He cranes his neck back, facing the high-arched ceiling, his eyes closed. A long, exasperated sigh escapes him, and he groans softly.
Chuck Matthews: “I can’t find it.”
He slides his hand blindly around the floor in front of him until his fingers brush against Betsy’s knee. He traces his way to her hand and clutches it in his. His grip is tight at first, and Betsy feels her knuckle crack under the pressure. He gently brushes her fingers, and his grip relaxes, finding comfort in this tiny gesture. Betsy lifts his hand to her lips and kisses it gently. Her free hand comes up and caresses his face.
Betsy Granger: “What are you looking for?”
Her voice is soft as she tries to help him shuffle through his papers. She picks a few of them up and studies them closely. A lot of the same as his cryptic Tweets and mutterings. Words and sayings strung together in a confusing jumble she couldn’t make heads nor tails of. She ruffled through them, hoping to find a sequence, some sort of order… But there was nothing. Certain words had been highlighted, other’s underlined, some of them all capital letters. She made a mental note of this. She gently pulls her hands away and rises to her feet.
Betsy Granger: “When was the last time you ate?”
She looks deeply into his face and sees the dryness in his lips. She backs away towards the kitchen and pours him a glass of water. Returning as quickly as she can, she sits down next to him again and holds it out to him.
Betsy Granger: “Drink it now. You’re dehydrated, or close to it. Don’t argue with me.”
Chuck reaches blindly for the glass. He sputters slightly as the water reaches his lips. Betsy steadies his hand, holding the glass, and Chuck gulps it down in an instant. He rests his head against her.
Chuck Matthews: “So cluttered… There’s just too many thoughts.”
His voice is low, hushed. There’s a small groan in his voice, as though these very thoughts are causing him pain, pounding against his skull. A million ideas, all bursting to escape, all cramming themselves through a narrow filter in a bold effort to escape into the world. The wheels in his head were always racing, but now, it almost seemed like they had spun off their tracks, moving too quickly for even Chuck to maintain control. But what was causing it? Chuck held her close.
Chuck Matthews: “Don’t leave… I need….”
His voice trails off as he buries his head in her shoulder. His breathing is heavy, strained. The occasional pained whimper escapes him. On occasion, his hand reaches out, stretching for the forgotten pen sitting on the floor, but almost immediately, he snaps his arms back to her waist, holding tight to her. Betsy wrapped him up in her arms tightly and kissed his face repeatedly.
Betsy Granger: “I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere, I’m here.”
She brought his face down into her neck and rested her head on top of his. She looked around at all the scattered papers and made a mental note to find a folder to keep them all in. She would also have to look around for a notebook. Even in this state, she knew there had to be a sequence… Something was trying to escape. Chuck had something he needed to say, something he desperately need her, anyone really, to figure out. She rubbed his back gently and rocked him back and forth.
Betsy Granger: “Oh, my love… What are you trying to tell me?”
Chuck looks up at her. His eyes, often a pleasant blue, seem to have lost their luster. That familiar glint that always lit up whenever he had an idea had been extinguished, and left behind dark and dreary windows into his soul.
Chuck Matthews: “Too much clutter. Can’t… organize.”
He breaks away again, seizing his pen and scribbling on the first scrap of paper he can find. Betsy eyes him as he scratches furiously away. Bleak. Block. Black. Beak. Eagle. Bird. Hawk. Jason Hawk. Apex. Wolf.
He furiously scribbles out “Wolf,” and continues writing: Hawk. Feather. Raven. Eagle. Excitedly, he circles eagle.
Chuck Matthews: “Eagle. Eagle… Eagle…… flight, no.. no, not flying. Not swimming.”
He rummages through the pages, searching desperately for something he’s sure he’s written down before. Furiously, he swipes has hand at the pages, sending several of them up in the air, where they drift calmly back to the floor. He groans, pulling at his hair, clenching his eyes closed, racking his brain for something that just won’t come. Finally, he retreats, collapsing back to Betsy’s embrace.
Chuck Matthews: “I’m failing… I can’t find the words. The words aren’t here. I can’t… focus.”
Betsy struggles to maintain her own composure, but the tears begin to fall again. She bites her tongue to keep from sobbing out loud and runs her fingers through Chuck’s hair. She opens her mouth to speak, but she feels the sob about to escape so she remains silent. Even through her fear for his sanity, her brain is trying to use logic in the situation. She finds herself wondering how in the hell he got like this. How it could have happened so quickly. She draws in several deep breaths and controls herself, finally able to speak again. Even so, her voice is choked and harsh.
Betsy Granger: “Don’t focus… Don’t try… Just let your brain relax… Relax, rest. You need it. Please…”
Despite the tears in her face, she lifts his face gently and presses a soft kiss against his lips. She does this again several times, the tears still falling. She finally stops and presses her forehead against his, sniffling loudly. Chuck stares into her face, a pained expression crossing his features.
Chuck Matthews: “You’re hurt… I didn’t… Don’t hurt… Bets...”
He struggles to speak, leaving long pauses between each word, clearly struggling, thinking hard about each one before he says it. The meaning is there, that much was obvious. His words seemed random, his sentences awkward… but he was aware. At least, he seemed to be. He hugged Betsy tight and holds her face in his hands, wiping a tear away. Yes… he was definitely aware. At least there was that. He hadn’t lost his grip on reality. But the words, the language… that appeared to be a struggle. This overload of thoughts, of words, of phrases, constantly bombarding his head, all spilling out of him in a jumbled mess. There was meaning in the words. This was a means of communication. There had to be a way to decipher this… she just needed to think like Chuck.
Chuck Matthews: “... you came back.”
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Chicago, Illinois
Enterprise Arena
July 31st, 2017
As the Expo guests make their way to their seats, John Conrad seems more and more frustrated at yet another distraction. He eyes the guests around him with a cold stare, as though suspicious of each and every one of them, like any one of them could suddenly leap to their feet and cause a commotion. The room is spacious, and despite the growing number of viewers, there is still plenty of room to breathe and stretch out. A large projector screen has been set up in the arena, with a number of folding chairs set up at the base of the stage, giving the people a view of the podium and screen. Betsy sits to Chuck’s left, between him and Conrad. She inches herself closer to Chuck, away from the sneering face of Matthews Enterprises’ chief of security. Chuck stretches his feet out in front of him, looking over the pamphlet he’d received as he made his way to his seat. He’s interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.
Blake Ramsey: “Mr. Matthews?”
Chuck turns to find himself face to face with another businessman. Like Chuck, he carries himself with an air of cool confidence. He’s clean-shaven, his hair combed neatly to the side. He wears a crisp blue suit, one hand slipped casually in his pocket; a stark contrast to Chuck’s jeans and t-shirt. He wears no tie, but rather has a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, exposing the top of his chest, and with it, the distinct tattoo of an eye on his neck. Chuck recognizes him, and stands, shaking his hand.
Chuck Matthews: “Blake Ramsey. Surprised they let you in.”
Blake smiles, holding up his own pamphlet.
Blake Ramsey: “Open to the public. You had to expect your competitors might want to check out the competition, hm?”
Chuck smiles. Blake looks behind Chuck, and immediately catches Conrad’s icy glare. He averts his gaze quickly, his eyes falling on Betsy, who looks at him curiously.
Blake Ramsey: “Excuse me, Miss.”
Chuck steps aside, allowing Blake to extend his hand to her.
Chuck Matthews: “Ah. This is Betsy Granger, my lovely…. Girlfriend.”
He steals a glance at her. He’d never used that word to describe the two of them. Something about today, being in the midst of the companies’ newest technologies, their discoveries… the way her face lit up when something new and fascinating caught her eye. The way she’d been looking at him throughout the day. It felt… right. Strangely right.
Chuck Matthews: “Betsy, I’d like you to meet-“
Blake Ramsey: “Blake Ramsey, founder, CEO, and chairman. Horus Corporation.”
Betsy Granger: “Horus Corporation?”
Blake smiles.
Blake Ramsey: “Probably for the best that you don’t know what we do.”
Chuck Matthews: “Weapons manufacturing.”
Blake glances as Chuck with a frown. Betsy’s face twists into a mixture of distaste and curiosity.
Betsy Granger: “You’re a war profiteer.”
Blake Ramsey: “I supply when there’s a demand. It’s a dark world we live in, Miss Granger, I won’t deny that. The United States stands as a world police, defending innocents wherever we go. My company ensures we have the edge if ever the situation turns violent.”
Chuck Matthews: “He’s an… acquired taste.”
Betsy Granger: “Not my taste.”
Blake Ramsey: “I’ll admit, I wish there wasn’t a need for companies like mine… and, truthfully, Charles, that’s exactly what I’d like to speak to you about.”
Chuck raises an eyebrow. He offers Ramsey the chair to his right, and the two men take their seats as an executive steps up to the podium. Ramsey pauses his thought as he’s interrupted by the applause of the assembly. Betsy gives him another cursory glance before turning her attention towards the podium and joining the polite applause. The executive begins a speech, talking about Matthews Enterprises, the early days of the company, and the “bright and glorious future” the enterprise promised for its loyal consumers. Blake leans over to Chuck, speaking in a hushed whisper.
Blake Ramsey: “We’re expanding our industry, Matthews. Moving into other lines, other enterprises. Horus has always been known for our cutting edge weapons manufacturing; what I’m hoping to do is to move into breaking technologies in other industries. Transportation. Pharmaceuticals. Materials management.”
Chuck Matthews: “You know I’m not the CEO. We’re not rivals.”
Blake Ramsey: “Exactly why I’m coming to you. Here’s the bottom line, Chuck… you’re one of the smartest men in the world. Your reputation carries weight. You know it, I know it… clearly, these suits around here know it, or they would have taken your name off the brand eons ago. What I’m offering you is a opportunity within Horus. The partnership we always talked about but never fully realized.”
Chuck Matthews: “I’ve got a good thing going, Ramsey.”
Blake Ramsey: “I’m not saying work FOR me. I’m saying work WITH me. I know you and I have always been stubborn about keeping our faces in our respective companies. Our names are our brands, and our brands are what have made us who we are. Neither one of us were ever going to jeopardize our brainchildren to create something bigger. Horus and ME were never going to be the happily married corporate entities we dreamt they’d be… but with you working with us, we can bring Horus to that next level.”
Chuck frowns.
Chuck Matthews: “I’d have to see your operations.”
Blake Ramsey: “Always thinking three steps ahead, aren’t you? I thought as much. Here.”
Blake slips a flash drive into Chuck’s hand.
Blake Ramsey: “Just a few ideas, some things my crew’s been working on. Not everything, of course. I need to keep some of my cards close to my chest. But, I’m hoping, enough to pique your interest.”
Chuck tucks the drive into the pocket of his jeans.
Chuck Matthews: “I’ll get back to you.”
Blake Ramsey: “You’ve got my number?”
Chuck Matthews: “Never lost it.”
Blake smirks, turning his attention to the presentation.
Executive: “And with that, ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pride and greater honor that I welcome you all…. To Cavington.”
The projector, which a moment ago had been cycling through a number of corporate logos, various subsidiaries of Matthews Enterprises, and charts and graphs, now changes to a video, rolling over a lush green hill, and on the other side… a massive city. Skyscrapers stretch upward, and a number of apartment complexes dot the ground level, creating a picturesque metropolis along a riverside. In the center of it all, a towering building, with that signature silver sun perched at the top, like a North Star shining over the city.
Executive: “This is, of course, still in the rudimentary stages, but what you are seeing is a computer generated image of what we intend Cavington to look like by 2050. All companies under the Matthews Enterprise banner, headquartered here. We’ve bought acres upon acres of land, and are now in the process of building apartments, homes, public housing, all, of course, at an affordable price and cheaper for those working for the company. A corporate town like it’s never been done before. Transportation into and out of the city. A bustling metropolis, owned almost entirely by a single entity. A self-sufficient economy. Cavington. Now, I’m sure you’ve got questions-”
The room erupts, with reporters and citizens leaping to their feet, shouting for their questions to be heard.
Blake Ramsey: “Ambitious.”
Chuck Matthews: “They’ve been talking about this for years. We’ve been putting funds aside for ages, building up towards this. It seems like they’ve finally pulled the trigger on it.”
Blake Ramsey: “They already own a sizeable amount of the housing market out there as it is. It’s a real estate agent’s wet dream.”
Chuck Matthews: “You’re awfully familiar with my old company’s plans, Ramsey.”
Blake Ramsey: “I should. I’ll be relocating Horus there by 2025.”
Chuck looks at his, narrowing his eyes.
Chuck Matthews: “That’s a bit of a gamble, isn’t it?”
Blake smiles.
Blake Ramsey: “Not at all. If the city succeeds, there’s a bustling economy waiting for an outside company to come in and make a sizeable profit. Corporate towns fail for a reason, Matthews. When one entity sets all the prices, it creates a monopoly. It exploits workers. And when it does, Horus will be there to provide what Matthews Enterprises won’t.”
Chuck Matthews: “And if the city fails?”
Blake Ramsey: “We’ll have plenty of old buildings to buy up and convert to Horus’s needs.”
Chuck nods, slowly.
Chuck Matthews: “And take the city for yourself, I presume.”
Blake Ramsey: “Now you’re getting it.”
Chuck Matthews: “Bold play.”
Blake chuckles.
Blake Ramsey: “Did you expect any different?”
John Conrad: “Are you two finished?”
Chuck turns to Conrad, looking down at the two men, his sour expression still etched into his features.
Chuck Matthews: “What’s your hurry?”
John Conrad: “We’re on a schedule, and there’s still one exhibition where your presence has been specifically requested.”
He eyes Blake suspiciously.
John Conrad: “Ramsey.”
Conrad bumps past Blake, motioning for Chuck to follow. Chuck turns to Betsy.
Chuck Matthews: “You doing okay?”
Betsy turns slowly towards Chuck, eyes narrowed every so slightly.
Betsy Granger: “I’m great.”
She rises and smooths out her dress. Long, tan legs attract a couple of stares from some of the suits. She ignores this and allows her bright, green eyes to shine and she finally smiles softly.
Betsy Granger: “So… Where are we going next?”
Betsy puts emphasis on the “we”, turning to Conrad and giving him a challenging gaze. Conrad growls, and continues walking.
Chuck Matthews: “Following captain stick-ass, apparently.”
He wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to him and kissing the top of her head. It was a strange thing, finding himself doing this. He was discovering that, the more time the two spent together, the more natural it felt. He didn’t feel that he HAD to show her affection… as time progressed, he found himself wanting to. He felt this unusual weightlessness whenever he saw her. When her number came up on his phone. When her voice carried through his house. When he watched her, running on ahead, always ready for whatever would come next, whatever adventure they’d find themselves on. He felt something for her, that warm emotion he’d long forgotten he had. The word danced through his head, bursting to escape, but whenever he found himself with her, he couldn’t bring himself to speak it. Still… it was undeniable. He trusted her, and in his world, trust was a commodity worth its weight in gold. Could it be that Chuck, after so long, was finally feeling-...
‘Of course you’re not.’
A sneering voice echoed through his brain, shredding through his pleasant thoughts and leaving them in tatters.
‘You’ve never loved anybody but yourself, Charlie. You said it yourself: She deserves better than you.’
Chuck grits his teeth, but shakes the thought out of his head. His hold tightens, just slightly, around Betsy’s shoulder. He shakes the toxic thoughts out of his head. Chuck steals a glance at his companion. She seemed happy, at least. And that was enough for him. It’d been a long time since he felt he could… make someone happy, that is. She had shown him kindness he didn’t deserve… especially not from her. Not after the things he’d done. And for that, he adored her.
Conrad leads them to a narrow hallway, where two guards stand by, dressed in full riot gear, both armed with shields and a sidearm hanging at their belts. Chuck looks nervously at Betsy. She was all too familiar with these gentlemen. Enterprise Security was among the best in the world, but they’d developed a reputation as ruthless, brutal, and fiercely loyal. Chuck had used them for his own means on more occasions than he would have liked to admit… but that was a story for another time. Conrad flashes his badge, and the guards part, allowing the trio to enter another narrow hallway. Then a right. Another pair of guards. Another flash of the badge to grant access.
Chuck Matthews: “Why the heavy security?”
John Conrad: “We got wind of a breach earlier in the week. We have reason to believe there’s going to be a theft at the exposition, so we’ve put as many men as we can afford into protecting our most valuable asset.
"
John speaks in a low growl. Chuck looks onward, intrigued. Another hallway. Another pair of guards, and they were ushered into the locker room area, where a large table had been set up in the middle. A couple of doctors and scientists stood around the table. Around the room, a small squadron of guards, again armed to the teeth. And there, in the center of it all…
Chuck Matthews: “Marshall.”
Alan Marshall was, in many ways, Chuck’s opposite. Chuck had a reputation as a powerful businessman, and he had certainly made some bold decisions, but his name was not often associated with ruthlessness or aggressive pursuit. Chuck was seen as the slow builder. The motivator. The great negotiator. He kept public relations high, and with the respect of the people came brand loyalty, and with loyalty, the money rolled in. Alan Marshall was not Chuck Matthews. Upon taking over the company, Marshall had ceased several projects Chuck had spent years building up to. He bought out several promising younger companies, absorbing their assets into Matthews Enterprises, and by doing so, erased the dealings Chuck had previously established, supporting budding start-ups, investing in young entrepreneurs and their creations, encouraging them to keep looking up… to keep building. Alan Marshall came from a different school of business, one that encouraged the pursuit of the mighty dollar, and feared the collaborative efforts of differing enterprises. Marshall spots Chuck, flashing them a forced smile. Chuck leans to Betsy, speaking in a whisper.
Chuck Matthews: “Here comes the James Bond villain…”
Betsy covers her mouth and attempts to stifle a giggle as Marshall approaches them. Disapproving, unfriendly eyes give Betsy a brief look. He acknowledges her with a curt nod before turning his full attention on Chuck.
Alan Marshall: “We thought you may have gotten lost.”
He speaks in a strong British accent, and makes no attempt to hide the displeasure in his voice. He nods at Conrad for a job done, and turns his attention to Chuck. Alan Marshall’s grey eyes bored holes into his skull, trying his best to read Chuck’s amused expression.
Alan Marshall: “Enjoying yourself, Mr. Matthews?”
Chuck Matthews: “Keeping my chair warm for me, Al?”
Alan scoffs. He glances at Betsy, his nose slightly wrinkled.
Alan Marshall: “A welcome guest?”
Chuck Matthews: “Girlfriend. Studied in England. You two have something in common.”
Marhsall shows his first sign of genuine interest.
Alan Marshall: “Really? Oxford or Cambridge?”
Betsy Granger: “Oxford.”
The sneer returns.
Alan Marshall: “Shame.”
He turns back to Chuck.
Alan Marshall: “Well, you haven’t changed at all, I see.”
Chuck smiles.
Chuck Matthews: “I do my best.”
Alan shakes his head and turns away, moving back to the table.
Chuck Matthews: “Told you.”
Betsy allows her giggle to float through the room this time, earning her another disapproving look from Marshall. She bites her lip and when Marshall turns around again, she crosses her eyes while sticking out her tongue and flips him off. She wraps an arm around Chucks waist and turns her head to whisper in his ear.
Betsy Granger: “Real charmer you’ve got there.”
Chuck shakes his head.
Chuck Matthews: “They could have replaced me with anyone, and they chose THAT guy.”
He offers her his arm and escorts her toward the table. A diagram and a few charts litter the table, and in the center, a small dish holding a number of small red pills. Chuck eyes them curiously. Alan smiles as he looks at the work.
Chuck Matthews: “This is what you personally invited me to see?”
Betsy peers curiously at the pills on the table. Her eyes scan the diagram and she picks it up, reading it. Her green eyes look up from the paper and narrow as she observes Alan Marshall with a much keener eye. She picks up the charts and reads them over thoroughly as Chuck continues to observe the little red pills.
Chuck Matthews: “Exactly… what am I looking at here?”
He peers over Betsy’s shoulder, and she holds the pages so that he, too, can look them over.
Alan Marshall: “Promethyrol.”
Chuck Matthews: “Meth what now?”
He gives a sarcastic smile. Alan sneers again.
Alan Marshall: “Promethyrol. Our years of collaboration with Kagna Pharmaceuticals has finally come to fruition.”
Chuck Matthews: “What does it treat?”
Alan smiles, and steps aside, allowing one of the doctors to step forward.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “We’ve come to call it the genius’s drug.”
Chuck raises an eyebrow. Betsy lowers the papers in her hand and gives the doctor her full attention now. Ashvin smiles.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “We thought that might get your attention. Here, please, come see.”
He motions to the diagram standing on the far edge of the table, which contains a computerized image of the drug’s molecular structure, positioned above photos of an MRI scan.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “We’ve all heard that the human brain works like an organic supercomputer. It stores memories like data, and when we need to remember something, we simply load up the file and there it is, yes?”
Chuck shrugs, but nods.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “Instead, let’s think of the brain as a giant roadmap, hm? You have this globe sitting in your head, and each memory is a distinct location on that map. Now, of course, to get anywhere in the world, you need roads. You need pathways. When you access your memories, you travel these roads; memories you access more frequently require roads that are more efficient. Faster. Well maintained. Memories you don’t need fall by the wayside… like one of those ghost towns on Route 66. We’ve designed, with promethyrol, to root out all of these little towns that have fallen by the road. Imagine a satellite image of your brain, where you can see any spot you need to go, anywhere in your past, any memory, any piece of data, no matter how small, no matter how trivial, accessible to you-”
He snaps his fingers.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “Like that.”
Chuck nods, slowly, but assured.
Chuck Matthews: “Sounds… potentially useful. What sort of practical applications would you hope to attain from that?”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “Surely you see the benefits of limitless information, in the form of a simple oral capsule, yes? Perfect recall, Mr. Matthews. The ability to remember anything you’ve ever seen, ever heard. Things you maybe heard in passing on your way to the store. A detail you may have overlooked that turns out to be the critical piece of the puzzle.”
Chuck Matthews: “That’s… quite the miracle drug.”
Ashvin smiles, and holds a capsule in his outstretched hand.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “You’re welcome to give it a try.”
Marshall perks up from his seat across the room. Chuck looks down at the brightly-colored pill in the doctor’s hand. He picks it up, examining it slowly. He finds himself strangely intrigued by the capsules. A tiny white “P” is written on the side of the pill. The shell is slightly transparent, giving a view inside the capsule. It appears to be filled with a thick gel of some kind. After a moment, he sets it back down in Ashvin’s palm, shaking his head calmly.
Chuck Matthews: “Sounds like some sort of mental steroid.”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “One way to put it, I suppose... “
Chuck Matthews: “What about human testing? What effects have you found?”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “Preliminary trials were promising. Subjects were able to solve complex algorithms with perfect accuracy mere minutes after seeing it for the first time. Our second test showed promise in linguistic capability. Spatial reasoning went up. Logical reasoning, up. Memory, up.”
Chuck Matthews: “Side effects?”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “No long term studies have been conducted yet.”
Betsy Granger: “And the short term?”
Ashvin opens his mouth, but hesitates.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “It… proved to be a bit much for three patients, of the 120 in the preliminary tests.”
Betsy Granger: “Elaborate on “a bit much”.”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “One patient suffered a minor emotional breakdown, but this passed after a few minutes. The other two… sadly, suffered some minor brain damage. Small, but noticeable loss in motor function and occasional short-term memory loss. We’ve been looking for any sort of indication as to why. Initial intelligence tests on all three scored poorly. We suspect that the dosing may have been too much for them, and the strain on their brains was too extreme for them to handle. It’s… deeply regrettable.”
Betsy Granger: “It’s unacceptable. This is wrong on professional and ethical levels.”
Chuck says nothing, staring down at the tray. Betsy looks over at him and notices his deep fascination with the pills. She puts a hand on his shoulder and brings him back to reality.
Betsy Granger: “You are listening to this, right?”
Chuck doesn’t respond. His attention is still focused on the pills in the tray. Betsy turns back towards Marshall and Doctor Ashvin and glares.
Betsy Granger: “This pill has actively handicapped people's lives. Noticeable loss in motor function. Brain damage. Memory loss. And all you can say is that it’s ‘deeply regrettable’? This pill is clearly not ready to be federally approved, why would you believe this to be ready to be shown here?”
Chuck rests his hand on Betsy’s shoulder. He looks up at Marshall and Ashvin.
Chuck Matthews: “She’s right. I mean, it’s got potential to do a lot of good, but at the end of the day, this is recreational. Since when does this company delve into recreational drug use? There’s no rewards here that can’t be attained through simple hard work. It’s a steroid, nothing more.”
Alan Marshall: “Well…”
Chuck turns to Marshall.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “We… do have some clinical trials that came back looking… rather promising, actually.”
He tilts his head towards a packet that seemed mostly forgotten, tucked away behind the molecular structure imaging. Betsy seizes it, scanning her eyes over it. Chuck catches glimpses here and there. Various patients with mental illnesses.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “By administering low levels of promethyrol, we found interesting studies that we feel, with further testing, may prove it’s effectiveness in treating a number of psychological disorders. As patients come down from the effects of promethyrol, the drug resets a lot of the brain’s chemistry, which we’ve found makes it quite an effective anti-depressant and anti-psychotic. It levels out the imbalances manifested in patients with bipolar disorder. We’re not entirely sure how, but trials have indicated a remarkable improvement in patients with schizophrenia.”
He looks at Chuck with a smile. Chuck opens his mouth to speak, but doesn’t. He stares at the capsules once more. His hand tightens slightly on Betsy’s shoulder, and his other arm, as though by instinct, wraps around her waist, holding her closer.
Chuck Matthews: “How long has it been in trials?”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “Six months for depression. Three for other mood disorders. Eight for schizophrenia.”
Chuck nods slowly.
Alan Marshall: “We’d like your public support of promethyrol, Matthews.”
Chuck Matthews: “What?”
Alan Marshall: “Who better to be the face of a genius drug than one of the smartest men in the world? As much as I hate to admit… your name carries weight, Matthews. Your support and your promotion of promethyrol will put this medication in every pharmacy, retail chain, and psychiatrist’s office in America.”
Chuck is silent. He looks at Betsy, and finds himself speechless. Betsy was right… there was a lot of risk with this drug. There was a lot that could go wrong. Irreparable brain damage? Memory loss? Was this something he would ever want his name associated with? But… the clinical uses looked promising. And if it could treat schizophrenia…
‘Don’t get your hopes up. It’s too late for her.’
Chuck takes a deep breath, silencing the thought. He moves his hand from Betsy’s shoulder to her waist, hugging her.
Chuck Matthews: “Bets?”
Betsy shakes her head slowly as her lips part. Her breathing is slightly hitched. She tears her eyes away from Marshall and looks up at Chuck imploringly. Worried green eyes meet clear blue ones and she touches his cheek gently. She speaks softly, so that only she and Chuck can hear.
Betsy Granger: “I know you want to save her. I know this seems like a miracle drug that could pull this off… But something is off about this.”
She glances back over at Marshall and Doctor Ashvin and gives them a mistrusting glare. Her next words are spoken calmly, but are dangerously scathing.
Betsy Granger: “You don’t like Chuck. I don’t have to know you beyond the twenty minutes I’ve been in a room with you to sense that. How do we know you aren’t telling him exactly what he wants to hear in order for him to plaster his name to such a dangerous drug?”
Betsy shakes her head firmly now. She looks back up at Chuck and gestures towards the papers on the table.
Betsy Granger: “I feel like there’s more they aren’t saying. These studies are mostly inconclusive and results are majority unstable at best. I don’t like this…”
Betsy picks up one of the pills and observes it closely. She looks over at Doctor Ashvin.
Betsy Granger: “I’d like to study this a lot more closely myself. Do you have any outline of the chemical properties? I’d like to see what goes into this and how it bonds together to do what you two claim it does. I’d also like to study this under a microscope. You wouldn’t happen to have one available somewhere around here?”
Betsy feels Chuck’s arm tighten around her waist. She looks up at him and he’s shaking his head ever so slightly. Her face turns to thunder as she can see where his mind is stuck at.
Betsy Granger: “You can’t…”
Her voice is a desperate whisper as she clutches Chuck’s arms desperately. Chuck appears deep in thought. His mind isn’t in Phoenix anymore. She was right… it was too late for her. Even with this new therapy, who knows what would happen. No… his mind was elsewhere. He thought of the applications. Promethyrol not as a cure… but as a preventative measure. As a way to ease symptoms. He was already showing the signs. He’d seen it with Zack Lifer… he’d exploited it. But what if it went wrong?
‘You’d deserve it.’
Chuck grits his teeth.
‘You stand there with your arms around this woman while you’re surrounded by the same men you sent to beat her down and you think you don’t deserve everything you have coming to you? You’ve been eluding your penance for years, Charlie. Take the drug. Maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t. Risk your own miserable life for a change. It’d be the first selfless thing you’ve ever done.’
He takes a deep breath, and the voice falls silent.
Chuck Matthews: “No.”
Alan Marshall: “Beg your pardon?”
Chuck Matthews: “She’s right. It’s too dangerous. I won’t tie my name to it.”
Alan Marshall: “You take your cues from a college girl now?”
Chuck looks down at Betsy, offering her a small smile. He presses his lips to hers, then turns his attention to the Matthews Enterprises CEO, that familiar confidence, that commanding authority returning to his voice.
Chuck Matthews: “I do, actually. She’s the smartest woman I know… and I trust her judgment completely.”
He looks at her, speaking so only she can hear.
Chuck Matthews: “I do, you know…”
He feels that a weight on his chest has lifted, just slightly. He was too emotionally invested in it… as strange as that was to admit. Truthfully, he’s sure he would have thrown his name behind it in a heartbeat, regardless of the risk. Anything to move forward with promethyrol, anything that could… save him. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it wasn’t Phoenix he was worried about, but himself. But Betsy kept him grounded… she always kept him grounded. She knew how Chuck’s mind worked, and what was more, she seemed to know that even Chuck Matthews could find himself getting too emotionally attached. But logically, the drug was dangerous… and the more Chuck thought about it, processed the information in his brain, the more clear the decision became.
Of course, Alan Marshall didn’t seem to agree. Chuck had expected Marshall would be disappointed, perhaps flustered at the thought of having to find a new posterboy for his dangerous new drug. Rather, he seemed… irate. Irritated. As though Chuck’s response was not at all what he had planned for, and he had no Plan B. He’s about to speak when Conrad storms back into the room.
John Conrad: “Mr. Marshall, we need to leave.”
Chuck Matthews: “What’s happ-”
Conrad holds up his hand to Chuck.
John Conrad: “This doesn’t concern you.”
He turns back to Alan.
John Conrad: “Mr. Marshall?”
Alan Marshall: “What’s happened?”
John Conrad: “The theft. We were wrong about the target. They were never after the promethyrol.”
Chuck looks from Alan to John.
John Conrad: “They’ve stolen the mask.”
Writer's Note: This was a collaborative work alongside Betsy Granger.
For the previous RP in the series, see here: redemptionfed.boards.net/thread/1435/expo
***************
Chicago, Illinois
Matthews Residence
Present Time
Betsy Granger watched the rains patter against the window as the cab driver slowly made his way towards the home of Chuck Matthews. She had her head pressed against the window, her mind a whirl with everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. Her short trip in London with Elizabeth. The night she spent with James Raven in that hotel room… A perfectly innocent night, save for the heart-searing kiss the two had shared....
Even as she thought about it again, the stab of guilt cut into her heart again. She knew Chuck had been in the hospital with the head pains. He had probably needed her, even then. He had trusted her alone with James, trusted her to use her best judgment… Trusted her to act with honor and faithfulness. There were no excuses, no use rationalizing what had happened. She invited him to that room. She kept pouring the whiskey for the both of them. She had initiated the kiss itself. She had acted selfishly and with no regard for how anyone else might feel.
Chuck would never forgive her if he knew. James had absolutely no reason to keep being so kind to her when she was clearly just leading him on. And yet… Despite how things COULD have gone that night, they didn’t. Was it guilt? Was it love? Maybe it was both. She didn’t know, but she didn’t have time to dwell on that now.
When Chuck had started tweeting the odd, cryptics messages, she knew right away something was wrong. There was no rhyme, reason or logic to what he’d been saying. He seemed scattered and lost… Very unlike Chuck. Despite her desires and temptations there in London, duty and love brought her back. She felt the cab stop and looked out in front of her. She was shocked to find herself in front of Chuck’s house, already. Quietly, she pays and tips the cabbie and throws her hood over her head. She grabs her light traveling bag from the seat beside her and slams the door shut before turning.
Betsy looks up at the house she once couldn’t wait to enter, the rain falling into her face. It ran down her cheeks like tears and she felt to make sure there weren’t any falling. She dreaded what she was about to walk into and felt the guilt grip her stomach this time as her thoughts briefly drifted to London once more… But she dismissed them. ‘He needs me’ she thought staunchly, stiffening her shoulders. ‘It’s time to stop being a selfish child and be the woman Chuck needs me to be right now. Be strong. Be brave.’
She digs through her purse to find the key to his front door, but she can’t find it. Of course, she didn’t pack it… Why would she need it, she hadn’t been expecting to leave England so early to end up at his front door. She climbs the steps up to his porch and finally finds shelter from the rain. She raises her fist to knock loudly and pauses. She can hear scrambling inside and his voice drifting loudly through the house. Hearing the gibberish in person was even scarier in person and her heart dropped to her feet. She knocked on the door loudly and waited.
And waited… and waited. His voice stopped momentarily as the knocks echoed through, but he doesn’t answer. Everything falls deadly quiet for several long moment. Betsy holds her breath, waiting for Chuck to come to the door. Instead, she’s greeted with his voice starting up again. She can faintly hear him talking of knocking… stocking… blocking? It was enough to drive anyone mad, but her fear grows and she knocks even louder, calling out this time.
Betsy Granger: “Chuck? Open up, it’s Betsy. I don’t have my key…”
More muttering. She can hear her name along with some choice adjectives in between. Association words. The lump forms in her throat as tears of desperation roll down her cheeks.
Betsy Granger: “Let me in… Let me in! Chuck, please… Snap out of it and let me in!”
Desperately, she begins to slam her shoulder against the door, hoping it would open up. But the door was stronger than her slight weight and didn’t budge. She begins to pace around the porch, her panic rising. The rain grew harder above her and the sound of it hitting the roof of the porch made her look up. She closed her eyes and a let the sound wash over her. She blocked out her panic and controlled her breathing. The tears still spilled down her cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them away.
Slowly, she opens her eyes and begins to use her brain. She starts looking around the porch, lifting up items, feeling around. She knew there had to be a key somewhere… All she had to do was think like Chuck. For her, that wasn’t too difficult. She closed her eyes and continued to feel around… And was rewarded when her fingers left wood and paint and touched cool metal. She opened her eyes as she gripped the key between her fingers. She took a deep, calming breath and unlocked the door and rushed inside. When she entered the living from the entrance hall, what she saw broke her heart.
Chuck was sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers with scribbles. His hair was unkempt, he was unshaven and it was obvious he hadn’t slept for days. His clothes were wrinkled and she wondered when the last time he’d moved from this spot was. She drops her stuff and rushes over to him, falling to her knees in front of him. She grabs his face and forces him to look up at her. She peers into his face and sees his eyes flicker with recognition. She sighs softly and shuffles next to him, pulling him into her and running her fingers through his hair.
Betsy Granger: “What is happening to you…”
She whispers, feeling the lump in her throat rising again.
Chuck instinctively wraps his arms around her, breathing heavily. He grips her tight, clutching her clothes… almost as though making sure she was really there.
Chuck Matthews: “Betsy…”
He pulls away from her, his eyes darting around the room, quickly scanning each wrinkled page that littered the floor. He sifted through them, frantic, almost in a panic, looking for something he couldn’t seem to find. Finally, he slumped back, leaning against the sofa, looking defeated. He cranes his neck back, facing the high-arched ceiling, his eyes closed. A long, exasperated sigh escapes him, and he groans softly.
Chuck Matthews: “I can’t find it.”
He slides his hand blindly around the floor in front of him until his fingers brush against Betsy’s knee. He traces his way to her hand and clutches it in his. His grip is tight at first, and Betsy feels her knuckle crack under the pressure. He gently brushes her fingers, and his grip relaxes, finding comfort in this tiny gesture. Betsy lifts his hand to her lips and kisses it gently. Her free hand comes up and caresses his face.
Betsy Granger: “What are you looking for?”
Her voice is soft as she tries to help him shuffle through his papers. She picks a few of them up and studies them closely. A lot of the same as his cryptic Tweets and mutterings. Words and sayings strung together in a confusing jumble she couldn’t make heads nor tails of. She ruffled through them, hoping to find a sequence, some sort of order… But there was nothing. Certain words had been highlighted, other’s underlined, some of them all capital letters. She made a mental note of this. She gently pulls her hands away and rises to her feet.
Betsy Granger: “When was the last time you ate?”
She looks deeply into his face and sees the dryness in his lips. She backs away towards the kitchen and pours him a glass of water. Returning as quickly as she can, she sits down next to him again and holds it out to him.
Betsy Granger: “Drink it now. You’re dehydrated, or close to it. Don’t argue with me.”
Chuck reaches blindly for the glass. He sputters slightly as the water reaches his lips. Betsy steadies his hand, holding the glass, and Chuck gulps it down in an instant. He rests his head against her.
Chuck Matthews: “So cluttered… There’s just too many thoughts.”
His voice is low, hushed. There’s a small groan in his voice, as though these very thoughts are causing him pain, pounding against his skull. A million ideas, all bursting to escape, all cramming themselves through a narrow filter in a bold effort to escape into the world. The wheels in his head were always racing, but now, it almost seemed like they had spun off their tracks, moving too quickly for even Chuck to maintain control. But what was causing it? Chuck held her close.
Chuck Matthews: “Don’t leave… I need….”
His voice trails off as he buries his head in her shoulder. His breathing is heavy, strained. The occasional pained whimper escapes him. On occasion, his hand reaches out, stretching for the forgotten pen sitting on the floor, but almost immediately, he snaps his arms back to her waist, holding tight to her. Betsy wrapped him up in her arms tightly and kissed his face repeatedly.
Betsy Granger: “I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere, I’m here.”
She brought his face down into her neck and rested her head on top of his. She looked around at all the scattered papers and made a mental note to find a folder to keep them all in. She would also have to look around for a notebook. Even in this state, she knew there had to be a sequence… Something was trying to escape. Chuck had something he needed to say, something he desperately need her, anyone really, to figure out. She rubbed his back gently and rocked him back and forth.
Betsy Granger: “Oh, my love… What are you trying to tell me?”
Chuck looks up at her. His eyes, often a pleasant blue, seem to have lost their luster. That familiar glint that always lit up whenever he had an idea had been extinguished, and left behind dark and dreary windows into his soul.
Chuck Matthews: “Too much clutter. Can’t… organize.”
He breaks away again, seizing his pen and scribbling on the first scrap of paper he can find. Betsy eyes him as he scratches furiously away. Bleak. Block. Black. Beak. Eagle. Bird. Hawk. Jason Hawk. Apex. Wolf.
He furiously scribbles out “Wolf,” and continues writing: Hawk. Feather. Raven. Eagle. Excitedly, he circles eagle.
Chuck Matthews: “Eagle. Eagle… Eagle…… flight, no.. no, not flying. Not swimming.”
He rummages through the pages, searching desperately for something he’s sure he’s written down before. Furiously, he swipes has hand at the pages, sending several of them up in the air, where they drift calmly back to the floor. He groans, pulling at his hair, clenching his eyes closed, racking his brain for something that just won’t come. Finally, he retreats, collapsing back to Betsy’s embrace.
Chuck Matthews: “I’m failing… I can’t find the words. The words aren’t here. I can’t… focus.”
Betsy struggles to maintain her own composure, but the tears begin to fall again. She bites her tongue to keep from sobbing out loud and runs her fingers through Chuck’s hair. She opens her mouth to speak, but she feels the sob about to escape so she remains silent. Even through her fear for his sanity, her brain is trying to use logic in the situation. She finds herself wondering how in the hell he got like this. How it could have happened so quickly. She draws in several deep breaths and controls herself, finally able to speak again. Even so, her voice is choked and harsh.
Betsy Granger: “Don’t focus… Don’t try… Just let your brain relax… Relax, rest. You need it. Please…”
Despite the tears in her face, she lifts his face gently and presses a soft kiss against his lips. She does this again several times, the tears still falling. She finally stops and presses her forehead against his, sniffling loudly. Chuck stares into her face, a pained expression crossing his features.
Chuck Matthews: “You’re hurt… I didn’t… Don’t hurt… Bets...”
He struggles to speak, leaving long pauses between each word, clearly struggling, thinking hard about each one before he says it. The meaning is there, that much was obvious. His words seemed random, his sentences awkward… but he was aware. At least, he seemed to be. He hugged Betsy tight and holds her face in his hands, wiping a tear away. Yes… he was definitely aware. At least there was that. He hadn’t lost his grip on reality. But the words, the language… that appeared to be a struggle. This overload of thoughts, of words, of phrases, constantly bombarding his head, all spilling out of him in a jumbled mess. There was meaning in the words. This was a means of communication. There had to be a way to decipher this… she just needed to think like Chuck.
Chuck Matthews: “... you came back.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chicago, Illinois
Enterprise Arena
July 31st, 2017
As the Expo guests make their way to their seats, John Conrad seems more and more frustrated at yet another distraction. He eyes the guests around him with a cold stare, as though suspicious of each and every one of them, like any one of them could suddenly leap to their feet and cause a commotion. The room is spacious, and despite the growing number of viewers, there is still plenty of room to breathe and stretch out. A large projector screen has been set up in the arena, with a number of folding chairs set up at the base of the stage, giving the people a view of the podium and screen. Betsy sits to Chuck’s left, between him and Conrad. She inches herself closer to Chuck, away from the sneering face of Matthews Enterprises’ chief of security. Chuck stretches his feet out in front of him, looking over the pamphlet he’d received as he made his way to his seat. He’s interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.
Blake Ramsey: “Mr. Matthews?”
Chuck turns to find himself face to face with another businessman. Like Chuck, he carries himself with an air of cool confidence. He’s clean-shaven, his hair combed neatly to the side. He wears a crisp blue suit, one hand slipped casually in his pocket; a stark contrast to Chuck’s jeans and t-shirt. He wears no tie, but rather has a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, exposing the top of his chest, and with it, the distinct tattoo of an eye on his neck. Chuck recognizes him, and stands, shaking his hand.
Chuck Matthews: “Blake Ramsey. Surprised they let you in.”
Blake smiles, holding up his own pamphlet.
Blake Ramsey: “Open to the public. You had to expect your competitors might want to check out the competition, hm?”
Chuck smiles. Blake looks behind Chuck, and immediately catches Conrad’s icy glare. He averts his gaze quickly, his eyes falling on Betsy, who looks at him curiously.
Blake Ramsey: “Excuse me, Miss.”
Chuck steps aside, allowing Blake to extend his hand to her.
Chuck Matthews: “Ah. This is Betsy Granger, my lovely…. Girlfriend.”
He steals a glance at her. He’d never used that word to describe the two of them. Something about today, being in the midst of the companies’ newest technologies, their discoveries… the way her face lit up when something new and fascinating caught her eye. The way she’d been looking at him throughout the day. It felt… right. Strangely right.
Chuck Matthews: “Betsy, I’d like you to meet-“
Blake Ramsey: “Blake Ramsey, founder, CEO, and chairman. Horus Corporation.”
Betsy Granger: “Horus Corporation?”
Blake smiles.
Blake Ramsey: “Probably for the best that you don’t know what we do.”
Chuck Matthews: “Weapons manufacturing.”
Blake glances as Chuck with a frown. Betsy’s face twists into a mixture of distaste and curiosity.
Betsy Granger: “You’re a war profiteer.”
Blake Ramsey: “I supply when there’s a demand. It’s a dark world we live in, Miss Granger, I won’t deny that. The United States stands as a world police, defending innocents wherever we go. My company ensures we have the edge if ever the situation turns violent.”
Chuck Matthews: “He’s an… acquired taste.”
Betsy Granger: “Not my taste.”
Blake Ramsey: “I’ll admit, I wish there wasn’t a need for companies like mine… and, truthfully, Charles, that’s exactly what I’d like to speak to you about.”
Chuck raises an eyebrow. He offers Ramsey the chair to his right, and the two men take their seats as an executive steps up to the podium. Ramsey pauses his thought as he’s interrupted by the applause of the assembly. Betsy gives him another cursory glance before turning her attention towards the podium and joining the polite applause. The executive begins a speech, talking about Matthews Enterprises, the early days of the company, and the “bright and glorious future” the enterprise promised for its loyal consumers. Blake leans over to Chuck, speaking in a hushed whisper.
Blake Ramsey: “We’re expanding our industry, Matthews. Moving into other lines, other enterprises. Horus has always been known for our cutting edge weapons manufacturing; what I’m hoping to do is to move into breaking technologies in other industries. Transportation. Pharmaceuticals. Materials management.”
Chuck Matthews: “You know I’m not the CEO. We’re not rivals.”
Blake Ramsey: “Exactly why I’m coming to you. Here’s the bottom line, Chuck… you’re one of the smartest men in the world. Your reputation carries weight. You know it, I know it… clearly, these suits around here know it, or they would have taken your name off the brand eons ago. What I’m offering you is a opportunity within Horus. The partnership we always talked about but never fully realized.”
Chuck Matthews: “I’ve got a good thing going, Ramsey.”
Blake Ramsey: “I’m not saying work FOR me. I’m saying work WITH me. I know you and I have always been stubborn about keeping our faces in our respective companies. Our names are our brands, and our brands are what have made us who we are. Neither one of us were ever going to jeopardize our brainchildren to create something bigger. Horus and ME were never going to be the happily married corporate entities we dreamt they’d be… but with you working with us, we can bring Horus to that next level.”
Chuck frowns.
Chuck Matthews: “I’d have to see your operations.”
Blake Ramsey: “Always thinking three steps ahead, aren’t you? I thought as much. Here.”
Blake slips a flash drive into Chuck’s hand.
Blake Ramsey: “Just a few ideas, some things my crew’s been working on. Not everything, of course. I need to keep some of my cards close to my chest. But, I’m hoping, enough to pique your interest.”
Chuck tucks the drive into the pocket of his jeans.
Chuck Matthews: “I’ll get back to you.”
Blake Ramsey: “You’ve got my number?”
Chuck Matthews: “Never lost it.”
Blake smirks, turning his attention to the presentation.
Executive: “And with that, ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pride and greater honor that I welcome you all…. To Cavington.”
The projector, which a moment ago had been cycling through a number of corporate logos, various subsidiaries of Matthews Enterprises, and charts and graphs, now changes to a video, rolling over a lush green hill, and on the other side… a massive city. Skyscrapers stretch upward, and a number of apartment complexes dot the ground level, creating a picturesque metropolis along a riverside. In the center of it all, a towering building, with that signature silver sun perched at the top, like a North Star shining over the city.
Executive: “This is, of course, still in the rudimentary stages, but what you are seeing is a computer generated image of what we intend Cavington to look like by 2050. All companies under the Matthews Enterprise banner, headquartered here. We’ve bought acres upon acres of land, and are now in the process of building apartments, homes, public housing, all, of course, at an affordable price and cheaper for those working for the company. A corporate town like it’s never been done before. Transportation into and out of the city. A bustling metropolis, owned almost entirely by a single entity. A self-sufficient economy. Cavington. Now, I’m sure you’ve got questions-”
The room erupts, with reporters and citizens leaping to their feet, shouting for their questions to be heard.
Blake Ramsey: “Ambitious.”
Chuck Matthews: “They’ve been talking about this for years. We’ve been putting funds aside for ages, building up towards this. It seems like they’ve finally pulled the trigger on it.”
Blake Ramsey: “They already own a sizeable amount of the housing market out there as it is. It’s a real estate agent’s wet dream.”
Chuck Matthews: “You’re awfully familiar with my old company’s plans, Ramsey.”
Blake Ramsey: “I should. I’ll be relocating Horus there by 2025.”
Chuck looks at his, narrowing his eyes.
Chuck Matthews: “That’s a bit of a gamble, isn’t it?”
Blake smiles.
Blake Ramsey: “Not at all. If the city succeeds, there’s a bustling economy waiting for an outside company to come in and make a sizeable profit. Corporate towns fail for a reason, Matthews. When one entity sets all the prices, it creates a monopoly. It exploits workers. And when it does, Horus will be there to provide what Matthews Enterprises won’t.”
Chuck Matthews: “And if the city fails?”
Blake Ramsey: “We’ll have plenty of old buildings to buy up and convert to Horus’s needs.”
Chuck nods, slowly.
Chuck Matthews: “And take the city for yourself, I presume.”
Blake Ramsey: “Now you’re getting it.”
Chuck Matthews: “Bold play.”
Blake chuckles.
Blake Ramsey: “Did you expect any different?”
John Conrad: “Are you two finished?”
Chuck turns to Conrad, looking down at the two men, his sour expression still etched into his features.
Chuck Matthews: “What’s your hurry?”
John Conrad: “We’re on a schedule, and there’s still one exhibition where your presence has been specifically requested.”
He eyes Blake suspiciously.
John Conrad: “Ramsey.”
Conrad bumps past Blake, motioning for Chuck to follow. Chuck turns to Betsy.
Chuck Matthews: “You doing okay?”
Betsy turns slowly towards Chuck, eyes narrowed every so slightly.
Betsy Granger: “I’m great.”
She rises and smooths out her dress. Long, tan legs attract a couple of stares from some of the suits. She ignores this and allows her bright, green eyes to shine and she finally smiles softly.
Betsy Granger: “So… Where are we going next?”
Betsy puts emphasis on the “we”, turning to Conrad and giving him a challenging gaze. Conrad growls, and continues walking.
Chuck Matthews: “Following captain stick-ass, apparently.”
He wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to him and kissing the top of her head. It was a strange thing, finding himself doing this. He was discovering that, the more time the two spent together, the more natural it felt. He didn’t feel that he HAD to show her affection… as time progressed, he found himself wanting to. He felt this unusual weightlessness whenever he saw her. When her number came up on his phone. When her voice carried through his house. When he watched her, running on ahead, always ready for whatever would come next, whatever adventure they’d find themselves on. He felt something for her, that warm emotion he’d long forgotten he had. The word danced through his head, bursting to escape, but whenever he found himself with her, he couldn’t bring himself to speak it. Still… it was undeniable. He trusted her, and in his world, trust was a commodity worth its weight in gold. Could it be that Chuck, after so long, was finally feeling-...
‘Of course you’re not.’
A sneering voice echoed through his brain, shredding through his pleasant thoughts and leaving them in tatters.
‘You’ve never loved anybody but yourself, Charlie. You said it yourself: She deserves better than you.’
Chuck grits his teeth, but shakes the thought out of his head. His hold tightens, just slightly, around Betsy’s shoulder. He shakes the toxic thoughts out of his head. Chuck steals a glance at his companion. She seemed happy, at least. And that was enough for him. It’d been a long time since he felt he could… make someone happy, that is. She had shown him kindness he didn’t deserve… especially not from her. Not after the things he’d done. And for that, he adored her.
Conrad leads them to a narrow hallway, where two guards stand by, dressed in full riot gear, both armed with shields and a sidearm hanging at their belts. Chuck looks nervously at Betsy. She was all too familiar with these gentlemen. Enterprise Security was among the best in the world, but they’d developed a reputation as ruthless, brutal, and fiercely loyal. Chuck had used them for his own means on more occasions than he would have liked to admit… but that was a story for another time. Conrad flashes his badge, and the guards part, allowing the trio to enter another narrow hallway. Then a right. Another pair of guards. Another flash of the badge to grant access.
Chuck Matthews: “Why the heavy security?”
John Conrad: “We got wind of a breach earlier in the week. We have reason to believe there’s going to be a theft at the exposition, so we’ve put as many men as we can afford into protecting our most valuable asset.
"
John speaks in a low growl. Chuck looks onward, intrigued. Another hallway. Another pair of guards, and they were ushered into the locker room area, where a large table had been set up in the middle. A couple of doctors and scientists stood around the table. Around the room, a small squadron of guards, again armed to the teeth. And there, in the center of it all…
Chuck Matthews: “Marshall.”
Alan Marshall was, in many ways, Chuck’s opposite. Chuck had a reputation as a powerful businessman, and he had certainly made some bold decisions, but his name was not often associated with ruthlessness or aggressive pursuit. Chuck was seen as the slow builder. The motivator. The great negotiator. He kept public relations high, and with the respect of the people came brand loyalty, and with loyalty, the money rolled in. Alan Marshall was not Chuck Matthews. Upon taking over the company, Marshall had ceased several projects Chuck had spent years building up to. He bought out several promising younger companies, absorbing their assets into Matthews Enterprises, and by doing so, erased the dealings Chuck had previously established, supporting budding start-ups, investing in young entrepreneurs and their creations, encouraging them to keep looking up… to keep building. Alan Marshall came from a different school of business, one that encouraged the pursuit of the mighty dollar, and feared the collaborative efforts of differing enterprises. Marshall spots Chuck, flashing them a forced smile. Chuck leans to Betsy, speaking in a whisper.
Chuck Matthews: “Here comes the James Bond villain…”
Betsy covers her mouth and attempts to stifle a giggle as Marshall approaches them. Disapproving, unfriendly eyes give Betsy a brief look. He acknowledges her with a curt nod before turning his full attention on Chuck.
Alan Marshall: “We thought you may have gotten lost.”
He speaks in a strong British accent, and makes no attempt to hide the displeasure in his voice. He nods at Conrad for a job done, and turns his attention to Chuck. Alan Marshall’s grey eyes bored holes into his skull, trying his best to read Chuck’s amused expression.
Alan Marshall: “Enjoying yourself, Mr. Matthews?”
Chuck Matthews: “Keeping my chair warm for me, Al?”
Alan scoffs. He glances at Betsy, his nose slightly wrinkled.
Alan Marshall: “A welcome guest?”
Chuck Matthews: “Girlfriend. Studied in England. You two have something in common.”
Marhsall shows his first sign of genuine interest.
Alan Marshall: “Really? Oxford or Cambridge?”
Betsy Granger: “Oxford.”
The sneer returns.
Alan Marshall: “Shame.”
He turns back to Chuck.
Alan Marshall: “Well, you haven’t changed at all, I see.”
Chuck smiles.
Chuck Matthews: “I do my best.”
Alan shakes his head and turns away, moving back to the table.
Chuck Matthews: “Told you.”
Betsy allows her giggle to float through the room this time, earning her another disapproving look from Marshall. She bites her lip and when Marshall turns around again, she crosses her eyes while sticking out her tongue and flips him off. She wraps an arm around Chucks waist and turns her head to whisper in his ear.
Betsy Granger: “Real charmer you’ve got there.”
Chuck shakes his head.
Chuck Matthews: “They could have replaced me with anyone, and they chose THAT guy.”
He offers her his arm and escorts her toward the table. A diagram and a few charts litter the table, and in the center, a small dish holding a number of small red pills. Chuck eyes them curiously. Alan smiles as he looks at the work.
Chuck Matthews: “This is what you personally invited me to see?”
Betsy peers curiously at the pills on the table. Her eyes scan the diagram and she picks it up, reading it. Her green eyes look up from the paper and narrow as she observes Alan Marshall with a much keener eye. She picks up the charts and reads them over thoroughly as Chuck continues to observe the little red pills.
Chuck Matthews: “Exactly… what am I looking at here?”
He peers over Betsy’s shoulder, and she holds the pages so that he, too, can look them over.
Alan Marshall: “Promethyrol.”
Chuck Matthews: “Meth what now?”
He gives a sarcastic smile. Alan sneers again.
Alan Marshall: “Promethyrol. Our years of collaboration with Kagna Pharmaceuticals has finally come to fruition.”
Chuck Matthews: “What does it treat?”
Alan smiles, and steps aside, allowing one of the doctors to step forward.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “We’ve come to call it the genius’s drug.”
Chuck raises an eyebrow. Betsy lowers the papers in her hand and gives the doctor her full attention now. Ashvin smiles.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “We thought that might get your attention. Here, please, come see.”
He motions to the diagram standing on the far edge of the table, which contains a computerized image of the drug’s molecular structure, positioned above photos of an MRI scan.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “We’ve all heard that the human brain works like an organic supercomputer. It stores memories like data, and when we need to remember something, we simply load up the file and there it is, yes?”
Chuck shrugs, but nods.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “Instead, let’s think of the brain as a giant roadmap, hm? You have this globe sitting in your head, and each memory is a distinct location on that map. Now, of course, to get anywhere in the world, you need roads. You need pathways. When you access your memories, you travel these roads; memories you access more frequently require roads that are more efficient. Faster. Well maintained. Memories you don’t need fall by the wayside… like one of those ghost towns on Route 66. We’ve designed, with promethyrol, to root out all of these little towns that have fallen by the road. Imagine a satellite image of your brain, where you can see any spot you need to go, anywhere in your past, any memory, any piece of data, no matter how small, no matter how trivial, accessible to you-”
He snaps his fingers.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “Like that.”
Chuck nods, slowly, but assured.
Chuck Matthews: “Sounds… potentially useful. What sort of practical applications would you hope to attain from that?”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “Surely you see the benefits of limitless information, in the form of a simple oral capsule, yes? Perfect recall, Mr. Matthews. The ability to remember anything you’ve ever seen, ever heard. Things you maybe heard in passing on your way to the store. A detail you may have overlooked that turns out to be the critical piece of the puzzle.”
Chuck Matthews: “That’s… quite the miracle drug.”
Ashvin smiles, and holds a capsule in his outstretched hand.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “You’re welcome to give it a try.”
Marshall perks up from his seat across the room. Chuck looks down at the brightly-colored pill in the doctor’s hand. He picks it up, examining it slowly. He finds himself strangely intrigued by the capsules. A tiny white “P” is written on the side of the pill. The shell is slightly transparent, giving a view inside the capsule. It appears to be filled with a thick gel of some kind. After a moment, he sets it back down in Ashvin’s palm, shaking his head calmly.
Chuck Matthews: “Sounds like some sort of mental steroid.”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “One way to put it, I suppose... “
Chuck Matthews: “What about human testing? What effects have you found?”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “Preliminary trials were promising. Subjects were able to solve complex algorithms with perfect accuracy mere minutes after seeing it for the first time. Our second test showed promise in linguistic capability. Spatial reasoning went up. Logical reasoning, up. Memory, up.”
Chuck Matthews: “Side effects?”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “No long term studies have been conducted yet.”
Betsy Granger: “And the short term?”
Ashvin opens his mouth, but hesitates.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “It… proved to be a bit much for three patients, of the 120 in the preliminary tests.”
Betsy Granger: “Elaborate on “a bit much”.”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “One patient suffered a minor emotional breakdown, but this passed after a few minutes. The other two… sadly, suffered some minor brain damage. Small, but noticeable loss in motor function and occasional short-term memory loss. We’ve been looking for any sort of indication as to why. Initial intelligence tests on all three scored poorly. We suspect that the dosing may have been too much for them, and the strain on their brains was too extreme for them to handle. It’s… deeply regrettable.”
Betsy Granger: “It’s unacceptable. This is wrong on professional and ethical levels.”
Chuck says nothing, staring down at the tray. Betsy looks over at him and notices his deep fascination with the pills. She puts a hand on his shoulder and brings him back to reality.
Betsy Granger: “You are listening to this, right?”
Chuck doesn’t respond. His attention is still focused on the pills in the tray. Betsy turns back towards Marshall and Doctor Ashvin and glares.
Betsy Granger: “This pill has actively handicapped people's lives. Noticeable loss in motor function. Brain damage. Memory loss. And all you can say is that it’s ‘deeply regrettable’? This pill is clearly not ready to be federally approved, why would you believe this to be ready to be shown here?”
Chuck rests his hand on Betsy’s shoulder. He looks up at Marshall and Ashvin.
Chuck Matthews: “She’s right. I mean, it’s got potential to do a lot of good, but at the end of the day, this is recreational. Since when does this company delve into recreational drug use? There’s no rewards here that can’t be attained through simple hard work. It’s a steroid, nothing more.”
Alan Marshall: “Well…”
Chuck turns to Marshall.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “We… do have some clinical trials that came back looking… rather promising, actually.”
He tilts his head towards a packet that seemed mostly forgotten, tucked away behind the molecular structure imaging. Betsy seizes it, scanning her eyes over it. Chuck catches glimpses here and there. Various patients with mental illnesses.
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “By administering low levels of promethyrol, we found interesting studies that we feel, with further testing, may prove it’s effectiveness in treating a number of psychological disorders. As patients come down from the effects of promethyrol, the drug resets a lot of the brain’s chemistry, which we’ve found makes it quite an effective anti-depressant and anti-psychotic. It levels out the imbalances manifested in patients with bipolar disorder. We’re not entirely sure how, but trials have indicated a remarkable improvement in patients with schizophrenia.”
He looks at Chuck with a smile. Chuck opens his mouth to speak, but doesn’t. He stares at the capsules once more. His hand tightens slightly on Betsy’s shoulder, and his other arm, as though by instinct, wraps around her waist, holding her closer.
Chuck Matthews: “How long has it been in trials?”
Dr. Rohan Ashvin: “Six months for depression. Three for other mood disorders. Eight for schizophrenia.”
Chuck nods slowly.
Alan Marshall: “We’d like your public support of promethyrol, Matthews.”
Chuck Matthews: “What?”
Alan Marshall: “Who better to be the face of a genius drug than one of the smartest men in the world? As much as I hate to admit… your name carries weight, Matthews. Your support and your promotion of promethyrol will put this medication in every pharmacy, retail chain, and psychiatrist’s office in America.”
Chuck is silent. He looks at Betsy, and finds himself speechless. Betsy was right… there was a lot of risk with this drug. There was a lot that could go wrong. Irreparable brain damage? Memory loss? Was this something he would ever want his name associated with? But… the clinical uses looked promising. And if it could treat schizophrenia…
‘Don’t get your hopes up. It’s too late for her.’
Chuck takes a deep breath, silencing the thought. He moves his hand from Betsy’s shoulder to her waist, hugging her.
Chuck Matthews: “Bets?”
Betsy shakes her head slowly as her lips part. Her breathing is slightly hitched. She tears her eyes away from Marshall and looks up at Chuck imploringly. Worried green eyes meet clear blue ones and she touches his cheek gently. She speaks softly, so that only she and Chuck can hear.
Betsy Granger: “I know you want to save her. I know this seems like a miracle drug that could pull this off… But something is off about this.”
She glances back over at Marshall and Doctor Ashvin and gives them a mistrusting glare. Her next words are spoken calmly, but are dangerously scathing.
Betsy Granger: “You don’t like Chuck. I don’t have to know you beyond the twenty minutes I’ve been in a room with you to sense that. How do we know you aren’t telling him exactly what he wants to hear in order for him to plaster his name to such a dangerous drug?”
Betsy shakes her head firmly now. She looks back up at Chuck and gestures towards the papers on the table.
Betsy Granger: “I feel like there’s more they aren’t saying. These studies are mostly inconclusive and results are majority unstable at best. I don’t like this…”
Betsy picks up one of the pills and observes it closely. She looks over at Doctor Ashvin.
Betsy Granger: “I’d like to study this a lot more closely myself. Do you have any outline of the chemical properties? I’d like to see what goes into this and how it bonds together to do what you two claim it does. I’d also like to study this under a microscope. You wouldn’t happen to have one available somewhere around here?”
Betsy feels Chuck’s arm tighten around her waist. She looks up at him and he’s shaking his head ever so slightly. Her face turns to thunder as she can see where his mind is stuck at.
Betsy Granger: “You can’t…”
Her voice is a desperate whisper as she clutches Chuck’s arms desperately. Chuck appears deep in thought. His mind isn’t in Phoenix anymore. She was right… it was too late for her. Even with this new therapy, who knows what would happen. No… his mind was elsewhere. He thought of the applications. Promethyrol not as a cure… but as a preventative measure. As a way to ease symptoms. He was already showing the signs. He’d seen it with Zack Lifer… he’d exploited it. But what if it went wrong?
‘You’d deserve it.’
Chuck grits his teeth.
‘You stand there with your arms around this woman while you’re surrounded by the same men you sent to beat her down and you think you don’t deserve everything you have coming to you? You’ve been eluding your penance for years, Charlie. Take the drug. Maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t. Risk your own miserable life for a change. It’d be the first selfless thing you’ve ever done.’
He takes a deep breath, and the voice falls silent.
Chuck Matthews: “No.”
Alan Marshall: “Beg your pardon?”
Chuck Matthews: “She’s right. It’s too dangerous. I won’t tie my name to it.”
Alan Marshall: “You take your cues from a college girl now?”
Chuck looks down at Betsy, offering her a small smile. He presses his lips to hers, then turns his attention to the Matthews Enterprises CEO, that familiar confidence, that commanding authority returning to his voice.
Chuck Matthews: “I do, actually. She’s the smartest woman I know… and I trust her judgment completely.”
He looks at her, speaking so only she can hear.
Chuck Matthews: “I do, you know…”
He feels that a weight on his chest has lifted, just slightly. He was too emotionally invested in it… as strange as that was to admit. Truthfully, he’s sure he would have thrown his name behind it in a heartbeat, regardless of the risk. Anything to move forward with promethyrol, anything that could… save him. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it wasn’t Phoenix he was worried about, but himself. But Betsy kept him grounded… she always kept him grounded. She knew how Chuck’s mind worked, and what was more, she seemed to know that even Chuck Matthews could find himself getting too emotionally attached. But logically, the drug was dangerous… and the more Chuck thought about it, processed the information in his brain, the more clear the decision became.
Of course, Alan Marshall didn’t seem to agree. Chuck had expected Marshall would be disappointed, perhaps flustered at the thought of having to find a new posterboy for his dangerous new drug. Rather, he seemed… irate. Irritated. As though Chuck’s response was not at all what he had planned for, and he had no Plan B. He’s about to speak when Conrad storms back into the room.
John Conrad: “Mr. Marshall, we need to leave.”
Chuck Matthews: “What’s happ-”
Conrad holds up his hand to Chuck.
John Conrad: “This doesn’t concern you.”
He turns back to Alan.
John Conrad: “Mr. Marshall?”
Alan Marshall: “What’s happened?”
John Conrad: “The theft. We were wrong about the target. They were never after the promethyrol.”
Chuck looks from Alan to John.
John Conrad: “They’ve stolen the mask.”
