Unstable
Prologue;
3 days earlier.
I start feeling sick just looking at this place. Riverstone Asylum, shut down amid scandal and government secrecy in 1971, reopened by Walker Psychiatric Systems in 2011 under the guise of a charitable organization. The Walker Corporation has a long track record of disguising profit as charity. But, never on American soil.
I nervously tuck my hands into my pockets, trying not to look suspicious as Greg and I climbed out of the van. We walked around to the back and he pulled open the doors, revealing a large covered object. He climbs inside and tells me to help him wheel out the “package”.
We get into the building okay, but when we tried to get down towards the basement generators, security stopped us.
“ID’s please.”
The security officer was large and balding, a small brown stain on the side of his mouth which I could only assume had come from his morning coffee. Greg huffed beside me, unclipping his ID from his shirt pocket and handing it over. “Look, we have other jobs to do today. Do you mind?”
The security guard grumbled, but handed over the ID, moving to the side and letting us pass. Greg was pushing his side of the package more quickly, and I had to basically jog to keep up with him. But, that didn’t keep him from snapping at me;
“C’mon, Jimmy, we need to plant this and get out.”
I nodded and picked up the pace even more. I wasn’t sure exactly what we where doing here, but Greg had said that the pay was to much to pass off.
The basement reeked of piss and vomit, the lights above us flickered every so often. Threatening to give out at any moment. We finally found the generator room, and Greg quickly assured me inside. We pushed the package all the way to the back of the room, stuffing it behind a few poles. Greg ripped off the cover, typing in a few thing into the keypad. He moved to the side, motioning for me to take his place. “Turn it on.”
I hesitated, “what is that thing?”
“A back up generator.”
“It doesn’t look like a back up generator. I think-“
“Look,” Greg growled, “you’re paid to work, not think. Now, do your job or you don’t get paid.”
I sighed, stepping forward and crouching down, typing in my pin. I checked a few wires before I flipped the switch on the back. The large metal tubing in front of me lit up a bright greenish yellow, signaling it was active.
I stood up, “there. Can we go now?"
I start feeling sick just looking at this place. Riverstone Asylum, shut down amid scandal and government secrecy in 1971, reopened by Walker Psychiatric Systems in 2011 under the guise of a charitable organization. The Walker Corporation has a long track record of disguising profit as charity. But, never on American soil.
I nervously tuck my hands into my pockets, trying not to look suspicious as Greg and I climbed out of the van. We walked around to the back and he pulled open the doors, revealing a large covered object. He climbs inside and tells me to help him wheel out the “package”.
We get into the building okay, but when we tried to get down towards the basement generators, security stopped us.
“ID’s please.”
The security officer was large and balding, a small brown stain on the side of his mouth which I could only assume had come from his morning coffee. Greg huffed beside me, unclipping his ID from his shirt pocket and handing it over. “Look, we have other jobs to do today. Do you mind?”
The security guard grumbled, but handed over the ID, moving to the side and letting us pass. Greg was pushing his side of the package more quickly, and I had to basically jog to keep up with him. But, that didn’t keep him from snapping at me;
“C’mon, Jimmy, we need to plant this and get out.”
I nodded and picked up the pace even more. I wasn’t sure exactly what we where doing here, but Greg had said that the pay was to much to pass off.
The basement reeked of piss and vomit, the lights above us flickered every so often. Threatening to give out at any moment. We finally found the generator room, and Greg quickly assured me inside. We pushed the package all the way to the back of the room, stuffing it behind a few poles. Greg ripped off the cover, typing in a few thing into the keypad. He moved to the side, motioning for me to take his place. “Turn it on.”
I hesitated, “what is that thing?”
“A back up generator.”
“It doesn’t look like a back up generator. I think-“
“Look,” Greg growled, “you’re paid to work, not think. Now, do your job or you don’t get paid.”
I sighed, stepping forward and crouching down, typing in my pin. I checked a few wires before I flipped the switch on the back. The large metal tubing in front of me lit up a bright greenish yellow, signaling it was active.
I stood up, “there. Can we go now?"