A Shadow's Tail

A Story by Iba Tsloh

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The owner to the richest medicine producing firm in the country owned by an individual who goes by G. Xavier. He, I mean it, is one of the richest men on Earth. It has a goal to cure every single disease on planet Earth but it has mob bosses, corrupt cops, super powered psychotics not to mention terrorists between it and its goal. Bloodshed is in the future and Xavier knows it. Will it give up the goal of the cure to the most painful ills on Earth?

1:01 Comfort Zone Terminated

“Mister Xavier, when are you going to reveal your newest cerium, Completion?” A reporter yells at me then jabs a microphone and recorder into my face. I barely hear him as I walk down the aisle to Jare Enterprises. Something about that particular reporter catches my interest and I turn to face him. He isn’t tall, well built or even intimidating for a reporter but a medium size man with soft eyes. They are the kind of eyes that one could almost get lost in them. Ones full of curiosity and wonder that the latest humans are slowly losing that amazing part of them. The sounds of the commotion cease to exist as I face the young reporter.

Suddenly the sound of people yelling comes back to my ears. I adjust my translator so it can get an accurate reading on my speech. “Just Xavier will be fine and to answer your question….”

“Patrick,” He tells me excitedly. Though, something right when he says his name something is a little off about him with his short hair that spikes out in the front. Or those words that seem to want to dig into your being emphasized with his cheap black suit. No, I think to myself. Just a bit of paranoia, he is like the others so I push the idea out of my mind.

“Patrick,” I repeat the name like it will give me something about the man but nothing comes. Quickly I put my hand on his shoulder coping what most humans do when they pretend a total stranger is their friend. I put on a fake smile and tell him in my robotic voice, “I’ll give you an exclusive of the lucky hospital to get the first donation of Completion, just follow me and I’ll tell you the time and place.” I tell him using my translator emphasizes an unemotional feel like I could not care less about Completion when really it has been my life’s work. Of course, the reporter is not looking in the distance at what an honor to be the one to report on this great accomplishment I am giving to mankind. He does not even skip a beat at how this could change the world for the better. Instead he stares at the translator on my face. The object that makes me stands out from every being on this planet. Most mutes just go about their lives using sign language best they can but I had come too far. So I improvise a bit of technology from my home, Nysa, with a bit of a billionaire play boy’s technology to create a lip translator; microphone that reaches around to my mouth, instead personifying my voice, it translates best it can into the English or any language I please. Sadly people marvel at the translator more than what could change the world. A few cc’s of liquid in each vile that could cure the world.

“25759 SE Mango Street, the old Children’s Hospital off of I90. Be there by 6 sharp or it will turn public.” I threaten the reporter a bit. He quickly nods to me with his biggest story of his young career nearly in his grasp. An ego sparkles in his eye as we get closer to the elevator. A moment later he runs out of the building practically skipping which I assume is joy.

I realize we are at the glass elevator that will take me to highest floor in the building. It’s one of the tallest in Washington with a light blue sheen that makes it blend in a bit with the sky on a sunny day. The elevators is on the very edge of the building facing the Puget Sound with the boats and beaches that turn into little toys for a child to play with as I rise. 30, 40, 50 and 60 more floors to go to reach 101; my favorite number. Most often in the human language, to display more than full effort as 100%, which is impossible. No one can fill a glass more than its brim so no one can use more than a 100%. Still, people use it which I admire greatly.

I am immediately snapped out of my day dream when the elevator stops at 99. No one is allowed to use this elevator, so this is either a potential client or… The chief of police steps into the elevator with his medium size bulk. When it comes men, most would top me by a few inches. Usually they try to intimidate me using their bulk as the chief does. His eyebrows high and smirks as he looks at me knowing I am not going to fight. I turn toward the window with my hands behind my back, looking at our reflection in the mirror. Mine a meager 5’7’’ with a clean shaven head with a cheap brown suit. Its eyes are looking down cast not to attract attention rubbing its IR watch nervously. And the chief in a decorative uniform with the badges covering him likes shields from the law. His white face could avoid any witness testifying against him with his hair slicked back with grease and his bristle brown mustache. One morning, long ago, I heard his buddy police man say how he works his brown stringy hair to the perfect condition with the grease so it gives off a little shimmer. Though all I see is a dirty piece of law in a police man’s costume.

“I have this job down town. I need another 10 more to do the job with this major ‘drug’ heist. I’ll bring the men back afterwards an hour later perhaps.” He says in a southern accent and throws a bit of tobacco from a can into his mouth to chew.

I know he is lying. That part of Needle is the scum of the Earth that they could not care less about. They do not even care about civilians getting killed if someone tries to steal Completion. There must be a way to reason with this man. This drug must been seen what it can do to save lives. Maybe

I can take a look into his thoughts for an incentive.

NO, I made a promise and I am not going to break it. Not yet anyway. Begging is what the weak cannot do but the strong are forced to. I still hate it. I turn to him and beg, “Please Chief,” I really am going to hate this. “the normal security guards are qualified enough. Just let them go back to their posts.” I try to sound nervous, in the process it sounds like a mumbling buffoon of an idiot CEO.

He smirks a bit at me, “Xavier.” He pats me on the back with his dirty hands, “My boy, my men are the best around and nobody. And I mean, nobody will get hands on Petition.”

“Completion,” I correct him angrily under my breath.

He gives me an angry look and I shut up as he gives me a harder slap. I fly into the side of the elevator head first. “I knew that,” he says confidently as he pulls me up to a standing position. “Just don’t worry about nothin’, my boy. Everything will go fine without a single shot.” He chuckles a little bit knowing that I understand how empty of a promise it is as he pushes me out of the elevator. My entire office is focus on my as I fall to the floor with a bloody nose. I get up slowly to face him in the center of the room. He points at me and says in a threatening tone, “We’ll be watchin’.”

The elevator door closes as silently as it opened. I spit the nocuous blood from my mouth onto the floor then walk into my office.

© 2013 Iba Tsloh

Author's Note

My comas and grammar errors are my lowest priority for now. What really matters if the text makes sense, is fun and interesting to read, catches the eye and is accurate to itself.