The Product

I'll just call this an action thriller.

“I figured this would just be another day on the job. Now, here we are, stuck in the break room while a gang of strangers overtake this facility. We’re hostages. F*****g hostakes. Who knows what’s gonna happen? They could kill us,” said McGregor, sitting at a round white table with his two co-workers. McGregor was a thirty-year-old white male in a white lab coat. His medium length black hair was combed back, and it was shiny and hard from gel. “If they wanted to kill us they would have done it by now,” said Simmons, with his hands below the table, his head lowered, and his cold eyes looking straight ahead. Simmons was a twenty-eight Hispanic male, and he had a similar white lab coat to that of McGregor, with brown hair on the top of his head combed to the side; the sides and back were cleanly shaven. He was slightly taller and thinner than McGregor. “So why are we stuck in here?” asked McGregor. “They need us for something, but it’s not time for our involvement yet,” said Simmons, everything motionless except for his mouth. “Do you know who they are?” asked McGregor, with his palms open. “They have to be thieves,” said Simmons, with his unbroken gaze. “What do they want? Money? This isn’t a f*****g bank!” said McGregor, throwing his hands up in the air and letting them fall onto his lap. “What do you know of in this facility that has value?” asked Simmons, with no determinable emotion in his voice. “They can’t be after that…” said McGregor, creasing the area between his brows.  

 

McGregor’s eyes lit up with fire. “After dedicating myself to creating that s**t, some filthy f*****g thugs want to take it for themselves and expect me to assist them somehow?! I’m gonna throw up…” said McGregor, putting his left hand to his forehead. “It could be worse,” said Garoth, sounding optimistic. Garoth was twenty-six and Filipino. He had a similar white lab coat to that of his partners and the shortest black mohawk a person could have. “Yeah, how?” McGregor asked, turning to Garoth, folding his hands on the table. “They could torture us for their own pleasure,” said Garoth, shrugging his shoulders. “That might be worse for you but not for me. I’d rather take powdered glass to my eyes than watch a bunch of scumbags walk away with my work!” declared McGregor, pointing at his chest with his right pointer finger. “Our work,” contested Garoth, raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t say it was just mine. If I had a son and referred to him as my son, would that mean he was just mine? He’d be the son of whoever I impregnated too,” argued McGregor. “Okay. Don’t PMS on me now,’ urged Garoth, raising his hands like he had a gun pointed at him. “You know what? I want coffee,” announced McGregor, slamming his hands flat on the table and getting out of his seat. “Are you out of your mind?” asked Garoth, as if McGregor was about to teabag a toaster. “The only thing that tall f**k in the gas mask said was that anyone who left this room would be shot on sight, and I wasn’t gonna sit in that chair all goddamn night,” explained McGregor, going over to the coffee machine.

 

“What if we have to piss?” asked Garoth, sounding genuinely concerned. “There’s a sink right over here,” said McGregor, putting coffee grounds into a filter. “Fair enough. So what do we do? Just stay in here until we’re told to come out?” asked Garoth, turning his attention toward Simmons. “If you wanna storm out hoping you don’t get shot, go ahead,” said Simmons, wearing the same cold expression. “Are there any weapons here?” asked Garoth, looking around as if expecting to find one he hadn’t seen throughout the many times he had been in that room. “A coffee pot might hurt,” said McGregor, turning on the machine, leaning against the counter with his left arm, and smiling with an open mouth. “I guess that’s a no. Why would they want the product in the first place?” wondered Garoth, his eyes on Simmons again. “Do you how many banks you’d have to rob to make the amount of money the product is worth?” asked Simmons, leaving Garoth silent for about five seconds. “How do they even know about it?” inquired Garoth, leaning in with hands folded on the table, expecting Simmons to have an answer to every question of his. “Maybe there’s a mole in the lab,” said Simmons, leaving no indication as to whether he knew or not. “If there is, it’s McGregor. Did you hear that McMuffin? I think you’re a mole. Does that make you mad?” said Garoth, raising his voice as if McGregor was far away. McGregor whistled Hey Baby by No Doubt as he watched the coffee brew, acting like he didn’t hear him. “Jameson,” said Simmons, his eyes piercing the abyss.

 

“The new guy? He didn’t even come today. I wonder why he didn’t,” expressed Garoth, putting his right hand to his chin. “What if he did? What if he came in a tactical suit and gas mask?” asked Simmons, causing Garoth to fall silent again and lower his hand. “What if he was legitimately sick?” asked Garoth, sounding nervous. “On the same day our laboratory gets infiltrated?” asked Simmons, making Garoth shrug. “Coincidences happen,” said Garoth, with an awkward chuckle.  “Beautiful!” said McGregor, pouring himself a cup. “Y’all want some?” asked McGregor, with a cheerful tone. “I wouldn’t mind a shot of Jack. I also wouldn’t mind getting out of here,” replied Garoth, looking at the door, with a look of despair on his face. McGregor stirred in some sugar and creamer. “What do they want us for?” asked Garoth, still gazing at the door. “If they’re interested in the product, they wouldn’t want to destroy the brains that created it. Why settle for one profitable thing when they could potentially have more?” said Simmons, his stare unbreakable. “So we’re just gonna be their work slaves?” asked Garoth, timidly, turning away from the door and looking at his feet. “It’s not impossible,” asserted Simmons. McGregor sat down at the table with a steaming white mug in his right hand, his left arm flat on the table. “I won’t settle for that. God, I f*****g love coconut,” expressed McGregor, sipping away.

 

Garoth sighed heavily. “You know, even if the product gets taken, I’ll be happy knowing we finished it. That destination was met. That has to be of some value,” said Garoth, trying to lighten the mood. “The product should be for us and our trusted associates," stated McGregor, holding the cup with both hands to embrace its warmth. "How did they even get in here?" asked Garoth, shaking his head and glaring at the table. “A mole. They could have easily gotten access that way,” said Simmons, still not blinking. McGregor let out a deep sigh. “There were only four of us working here! Simmons and I have worked on the product for six months. You, Garoth, have worked on it for three months. Jameson has only worked on it for a week. I admit Jameson is a decent suspect, but we background checked the s**t out of him. Maybe our best wasn’t good enough. Man, all I wanted to do today was sit down and have a long discussion on what we want to do with the product and this bullshit happened,” said McGregor, enjoying his elixir. “Who are these guys anyway?” inquired Garoth, like a seemingly endless source of questions. “You should ask them, Garoth,” suggested McGregor, raising his mug. “We’ve seen several of these people carrying weapons and yet we haven’t heard a single shot fired. That’s peculiar,” said Garoth, holding his chin again. “They don’t have any incompliant hostages yet,” assessed McGregor, giggling. “What do you mean ‘yet’?” asked Garoth, seeming apprehensive. “Gentleman, if they come into the room and ask for any s**t from us, I won’t give those cocksuckers what they want. You guys are welcome to but I don’t feel like losing my dignity just to keep myself breathing. So, in case I die here tonight, I just want to say it has been an honor to work with you,” McGregor said, sipping away.

 

 “Get out of here with that, man,” said Garoth, making a shoving motion with his right hand. “So I should spend my life working for those fuckers as they profiteer off of what I dreamed of creating?” asked McGregor, with an open palm. Garoth scoffed. “You have courage, man. Maybe you’ll inspire me to be like you,” said Garoth, smiling. Suddenly, the door opened, and a man with a tactical suit and a gas mask looked in from the hallway outside of the room, pointing an AR-15 at the trio at the table. “I’m gonna have to ask you men to come with me,” he said. “Why?" asked McGregor, sipping at his mug in the face of danger. “Comply or be terminated,” the man said, pointing his gun specifically at McGregor. “You’re full of s**t,” McGregor, giving the gunman a nice condescending smile. Suddenly, an array of gunfire came from the right of the hall, spraying the masked man in the neck and releasing his blood all over the room. Garoth jumped out of his seat and backed away from the door with a mortified face, whereas Simmons and McGregor remained in their chairs like nothing happened, McGregor continuing to sip. The gunman fell against the open door, letting out a gruesome gurgling sound and sliding to the floor. Gunfire continued to fly down the hall in which the masked man was standing, and cries of disarray could be heard under the shooting. The gunfire subsided, and there was a moment of silence. Footsteps became audible, and a twenty-nine year old black male in a white lab coat, spiked red hair, and glasses holding an M16 appeared in the doorway. “Jameson! Where have you been?” asked Garoth, smiling and holding out his arms like he wanted to hug their savior. “Car wouldn’t start,” said Jameson, smirking. “Never thought I’d be happy to see you!” said Garoth, slapping his thighs and shaking his head. Suddenly, Garoth pulled out a Beretta 92 and shot Jameson directly in the forehead, and Jameson fell to the floor, dropping his M16, and McGregor sat motionlessly with an open mouth and his mug positioned an inch from his mouth.

 

Garoth aimed the Beretta at McGregor. “I wasn’t aware Jameson was such a marksman. Four guards shot down by one scientist. Impressive. Oh, yeah. I was told that if anything happened to the guards outside I would have to intervene,” said Garoth, shrugging his shoulders with a dark gaze aimed at McGregor. Finally, Simmons altered his gaze, turning his eyes up toward Garoth but not moving his head, keeping the same expression he had the entire time. McGregor on the other hand looked perturbed, with his coffee mug still raised. Garoth chuckled. “How long have I known you guys? And you never suspected a thing. We’ve been through a lot and I had fun along the way but I don’t have a conscience for treachery. You guys are talented and my organization has need of your skills. We’ll supply you with everything you need and you can turn our dreams into realities. McGregor, you’ll be a bit of a challenge, but I’m determined to bend your will. Thanks for the powdered glass idea. I’m excited for trying that out,” said Garoth, grinning. McGregor finally took a sip from the mug and held it in his hand. “I’m just gonna pretend that we didn’t throw you a goddamn birthday party,” said McGregor, not displaying any fear. Suddenly, a vibrating noise filled the room, and Garoth reached into his right coat pocket with his left hand and pulled out a phone. “Garoth. What? Excuse me?! What do you mean the code doesn’t work?! I was there when the code was made! Son of a b***h! I’ll call you back,” barked Garoth, hanging up and putting the phone back in his right coat pocket.

 

“Who changed the code?!” asked Garoth, his eyes overflowing with fire. He pointed the gun at Simmons. “Start talking,” demanded Garoth, with audible inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils. Simmons did not comply. Garoth took the table with his left hand and flipped it towards the door in a mindless age of rage, trying to be fearsome. “I’ll put a bullet in your knee cap, you creepy f**k,” barked Garoth, spit flying from his mouth. “Man, am I glad I had my mug in my hand,” said McGregor, sighing with relief. Simmons did not look away from Garoth’s eyes. Simmons spoke. “I developed a special mechanism that changes the code for the vault to an emergency alternate code in case any unwelcome party sought to open it. That mechanism is activated.” “What’s the other code?” asked Garoth, sounding calmer now. “Let me see if I can remember,” said Simmons, folding his hands. Using his right thumb, Simmons pressed a button on the side of a ring on his right pointer finger, and a bullet shot out of the ring into the face of Garoth with an explosive gunfire sound, and Garoth fell to the floor with eyes wide open. McGregor looked over at Simmons, sighing with amazement. Simmons finally got out of his chair, went over to the masked henchman, and picked up the AR-15. McGregor took the last sip, sat the mug on the floor, got out of his chair, went over to Jameson, and picked up the M16. “You were really cool,” judged McGregor, regretting Jameson’s death. McGregor went over to Garoth, situated the M16 into his right hand, picked up the Beretta with his left hand, and put it in his right coat pocket. “One minute I’m laughing at the jokes you make about a shitfaced couple next to us at a bar and another minute you’re dead on the floor. Crazy a*s s**t,” said McGregor, shaking his head. “So how did you activate that mechanism?” asked McGregor. Simmons situated the AR-15 into his right hand and reached into his left coat pocket with his left hand. He made eye contact, pulled out a black remote, showing it to McGregor, and put it back in his pocket. “Let’s take care of the other henchman,” said Simmons. McGregor smiled menacingly.

 

Simmons went into the hall, peering left and right. He nudged his head toward the hall, motioning for McGregor to join him, and McGregor did. “We need to make sure any infiltrators do not leave the premises. Once that objective is met, we can relocate with the product. This facility needs to be desolate by the time anyone else from this unknown organization pays a visit. Let’s head to the basement and take care of anyone trying to open the vault,” said Simmons. “I feel like I’m at war right now. It feels great,” McGregor said, smiling cheerfully. Suddenly, they heard the elevator at the end of the hall start to move, causing them both to direct their attention towards the elevator doors. Simmons crouched on his left knee, aiming at the elevator, and McGregor did the same. The elevator made a “ding”, the doors opened, two masked henchmen came into view, and Simmons and McGregor unloaded fire. The blasting sound of bullets permeated the hall, and the bodies of the armed men backed up against the back of the elevator asked they grunted in pain, sliding downward and leaving trails of blood. They were still and silent. “Come on,” said Simmons, rising to a full stance and walking over to the men, still aiming his weapon at them, and McGregor followed. They made their way into the elevator, standing over the motionless corpses of their enemies, and Simmons hit the button for the basement. The doors closed and they began their descent. “Stay alert,” said Simmons, aiming his gun at the doors, preparing to fire at any standing life form he saw. “Stay sexy,” replied McGregor.

 

            The doors to the elevator opened, and nobody was in sight. The two scientists entered the basement. They had one hall to their right, one hall to their left, and one hall straight ahead. The room to the vault was straight ahead. “So do we just open the door and see if we can nail every single guy inside?” asked McGregor. “We don’t have to,” said Simmons, sounding as cold as his facial expression. Simmons strode down the hall with his weapon aimed ahead. McGregor wasn’t sure what Simmons intended to do, so he just followed him. They came to the door to the room with the vault, which was all the way closed. There was a control panel on the right side of the door that would open the door with the right code. However, the code to open the door wasn’t the only code that was programmed into the panel. Simmons typed in a code into the panel, hit “Enter”, and suddenly, a burst of gunfire came from the room, and screams of panic and agony could be heard amidst the sound of bullets. The screaming lasted about five seconds, and the shooting lasted about ten. Simmons put in a code to open the door and hit “Enter”. The door opened and seven bloody corpses were covering the floor resembling the previous ones. “Well, that happened. I had no idea you had machine guns built into the vault room. You’re pretty shady, but you have never given me any grief, and I’m thankful to be standing here beside you observing this bloody massacre of fuckheads who thought they could get their hands on our s**t,” said McGregor. Simmons said nothing. McGregor rolled his eyes.

 

 The vault could be seen directly across from where the doorway was, and it was still closed, and after McGregor and Simmons got a glimpse of the vault, someone could be heard walking behind them. McGregor and Simmons turned around and saw a masked man standing six feet away from them. The henchman fired first, putting two bullets into McGregor’s chest, causing him to stagger, grunt, and bleed. Simmons fired second, aiming for his throat and instantly stopping the henchman’s fire with the first bullet, and Simmons continued to fire until the masked figure was on his back. McGregor lost the grip on his weapon, dropping it to the floor, and he dropped himself on his back. “F**k… Me…” whispered McGregor, trembling and staring at his bloody chest. Simmons fell to one knee, examining his wounds. McGregor was enveloped in excruciating pain, and he felt as though the end was near, but right when he started to reminisce on his best memories, he had an epiphany. “The product… Get… The product…” demanded McGregor. Simmons made eye contact with his fallen companion, nodded, and raised himself to his feet. He rushed into the room, ran over to the vault, typed in the correct code to the panel on the vault, hit “Enter”, and the vault opened up slowly. He beheld the grandeur of what lay inside, and he reached for the exquisite creation.