Callback - Chapter One

The state of the world in 2099 could be described in a multitude of rude, vulgar, or obscene sentences. Much like centuries before, it could be all about perspective. Those who have everything tend to look at life differently than those struggling to survive. It could be said, however, that happiness or contentment could be viewed as the opposite of the previous statement. Those who have everything may not be as happy as those struggling. Not much has changed since I, your narrator, began this narrative and looked upon the world with a tired set of eyes. Just like those brilliant before me who viewed their time in this world as four-letter curse words, wishing someone would change it for the better, the same was true for Cora and her love Celeste. Cora was tired; she sacrificed enough time to earn her retirement and live a life with Celeste that they had been wishing for all those years prior. But much like life, it has an interesting way of showing who is in charge.

Cora awoke to the 6 a.m. alarm, introducing the day’s weather and news options. A flick of a wrist upon a virtual screen changed the stream from local to international news. Cora would normally begin her day with a various assortment of vitamins, water, and a thirty-minute workout; but this morning, the first day of her retirement, she snoozed the alarm, turned off the morning’s recap of yesterday’s newsworthy stories, and turned over to Celeste and gently inched closer to her still sleeping beauty.

Cora’s now previous employer, The Office of the Inspector General, had employed Cora long enough for her to retire at the age of thirty-four comfortably. From the various choices of careers and even more choices of career paths, she chose a life of doing the federal government’s dirty work. Unlike those other alphabet agencies who have been around for almost two centuries, and did not want to get their hands soiled from cyber-fraud, insider trading, and corporate malpractice, and wished to stay behind closed doors; The Office of the Inspector General did not mind taking the reins to infiltrate, demonstrate, and protect the flow of our free commerce. Those who were employed by this tiny team of The Office of the Inspector General Special Agents refer to themselves as “Cleaners.”

To ensure the integrity of the federal government, The Office of the Inspector General protects the democracy of these new United Regions of Americo. Under this, we uphold the unified laws that no region, religion, corporation, political figure, or celebrity is above. We must enforce the free and fair commerce of these United Regions of Americo. So help us all.

This statement emerged as a necessity after the unraveling of the United States of America in 2028. I, your narrator, knew that this fourth turning was upon us and did what I had to do to secure the safety of my family; however, from the ashes of the chaos came the “Great Change” of 2030.

Cora was born in 2065, in what was known as Texas, but presently simply known as Region 6. This region, encompassing the entire former state of Texas, a majority of Oklahoma, and portions of Arkansas; unofficially still refers to themselves as Texas. It would seem that Texas pride never died with the near cataclysmic border wars that started thirty-seven years before Cora’s birth, triggering the “Great Change.”

Cora placed her hand on the hip of her resting wife Celeste. Expecting to touch the cotton-blend fabric of underwear, Cora instead felt skin. It was slightly cold to the fingers, prompting Celeste to nudge closer until the shape-full portion of Celeste’s rear perfectly fit onto Cora’s pelvis. Cora gently kissed the upper back of her love and reached under Celeste’s arm to play with her exposed nipple. Celeste reached her free hand back to Cora’s head to signal her readiness in whatever games Cora intended to play with her body. The ideas of positions and apparatuses were quickly dismissed as an all too familiar call notification came from their living room.

For sixteen years, that particular and annoying tone meant it was time to go to work. Cora needed to return to her office one last time, but there was no need for this call as this hour.

Cora answered.

“Special Agent Cora--now why did y’all feel the need to call me this early?” Cora answered the virtual call in her vintage University of Notre Dame shirt with matching vintage shorts.

“It wouldn’t be us if we didn’t annoy you one last time Cora. When are you coming in? We have a little breakfast spread here and I wanted to formally send you off on retirement.” Area Director Shavers appreciated the years of dedication and work Cora put into the agency.

“I can be there in about an hour, sir.” Cora may have said an hour, but her definition of being on time was always fifteen minutes early.

“Great! We will see you in about forty-five minutes then,” the Area Director smiled and ended the call with a “Go Irish.”

Cora turned to see Celeste standing at the doorway of their bedroom. Celeste’s hair, although messy from a night’s slumber, seemed to fall in such an elegant and perfect way to suggest that not only was she a natural beauty, but even in the first minutes of waking, she could own a room.

“Are you going in the office this morning?”

“I had to go in anyway, I might as well get it over with sooner--and get free food.” Cora walked to Celeste apologizing.

“But this is the last time you have to go in right?” Celeste asked, obviously disappointed that the job was going to take Cora away from their bed yet again.

“It is, I promise.” Cora responded with her hand on Celeste's check.

“I never made you make a choice between your job and me because I know you had a plan, and your plan was eventually this. But now that you are retired, and we are still young, I want for you to choose us—in a series of positions when you get back” Celeste nudged her check upon Cora chest as she hugged her love and chuckled.

“I love you,” Cora whispered.

“You better,” Celeste responded.

Over the years, Celeste has grown accustomed to Cora’s absence. At times, loneliness can be remedied by keeping busy. Celeste kept a close group of friends, always ready for late-night dinners, movies, cooking parties, games, and whatever Celeste had in mind to ease the worriedness that accompanied the known and unknown of Cora’s assignments. Celeste, not a heavy drinker, would not indulge herself with self-medication. She felt that she needed to be in the present at all times for Cora if ever needed. Celeste’s own employment allowed for some distractions, but she was ready to no longer need distractions, she was ready to be a full-time wife and partner. Cora was ready to enjoy time.

Precision and accuracy is what made Cora a great agent. Incredible attention to detail and near flawless execution sprung her career from an entry-level investigator to the lead special agent she retired as. So, when she approached the double doors of the Inspector General’s floor upon the fourth floor of the federal building at forty-four minutes and fifty seconds, she took a second—then ten more. She stood there staring at the door and peeked at her watch. The watch, although lost in technological advances, to Cora it was essential. So much could be used from a simple piece of technology. She contemplated time and what it was worth to her now. She allowed others to pass, and although they motioned for her to continue on through the doors, Cora politely declined and stood by the entryway. Forty-six minutes and thirteen seconds. With a smirk, she continued to wait. Forty-eight minutes and two seconds, she opened the door. It felt good to finally allow herself to be “late.”

“I can’t believe you are retiring Cora.” Area Director Joah Shavers was a tall black man with no time to waste. He could have retired early, earning more than enough credits from his early years with the agency, but he chose to move to more of a supervisory role. He never married and never had children. His devotion to the job came after his fiancé died from an accident at the early stages of his career. He often said that he always had two loves; one was the woman who left too soon, and the other was seeing the eyes of the criminal who just realized they got beat by Joah Shavers.

“I am ready to retire,” Cora responded.

The office, a bullpen of sorts with glass-walled offices lining the outer areas, was nearly empty as everyone convened in the large meeting room in the back. Inspector General Special Agents were one of very few agencies who were required to be armed. Cora, after her retirement, may carry her sidearm and badge but must not interfere with an active agent’s investigation unless requested by The Office of the Inspector General. So, not a second thought arose when Cora crossed the double door with her weapon at her side.

Cora took her time heading to the back office. The view of her now empty office brought a deep sigh and a proudness of accomplishment. Agents eventually retire, but Cora meticulously placed a specific set of goals and met each and every one to lead to this moment. With Joah Shavers by her side, they walked past an early turn of the millennia era clock hanging upon the wall between two offices. The clock had no numbers, no outer ring of indications of Roman numerals, no silly annotations of time designations, nothing but a yellow happy face, an hour hand, a minute hand, and a second ticker.

Cora peeked at her perfectly timed watch and the clock on the wall.

“The clock is still five minutes slow,” Cora said while making a personal note that it’s been forty-nine minutes and thirty-nine seconds since she left her home; technically, she was still early. They both stopped to admire the one piece of “art” that Cora loved to collect: pre-Great Change vintage items such as this yellow happy face clock.

“Well—I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who even knows it’s slow,” Joah Shavers comically huffed.

The second hand of the clock neared the apex of its rotation and the clock read seven forty-five. Cora smiled, knowing that this was the last time she would ever see the yellow smiling clock. It didn’t matter how many times Cora tried to synchronize the damn thing, as she called it, perfectly, but it was a piece of yesteryear that reminded Cora to appreciate the little things. Cora turned to see the office staff behind the glass wall, waiting and smiling around a cake. These glass walls were designed to be clear but could withstand a massive impact; now standard on most federal office walls. Cora smirked as she could see that the cake was red, possibly strawberry, her favorite. Cora and Area Director Shavers began to make their way toward the large meeting room. For a split moment, all eyes looked joyous and content in the glass room. A chime emitted from the wall clock, a normal and expected chime; however, it was muffled as if something blocked the old speaker. Portland, the newly sworn-in agent, calmly walked to the office door to gentlemanly offer it open. The chime continued, still muffled and slowly diminishing its tone; until it stopped. Cora’s eyes, for a moment in time, caught the joyful smiles of her co-workers until the red frosting from the large cake spattered on the walls in front of them. A concussion that was planned to be contained within the room gave way to a deep echo with the opened door held by Portland. The purposefully built office walls protected Portland’s position; his immediate reaction was to turn and, in doing so, bore witness to the thick red frosting and blood now splattered upon the glass. The concussion’s echo triggered one of three silent alarms. Within seconds, a team of four armed federal officers rushed to see the stunned and frozen bodies of Portland, Cora, and Joah. Portland, looking into the controlled and precise devastation, saw through a transparent section a series of red blinking lights, an indication that not all explosives had been detonated. Portland swung his body to enter the office; he did not know what he would have done upon entering; his immediate thoughts were simply to get inside. The tick of the yellow smiling clock seemed to resume, and Portland now found himself about to enter the office room; he would have figured out a plan once he reached the explosives—if not for the rushing officer. In Portland’s haste to get in, he did not hear Cora’s exclaim, for she and Joah, too, saw the red blinking lights and screamed the order to close the door. An order that Portland ignored, either intentionally or not, no longer had any significance. An incredibly fast-moving officer tackled Portland and slammed the thick glass door shut. Cora and Joah made a single step forward, it would be the last time they would see their peers as recognizable creatures of this earth. The room contained a much larger concussion, the pressure released from the remaining explosives caused a designed room feature to kick in and expel the gasses as quickly as possible through a series of vents.

There was nothing the agents could do at this moment but wait in horror. The red on the walls became confusing and indistinguishable until the eyes caught a clear piece of something organic. There was an organized panic outside the caged carnage. The three remaining agents were being escorted out, but were immediately halted by Joah Shavers. With an eerie calmness, from years of experience, Joah took his command.

“This is now a crime scene, and we are evidence—if we leave the scene, we might contaminate or detonate something else,” Joah instructed one of the officers present.

“Go upstairs and get Sonya—tell her that we have agents down, tell her that she should start with the yellow clock.”