Picking up where the Untitled Finale Episode left off, this shows the other side of the military response to the accident.
CAST
Timmy Vilgiate: Phillip
Collin Estes: Dusty, Agent Carter
Michelle Pearl: Grace, Marcia
Aaron Mayfield: The Chief
Music, production, recording, and script by Timmy Vilgiate.
Sound Effects from Freesound(.org)
Phone Ringing by Ferrettomatto
AmbienceConversation by BlancaBartual
Distant Ambulance Siren by BrunoBoselli
Ambience in a Parking Lot by botha9johann
Carpet Footsteps by 180156
crowd sm conf rm jumbled conversations by cognituperceptu
crowd sm conf rm jumbled conversations 2 by cognituperceptu
medium crowd murmering [sic] by jentlemen
G16-11-Police Teletype and Ambience by craigsmith
shop-door-bell by 3bagbrew
Tweets from Marianne Williamson read by Timmy Vilgiate and embedded in the background.
Newest episode, automatically posted to this blog.
Back at the station,
the parking lot was filled with cars. Two tall men in digital camoflauge
uniforms with M-16s stood out front. I double checked my uniform before
striding inside. The front lobby was packed. Marcia stood up when she saw me.
“Fancy seeing you here on the weekend.”
“Yeah, heard there was some kind of
party or something going on?”
“Yep, in the conference room.”, she
raised her eyebrows, and motioned for me to come closer. Coyly, she pointed at
a page in her magazine so it looked like she had something to show me. I leaned
in. I was so close to her face that the smell of her perfume was almost
overwhelming. My heart pounded and I tried to stop myself from staring at her
perfect goddamn face. Shaking her head, she muttered in a quiet voice “It’s
been really weird. The CIA is here, and the army.... Something is up.”
“We’re still on tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah.”, she nodded, smiling
faintly.
“I’ll fill you in, if I can.”
She looked over my
shoulder, to see Grace come in through the door. Her expression soured. “Don’t
get yourself in trouble, Phillip... I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her hand on her
temple in frustration, Grace strode up to us. “Conference room?”, she asked
Marcia. Marcia nodded.
Grace: “Great.
Thanks...(They head through the door, into the hallway) “So you and Marcia,
huh?”
Phillip: “Ain’t
nothing happening between me and Marcia.”
Grace: “Phillip,
your face is red as a goddamn tomato.”
Phillip: “Alright,
well we’re going out for coffee. Turns out both of us have an interest in
French Impressionism.”
Grace: “French
Impressionism huh? Haven’t heard that one before. I got the impression she was
more interested in the dramatic arts.”
Phillip: “Dramatic
arts?”
Grace: “Cuckoo,
cuckoo. Watch out.”, she snickered, before sliding into the conference room,
“I’m gonna get myself a bagel. You want one?”
Phillip: “Uh, sure.
Sounds fine. I’ll save you a spot.”
Grace: “Right. See
you in a little.”
Most of the
people were still either trickling in or standing up, so I made sure I secured
two of the only four swivel chairs for Grace and I. Only one person was there I
didn’t recognize, a sour looking man in a suit, with a pair of dark, square
glasses with thick plastic frames. He didn’t talk to anyone. Just sat at the
end of the table, studying each person who trickled in with a penetrating,
mealy look in his eyes and assessed them—taking mental notes. The chief sat
next to him, quietly, and nervously, finishing up a bagel and watching people
trickle in, including staff from police departments in other towns in the
county. The Sheriff was there too, right across from the chief. Some of his
deputies stood over by the wall. Grace sat down next to me, passing me a bagel
and a cup of coffee. “Thanks for saving me a seat.”, she nodded. There was a
silent code of honor between partners in the local police department that, at
departmental meetings, one partner had to get bagels and coffee, while the
other person had to try to claim the swivel chairs. It wasn’t one of those life
or death codes of honor, but you still had to take it seriously.
GRACE
I’d heard
the explosion from my kids soccer game. Soon as it happened I knew two things.
First thing: I was gonna get called in on my goddamn day off. Second thing:
Dusty was right. Something strange was going on. It gave me nightmares last
night. I kept thinking about that girl, Mary Ann. I imagined finding her body,
and trying to tell people but no one would listen to me. I had a migraine now.
I couldn’t sleep. When I woke up, my husband had moved to the couch again,
apparently because I was tossing and turning. And now there was something else,
something else I didn’t know how to even talk about…it had happened right after
the explosion. Everyone’s kids froze still. I couldn’t move all the sudden. I
saw this man…this old man…he looked like a walking corpse…drag a fishing pole
across the field. And behind him, there was this roar. This awful roar.
Everything went black. I had this terrible feeling that I was dead. That
everyone was dead. I remembered flickers of it. And then I woke up. And
everyone was normal again. But when I looked at my husband, at the other
parents alongside the field, they all looked disturbed. Like they knew as well
as I did that something terrible had just happened to them…like they’d all seen
the fisherman, and heard the roar in the distance, felt the universe die, and
then…go right back to normal. I kept thinking about it but I couldn’t remember
the substance of what had really happened. None of it. Only flickers. I wanted
to tell Phillip, but I couldn’t find the words to explain it.
Phillip
Something
was bothering Grace—I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was me and Marcia,
much as I didn’t want to think she might have been jealous. The chief stood up
and called out, “Alright, everyone, please get to your seats. We’ve gotta make
this quick. I’m gonna pass around a sheet—if you can sign your name, Agent
Carter can get this briefing underway so we can get you all back out there.”
“Thank you
Chief Bentley. As you all just heard, my name is Agent Milton Carter. I am a
counterintelligence specialist, originally from Northern Virginia. Some of you
may have spoken with me before. Just to clarify, before I brief you on the situation,
you have to understand that, as this is a matter of national security, you
cannot speak to the press until a full briefing has been completed. If anything
leaks, I can and will have you court martialed, and you will face criminal
charges. To start with the basics, at about 11pm last night our data collection
facility intercepted a text message sent from a person on the No Fly List who
we believed to be connected with the Islamic State to an individual in the
Topaz Heights Neighborhood. Several months ago, some concerned citizens tipped
us off to what turned out to be a so-called sleeper cell in the area, preparing
to detonate a dirty bomb and to conduct several coordinated mass shootings
across the state of Texas. The team planned their attack for today. While
preparing for a drive to a Los Lonely Boys concert in San Antonio, the
terrorists inadvertently detonated their device. Since we had already planned
an operation to intercept them, the army was in the area, and was well prepared
to assist with managing the disaster.
I do need
to advise you all, however, that several days prior to the foiled Los Lonely
Boys attack, an elaborate video was posted to a youtube channel associated with
a certain Dean Heyerdahl, a name we suspect to be pseudonymous, wherein a man
reportedly was visited by an alien. This “Heyerdahl”: has gained repute on
certain dark corners of the web since then for unfounded rumors about the Water
Treatment Facility. As you all know, we do maintain a data collection center
there, where we have a small detachment of soldiers and computer scientists.
However, Heyerdahl seems to have convinced a sizeable number of people that the
base is, in fact, not what it appears to be from the outside—that it is in fact
some kind of alien research facility, a retired mind control laboratory—that
sort of thing.
Heyerdahl claimed that the “alien” had warned him of a
coming extraterrestrial event on February 11, 2017. He used his influence to
organize a group of people that has been monitoring the city with hidden
cameras, drones, and other specialized equipment. We are concerned about the
size, scope, and coordination of his efforts. In all likelihood, Heyerdahl is
not a lone wolf, but a code name for a covert organization of people, possibly
connected with ISIS, possibly connected with foreign intelligence. If anyone
seems to take an inordinate amount of interest in the site of the accident,
please report them to me and we will take care of it from there. Be careful who
you talk to about this incident—we have reason to believe that this “Heyerdahl”
figure and his organization have infiltrated multiple levels of society,
ranging from city government to ordinary fast food restaurants.
Now that that’s out of the way, we can discuss the security
measure’s we need to take. We need to have patrols stationed at La Grange Way,
Lookout Lane, and Samuel B. Edwards Road, the three main entrances to the Topaz
Hills neighborhood. We also need help with security around a temporary field
hospital and the press station we have set up near the sinkhole. Helicopters
will be sweeping the perimeter of the incident, and we will need patrols to
help distribute water, food, and propane to people in the surrounding
neighborhoods. Some government land is being opened up to provide temporary
housing, we will need help from local law enforcement to help people move in
and feel at ease as we survey the damage.”
The chief,
the sheriff, all of them said some more words—sort of added their little bits
of inspiration or gumption or what have you but didn’t really say all that
much. It was easy to tune out. Easy to get fixated instead on the expression of
Agent Carter while they were talking, that smug bastard, with his beady blue
eyes, slicked back hair, almost leaning back in his chair like he wanted to
laugh, looking down his nose at whoever was talking. Seemed impatient to get
out of here, maybe, to get away from all us local heat. We made him
uncomfortable. I could see it in the way he looked around the room. Sure, give
all these local bufoons something good to do while they deal with the real
emergency, an alien goddamn invasion. This all probably seemed petty to him,
all of it. He probably wasn’t even in charge, just some rookie sent out to play
agent, give us locals some way to feel like we were handling things out here.
I’d seen it with my own two eyes and I felt like they wanted me to think I was
crazy, they wanted to pull the wool over our eyes. It was hard not to walk
across that room and wrap my hands around that little shit’s throat watching
him just lie to us.
He looked further down the table
and saw me glaring out at him.
AGENT CARTER
Some rough
looking local guy—sort of a cowboy type—was looking at me from down the table,
glaring at me. Local guy. Rough looking, maybe a little bit of a cowboy type.
Could see his trigger finger itching from the moment he heard the words ISIS.
The cover story was a hook, but I was worried we were playing with fire.
Fueling some kind of animosity. These people were getting angry, real angry,
and I knew that could be dangerous trying to manage a sensitive operation like
this. Real people, honest people, that the police officers in front of me
likely knew, had lost their homes, their livelihoods in some cases. Redirecting
their anger and sadness onto some imaginary foreigner fed into something dark,
something primal—dangerous.
As
assignments went out, people hustled to weave their ways towards the door and
jog out to the parking lot. I backed away, keeping an eye on the officers to
see if I could pick out anyone…suspicious. Anyone who might know the truth
behind this Dean Heyerdahl fellow, anyone who might be working with him. Months
and months of trying to track him down, and he seemed closer to me than ever
before. The chief patted me on the shoulder, interuppting my train of thought,
“Alright, I need two of you to stay with Agent Carter to help with security out
at the field hospital—Phillip, Grace, how about you two?”
The officer
who’d been staring at me, still looking unsettled, followed his female partner
up towards the front of the room, sidesteppping and sashaying between people
exiting the doors. “I take it you’re Phillip.”
“No, I’m Grace.” the man said to me, laughing, “This here’s
Phillip.”
“Say
haven’t I seen you some place? Didn’t you man the roadblock at the data
facility the night of that water main break?” (Ask this in a very innocuous
way)
Phillip
The way he asked it almost seemed so self satisfied, his voice was sneering. Like he knew exactly what they’d done with me. Like he almost took joy at coming face to face with one of the labrats. “Say, haven’t I seen you some place? Didn’t you man the roadblock at the data facility the night of that water main break?” (Now it’s asked in a very sinister, malevolent way, showing that Phillip is delusional) “Well, you might have.” (Phillip, this time, says this in a very sly, coy way)
The way he asked it almost seemed so self satisfied, his voice was sneering. Like he knew exactly what they’d done with me. Like he almost took joy at coming face to face with one of the labrats. “Say, haven’t I seen you some place? Didn’t you man the roadblock at the data facility the night of that water main break?” (Now it’s asked in a very sinister, malevolent way, showing that Phillip is delusional) “Well, you might have.” (Phillip, this time, says this in a very sly, coy way)
Agent Carter
Something
was off about this fellow. Almost like he was mocking me. Like he saw straight
through my cover story. Like he took joy in flaunting his that fact. He looked
off to the side, raising his eye brows and almost rolling his eyes as he said,
“Well, you might have.” What the hell was this guys problem?
Phillip: Or maybe I was the problem?
Agent Carter: Maybe I was the problem.
Phillip: All this time I’d been acting suspicious of him, so
sure enough
Agent Carter: I didn’t trust him. And perhaps it showed.
Maybe he just intuitively didn’t trust my story because
Phillip: He didn’t trust me.
Agent Carter: My distrust showed through.
Phillip: And our mutual suspicion of one another fed off of
itself. Heck. Maybe he really believes that cover story. Maybe he’s just as
clueless as all these other sheep here.
Agent Carter: He’s probably just as scared and confused as
the rest of these people.
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