Moral Degeneration

Everything was going smoothly. I watched the hotel entrance from the end of the street. No one in or out that shouldn’t be there. It was all going to plan. Minor chatter was spoken between the others from my ear piece. I ignored the voices while studying those around me. Every scratch of the nose, turning of a page, or sip of a drink did not escape my attention as I read the paper. The last thing I was willing to do was let something important go unnoticed. 

 

“Showtime,” I whispered as the armored vehicle turned down the road. 

 

On a slow street of the outer part of Madrid we were primely located for this kind of endeavor. All of us had trained for years. I had been in the private sector for over a decade. My own team was ready for any situation. We were strategically located around the hotel. The armored vehicle wasn’t holding any gold bars as far as I knew, but inside it held something much more valuable. Information. 

 

Standing up I left the newspaper and headed leisurely down the street. Hardly any traffic I walked out into the road to walk alongside the hotel. The vehicle stopped in front of it. The driver getting out he ran to the back and opened the door for his boss. My team moved in smoothly as the young woman stepped out. 

 

She was a tiny thing. Only about 5 foot 3 inches. Dark skin and darker hair she obviously wasn’t a local. I guessed she was Indian. With a name like Aarna Singh it wasn’t too much of a stretch to guess where she came from. The money she had at her disposal was also a good indicator of her origins. If only she had been willing to part with some of that money for more security.

 

Before she could take a step toward the hotel her driver was clubbed in the back of the head. The large man dropped like a sack of potatoes. I continued to leisurely make my way toward them as she screamed. A black bag pulled over her head muffled the yell. As our extraction vehicle squealed to a halt beside the armored car she was picked up and thrown inside. Like it was any other day I jumped in the back with her. 

 

She continued to struggle, but once ziptied she wasn’t too much of an issue. I took off her hood and looked down on her. 

 

“Hello, Miss Singh,” I said with a wide smile. “Good to meet you. I assume you know what this is concerning?” Her eyes were frantic as she tried to see my face in the dark van. The rest of my team was around her, but none looked at her. She bit her lip staring at me. Unwilling to speak. 

 

“We can do this hard or easy, Miss Singh,” I tell her as I pull out a knife. The silver blade reflected some of the light peeking from the front onto her face. I knew she could see it. “Do we need to go hard? Or will you tell me what I want to know and we drop you off. I warn you. We are doing circles around the hotel right now. Once we have completed a full lap we will be doing this the hard way.” The van took a sharp left. Her body started to slide along the van floor then stopped as the van straightened. 

 

“What do you want?” She whispered. Her eyes on the knife. I flashed her my best smile. 

 

“What are your plans with the Samscorp stock you bought?” I asked. It was a very simple question. Almost laughably so. 

 

Normal TV portrayed us mercs as people that rescued innocents from kidnappers. Killed troves of drug dealers. Jumped from planes and laid with the dames. Although I had done all of those things, this was the normal day to day of being a mercenary. Millions of dollars were at stake with the simple buy or sell of a stock. You could hire my team and I for $30,000 and know exactly if you should buy or sell. Why wouldn’t you take advantage of someone with low security?

 

It was a great way to keep the lights on. A few days of work then back to the states for my next grocery list item for the elites. Someone had to do it. I might as well get paid for it. 

 

Miss Singh bit her lip, unwilling to answer. The van took another left. I smiled more broadly. “2 turns to go, then it’s the hard way,” I said. 

 

She gulped. “Sell,” she said. “I planned to sell in 5 days.” 

 

“And now that you know that we know. You know that our employer knows. So I expect you to change your plans,” I said. She gulped but nodded. I sent my employer a text. Then the car slowed down. Nudging her out the back with my foot she dropped to the ground with a yelp. “Thank you Miss Singh. Have a lovely time in Madrid,” I said with a wave as the door was shut. 

 

The text to my employer sent, I received the payment a few minutes later. “Whose in?” I asked the other 3 from the team. A driver and 2 muscle, they eyed me. I had worked with them off and on for years. They knew my name, but they all worked under aliases.  

 

“Me.” 

“Same.” 

“I want the cash.” They said. I sent instructions to my colleague back in the states and spent the money I received from my employer on Samscorp stock. In 4 days we would sell and hopefully make a mighty fine profit. Not near as much as my employer, but more than enough to make it worth our time. 

 

“I’m sick of these, Russ,” my driver said. I moved from the back of the van to sit next to him. “So much prep work, then it’s over and done.” 

“We do the prep work so there are no issues,” I reminded him. “We made a nice profit, and now we are heading home. Or do you want another job like Brussels?” My driver shivered. No one wanted that. 

 

Police vehicles drove past us going the opposite direction. Our safe house was only a few buildings down. We would be in a few different cars and off to the airport shortly. I didn’t worry about Miss Singh going back on her word. 

 

Most people assumed they would act differently in a situation like this. But when it came down to your money or your life, everyone chose their life. It was hard to imagine this all could have been avoided if she was willing to spend more on security. Security like me. 

 

“Good job everybody,” I said as we turned into the garage. The car slowed and we got out. I took the keys to a truck and moved toward it. My arm holding the keys grew numb. Rotating it I tried to stretch it, but it didn’t want to listen. Heart rate increasing I felt my chest tighten up.

“Fuck,” I gasped and dropped dead to the ground without another thought. 

 

—

 

Coughing awake I couldn’t breathe. My eyes stung. I stumbled out of bed. My muscles not listening as well as they should I moved toward the light. A curtained window was close. Crawling on the ground I made my way toward it. Still struggling to breath I didn’t have the strength to get up off of the ground. 

 

My hands blindly grasping I felt a small table. Pulling my body up with a groan I made sure not to breathe in whatever gas was around me. I shook the window but it wouldn’t budge. My bleary eyes caught sight of a latch. With the last of my strength I flipped it. The window pushing open I caught a whiff of fresh air. 

 

Like taking my first breath in my life, my starving lungs exalted at the taste of it. The scent of propane or LP mixed in, I tumbled out the window onto loosely packed snow. My eyes watering I shut them as I took in breath after breath. Uncaring if whatever room I had been in actually exploded. I was simply happy to be alive. 

 

After long minutes I eventually caught myself. Feeling better every second I tentatively moved. Working my nerves to get up. Ignoring the ice cold snow I felt my heartbeat. It was a glorious thing to feel. For a minute there I thought I’d died. 

 

Standing up, my feet sunk into the snow. But they weren’t my feet. I was used to muscular feet. Thick veins and hair sticking out of them. The feet now covered in snow were pale and weak. My hands were the same. Smaller than I remembered. There was a distinct vein on the back of one of my hands that was missing. 

 

Lifting my puppy dog pajama shirt, and ignoring the fact that I was wearing kids pajamas, I noticed my pale chest and abs. Not a muscle in sight. My body was like that of a quadriplegic or shutin gamer. Feeling my hair it was cut short but I could pull a tuft of it to see that it was still brown. 

“Fuck,” I whispered. My voice sounded alien to my ears. Needing a mirror I looked around to see that I wasn’t in Madrid anymore. 

 

All around me were pine trees. Pine trees and snow. Walking away from the window I made my way around the house. First the front, or what I guessed was the front. It was a large cabin. At least 800 square feet by my guess. Made of thick logs it was the kind of place I would enjoy renting for a week. Dark brown with a shingled roof I turned to see an opening in the trees. 

Between the trees was the view of the mountains. Gray stone, snow caps, pine trees. It looked like the Rockies to me. But all mountains looked the same. Born and raised in Vegas, I had traveled to the Rockies once upon a time. But heights were never really my thing. I ignored what elevation I could be at and began walking around the house again. 

A garbage can sat alone in the ground. Running to it I flipped the lid to find the top of a propane tank down inside. I shut the globe valve on top. The trees blocked the wind, but the cold was still seeping into my feet. Moving to the house I opened the back door. 

 

A wave of propane gas was released. I jumped back. Heading to the front door this one was locked. With a curse I headed back to the open window and opened the one next to it. My body was weak. It was a struggle to lift myself up to it and unlatch the other side, but I managed. 

 

After a good half hour I felt confident the gas was all gone. Cautiously heading indoors I noticed the oven just inside. The yellow hose connecting the propane to the stove was unthreaded. The hose pointed right at me as I stared at it. 

“Sabotage,” I said more to myself. Whoever wanted me dead, did it on purpose. “Hello?!” I yelled, but the room was quiet. A ceiling fan above me I decided to wait on any electrical until I checked more of the house. 

A small door beside me, I opened it to see a bathroom. A tiny window inside I opened it and turned to see a mirror. The face staring at me was one I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was me, only younger. Much younger. My head was just barely above the bottom of the mirror. I could only see my face, but I recognized me. Who wouldn’t? I still saw myself as this same young kid sometimes. 

 

Short brown hair. Brown eyes. There was a pimple at the side of my lips. “Fucking puberty,” I whispered as I popped it. A short ladder folded up beside the door. I unfolded it and stepped onto the top rung. The top of my head was now at the top of the mirror. Taking off my shirt and pants I studied my body further. 

Pale and weak was how I would describe it. Not a muscle in sight. There was no fat either. My dick was the same if not a little smaller. I hoped it would grow to my full 8 inches of glory. Not many pubes and no chest hair to speak of. I guessed I was 13 or 14 again. 

 

My mind went to reliving my life, but I had never been to this place before. I would remember almost dying during a gas leak. Reluctantly I put on my clothes and headed into the main room. The first thing I noticed was the bed. Then the dead body. It was my mother. 

 

Long blonde hair. Pale skin. Her hands were crossed over her chest like a vampire. My heart was indifferent as I stared down at her lifeless form. She had been in and out of my life for years. I had been in foster home after foster home as she struggled with sobriety. 

 

I had scars on my arm from when she left the stovetop running to cook heroin. I had touched the stove by accident. She refused to take me to a hospital. Convinced me I would be fine and it was my own fault. I had been 4. 

 

Lifting my arm up I noticed that the scar wasn’t there anymore. Whatever was going on. Wherever I was. She apparently hadn’t changed. I remembered she died when I was about 16. She was a little preemptive this time around. 

 

“Fuck you, bitch,” I whispered. Didn’t have the opportunity last time. Might as well make the most of it. The room cooling down with the windows and doors opened I needed to plan. 

 

Tightening the yellow hose back up to the oven I found some clothes. Closing windows and doors I opened the propane valve back up. Heater fans kicked back on and soon the small cabin was warm once again. 

 

There was plenty of food in the fridge. Making myself a sandwich I began looking around. A tentative search at first. There was a big living room where the bed was. The kitchen and single bathroom was in a separate room. That was all. A couple of small closets and chests for blankets. Nothing big. 

 

No TV, there wasn’t even a radio. Some books on shelves I didn’t recognize any titles. 

 

“What the hell were we doing here?” I asked no one in particular. A perfunctory search complete. It was time to ransack the place. I had spent years searching for information. It wouldn’t be long till I found everything worth finding. 

 

It took an hour but I found a purse. It had been in the oven. Inside was my mothers ID. Margaret Willard. I didn’t remember her birth date but it looked about right. The license read Montana and had an address I didn’t recognize. 

 

Still only about 10am. At least my mom tried to kill me early. Nothing else to do I found some warm clothes and headed out the door.