The Phantom Guardians: Monday's Child

By Scott Stacher

Shadow the ‘The Phantom Guardians’ as they explore the mysterious world behind the seemingly ordinary façade of Locke and Keye Studios. Within this enigmatic setting, a diverse group of individuals, yet to realize their roles as Guardians, become increasingly aware of unknown forces manipulating humanity.
For one future Guardian, fear becomes palpable, and death lurks in the shadows as this unsuspecting individual navigates a reality beyond their senses. For two others, the captivating performances of a fire dancer and a mermaid are far more complex behind the scenes than their audience can imagine. And one hides in plain sight, a silent observer, always looking in from the outside, their keen eyes capturing the nuances that elude others.
Unaware of their shared destiny, each of The Phantom Guardians has unknowingly begun to weave themselves into an elaborate tapestry, a final defense separating humanity from the infectious horrors of the Phantom War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cypris Media
• Release date: Jan 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9781096766551

Scott Stacher

Scott is a seasoned project management professional and covert wordsmith with thirty-five years of industry expertise spanning aerospace, passenger rail, utilities, and more. Outside the conference room, Scott dons the cloak of a ghostwriter, anonymously crafting tales that traverse the realms of sci-fi. A master of the written word, Scott recently moved from fiction to non-fiction, publishing a series of Information Technology titles under their own name for the first time.In the literary shadows, Scott weaves narratives with a hint of mystery and humor, offering readers a glimpse into the unknown. In the business world, Scott navigates the complexities of worldwide systems deployments. With experience across several industries and multiple literary works under various pen names, Scott is a unique blend of experience, expertise, and literary finesse, tackling conventional business challenges in the office while exploring fantasy worlds full of adventure and mysteries within your imagination.

Book preview

The Phantom Guardians

Monday’s Child

By

Scott Stacher

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof. No part of this literary work may be used or reproduced without written permission.

Portions of the cover art have been derived from works in the public domain or copyright-free works.

Copyright Cypris Media LCC 2024

ISBN: 9781096766551

KDP ISBN: 9798877616363

This one is for my Mother.

With this dedication, I retroactively thank her for pushing me to finish High School and College.

Things might have been easier if we knew what dysgraphia was back then.

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WARNING

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THIS SERIES CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT, SUPERNATURAL THEMES, WAR THEMES, VIOLENT INCIDENTS, DEPICTIONS OF HUMAN SEXUALITY, AND NUDITY

Estelle

Sacramento - California

Twelve Years Ago

The Sacramento area has not seen this much rain… ever, the distant radio broadcaster declared through the 1968 Camaro’s factory’s original dash speaker.

After inhaling a quick breath, the twenty-four-hour news station announcer continued, The American River overflowed its banks just before nightfall, washing out a section of the Fair Oaks Bridge. Water levels in the American River and Lake Natoma will continue to rise, well above thousand-year flood levels over the next few days as the warm rains from Tropical Storm Estelle move east, melting the snowpack in the Sierras.

Sorry to interrupt, a different voice declared through the car’s speaker, We just received word that the Sacramento River has overflowed its banks in several places. I’m looking at pictures posted on social media showing parts of Old Sacramento and the Railroad Museum under almost a meter of water. Bus and train services ceased this morning, and CalTrans and the CHP have closed all of Interstate 5’s exits to downtown as a precaution. Stay home and stay safe if you don’t have to be out tonight.

Several flickering flashes of lightning turned the gray vista beyond the car’s windshield bright white just long enough, and at the right time, for Leah to see a black on black 1960 era Corvette soft-top blocking her path, forcing her to stomp on the brakes, sliding the car to a stop on the wet roadway.

Leah looked over to check on her husband, Gardi, coughing unproductively before resuming his struggle to breathe. His inconsistent gurgling gasps had become farther apart and not as deep as they were just a few minutes ago, and his coughing had worsened.

She turned away from Gardi and saw the classic car had disappeared. Leah gently removed her foot from the brake and the clutch, mentally urging the car to move forward as much as the fast idle of the engine would allow. Aiming toward what appeared to be a truck in the darkness, Leah slammed on the brakes again when another flash of lightning revealed a dark-colored cargo container drifting across the washed-out road beyond the Camaro’s hood.

Leah’s heart sank, and her spine tingled with fear as she watched the partially submerged box of steel stop directly before her. It slowly twisted around an unseen underwater impediment before swiveling around and lethargically drifting away.

Staring into the darkness, stunned by the calmness of the slothful dark waters, Leah imagined her and Gardi trapped inside the Camaro as it joined the container on its trip down the flooded street. Gardi’s cough had stopped, replaced by quiet gurgling breathing, barely audible over the rain pelting the Camaro’s convertible canopy. His labored inhalations were just loud enough to break Leah’s mind away from the drowning she and Gardi failed to survive in her imagination.

Backing up, away from the rising waters, almost indistinguishable in the dim glow of the classic sports car’s headlights, she turned around in an empty driveway, seeking another path to the hospital. Stopping at a blinking red traffic light, she looked over to check on Gardi again to find her husband looking at her. Above the gaunt appearance of Gardi’s malnourished cheeks, his eyes still glowed with the love he had carried for Leah since they met.

At first, she thought he was leaning toward her to caress or kiss her the way he used to, but instead, his body slumped forward, knocking the manual gearshift into neutral as his head and shoulders dropped onto her lap.

Instinctively, Leah’s feet pressed down on the clutch and the brake pedals, and both of her hands fell off the steering wheel to hold him. Her foot found the parking brake before she gently turned Gardi’s head and shoulders to see his face.

Leah found the mask of pain his smiling eyes had tried to hide for the past year missing. His face seemed to glow under the storm-filtered street lights as he looked up at Leah’s tear-moistened face. Her hands instinctively caressed the side of his head, ignoring his sunken cheekbones, as her fingers brushed across his lips while his lungs struggled to inhale one more time. Fighting to capture as much air as his cancer-consumed lungs could hold, Gardi’s lips kissed the tip of her finger before softly exhaling, I will always love you, with his last breath.

The hair on Leah’s arms stood up an instant before a blinding light accompanied by a deafening cracking boom shook the car and vibrated deep inside Leah’s chest, somehow keeping her heart beating after it, too, stopped the moment Gardi’s did.

Leah, completely unaware a bolt of lightning had struck their vehicle, remained motionless, unable to fully process or accept her husband no longer occupied the body of the man she loved. Insulated mainly by the rubber tires separating the car from the wet road, the effects of the lightning strike were, at the moment, unimportant to Leah. She was unaware or didn’t care that most of the car’s fuses had exploded, protecting and silencing the soft growl of the Camaro’s gasoline-fueled engine.

The nearby street lights assumed the flash of light meant the sun had returned, and each winked out, sleeping until their automatic sensors detected the darkness again. Inside the power-deprived car, Leah’s feet slid back toward the seat, lifting one knee to try and make Gardi’s lifeless body more comfortable and to admire the relaxed, pain-free expression on his frozen face. In the ozone-infused muggy air seeping into the cabin, Leah’s fingers gently caressed and traced across his eyebrows, then his smiling lips. Her tears fell on his concaved cheeks while the nearly constant flashes of lightning illuminating the storm clouds above burned the image of her dead husband’s face on her soul.

When the street lights began to wake from their slumber, Gardi’s unblinking eyes continued to look up at Leah. His unmoving face conveyed the same contented radiance of undying love he shared with Leah when a county clerk pronounced them husband and wife years before. The relaxed, contented expression was something he only shared with her or because of her; it was how his love spoke to her, a silent and private expression of love he shared only with her and something Leah would hold in her heart until they were together again.

The Interview

Locke and Keye Studios, Santa Marietta Island

Eight Years Ago

Anthony Samael DeAngelo Senior preferred to be called Tony. He turned off the main road, following the directions on his phone’s nav, before aiming his Kia Soul EV toward an open charging station-equipped space in the visitor’s parking lot. Taking advantage of the free electricity to top off his car’s batteries, Anthony secured the power connector before entering the 60’s era decored two-story reception building outside the berm of the Locke and Keye Studios. Anthony did his best to focus on the building’s architecture and the adjacent landscaping, hoping to forget he was about to go through his first job interview in over ten years.

A pre-middle-aged Native American woman with light brown skin and two long braids of dark hair on either side of her head sat behind a half-circular white countered desk, defined by narrow blond, dark-knotted wood panels.

Above name engraved on her badge, Mika’s face expressed no emotion when she barely acknowledged the graying, dirty-blond forty-two-year-old’s existence. Looking back at her tablet, she disinterestedly pointed toward the color-filled bowling alley-themed space, instructing, Please have a seat with the others, Mr. DeAngelo; I will let Mr. Locke know you’re here.

Mr. Locke? Anthony asked nervously, I thought I was meeting with the Director of Information Technology.

Mr. Locke is the Director of Information Technology, the indifferent woman replied at her palmed screen, As well as the Director of just about every other department these days, the tone of her commentary reinforcing the lack of emotion on her disinterested face.

Oh, Anthony nodded confusingly, muttering, I’ll just wait over there then….

Mika sarcastically huffed, then nodded as she started tapping on her tablet.

Thanks, Anthony muttered quietly before wandering in the direction Mika pointed. The neon purple walls and the colorful props hanging from the ceiling felt like a 1960s-era glow-in-the-dark bowling alley. Murmurs and overlapping conversations bounced off the walls and the sharply angled steel beam-supported roofline.

Daylight flooded the entire waiting area through a wall-to-wall picture window. The transparent carved wood structure leaned outward over an exterior sidewalk, creating an illusion that the walkway, or the street beyond, was where the pin-setting machines should have been. A high-gloss wood flooring, made of the same rock maple slats as a bowling alley, supported several rows and clusters of curved rainbow-colored plastic seats. The only parts of the narrow blond flooring not scorched by the window’s glare were the areas where hopeful job-seekers awaited their destiny.

Anthony scanned the others, looking for his competition. It seemed apparent to him most, if not all, of the others milling about or bouncing on their knees, nervously were actors. Several clutched portfolios to their chests with headshots on the covers; others practiced dialog reading from small tablets in their hands or improvising with their peers. All of them were excessively attractive, and none seemed to be looking at or studying Anthony in the same way he was them.

Hoping to distract himself from the butterflies in his stomach, Anthony found an empty seat and dropped the manila folder in his hands onto the curved plastic butt bowl beside him. He then pulled out his phone and resumed the game he used to occupy his brain when waiting on others.

A change in the ambient noise offered Anthony an excuse to look up. Across the room, two previously unseen women stood outside one of the multitudes of brightly colored doors along the interior walls of the massive reception hall. The two spoke quietly before the younger woman approached Mika’s reception desk. When the younger woman walked away from the open door, the other woman scanned her tablet and loudly bellowed a name.

A casually dressed man sporting a thin mustache and a sharply pointed beard stood up, quickly marching toward the waiting woman. He offered his photo-covered portfolio before reaching her, and she accepted the packet before waving him inside the room and closing the door behind her.

The pastel or metallic-colored doors opened and closed randomly, unloading and reloading their occupants several times before Anthony saw a dark-skinned man approach the reception desk.

Anthony stood up and started toward the front of the room when Mika aimed her finger at Anthony while speaking to the business-casual-dressed East Indian man. As Anthony approached the reception desk, he saw the stoic, longhaired woman pass a key to the curly-haired man.

The man twisted his body toward Anthony, introducing himself, Good morning, Mr. DeAngelo, as he offered his hand, I’m Nitesh Locke. Thank you for coming in today.

Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Locke, Anthony replied professionally.

Call me Nitesh, the friendly man smiled, gently tossing the key in his hand up in the air, catching it again as he asked the receptionist, The silver door, right?

Yes, Mr. Locke, Mika replied, pointing, The last one on the left.

Thank you, Nitesh replied, motioning for Anthony to walk with him as he inquired, Do you follow American Football, Anthony?

I prefer Tony, Anthony replied meekly, then answered Nitesh’s question, I played flag football in middle school, but I’m not a sports fan. I know enough to get by socially but don’t follow any teams. I’m not even sure which teams are in Los Angeles anymore.

Me neither, Nitesh nodded as he smiled, I mentioned it because I overheard some Gaffers talking on set a while ago, and one was trying to justify his team’s losing streak. From what I could understand, when an American football team changes coaches or loses their best players, they say they are in a rebuilding year, mostly to manage their fans’ expectations.

I heard the same thing when I was in college, Anthony nodded, following Nitesh toward the far end of the bowling alley.

We’re in the middle of something like that, Nitesh offered, I guess you could say I’m the coach, and I’m rebuilding our team. Locke and Keye Studios used to do everything from concept to cremation. We used to write, produce, and direct everything within the berm, but our industry has changed, and we must adapt to keep up.

Looking ahead, Anthony saw the polished silver door reflected in the high-gloss floor slats. Standing behind Nitesh, Anthony looked down to marvel at the illusion that he and the other man were floating in the blue sky beyond the acutely cantilevered glass wall, seemingly standing before an ethereal portal that opened to an unseen world inside clouds reflected on the mirror-like door.

Nitesh unlocked the reflective door and stood back, allowing Anthony to enter first. Following Nitesh into the room, Nitesh continued his conversation, saying everything was being farmed out and subcontracted.

It’s all about compartmentalization and independence, Nitesh explained, We’re following that trend by shifting to a different business model. Instead of making in-house productions, we’re outsourcing just about everything we do: our talent and trades, as well as our studio facilities and backlots. We’re backing away from the creative side of the business and transforming ourselves into a service provider. We lease, rent, or subcontract out everything we have; when we can’t do that, we farm out our talent to other production companies. The goal is to keep our employees busy, to keep them working as much as possible, and when we’re between contracts, we have them work on internal projects.

You’re rebuilding your business model, Anthony parroted.

Exactly, Nitesh smiled, motioning for Tony to sit opposite him at a small oblong table, That’s why I’m wearing so many hats these days, only one of which is the Director of Technology Support. I’m creating a new team that will help me transform our business from the out-of-date ‘do everything in house’ model to a fast and agile media production facility other production companies can rely on to satisfy all of their needs. They provide the writers, directors, and actors; we provide the sets, studios, backlots, props, cameras, special effects, gaffers, stunt people, and everything else. Let them deal with the creative content and distribution, and we’ll provide the resources and facilities to let others create whatever their imaginations can come up with.

Sounds like you’re moving toward what they used to call a tower of service model for your entire business, Anthony suggested, I’m sure my background in information technology support can be leveraged to meet your goals and objectives.

You’ve just been waiting for a chance to say something like that, Nitesh smirked, Haven’t you.

Yeah, Anthony blushed slightly, I’ve been spending more time than I would have liked practicing for interviews recently.

Do you have a copy of your resume? Nitesh asked.

Anthony nodded, passing the manila folder across the table.

Paper, how convenient, Nitesh commented as he reviewed the opened folder and examined the single-spaced, double-sided page.

Well, Nitesh said after scanning the document, Before we begin, I should let you know… usually someone from Human Resources would be here with me to make sure I follow all of the rules so you can’t try and sue us if I ask the wrong questions.

Nitesh extracted his phone, tapping and wiping its display several times as he said, I have a list of ten questions they looked over and told me I could ask without having one of them here to ensure I stayed within the lines. These are behavioral-based questions, and you’re supposed to use an example from your past when you answer them.

Anthony nodded his understanding and offered, I’ve been on your side of this process several times. I see the interview process as a blind date where we pick the best online profile, profiles created by the interviewee to make ourselves appear to be someone we’re not. Then, during a food-less dinner date, we ask each other the most inoffensive questions we can think of before we agree to get married or never see each other again.

Nitesh chuckled, then nodded his agreement, Never heard it put that way before, but you’re right; this process is very much like a blind date that ends with a marriage proposal or a restraining order.

I understand how to play the game, Anthony nodded, As I said, I’ve been on that side of the table more than once.

What’s your batting average? Nitesh queried.

Not that good, honestly, Anthony replied, I had a couple of home runs back in the day, then lost them to better-paying jobs later on, and honestly, since then, I’ve made a few less than stellar choices. We couldn’t offer the same things a lot of other companies could, so we had to play with the cards in our hand… cards we usually kept close to our vest.

Did you learn anything from the choices you made? Nitesh asked.

Yes, Anthony nodded, It was a swim-or-die kind of thing sometimes, but I quickly learned to work with various cultural mindsets and languages. Thick accents have always been a challenge for me, but after I got past my listening problems, I discovered I was looking at old problems in different ways, from new perspectives, at least from new perspectives to me.

What about your managers? Nitesh asked, Learn anything from them?

I guess you could say I’ve learned what not to do from some of my previous managerial peers, Anthony smirked knowingly.

One manager, in particular, Anthony explained, I used to work with was less focused on hiring or paying for the skills we needed and more focused on adding to their empire. But it wasn’t their fault; the company’s marketing model was to base its worth on the number of jobs it had created rather than the quality of our services.

I didn’t see anything in your job history that said you worked in the entertainment industry, Nitesh snickered while reviewing Anthony’s resume again.

Last year, I worked at a Fortune 100 multinational technology company, Anthony replied, An ISO9000 company that provided technology services, software, and some legacy hardware to other companies and the US Government.

You don’t want to say the company’s name, Nitesh inquired, or does a confidentiality agreement limit you?

I little bit of both, Anthony replied meekly, My initial contract was for a six-month job. I was supposed to bring a new process online in ninety days or less.

Anthony inhaled slowly and deeply before confidently detailing, I rewrote the process, added a few sections to make auditing easier, and deployed it thirty days ahead of schedule. With that success and several others, I found my six-month contract extended to a year, and then every year after that for nine years.

Impressive, Nitesh nodded, Sounds like they liked you; why did you leave?

Empires rise and fall, Anthony replied disappointedly, The one I worked in did not survive the last corporate raid. Someone higher up thought their people could do what we did better than our people could. Six months later, one other person from our department and I were the only two people still employed. It was about then the new regime deemed my role as unnecessary. But it says something positive about me to know I lasted longer than the other guy.

Why didn’t they renew your contract? Nitesh asked, leaning back and smiling knowingly, Seems to me someone with your kind of institutional knowledge would be worth keeping around, especially if they were trying to push the number of jobs they had created, as you said.

They only counted regular employees, Anthony replied, Not contractors. We didn’t fit in with their corporate tax credits, and I’m sure my telecommuting didn’t align with the company’s revised policy to consolidate everyone at one location.

Anthony paused momentarily and took another slow breath before quietly stating, Documenting in an email that a senior manager had called and asked me to falsify data didn’t help my long-term stability either.

Really? Nitesh probed, Your manager directed you to falsify information?

"It was more like I was actively encouraged by a senior official above my manager to present the project’s results in a way that reflected their commitments and not reality as I knew it. A picture that meaninglessly reported bananas selling at an all-time high while the apples and oranges that were the reason for the project were falling off the trees.

Anthony paused for a moment, then continued, He was someone who came from academia and lacked any practical experience. I’m sure he was a close friend or a relative of someone higher up or represented a class of people who would look better on the company’s employment statistics than a middle-aged white male contractor. It was also apparent by the way he dropped names he felt threatened or was indebted to the new VP… actually, I think everyone who worked for her felt that way.

Everyone except you, Nitesh smirked.

When I started my career, more than one of my previous managers told me they appreciated how I was naturally an agent of change, Anthony replied quietly, Hearing that kind of thing from people I respected… I guess it creates a self-fulfilling prophecy of some kind. I made a career of challenging professional bullies or outing unethical people in a position of power. I also habitually push back when I hear someone say their way is the only way to do things. That kind of mentality does not sit well with me. If you don’t understand the purpose of the process, how can you tell me your ignorance can imagine a better, faster, or cheaper way of meeting the requirements.

Smirking and shaking his head, Anthony quietly chuckled as he confessed, I said something like that to a senior director once… you know what he did… he started a company-wide project to rewrite policy. Because of what I said, he began a mission to change corporate policy and procedure to align with his perspective and interpretation of federal regulations. He changed the scope of the internal auditing department, descoping the most problematic regulations. If they couldn’t find any problems, there weren’t any problems to find.

Anthony stared past Nitesh as his calm voice took on an internal monologue tone. I understand that ISO9000 compliance is a way of hanging on to longtime employees, especially ones with out-of-date skills. It makes sense from a politician’s perspective and the employee’s perspective. Yet, I can’t understand why my future was sacrificed for someone else’s moral ineptitude. Worse, I still do not understand why management at my previous company refused to offer me advancement opportunities or bring me on full-time. Management kept telling me what I was doing was too important to take time off for skills enhancement… at least until I wasn’t of value to them anymore; then they just let me go.

Anthony’s disbelieving frustration took over as he complained, I was assigned a project that required my predecessor fifty hours a week to accomplish, and I reduced the work required to six hours a week. Then, we were required to adopt a dysfunctional product that met none of our basic requirements on another project because another group insisted it fit their model better than the one we selected. The product was completely unworkable and did not meet our project’s needs; yet, admittedly, without my manager’s knowledge, I created new tools and techniques to make the relaunch successful when no one else could. I must have been doing the opposite of what senior management wanted. I thought I was doing the right thing by automating data analysis and reducing resource hours. In my opinion, it was good to take highly manual tasks and automate them. After I automated my forty, low pay hours a week, I was replaced by three overpaid, benefits-receiving, regular employees who watched the automation I created do their jobs. I don’t see how that math makes any business sense.

Anthony blushed suddenly, then his face dropped along with his shoulders before he stood up, offering his hand across the table, Sorry this isn’t going too well for you or me. I’m still trying to deal with the insane reality that I donated nine years of my life to improve a company that didn’t want to be improved. It’s obvious to me now my previous management didn’t want to make the company a better place. They were trying to grow their empires and, of course, their bonus checks.

Shaking Nitesh’s confused hand, Anthony offered, Thank you for your time. I found our discussion very insightful… at least from my perspective, and I hope you find the person you’re looking for.

Anthony concluded by saying, I’m not sure I’m mentally prepared to get lost in a large company again. I’ve concluded that corporate politics and doing the right thing for the right reasons are two sides of a never-ending battle I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Locke.

I haven’t asked you any of HR’s questions, Nitesh petitioned while flashing his phone display defensively with his other hand, or the job details.

Releasing Nitesh’s hand, Anthony inhaled, then confessed, As I said, I’ve interviewed from your side of the table before, and hearing myself just now reminds me of someone I interviewed a long time ago. He was broken, angry, and not in the right mindset to start a new job. I could hear it in his voice then and the same thing in mine just now.

Anthony inhaled slowly, then expressed his realization, It was not until this moment that I understood what he meant when he said he had PTSD after working in a toxic work environment. I think I finally get what he was trying to convey, and I can see now that’s where I was at my previous job for the last eighteen months. I allowed myself to be a prisoner inside an incredibly toxic workplace, a company that discovered a way of making money by not enhancing the skills of their employees.

Anthony shook his head, mentally looking back as he continued, I was working for a management team that tried to corrupt me into abandoning the professional morals I’ve cultivated my entire career. It’s all about quality over quantity, stability through consistency, and working smarter, not harder. Almost every professional principle I taught myself and worked to maintain was challenged and undermined daily… until they let me go.

Taking a short, shallow breath to manage his disappointed anger, Anthony looked up as he professed, They broke me, Mr. Locke. It’s obvious to me now that I’m not over the covert verbal and professional abuse I allowed myself to endure. I finally see it for what it was, and I think I understand what I’ve been dealing with for the past year; like that man I interviewed several years ago, I’m suffering from a form of PTSD, and I need to find someone to help me through this… and I don’t think it’s fair for me to burden you with my problems.

Respectfully nodding, Anthony opened the high-gloss silver door, staring at his reflection momentarily before offering his appreciation, Thank you for helping me understand why I’ve been so… irritated… angry with everything and everyone since they set me free. I allowed their opinions to have too much power over my self-worth. I can see that has changed me somehow, damaged me, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the man I used to be or want to be… not anymore.

Looking away from the door’s image of himself, Anthony apologized to Nitesh again, I’m sorry I wasted your time. I don’t think you want someone like me in a customer-facing position, at least not until I can drop the baggage I didn’t know I was carrying.

Anthony nodded, exited the room, marched across the bowling alley, and passed the disinterested Mika before exiting the building.

Nitesh followed from a distance, not trying to stop or delay Anthony as he exited through the double glass doors.

He’s a good man living in a world that wants to push him down when he tries to live by his moral code of conduct, Myrick stated without warning, suddenly appearing behind Nitesh.

Nitesh visibly twitched, muttering, I hate it when you do that, when he turned around to face the taller, broader, and more muscular man, He’s stopped the interview; quit before I could ask him any of HR’s questions.

On paper, at least, he’s something I have not seen in a very long time, Myrick continued, He’s a man of honor.

Crumpling Anthony’s paper resume, Nitesh summarized, He seemed that way in person too… but, he’s way overqualified for the position I was interviewing for, tossing the ball of paper toward the reception desk’s trash can.

The paper projectile missed its target, tumbling under the curved counter’s leading edge.

Hire him anyway, Myrick strongly suggested, Create a position for him. We need people like him, people with a strong moral character… as many as we can get… people naturally immune to infection.

He ended the interview after babbling on about his previous job, then claimed he had some sort of PTSD, Nitesh responded, leading Myrick toward his missed throw attempt, He may not be as immune as you think.

We both know what it’s like to be the lone voice of reason in a room full of the fearful and ignorant, Myrick replied, He’s struggling to follow a moral path. He wants to… no… he needs to do the right thing for the right reasons. It’s not about personal gain for people like him. Isn’t that the path we’re both trying to follow… the direction we’re trying to lead others?

Nitesh nodded as Myrick continued, He can simultaneously see the big picture and the details. He’s a rook who can move laterally in defense of a common goal, but he thinks like a pawn and would sacrifice himself to take down an opposing knight or a bishop to save the queen or protect the king.

Nitesh bent over to pick up the ball of paper as Myrick suggested, "I’m not telling you how to run your side; I’m just