Uncle Tom always said; “When starting a family get your priorities straight.” I guess it never stuck with me because when I first got married I chickened out, and went straight to the “divorce” option. I say I went straight to that route, because then I didn’t have to go to court and explain all that I went through. I was granted custody over Cooper, and that was all I wanted settled. I wanted the past gone, washed away from my mind, blank from my memory. I didn’t want to remember the painful days; the throbbing burns of the iron on tender skin, the immense purple bruises of being smacked roughly, and the black eye from the punch of my ex’s iron fist. Being divorced wasn’t all that bad at first, but surely no picnic when I took time to realize it. It was like God gave me a duty, and poured out his profound labor on top of me; go pick up the dry cleaning, change the diapers, pay the nanny, play with Cooper,  go to work and take peoples orders; what more could I expect? It was as if parenting was a burden, not stimulating to any degree. But life went on like normal, until the day I met Hans.

Betty was an everyday mom, to her a harder worker than most, but still a typical single mom. Each day she woke to pick up her precious Cooper, change the diaper, feed, dress him, and then take him over to day care. She’d return back to her rundown apartment, and then focus on her appearance. She combed her hair, sprinkled and patted it with water, and put on a little blush to brighten her cheekbones, but other than that she didn’t find a need to do anything else. She had a natural beauty that made it easier for her to barely focus on her appearance. She then started the day off with her daily routine of walking to work. Betty knew each street and sign by heart; one left on Willington Drive, two blocks away from the City Library, and three blocks North on Farmington Road just skimming past the old rusted sign; one that should have been torn down years ago, but was probably still remains for looks. One sign had the words; “Keep out, Government property,” in big black bold letters. Obviously an old prank since the letters seemed to be fading from the use of an old waxy paint.    

Arriving at the building for kitchen duty was like entering the gates of heck. A large building, about 500 acres, made out of white marble, large stain glass windows, and white steps that lead up to the double doors. Slowly walking up the steep and tapered steps always seemed like hours passing by. Slowly walking to the death of kitchen work; serving “them.”

Serving “them,” or often known as the GTA was not a job you were allowed to discuss. Governmental Testing Agents were known to do things that weren’t natural in the eyes of humans. GTA’s were assigned to take people out fast, without harming the victim. Quick whack to the head with one swift movement, and a large needle injected on the left side of the neck and anyone would be unconscious for hours, depending on the size of the dose. But the GTA don’t just do these procedures to just anyone, only those that interfere, or of course the rare ones that could be a help to us. And yes I say us, only because that is how I got stuck in this business.

When I divorced my ex, Bradford, I desperately needed to find a job, and fast. I was over due on my bills for the apartment, and if I didn’t get a job soon I would be forced to the streets.  I was told by a friend that I could make five-hundred a month working as a kitchen aid for a facility said to be known as the FDA, Federal D. Agency. It was better than I imagined, I couldn’t believe it. After several weeks of searching for a place to get hired, I found a place that not only was looking for workers, but also offering such a large amount of money. I immediately searched through the phone book to try and find a contact number, when there was none to be found. All that was listed was an address, not too far from where I was living. I dropped Cooper off at day care earlier than usual that morning, and sprinted to the building destination. When I arrived to the address that I had written on the back of my hand, I was positive that this wasn’t the right place. Signs were posted everywhere stating; “Keep out, Government property.” I knew I shouldn’t have been so nosey, but when the doors wouldn’t open to the main entrance, I decided to go around back. What I didn’t realize was that there were cameras all over the place, like a Venus fly trap catching a fly in the act, slowly tantalizing it into the center of a trap.

I tripped on a hard object ascending out of the mouth of the ground, and looked down at my ankle and noted that it was bleeding.  I assumed that I had a sprain, and had torn some of the skin. I shouted for help since I couldn’t stand, becoming nauseous of the bright blood staining my khaki pants. I started drifting into day dreams, slowly becoming unconscious. I awoke to cold hand touching my face and ankles, not quite able to make out the face yet, I felt around touching a face that was covered in a fury beard. I continued to search blindly with my hands for something that I would recognize, when something zapped me, and I again drifted into dreams…

Again I awoke, but this time to a throbbing pain. My ankle felt like hundreds of needles stabbing my flesh, inserting into the bone. My head had a large goose egg, and I could feel a large bruise coming on. I then noticed my surroundings. I was in a white room, spotless and endless, there was no door visible. I tried to stand, but then noticed that my leg was attached to some metal object that was then additionally attached to the tiles. I was in a state of panic, I had to hurry home, I had to get out of where I was being held hostage. I started screaming, and then I came to an abrupt stop when I heard a door thump open. A tall, thin man walked in with dark shades and a white lab coat on. Much was explained to me, that I invaded private property, and that there would be an execution. I was horrified. My mind was racing so fast that I began to feel extremely dizzy. Execution? I must have been dreaming.

The man calmly started explaining that I knew too much, and that I couldn’t be trusted. Words spilled from his mouth, but they didn’t come to my mind; they seemed to me as if it were another language. I was in a trance, anguish, madness, hatred ran through my mind. But then I remembered my child; Cooper. I broke into tears, saying Cooper, Cooper over and over again muffling his name while grasping my hair, until my tears were dry, and I drifted into a wailing of sorts. The man had no idea what to do, and lifted my chin up for me to stare into his eyes, and then he began talking to me, as if he then realized that I was an actual human being.

“Are you currently married, madam?” he asked in a hushed whisper.

“No…,” I could hardly manage to say, my throat was so dry.

“Fine, we may be able to give you some slack. This is very rare on our part, but since you aren’t married… it just might work. We need you to sign some papers to make sure that you won’t give away any information. And if anything we tell you, you say back to anyone, anyone even family, we will kill everyone you talk to. Do you understand?”

I could only manage a grunt and a slow nod.