No Lesser Evil
Beeping. Lazy repetitive beeping filled the sterile room.
Glaring sunlight flooded in from the large windows, and the only artificial lights were tiny, blinking on the countless medical devices that surrounded Chloe Grant.
The fog lifted from her consciousness, and she connected the beeping to those medical devices and tiny blinking lights. To the cables and diodes on her, and the IV drip attached to her arm. The lazy beeping belonged to the system monitoring her heart rate.
Her body ached, sore from lying in bed for too long.
A long sigh escaped her.
And as she twitched, her movement stalled, and searing hot pain shot through her side like lightning.
She pawed at the hospital gown and pulled it up to find a clean bandage beneath her ribs, and like the sunlight flooding in, shreds of memories flooded back, washing over her. The creature’s deadly claw had cleaved through the air and sliced her side open.
Without even removing the bandage, flashes of memories invaded her mind through a distant haze—memorizes of slipping in and out of consciousness, and riding the razor-thin edge between life and death—of latex-gloved hands, and a needle and thread stitching her up. Of masked doctors and nurses looming over her as they scrambled and rambled to keep her alive.
A chair at the side of her bed stood in a way where a visitor could have been sitting and speaking to her.
A visitor she vaguely remembered.
A woman. A woman with long, fire-red hair.
Loretta Corsino—she had been saying something to Grant while she was slipping in and out of her delirium. Another shredded memory that sank into a foggy oblivion.
Still, the monitor lazily beeped. Lights blinked.
The sunlight from outside felt warm on her skin. Pleasant.
Better than the throbbing underneath the bandage.
Grant knew better than to rip the IV drip out or leave hastily.
She stared at the button hanging over her bed, dithering on whether or not to buzz for a nurse. Doubtful that Celava’s sweeper team would have delivered her to a common hospital in Rome after her encounter with the Apex Predator they had kept contained in Intellitech’s basement.
The more awake she became, the more Grant’s side hurt, and the more that buzzer tempted her. The relief that pain medication might bring if she only asked.
Something told her: she only needed to press that button.
And ask.
Grounding her, her throat felt like burning desert sand. A glass of crystal-clear water on the bedside table tempted her even more than the buzzer and the prospect of pain meds.
She surrendered to that lesser temptation.
Grant grabbed the glass and sipped. Sipped again.
How good the water tasted to her now.
She winced as another jolt of pain shot through her side from all the movement.
The damned Predator had cut her. A deep wound.
It was a nice hospital. Too nice to be of the public sort.
Probably private, and most definitely under the corporate auspices of Celava.
Which only left one big, glaring question.
Why?
She had broken into their premises, and entered the country with a false identity. With the amount of resources and pull they had, Celava’s agents could have ferried her away to some black site, or simply disposed of her corpse and covered up any trail leading to them as culprits.
Any investigations into her disappearance would lead nowhere.
So… why were they keeping her alive? Nursed back to health?
She cursed under her breath and another twitch triggered another jolt of pain in her side.
The entire mission had been a failure. She had failed to get the data dump out of the building to Ruiz—so they were none the wiser on what Celava’s game truly was. And now she was sitting in one of the lion’s dens.
Left to wonder how hungry the lion was.
At the very least, Grant hoped, Ruiz had gotten away, and only she herself had been compromised.
Dark thoughts swirled once it dawned on her how little leverage she held in any upcoming interrogations, which she inevitably expected Celava agents to put her through. There probably wasn’t much they didn’t already know about Future Proof’s operations, but there was no telling how much it would take to satisfy them and let her go.
If they let her go.
The door to her hospital bedroom opened. A nurse in bright pink scrubs wheeled in a sleek black stand, crowned by a flat-screen television set.
The nurse gave Grant a weary smile. Tired, exhausted, perhaps even marked by pity—the nurse’s kindly face was hard for her to read.
“Dinner will be served soon,” she said, with heavy Italian accent. “I hope you are feeling better now.”
Grant nodded.
The oddity of it all dispelled all the dark thoughts. It all felt like she had fallen through the cracks of reality into another, parallel world.
After all—after traveling through the Anomalies, and seeing time re-written, again and again—that was the case, wasn’t it?
The nurse plugged in the TV, switched it on, and left the room with swift steps, flashing Grant another weary smile before closing the door behind herself.
The screen was on, but stayed a dark gray, with only green letters in the top corner indicating it was set to receive a signal. A tiny webcam topped the device. The shiny black bead of its camera stared back at Grant with utter coldness.
She steeled herself, prepared to see a familiar face, but not the one that winked onto existence on screen in vibrant color.
A prowling lion of a man stared at her through the television screen. Silver hair in a crew cut framed a roadmap of wrinkles, speaking volumes to a life of hard-earned power and dignified prestige. His gaze burned as it rested squarely upon Grant, as stern as the rest of his entire expression, barely distracting from a shaven jaw so sharp that it could cut glass.
Muscles on his crossed arms bulged within the confines of a dark blue three-piece suit.
Grant recognized him from the photos: Malcolm Wright. The CEO of Celava himself.
Conan the Barbarian in a designer suit, as Danielle had put it.
“Miss Grant,” he addressed her through the screen, authoritative gravitas to match his appearance. British accent, though different from the Operator’s Cockney—sounding more sophisticated and theatrical, like David Attenborough. “Welcome back to the world of the living. I hope these accommodations are agreeable, despite the unusual circumstances of our meeting.”
Though dryness still plagued her throat, she knew not what to say.
All of this—these circumstances—all of this was a far cry from whatever she had been expecting.
She took another sip of water instead of replying, and he kindly picked up the slack.
“The dossier on you has been growing quite quickly since your visit to the Intellitech premises. You must have questions.” He clenched his jaw and stared at her through the screen, reading her closely through that cold, dead lens atop the TV set.
Collecting intel on her, they likely only had data and secondhand accounts to interpret in gauging her and her motives. The less she spoke, the more he needed to rely on blind assumptions—and the more likely she might have ended up finding something useful to leverage in the interrogation she expected to follow their exchange.
Therefore, she took another sip of water. Stayed her tongue.
Wright smirked.
He continued after the prolonged pause, and the absence of any reply from Grant.
“From what I gather, you must be quite the asset to Future Proof. But with what happened at the Rome office, I’m sure that all of that has changed. The bad news is, Malachi might not see you as favorably as he once did. On the bright side, I have a job opening to a woman of your talents. There is a future in Celava for you.”
A sales pitch. And a clever move to match. The better they took care of her here, the more likely she had been compromised by the rival company—limiting her options, rendering her a persona non grata with Future Proof, and rendering her more vulnerable to whatever was bound to spill next from Malcolm Wright’s lips.
Rather than an interrogation… this was a job offer.
“I’m impressed,” she finally said. She needed to exert an air of authority of her own. Stand her ground, and angle for the best conditions. “For a moment, I thought I’d wake up on some volcano island, surrounded by sharks and lasers, while you monologue your dastardly plan at me. Well, Mister Wright, here’s your chance to show me you’re Mister Right, and not some run-of-the-mill lunatic, or… some deluded jackass who’s going to ruin the world for profit margins and a golden parachute.”
Wright smirked again.
“How very American. I admire audacity,” he said, with the last word riding on a gravelly growl. “If any of my reputation precedes me, then you know I am not one for petty formalities, nor do I give a hoot about false-hooded flattery. I’ll do both of us a favor and cut to the chase. I don’t want nor need you to act as a double agent on the inside of your former employer’s organization. I don’t need nor care about whatever insipid experiments Malachi and his lackeys are cooking up next. It’s now clear to me—we are already years ahead of the competition. The future, Miss Grant, is ours to shape.”
He had meant that quite literally. The gravity of his words echoed in her mind like rolling thunder.
The future, Miss Grant, is ours to shape.
She took another sip of water.
None of this was the kind of play she had expected. Then again, it fit the opinion pieces she had read about Wright.
Eccentric, confident, and deeply impatient. Like most in the tech industry, he believed governments and laws were posing unnecessary restrictions on brilliant and creative minds such as his own. Unlike most, he had lifted Celava up from obscurity and turned it into a successful company, though not as successful as those who cut corners or played loose with their ethical standards.
He certainly wasn’t the kind of man to suffer sycophants nor fools, and he wasn’t going to tolerate her dancing around the matter at hand.
Thus, she decided to play his game. To match the ante and call any bluffs.
“What exactly do you need me for? And would the price tag outclass whatever Spencer was paying me?”
“I’m aware of the dangerous field work you engaged in, and your excellent track record prior to employment in Future Proof. I will double whatever he was paying, all benefits included, and then some.”
She almost choked on her sip of water.
This was no idle offer.
So what was the catch?
He answered her unspoken question. “It would be the most dangerous, deadly, and rewarding work in your entire life. I can only use the smartest, the fastest, and the strongest in my entourage. You would be leaving your life behind to start anew—turning your back on the modern day as you know it, where corruption and weakness are endemic to our so-called civilization. But I assure you—you would be writing history, and your name would go down in the books with mine as the intrepid, as the warriors and explorers and scientists who went on to create a better world.”
He meant every word he was saying.
His convictions ran deep, rooted in every fiber of his being, and the zeal in his voice lent uncanny credence to his speech.
She washed it all down with another sip, hoping to finally dispel the cotton feeling in her throat.
Radiance.
Even through a screen, he radiated with the sunlight of his convictions, shining with charisma.
He meant every word. As naïve as it sounded, he was being sincere with her.
Where even in the world was he? No—when in the world was he?
Was he speaking to her through the Anomalies somehow?
Then she remembered the wasteland she had glimpsed of the future, past the Anomalies in the Crossroads she had traveled.
The doomed future Spencer had predicted, and pinned upon Wright’s back.
“You,” he said, and that single syllable placed a heavy weight on her sore shoulders. “You would lead with others of your caliber. You are educated, capable, and physically fit enough to face the challenges you would be tasked with dealing with. And you would challenge me. All I demand is loyalty, and unwavering courage.”
Another sip.
She asked him, “What if I say ‘no’? What if I want to just, you know, walk away from all of this?”
His eyes narrowed. The rest of his expression turned stony and cold.
“I would be very disappointed, and our conversation would end right here. But you are free to walk away. I will not press charges, I will not pursue you any further for your invasion of Intellitech’s privacy, though you may suffer the consequences should you choose to cross me again.”
The words sank in.
Once she walked away, back to Future Proof, Spencer and all the others would forever question her loyalty to the company. She would forever be considered a potential traitor, a double agent.
She could have asked for more details, but knew better. He also knew better, and would never divulge anything that risked the success of his operations. He wouldn’t open up about anything that might endanger… well, whatever he was plotting.
Beeping machines filled the silence between them until Wright spoke again.
“Think about it, and think carefully. I am not asking you to simply relocate to a different office in a different city, I am asking you to leave your entire life behind, and build a new world with your own two hands. It will be difficult, and there will be blood, and sweat to shed along the way.”
Building a colony out of time, deep in the past.
That was how Spencer had phrased it—what he believed Wright was up to. And with what Wright had just said, the puzzle pieces were all falling neatly into place.
“But I sense it—I sense the thunder in your heart,” he said. “Once you have made up your mind… call me. I await your response, Miss Grant, and I have a feeling you will not disappoint.”
He had leaned closer to the camera, having grown on the screen before her.
The image of Wright went dark, and with that, consigned his appearance to the digital void.
Was he already in his Promised Land, in a prehistoric era, manipulating their future from the distant past?
All dark thoughts now mingled with uncertainty and something else—with curiosity.
Some part of his offer excited Chloe Grant.
Mulling over his offer, she worried about those she might leave behind—her mother, Danielle, her friends, and her colleagues at Future Proof whom she had come to like. Even the memory of the late Max Carter and all his grumpy swearing surfaced in those swirling thoughts of those she’d leave behind.
Grant rubbed her temples, unsettled that this meant she was considering Wright’s offer in all earnest.
Some part of her was… tempted.
That part of her kept growing by the second. Like a blooming flower, blossoming in her mind.
Such warm sunlight on her skin.
What was it that kept her here? In this life? It wasn’t the money, though the pay didn’t hurt.
Was she so different from Wright? Didn’t she sometimes dream of something resembling his vision?
And could she really trust Spencer and his speech of Wright being responsible for some nebulous doomsday in the future? Or was Spencer the one who would be to blame for that horrid apocalypse, and the Apex Predators?
Then again—one of those creatures had been kept in Intellitech’s basement like a leashed hound. And her side throbbed where the Predator had almost cut her open to bleed out.
Then, yet again—she knew too little beyond whatever narrative either man was spinning. Two rival CEOs, two rival companies, all toying with the fabric of reality and time itself, by toying with the mysterious Anomalies.
And here she was, between them, at a fork in the road.
She needed to decide, and nothing would make this decision any easier.
There was no lesser evil. No certainty in doing the right or wrong thing.
Her mother would be fine. In her disappearance, Future Proof’s life insurance payout would kick in, and provide for her mother for life, beyond a shade of any doubt.
Her friends would move on. It wasn’t like their lives hung in any balance. She’s miss some of their scheduled appointments by the end of the month, and they would find out that Chloe Grant had gone missing, though her disappearance would be covered behind so much red tape that they would have no other choice but to move on.
And as much as she enjoyed the company of her colleagues at Future Proof, she felt no personal attachment to any of them. She barely knew them outside of their work life together.
That only left… Danielle.
Danielle, who had moved in with her.
But Danielle had been involved with a Chloe Grant of this timeline, while this Chloe Grant still felt alien to herself, and the timeline she returned to. Though they were the same Chloe Grant, somehow, learning of her past and actions and relationship to Danielle still felt like hearing another person’s story.
Like fiction.
And even if Wright was truly responsible for the doomed future that Spencer had predicted—could Grant not have had the best chance at changing that all by getting so close to Wright that she could literally get her hands on his throat?
He had to be there.
Then.
In his colony, in the prehistoric past.
The heartrate monitor still emitted lazy beeping, though the pace had picked up.
Reflecting her growing excitement. Anxiety, perhaps.
The sunlight from outside felt warm on her skin. Kept her calm.
Everything was falling into place somehow. Not puzzle pieces, but chess pieces. Maybe she was one of those pieces on the board, with Spencer playing against Wright. Or maybe she had the chance to become the player.
Maybe this was the right thing to do.
Grant clenched her jaw.
This was her chance to change the future.
“Wright?” she asked out loud. “I have made up my mind.”
The screen stayed dark, though the green letters in the top corner indicated it was still on.
Transmitting and receiving.
She had her answer.
Wright was going to like it.
He was the kind of man who liked winning.