Chapter 1: Impostors in Our Midst~
We are only falsehood, duplicity,
contradiction; we both conceal and
disguise ourselves from ourselves. ~
Blaise Pascal
Day 1, 9:30 am
UCPSB Laboratories Zombo reclined in his chair, gazing pensively out his office window and taking in the beautiful day. The brilliant azure sky was left unblemished by clouds. The blazing sun had cleared the horizon, its bright rays slicing through the foliage of cedar trees in the courtyard and casting a dappled pattern of sunlight on the office wall. The window was slightly cracked to admit the draft that blew through the trees, swaying the smaller branches and stirring the leaves. This susurration was accompanied by the joyful twittering of birds as they assiduously constructed nests in the canopy. This auspicious weather would later seem ill-timed in light of future uncontrollable events. Zombo’s attention shifted to a pair of sparrows spiraling into the sky as he became lost in thought.
Pen spinning had taken enormous strides in the past few years. In its inchoate phase, it was a manipulation practiced by only a handful of devotees. But what was once an esoteric art seemed to blossom into a ubiquitous phenomenon overnight. This meteoric rise to prominence inevitably led to countless opportunities to turn a profit, primarily from stationery companies seeking innovative ways to promote their products.
As the administrator of UCPSB, the online English-speaking pen spinning community, Zombo was contacted regarding numerous such offers. Initially he declined these requests because it felt inappropriate to accept money for an activity undertaken solely for enjoyment. Besides, he had witnessed other hobbies fall prey to the commercialization trap, inveigled by the illusory prospect of long-term success. They effectively became crazes – flourishing only momentarily before plummeting into obscurity – and Zombo was in no great hurry to add pen spinning to the lengthy list of victims.
As far as Zombo was concerned, monetary deals would require exhaustive consideration, and only under the absolute assurance that the identity, integrity, and permanence of pen spinning as an art would remain uncompromised. Many members had placed their unwavering faith in him as a leader and he did not want to betray their trust by making poor decisions. Moderating missteps were easily forgotten with time but errors of judgment on a much larger scale were disproportionately more difficult to swallow. Consequently, pen spinning progressed as a usual hobby, commercially untarnished. Pen spinners were becoming proficient in an art that was constantly gaining positive exposure.
However, after a litany of stale pen modifications, member videos, and collaborations, the dearth of fresh ideas presented a bona fide problem. The once new and exciting concepts had been dulled through mindless repetition. The manipulation starved for urgent change, suffocating in the miasma of stagnation that had enveloped it. Resolutely opposed to the deterioration of pen spinning, Zombo was determined to revitalize the art, elevating it from its current moribund status. As part of his unceasing efforts, he founded the Research & Development Department at UCPSB, a sub-forum dedicated to the advancement of pen spinning.
The first several weeks were spent in introspection, analyzing past ideas and pinpointing those that had unequivocally garnered widespread approval. Determining areas where pen spinning had faltered or outright failed was equally important. The next several months were dedicated to brainstorming, expounding the theory behind various proposals. As brainchildren were finally born, Zombo realized another problem: the forum was an inadequate medium for experimentation. The R&D members were too diffusely scattered across the world to permit necessary vis-à-vis communication and researchers did not have the benefit of testing facilities to fine-tune their prototypes.
Funding was the main issue, and Zombo was forced to reconsider alternative, hitherto shunned avenues of revenue. He contacted stationery corporations that would not commercialize pen spinning but offered to pay generously in exchange for advertising and a guaranteed increase of pen sales. Many similar contracts were signed with different, mutually non-competitive companies despite the lacklustre status of pen spinning.
After months of accumulating wealth through business and charitable donations, enough funds were raised to fly the older members to Montreal, Quebec - close to Zombo’s home. These spinners, currently living on their own, agreed to meet up in Montreal for a month each year. Coincidentally, Zombo’s parents were renting an apartment building in the area and Zombo kindly offered rooms to these spinners, waiving the rent. The first meeting was fruitful. It sparked a plethora of innovative, inventive and revolutionary ideas. This explosion of productivity sparked the renaissance movement that would not only restore the former panache of pen spinning but elevate it to unprecedented levels.
The rise in the art’s status was paralleled by a greater number of endowments and dramatically increased revenue. In subsequent years, the meetings were extended and more spinners were able to attend. The apartment seemed no longer suitable so the members collectively mortgaged a mansion in Zombo’s neighbourhood. Slowly, renovations took place to transform the mansion into a small business. The vast concert hall was converted into a testing laboratory and Zombo allocated an empty study as his personal office. The kitchen-cum-dining room became a large cafeteria while a living room was turned into a meeting room.
The R&D members were provided individual living quarters on the second floor from which they conducted their research via computers connected to an internal network. Initially, all researchers were afforded modest salaries but wages inflated as UCPSB Laboratories gained renown as the only small business dedicated to pen spinning. The work term spanned from May to September each year with a two-week break allowed for vacation. As the research material became increasingly sensitive – any information leak to a competing third party could easily spell the end of UCPSB Labs – stringent precautions were taken to ensure the protection of these precious secrets.
Firstly, employees were bound under a strict contract of confidentiality. Those who signed the contract were warned, both orally and in writing, that the research data were fragile enough to warrant life-or-death prevention methods. But this fact did not need to be impressed onto their minds. They already knew from previous gatherings that enemies were willing to kill ruthlessly for such information. Nonetheless, they were not permitted under any circumstances to discuss the nature of UCPSB’s delicate research to anyone outside the corporation, even friends and relatives.
Secondly, the contract also stipulated that it was forbidden to carry hard copies of data out of the building. The CDs and diskettes were electronically etched with barcodes that triggered sensors deeply embedded in the door jambs and window frames if the disks were passed through these spaces. The computers were customized to accept these modified disks exclusively. Just the other day Zombo had to reproach a forgetful worker for violating this rule. If anyone attempted to tamper with the sensors, the alarm would be set off and Zombo would immediately know nevertheless.
Those who willingly breached the terms of the contract faced far worse than unemployment. The contract alone, however, could not prevent the spate of break-ins that occurred during the first weeks of operation. Accordingly, a security office was constructed in the courtyard and a closed-circuit network of surveillance cameras were installed around the mansion.
The premises were monitored 24/7 by a cadre of security personnel, and several thieves were caught shortly thereafter. At the edge of the property stood a formidable wrought iron gate. Employees and guests were frisked alike at the entrance, and any device capable of storing data, including cell phones, was confiscated. All staff members entering or exiting the property had to show their identification card to the presiding security guard, who would then mechanically open the gate. Guests, which referred to any non-workers, were required to tell the guard the name of the employee who had invited them, and the officer would call the person to confirm that the guest was, in fact, an expected visitor.
In addition to external supervision, the security office recorded all incoming and outgoing phone calls. If an employee were suspected of treason, the past 72 hours of his or her phone conversations was available for playback and could be checked for incriminating evidence.
Zombo was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of his phone ringing. The caller ID screen indicated the call was from the security office. He picked up the phone on the second ring.
“Hello, Zombo here.”
“Hello, sir. We have a bit of a problem here.” The stern voice of Firebird, the security chief, issued from the speaker.
“Our security cameras just captured a young male running across the courtyard and attempting to scale one of the exterior walls. We arrested the person and brought him into the office for interrogation. Strangely, he obliged without resistance, as if he wanted to get caught. We tried questioning him, but he refuses to speak to anyone except you, requesting your presence. His identification card distinguishes him as Rookee and an
i-Pod was found in his windbreaker. I have synchronized it to my computer so that you may peruse the contents.”
What the hell is going on?, Zombo thought to himself. “Alright, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Thanks.” He hung up and grabbed his set of keys. Locking his office door, he hurried along the hallway and down a flight of stairs to the front door, passing some employees who glanced at him confusedly. He burst into the security office, slightly out of breath.
Zombo addressed Firebird, who was standing beside the door to the interrogation room. “I would like to interrogate the suspect first before checking the i-Pod.”
“Yes, sir.”
Zombo now knew with absolute conviction that Rookee had been attempting to smuggle information out of UCPSB Labs. He had been behaving suspiciously for the past few weeks, keeping to himself most of the time and barely communicating with anyone else. His actions today were the coup de grâce, incontrovertibly exposing him as a traitor. Whatever was on the mp3 player could wait. His attention was drawn towards the one-way window of the interrogation room. Rookee was sitting impassively at the table, gazing absent-mindedly at the opposite wall.
Zombo entered the room and shut the door behind him. He sat down across from Rookee, whose expressionless eyes shifted into focus as he realized he was no longer alone. He met Zombo’s cold stare with one of his own. Zombo broke the silence first, deciding to cut to the chase.
“Why did you do it?”
Rookee’s voice was unusually calm for someone who had just been caught breaching the confidentiality contract. “Let’s just say that I’m not really Rookee. I’ve been tracking his every move since the last work term. It was a painstaking effort, studying his habits, routines and behaviour for months, finding out all that he knows, from the names of friends and relatives to his research material ... Once I felt I was ready, I killed him and assumed his identity. I isolated myself from others to buy time to ease into the role, diligently perfecting it through repetition. The rest was simple after that. I transferred his research to my i-Pod and attempted to sneak it out, which brings us both of us here.”
A malevolent grin began to play across the impostor’s face. Zombo reddened with anger at the sight. He wanted to hurt the man. Badly. It was only with miraculous restraint that he was able to resist reaching across and strangling the impostor. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly his knuckles were turning white.
“WHO ARE YOU? HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO SNEAK THE I-POD PAST THE FRISK? WHO DO YOU WORK FOR? WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE?”
“My name is immaterial. Ah, but what if my i-Pod bypassed the frisk? It was, shall I say, ‘delivered’ to me, and I had no means of sending it back, so I couldn’t leave the premises by conventional means. My loyalty lies with the Pencil Council. You may have foiled us during past gatherings but you will not be so lucky this time, rest assured. Together, with my accomplices here, we will bring fame and reputation to the PC. Once we have all the information we need, we will proceed to destroy UCPSB. My capture was merely a gambit in an intricate game of corporate chess, a way of gaining the upper hand. Though I will die, I will forever be hailed as a martyr by my colleagues, and there is no greater honour. Goodbye, Zombo.”
And with that final farewell, he suddenly slumped onto the table. Zombo jumped to his feet, alarmed. Firebird, who had been keeping an eye on the interrogation through the window, burst into the room and ran to the pseudo-Rookee, checking for respiration – he was not breathing. He probed for his carotid pulse – there was no beat.
“Shit! You better go, Zombo. I can deduce what happened, but you need to go back and warn the others immediately. Take the mp3 player with you. I’ll handle this.”
Zombo didn’t need any further provocation. He shut off the i-Pod and pulled it from the USB cable on his way out, stuffing it into his side pocket. He ran nonstop back to his office, switched on the P.A. and spoke loudly into the microphone.
“We have an emergency situation on our hands. Everyone come to the meeting room right away.”
As Zombo’s office was the closest to the meeting room, he arrived first and sat at the head of the table, waiting for R&D members to file in. Within a few minutes, the room was filled and every employee sat attentively, all looking questioningly at Zombo.
“Somebody please close the door. Thanks. Now, I summoned you here because our worst fears have resurfaced. The Pencil Council has once again infiltrated UCPSB.”
There were uneasy murmurs and several members shifted restlessly in their seats. Zombo continued on.
“They have bypassed our security system through identity theft. A handful of Pencil Council members have stolen the identities of our employees, impersonating their ‘hosts’. You were warned in your contracts that the highly confidential nature of the research material had the potential for life-and-death circumstances. I fear that this is the situation now thrust upon us, as we have no other choice but to expose the impostors in our midst and terminate them. Even their imprisonment would not suffice, because after their jail term expired they would return to their faction and relate their procured information to the council.
“I want you, as loyal employees, to uncover these impostors before they escape with too much information. Too great a leak would be fatal to our corporation, destroying years and years of hard work. I am not trying to scare you. I’m merely attempting to properly convey the immediacy, urgency, and seriousness of the breach. Remember, we have the advantage of numbers.
“Here’s how it will work: every day, we can collectively arrive at a decision on a person to terminate, using our intuition and logic to guide us to correct choices. If a majority rule cannot be reached, then the day will elapse without bloodshed. Since you know each other far better than I know you all, I feel it would be inappropriate for me to participate, as I would definitely be uncertain of my convictions.
“I will be in my office if anyone needs me. I want you all to remain here after I’ve left and discuss your initial suspicions amongst yourselves. If we all make clear-headed decisions, we will thwart the Pencil Council and avert this crisis.
“Good luck. The meeting is now adjourned.”
And with that, Zombo rose and left the room, leaving the hushed group of employees in his wake.
Written by firebird.
GAME ON!7 votes required to lynch (or no lynch). 2 role claims possible this day.Please read the rules.
Active Players:
Webo Splash
Eburt
Flip
strat1227
spinofdoom
ShortAssassin
kensai
Eriror
Cybrax2
kasra12321
AlmightyMalachi
Retro-Spectre
Eliminated Players: