The Wishmonger: Origins

The Agreement

Our white van finally stopped, and in front of us was a dark, black building. It was painted completely in black, not a spot of any other color could be seen. Our white van stood in stark contrast against it.

"Let's go in, the project's HR manager will give you more details." Dr. Jericho said.

I went inside the building, and it was eerily dark. The dim overhead lights showed the black tiles and the black walls, and there was a sense of foreboding all around. I wondered what was their obsession with black.

"And here we are" Dr. Jericho pointed to a room in front, on the door of which was written "HR" in complete black letters. There was the thinnest white outline added to make it visible on the door, which was black as well.

I entered the room, and it reminded of the days when I was scared of job interviews. Indeed, in one of my scariest (day) dreams I had imagined a dark, foreboding room with barely any light, lots of unneeded chairs, and a man with a hard, cold face looking straight at me. And there he was too, except he wore tinted spectacles (they weren't sunglasses though, I assure you), which gave him a slightly comical look.

"Carl Trent, these are the agreements that you need to sign to give your consent for human experimentation. They aren't valid in any court, but they cover whatever consents are required legally, and are mostly documents intended to defend our organization. If you sign this and manage to stay alive after the experiment, we will grant you full parole."

"Full parole?" I couldn't believe my ears. Who were these guys?

"Yes, we have the authority to reduce your sentence to nil. Additionally, we will pay off all your pending credit card bills, and will assist you in finding a new job. Coming to that, I must ask you to answer these questions truthfully."

"Okay?"

"Know that if you are not eligible, we are ready to hire you as a clerk in the lab, with full accommodation and expenses. We will stick to the original part of the deal, if you don't want to do this experiment." Yeah right, I thought. As if a clerk was the rarest thing in the world.

"Rate your willpower and pain threshold, on a scale of 1-10." He asked, looking straight into my eyes, as if he had already read the answer in them.

"10 and 10" I replied. The parole and credit card package was too good to be ignored, and I doubt they would go to all these lengths to employ me as a clerk. More likely, I would be thrown back in jail once again, rotting for many years for no gain.

"Know that we will test your answers either way." He said as if he had gone through this quite a lot before.

"Test?" I asked.

"By inflicting different levels of pain and testing your endurance and willpower. Trust me, you don't want to go through that. I myself ended up with a 4, and I don't have high hopes from you." He sighed, rubbing his short beard. "Look son, answer this truthfully, it would be the best for both us. I promise that no harm will come to you otherwise, and its no shame to not be an endurance freak. It's okay to be okay."

I sighed. That didn't work. 

"Fine then, I'll tell you the truth. Its 1 for both. And for stamina, speed, strength, recovery, reflexes and everything. I am a bloody clerk, not some Usain Bolt. At times I don't even have the willpower to pick up the TV remote right beside me. And even now, I believe injections are a mortal weapon and as dangerous as knives."

The old man blinked, and had a sip from a cup of water I hadn't even noticed. "That's what I had thought. And I can't let you go on your deathbed, kid. I am cancelling the experiment, we'll find a new candidate."