Patterns of Chaos: Book One - The First War

The magnate’s escape did nothing to quell the global chaos, if anything it intensified. Knowledge that his followers had broken him out was strictly classified, which resulted in accusations that Stragdoc had been accosted by either the federal government or foreign powers desiring his knowledge. Amidst the rampant anarchy, people began to quietly disappear.

At first, it was merely the former employees of Psi-Omega Industries; the general assumption being that they were going into hiding because of the public hunt for the secret of eternal life. Then others began to vanish. People with incurable illnesses at first or physical disabilities, anything that limited them in general perception. Then scientists in various fields suddenly quit their jobs, tidied their affairs, and were never heard from again. After the riots, thereafter remembered as the Trial Riots, an elderly gentleman covered in bruises staggered into a Vancouver, Canada police station demanding protection. The tale he related was terrifying in its implications.

His name was Geoffrey Journeyson, and he was a biochemical scientist working for the American government at a facility just east of Seattle, researching renewable organic energy sources. Four days ago, after leaving work, he had been approached by a woman offering him a position at a “new, state of the art firm”. Journeyson, two years from retirement, politely declined. The woman became more insistent, promising that her employer would be able to pay more than his pension. Again, Journeyson refused, perhaps more angrily than he meant to for it had been a long day and he was anticipating his favourite slippers and a cool scotch.

With that, an impact crashed against the back of his head, and the woman muttered something about “the hard way then”. A pair of hands lifted him under his shoulders and dragged him towards a vehicle parked nearby. Before the poor man could be shoved inside, another figure tackled them both, who shouted for Journeyson to run, to get away as fast as he could. A glance over his shoulder as he bolted showed another woman locked in physical combat with his attackers. When he finally ran out of breath, he was deep in the nearby woods. Then he saw the searchlights. Whoever was after him was not through yet.

Therefore, he hid, moving slowly through the woods at night, sleeping fitfully during the day. Eventually he broke through the tree line, and noting a speed sign listing the maximum speed in kilometers, knew he had crossed the border into Canada. Finding a gas station, he called a cab, asking to be taken to the nearest police station.

With that, the RCMP got in touch with the American Embassy, who collected Journeyson shortly. When the media got the story, speculation focused on who the attempted kidnappers could be...although Journeyson was more interested in the young woman who rescued him was; from his brief glance, he knew no one at his workplace looked like her. General consensus seemed to be that the abduction attempt was some sort of corporate espionage, with some whispering darkly that Paul Stragdoc had orchestrated it...but in the months following his dramatic escape, conspiracy theories abounded, laying blame for everything from abductions to the increase in produce costs as deliberate acts of sabotage against society at his feet.

What was truly curious was the corpses left at the same Vancouver police station a week later. A woman and a man. Acting on a hunch, the RCMP asked Journeyson to please identify the bodies. He did, they were his abductors, but there was a difference: when they were alive, they did not have the emblem of Psi-Omega Industries branded on their foreheads. He was not told that the brands were applied perimortem, nor that each had the word “FAILURE” carved into their chests post-mortem, along with being wholly exsanguinated. As far as cause of death, it seemed that like the remaining guard on Stragdoc’s cell, their hearts had simply...stopped.

They were further identified through fingerprints as former security officers for the tech conglomerate, named Jon Watkins and Lizabet Abbot. Their families, when notified of their deaths exclaimed disbelief and shock that they were part of a kidnapping plot. Yes, they knew they worked for Psi-Omega; no, they had never been inside one of their labs to receive some vague treatment.

As far as Journeyson, he was given twenty-four hour protection. However, a letter arrived for him, and instead of a return address, there was merely the intertwined Greek letters that made his blood run cold. Within the envelope were two items, a letter and a cashier’s cheque. The letter read:

My dear sir,

I find myself in the position where I must offer my most honest apologies for the ordeal you went through. Yes, I desired your expertise in my new enterprise and had instructed Ms. Abbot and Mr. Watkins to win you over to our exciting new project. As it turns out, the two of them felt that their job duties included assault and attempted kidnapping. For that, I humbly beg your forgiveness. They were authorized only to offer whatever fee you wished, any benefits necessary to interest you in this endeavor. I am sure you are aware that these individuals’ employment with my organization has been terminated quite permanently. Nevertheless, I know that is hardly due recompense for what they put you through; as such please accept this small financial gift. It is yours to do with as you please with no strings attached. I encourage you to deposit it post haste.

Again, my most sincere apologies and I humbly remain,

Paul Stragdoc

The cheque was for ten million.

Journeyson consulted a lawyer who went over the document with a magnifying lens, looking for some clause that would obligate the old man. He came up clean. Journeyson turned the letter over to investigators while his lawyer held the cheque. The police recognized the letter as a ploy to disavow the kidnappers, putting sole responsibility on the shoulders of the deceased. For his part, Journeyson felt the apology was genuine, and deposited the cheque, retiring shortly thereafter. He lived to the age of ninety-three before passing of natural causes.