“I canʼt do that, Sergeant,” said Corporal Hines.

Ian looked across the displays on the corporalʼs desk. This soldier had the access Ian wanted. “Come on, Corporal. I know heʼs plugged into the rack. Just set up an interrogation virtual for me.”

“But I donʼt know anything about this cube,” said the corporal, pointing to a number on one of his monitors. “If I was allowed to do anything with it, it would show up in my systems.”

Ian gave the corporal a stare only an NCO of his rank could give. “Iʼm telling you about it right now. Plug in the cube and fire up the virtual. Give me one of the nicer interrogation rooms. We havenʼt talked to this guy yet.”

“Youʼre not listening to me, Sergeant,” said Hines. He flicked his hand at the tables on a screen. “That cube is not in my system. Iʼll have to manually add it, but I need authorization first.”

“Iʼm giving you authorization. Do it.”

“That authority has to come from the captain.” Hines leaned forward. “Sergeant. Ian. Iʼm not supposed to have seen that. Where did you get that cube number?”

Ian grunted a laugh. “I was involved in the mission to get that cube.” He pointed at the monitors. “The captain knows what I know, so weʼre not breaching security here.” He narrowed his eyes at the corporal. “So long as you donʼt tune in on the virtual, and I donʼt distribute any information that might compromise operational security, then weʼre all in the clear.”

The corporal stared off for a moment. Three of his four displays were covered with numerous checklists and spreadsheets. The baseʼs inventory AI had glitched out, and Rourke had assigned Hines to inventory all the supplies needed to maintain the cubes. Dark rims around his eyes informed Ian of the toll taken on his body.

“All right.” Hines sighed. “Iʼll set you up. But Iʼm logging that you authorized this.” He returned Ianʼs hard stare.

“Fantastic, Corporal. I figured you wanted to stay on my good side.” Ian flashed a toothy grin.

Hines grimaced. “The captain is far more intimidating than you. I need a distraction right now. Iʼm giving you an hour to go be a fanboy, then I need to get back to work. All right?”

“Sure thing, Corporal. Can you triple the time compression?”

Hines leaned back a little. “Well, yeah. These arenʼt half-ass government computers. I can get up to 12 times compression on these rigs if youʼre looking to start a long-term relationship.”

“Triple is fine.” Ian waved a hand as he sat down across from Hines and put on a headset.

“Youʼre plugging-in right here?”

“Why the hell not?” He adjusted the headset. “Oh, and if I wake up with dicks drawn on my face, Iʼll have you do inventory for the entire base.”

Hines’ eyes widened as he visibly gulped. “No worries, Sergeant. Just give me a minute here. Okay. Done.”

Reality vanished, leaving Ian stuck inside his own mind. He felt his body return and he drew a breath. Bright lines traced themselves around the edges of a walled room. They traced more intricate patterns on the ceiling, then the lights materialized behind them. The illumination revealed the brightly colored room. Ian watched as a table and set of chairs appeared out of thin air. The wooden tableʼs existence spread from one corner and floated out to the other side. A window appeared to his left and Ian watched the lines create trees and a street beyond. The time compression slowed down the world generation. Hines shouldʼve loaded the world first then switched on the time compression. Whatever. The poor corporal probably hadnʼt slept much in the last few days.

The lines traced a body on the other side of the table. Clive appeared dressed in a T-shirt and cargo shorts.

Clive looked around the room. “Yeah. I saw this coming.” He stared at Ian. “I wasnʼt expecting you, though.”

Ian shrugged. “Letʼs just say this interview wasnʼt planned. And weʼre not being recorded or monitored.”

Cliveʼs face paled.

Ian threw his hands up. “Itʼs not one of those, man. I swear!”

Clive sat down on one of the chairs and placed his shaking hands on the table. “Yeah, yeah. Thereʼs no reason to. The black troops already know what I know. Iʼm surprised Iʼm not erased yet.” He looked up at Ian. “So, whatʼs this? You gonna say youʼre sorry or something?”

“No. I just want to know why they shot you. I mean, why the hell did they send in spec ops after you?”

Clive shook as he laughed. The color returned to his face. “You stupid motherfucker. You donʼt know? You donʼt know what the fuck they do at night? Are you like a fucking workhorse with blinders on?”

Ian felt heat rush to his digital face. “Hey, man. I serve my country. I witnessed atrocities overseas you ainʼt ever heard of. I –”

“Uh huh. Maybe. What about the ones over here? How many times have you seen the black troops in action?”

Ian took a step back. “Aw, donʼt feed me that black troops bullshit. Iʼm a first responder to any terrorist action in the city.” He pointed a thumb at his chest. “If thereʼs a fight going on, I know about it.”

Clive shook his head. “You saw them last night. Your so-called spec ops. Covered faces. Invisible troop carriers. Take no prisoners.” He pointed down at the table. “Thereʼs your fucking terrorists right here.”

Ian felt his temples throb as he ground his teeth. “Yeah, sure, buddy. So, what do you do for those Gray Flag terrorists? Run stock scams? Hacking? You got a pretty fancy chipset in your head. They got a nice investment in you.” He sat down and took a breath. “Or did they force you into it? Take someone you love? Brainwash you? Reprogram that cube of yours?”

“I volunteered.” Cliveʼs nostrils flared.

“You sure about that?” Ian kept his tone even.

“Are you really that paranoid about brainwashing? Thereʼs not enough people with access to cubes out there to even learn how to do that. And there is no evidence thatʼs even possible yet. The only people doing the brainwashing here is your employer.” Clive pointed a finger at Ian.

“Brainwashed?” Ian raised his voice. “Iʼm on the right side of things here. You donʼt know what Iʼve done. Iʼve dragged people out of burning buildings. Iʼve –”

“Were they civilians or your misled comrades?” Clive tilted his head.

Ian made fists under the table. “My squad mates.” He stared off past Clive. “Iʼve also responded to firefights initiated by Gray Flag. I only shoot back when fired on. I tried to save as many as I could, but Gray Flag is so fucking ruthless.” Ian trailed off, imagining the shot-up bodies of men, women, and children next to burning buildings. He’d tried to resuscitate anyone who wasn’t in pieces. “Motherfucker, I even tried to save the terrorists.”

Clive put his hands together and stared at the table. “It might sound hard to believe, but those fights were instigated by black troops. Theyʼd appear out of thin air and fire on us and police alike. Theyʼd be sure to leave no one alive who saw them clearly.”

Images of the masked troops running through the cafeteria flooded Ianʼs mind. Their relentless assault on two unarmed citizens. And then that casual wave as Ian departed.

“If youʼre a first responder,” said Clive, “then you probably read conflicting reports. Heard absurd statements. Saw a volume of fire inconsistent with Gray Flag tactics.” Clive let another moment of silence pass. “Maybe I should start from the beginning. How much time do we have?”

Ian drew a breath. “About three hours, but I can extend that dramatically if needed.”

“No need to.”

Cliveʼs research started during the UNʼs overseas campaign. He started finding news articles pointing to possible corporate interests for the invasion. He poked around on the deep web, asking questions. When the terror crusade moved to the states, Gray Flag sought him out. He initially refused and bought the terrorist rhetoric. Then Gray Flag showed him footage of the black troop raids. People uploaded them to the deep web whenever they could, but they didnʼt advertise the links. Intelligence agencies all over the world went on a search-and-destroy mission for the footage, claiming it to be a terrorist manipulation campaign. They claimed that Gray Flag posed as spec ops and committed the atrocities themselves.

Clive worked to keep their websites active while the government hijacked both the surface and deep web. Black troops went all over the world to physically destroy servers. They fought to conquer all information sources.

“So, whatʼs the endgame?” asked Ian. “What is the UN to gain from all that violence?” Ian didnʼt really buy it. The people he fought against overseas werenʼt informed twentysomethings out to make a point. Supply and territorial disputes ravaged civilian populations. He flew over to put a stop to the chaos. He explained that as best he could to Clive.

“All that stuff was real, I wonʼt deny that,” said Clive. “But it was all UN interests they were trying to free themselves from. Unfortunately, they resorted to savage tactics after negotiations failed. Negotiations you guys were never told about.” He held up a hand to stop Ian. “And about the endgame, itʼs all about complete control of information. If they control the flow of information, then as far as the masses are concerned, they control reality.” He shrugged.

“They wanted my cube because it has most of our server addresses on it. At this point, Iʼm pretty much fucking useless. The servers will move or change soon, I hope. Weʼll lose quite a few of them, but not the data. Iʼm just waiting to be erased at this point.”

Ian nodded. He couldnʼt imagine how Clive felt. Itʼs one thing to wait for a bullet, itʼs another thing to wait for complete deletion. Waiting for someone to erase your existence with the push of a button. At least a trigger pull came with recoil and a dead body.

“Thanks for all that,” said Ian. “I really mean that. I donʼt know what to believe at this point and I still doubt you, but I want to look into this. Iʼll go speak with my captain.”

Cliveʼs eyes widened. “Captain Rourke?”

“Yeah. Heʼs my commanding officer. Iʼll try to get some basic questions answered, nothing too deep.”

Clive stared at his hands. “Be careful. No need to be a hero here.”

Ian stood up and winked. “Thatʼs my day job, remember?”

Clive rolled his eyes before reality itself vanished.