The stale air of Rashmoor’s office was charged with the electricity of impending doom as I stood before him. The walls were lined with screens full of images and data. Rashmoor sat back in his chair like a master surveying his domain. His fingers steepled, a cold smile was playing across his lips. Rangemaster and Speedright were sat in the corner of the room, observing the situation from the sidelines, quietly enjoying my great downfall.
“You wonder how we got them if you deleted them?” Rashmoor’s voice sliced through the tension as his eyes gleamed with the triumph of a hunter who had cornered his prey. The recordings from the microphones planted underneath my desk—my conversations with Jamie, our secret discussions about the Blue Hole—filled the room, and our own voices were now betraying us.
The audio was crystal clear, and every word seemed like a nail in my coffin. Jamie’s voice, usually so composed, was tinged with the excitement of our clandestine project. My own voice followed, detailing the Blue Hole, the theoretical gateway that had consumed my waking hours and haunted my dreams. I spoke of the potential, the dangers, and the allure of the unknown.
Rashmoor’s rage begins
As the recordings played, Rashmoor’s face twisted from arrogant satisfaction to intense rage. “You fool!” he roared, springing up with the agility of a man half his age. He lunged across the desk, his hands finding my collar, pulling me close enough to feel the heat of his breath. “You’ve wasted everyone’s time and jeopardized the entire project with your delusions!”
Rangemaster, ever the silent sentinel, stepped forward, his hands prying Rashmoor’s grip from my shirt. “Sir, this isn’t the way,” he said. His voice was like the calm in the eye of the hurricane.
Rashmoor, red-faced and seething, released me with a shove that sent me staggering back. “To think I trusted you, Thorpinski!” His chest heaved with each heavy breath, his eyes never leaving mine.
Silence engulfed the room as the recordings ceased, leaving heavy tension hanging between us. I knew this was the moment of revelation or ruin. Rashmoor’s eyes, locked onto mine, demanded an explanation. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, I prepared to unveil my life’s clandestine obsession.
The big revelation
“Rashmoor,” I began, my voice a mixture of defiance and resolve, “there’s something much bigger than the Gravity Gun at play here. I’ve been working on something…” I hesitated, aware that what I was about to disclose could either ignite Rashmoor’s vision or his fury. “It’s called the Blue Hole—a time-space machine that could redefine the realms of possibility.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Rashmoor’s expression morphed from anger to total disbelief as I continued.
“The Blue Hole isn’t just another project. It’s the confluence of every scientific breakthrough we’ve dreamed of. It’s a portal, a gateway that could allow us to leap through the very fabric of space and time. Imagine the implications—the ability to rewrite history, to correct our mistakes, to save or to destroy.”
I could see the gears turning in Rashmoor’s mind, the potential of the Blue Hole dawning upon him. But with that realization came the understanding of its power and the threat it posed if mishandled.
“This has been my priority, my true mission. Not just to create or discover but to harness and control something that is beyond the scope of what we thought possible. The Gravity Gun… it’s a mere stepping stone to what the Blue Hole could offer,” I confessed, laying bare the secret that had consumed me.
Rashmoor’s eyes narrowed, the red of his anger giving way to the cold fire of ambition. The room’s atmosphere shifted from volatile to electric, charged with the potential of what I had just laid at his feet. It was a turning point—one that could either lead to groundbreaking triumph or catastrophic downfall.
“This is your final warning,” he spat out as if he didn’t hear a word of what I just said. “Finish the Gravity Gun. And if you so much as breathe a word of the Blue Hole again, I’ll make sure it’s the last breath that you take.”
The threat hung in the air like a guillotine blade poised to fall. Rashmoor straightened his jacket, composing himself with the practised ease of a man used to regaining control. “With or without you, the Gravity Gun will be completed. Remember, Jack, no one is irreplaceable.”
The end is here
I stood there, a mix of relief and dread churning within me. Rashmoor had laid down the ultimate ultimatum. The Blue Hole, my secret ambition that had once seemed like a beacon of hope, seemed like a forbidden siren call leading to destruction now. The Gravity Gun was now my shackle.
As I left Rashmoor’s office, his words echoed in my mind—a reminder of the very thin ice I was treading on. It seemed that the only way forward was to focus on the Gravity Gun. I didn’t have a choice, I had to bury any thoughts of the Blue Hole and bury them so deep that not even Rashmoor’s prying eyes and ears could unearth them.
The base around me felt different as I walked back to my quarters. It was no longer a place of innovation and discovery, but a minefield where one wrong step could mean the end. I had to tread carefully, play the part that Rashmoor expected of me.
The night had never seemed darker, the stars above a tapestry of distant, cold points of light, offering no guidance. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but I had no choice but to walk it, one careful step at a time.
