Welcome to Gaia! ::

The cell was dark, damp and musty. It smelled of dirt, soiled water and death. There was a man in the cell; he wasn’t dead yet, but he would soon be there. He had been rotting in this cell for what seemed like an eternity, living off of nothing but spiders, other insects and the occasional rat, a delicacy to him. He drank the blood of these creatures, and sometimes in his desperate fight for survival he would give in and eat his own flesh. Despite his surviving as long as he had, his life was not at its end, his tricks used up. All his commitment, hope of rescue, hope that he might just live through this was gone. He was on his last breath.

The man curled in one of the corners of the cell, naked, sobbing without tears. He knew that his life would soon be taken from him. He clawed at the ground, wondering where he was in his delusion. His insanity had finally gotten the best of him and he couldn’t take it any longer. With the last bit of strength he could muster, he pushed himself up to his feet. He stood there, his head lowered, swaying back and forth slowly. How long, he couldn’t tell; he had lost his sense of time. He turned to the stone wall, its surface wet from condensation, having no exposure to light for so long. The man lifted his head and stared at the wall, and then, with the very last of his strength, struck his head to the wall. A loud crack echoed through the cell as his skull shattered inside of his head. His dead body fell back to the floor, lifeless. As it lay there, blood flowed from the open wound on his head, a single rat coming to feed.







Professor Charles D. Wellstone sat at the desk in his study, filling out some important paperwork. He was an average looking man with brown hair and brown eyes. There was nothing peculiarly special about him. He was an optimist never letting the small things in his life get him down. He never really let anything depress him; that was just the type of man he was.

The problem with Charles was simply that he was anti-social and (he had been told) too committed to his work. It was this side of him that people knew, rather than the optimistic man behind the scenes.

“This must be in to the Committee tomorrow, oh yes, it must! If I don’t get it in, who knows what might happen!” He looked up from his papers, a smile stretching across his face. He then looked back down at them, and on the paper at the bottom of the pile he signed his name:



He put his papers in order and then stood and stretched, a yawn escaping. He looked around his desk, which was in quite a clutter. He blinked twice, then paused as panic struck his face.

“Where is it? I need the envelope! W-where is it?” He cried in panic. He turned his head to the left, then to the right and smiled, sighing in relief. “There it is,” he said, “right where I left it on the bookshelf.” He chuckled to himself, slipped the papers into the envelope and then sealed it. He quickly walked to the door. “I need to get this mailed out. Right away…!” He put down the envelope, grabbed his coat and slipped it on, then picked the envelope back up and ran out the door of his study.







Malcolm Bryant sat in his office in a swivel chair. His back was turned to the door and he was smoking a cigar, the smoke wafting through the room in a thick gray fog. He was a large man, maybe 6’3” at the least. No one really knew because he didn’t want them to. He detached himself from people, never coming close or intimate with anyone. He had never been married, and preferred it that way. Everyone he had ever met either disliked or despised him, and that’s the way he liked it. Malcolm Bryant was content with the way his life was.

In his work life, he controlled everything around him, and it made even more people loathe him. He wasn’t at the top of the corporation he worked for, yet, but he was close to it, moving up the ladder like a snake slithering up a tree. He had a thick neck with many large rolls in the back of it. He was almost bald, except for a few hairs here and there which he tried to comb over with limited success. His eyes were like cold steel, and people would describe his stare as piercing into their soul.

“Where is he?” Bryant demanded. A meek underling of his sat in front of him in front of his desk.

“I… I don’t know, sir,” he said. Bryant’s chair suddenly twirled around.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” He demanded, his voice echoing in the small office. “He was due here an hour ago! If you don’t know where he is, find him! Now get the hell out of my sight.” He yelled, then sighed as he puffed on his cigar and twirled his chair back around. The underling recoiled back, then paused, paralyzed by the onslaught of words. “GO!” Bryant screamed from behind his chair. The underling quickly stood up, shaken out of his paralysis and scurried out the door. Bryant sighed deeply, “This whole company is depending on this, Mr. Wellstone. If you don’t come through, special measures are going to have to be taken… This whole thing is riding on you.”







Rain poured down, drowning the city streets in torrents of water. A man, of the few to be out of the comfort of home, walked along the sidewalk. The rain plummeted down from the sky, drenching the man’s clothing, yet he kept walking, his head lowered and face out of sight.

Finally, after much walking, he stopped in front of a small apartment building. He walked inside and looked at the buttons on the walk to his immediate left. He rang the fourth from the top, the one that said Richard Jameson… No answer… He rang it again and this time he got an answer. “Hello?” responded a voice through the speaker to the right of the buttons. The man held down the button to reply and spoke,

“Hello. Is this Richard Jameson?” the man inquired.

“Yes, this is he. And you are?”

“Charles Wellington, Chuck. Remember me?”

“Chuck! How are you?” Richard exclaimed in delight.

“Would you buzz me in? I need to talk to you. Please. I don’t know how much time I have…” he sounded desperate, his voice breathy and anxious. There was a small pause before a response came.

“Sure thing…” Richard buzzed him in.







Richard Jameson was Charles’ only friend in high school through college, and was still his only real friend in adulthood. He hadn’t seen Charles for years, but he figured he was still considered a friend, especially in view of the fact that he had walked through the pouring rain to get there. He still couldn’t understand why exactly Charles would come to him like this. He was never one to panic, but rather was always calm, always the optimist and never felt the need to worry. So why, Richard wondered, was he coming here now?

When Richard opened the door to his apartment and saw Charles, his face contorted into one of shock, disgust, and sympathy, a cacophony of emotion.

“C-Come in…” Richard offered, stepping aside to allow Charles into the doorway. The offer was accepted. When Richard closed the door and locked it, he saw that Charles had moved to the sofa and was sitting on it. He stared at Charles’ face, one which was once so youthful, seemed to have twenty extra years added to it. He was only about thirty, but he looked to be almost twice that. When Richard stared into his eyes, he could see pure fear in them. “So, what do you need?” Richard asked earnestly, yet cautiously, as he walked over to Charles and sat in the chair across from him.

“I need some help, Rich. Some real big help,” Charles said. He kept his head lowered, seemingly to avoid contact with Richard’s stare.

“What kind of help?” Richard inquired.

“People are after me, Rich, I…” he trailed off and shook his head, finally looking up into Richard’s eyes. “The company I work for…”

“Yes?”

“They’re after me.”

“What do you mean?” Richard asked, puzzled

“You know the company I work for? … Well, that I free-lance for?”

“…Nucleo-Tech? They make weapons, like, WMD’s, right…?”

“Yes, nuclear and biological weapons.” He paused and looked at his feet, then slowly continued. “They want me dead.” Shock spread on Richard’s face like a disease.

“Y-you’ve got to be kidding!” He exclaimed.

“Do I look like I’m joking…? Tell me, Rich, when was the last time you saw me?”

“The last time I saw you,” he stopped and pondered for a minute, but before he could answer, Charles spoke.

“It was three years ago. We ran into each other on the street, remember?”

“Yes, I think I do remember, now that you mention it… Yes, that’s right! It was a sunny afternoon.”

“Right. How did I look to you?”

“Quite well. You hadn’t looked better. Of course, you never really look bad, Chuck, you’re—“

“—Always happy, right? …Well, how do I look now?”

“…You’ve never—“

“—Looked worse. Exactly… Now, am I kidding about this? Please… I don’t know how much time I have. You’re the only friend I’ve got, the only one I can trust. Please help me…” Richard sat in silence for the next few minutes, until he finally sighed, and hesitantly replied:

“Alright, I’ll help you. How did you get into this mess?”

“Thank you… Well, here’s what happened…







Charles walked out of the post office, an aura of glee surrounding him. He turned right and started walking down the street. He was hungry, and decided to grab a bite to eat before he went home. He walked down Main Street, looking for a place he’s never been in before, something new. There were so many places in the city, and even on Main Street alone, that he hadn’t been to, that it was a decently simple task.

Charles continued walking until he found himself in front of a small deli called “Slice ‘N Dice Deli.” He walked in, immediately smelling the aroma of honey-baked ham and freshly prepared sandwiches. The smell was wonderful, almost heavenly. He walked up to the counter and ordered a turkey sandwich on rye, and when he got his sandwich, promptly sat down. As soon as he had started eating, however, a man in a dark blue suit approached him and sat down across from him.

“Hello.” Charles said casually. The man in the blue suit stared at Charles for about a minute, and while he did, Charles continued to eat. Finally, he asked the man, “Can I help you with something?”

“Are you Charles Wellstone?” The man responded.

“Yes, that’s me alright. What can I help you with?”

“When you finish eating, would you please meet me outside the deli? I would like to talk to you.” With that, the man stood up and left the deli. As if nothing had happened, Charles finished his sandwich and threw away the trash, then exited the deli. When he got outside, the man in the blue suit approached him again. “Please walk with me,” the man said instructed. Charles followed obediently as the man started.

“So, what did you want to tell me?” Charles asked.

“Mr. Bryant is very displeased with you,” the man said, staring forward, not even turning his eyes towards Charles.

“Mr. Bryant? Oh! That’s right. I have a meeting with him today at…”

“At noon, on the dot. Do you know what time it is, Mr. Wellstone?” A look of realization struck Charles’ face.

“You know… I actually don’t know the time. Would you happen to have it?”

“Fortunately, I do. Unfortunately, it’s two-and-a-half hours past noon. It’s two-thirty, Mr. Wellstone.”

“Hmm… Imagine that… Well, I’ll just have to reschedule it. I’ve been so busy with my work, you know.” There was no response. They kept walking. The blue-suited man turned down an ally, and Charles followed. Halfway down the ally, the blue-suited man turned toward Charles. He walked up to him, grabbed him by the shirt collar and pushed him up against the wall. A small squeak and exhale of air escaped Charles.

“Now, you listen here,” the man started. He was directly in Charles’ face now, and Charles could smell his breath; cigarettes, and lots of them. The man had a small scar on his forehead, as if a bear had scratched him. He continued, “Mr. Bryant was expecting you today. At noon. Not at twelve-oh-one, not at twelve-oh-five, and not at two-thirty. It was a very important meeting, but luckily for you, I’m here to convey the message to you. You had better stop snooping around into what Mr. Bryant is doing. It’s not smart, and if you keep it up, you’re going to end up dead. Capice?” He let go of Charles’ collar and walked out of the Ally. Charles put his hand to his neck and rubbed it, watching the man walk away.







Richard stared at Charles. The story wasn’t the shock he was expecting to hear, definitely not.

“I still don’t understand why you’re such a wreck now though,” he inquired.

“That’s what I was getting to. What he meant by snooping around was that I had stumbled on something in my work for Bryant… Something that could mean his head if I were to expose it.”

“And exactly what was that?” Richard asked. Charles anxiously looked around the room, as if he was perhaps expecting a sniper to be hiding under the carpet, or behind the bathroom door, waiting for the information to be leaked to someone else. Hesitantly, he spoke,

“Bryant has been illegally selling nuclear weapons plans. Secret ones… top secret ones, to North Korea for big bucks. Big bucks that all go to him personally. The North Koreans would pay anything for the kind of information he’s leaking out of the United States. They’ve been trying to buy me off, trying to keep me quiet… And I have been quiet. At least, that’s the way I thought it looked. I’ve been compiling all the information I’ve found.” Richard’s muscles tensed up and his face immediately changed to shock and surprise, uncanny in its being. But then his face relaxed and a look of relief passed over it.

“I know you’re kidding now,” Richard said. He slouched back into his chair, “if this Bryant is really doing what you say he is, then why wouldn’t he just kill you? It doesn’t make sense. I think you just overworked yourself. Go get some help.” Charles violently pushed himself up from the couch into a standing position. He leaned right into Richard’s face,

“I’m not lying, Richard. It’s true. Every last word of it.”

“Then why didn’t they kill you right off? Answer me that.”

“I don’t know!” Charles screamed.

“Well, I’m sorry Charles, but I just can’t buy it,” he stood up, walked to the door and opened it, “listen, I think you’re overworking yourself. Get some rest. Then you’ll realize it’s just your imagination getting the best of you. I’ll call you tomorrow to see how you’re doing, okay?” Charles sighed, knowing he had been defeated. But why wouldn’t Richard listen to him? He couldn’t answer it… That was what didn’t make sense. He walked to the door and into the hallway, then turned back and faced Richard. “Good b—“

“******** you. ********. You. You know I’m not lying. You’re just afraid for your goddammed life! ******** coward!”

“Good bye, Charles.” And he closed the door. Charles started down the stairs.







Richard closed the door and locked it. He then walked over to the window and waved out of it to a man in a blue suit standing next to a black car. The man put his thumb up inquisitively. Richard nodded and put his thumb up in confirmation. He then walked away from the window, sighed, made himself a drink and sat down to watch the football game.







When Charles exited the building, a blue-suited man approached him. Charles stared at him questioningly, as if he recognized him but couldn’t place exactly who he was. When the man finally got to Charles, Charles politely said,

“Hello,” and started to walk off. But the man restrained him. Just then the light bulb went off in Charles’ head, the cogs clicking into place. “RICH! *****NINE*****