"Look, I'm not saying that I disagree with what has been written here!" Harrison Owens said defensively. "I'm not a defector! You all know that about me! I'm one of the most loyal employees the MBL has!"
"If that's the case, Mr. Owens," spoke up Mark Branch, the staff writer responsible for the morning edition, "then why call us together? Why make an issue of it at all?"
Owens rolled his blue-green eyes and sunk into his favorite chair. "I don't know..." he said, suddenly looking much older and very tired. "I... I just don't know. I read it this morning and... nothing clicked, y'know?" Owens proceeded to tap his index finger to his temple as he spoke. "Nothing popped. It wasn't the message... it was just... the words..."
"So, you're questioning my credibility as a writer, then, Mr. Owens?" Branch spoke up, now displaying the defensive tone.
"That's not what he's saying at all, Mark," Art Liebeck retorted, taking a sip of his water. "He's merely saying that your caliber of work isn't up to par with what it could be. I'm sure that's all..."
"Is it?" Branch asked, his eyebrow arched as he turned his attenting to Owens. The man looked up, running his fingers through his thick black hair.
"Could be," Owens shrugged, picking up his copy again, reading it slowly to himself. "Yeah," he whispered finally, setting the paper on the table. "Yeah, I liked your piece on the MBL raid of the re-assembled IBG better. More drama."
"Well, it seems we're on a shortage of drama these days," Branch sighed, looking down at his hands, which rested easily on the table before him. "No one wants to resist the MBL these days... too easy to lose."
"Well, you know what they say," Owens said, an unexpected levity lighting his features, "'if it ain't broke, don't fix it.'"
The men at the table began to laugh as they thought of the truth of the statement. They were in a utopia. A perfect civilization. Why would they need to fix the system? The system was, after all, perfection.
"I suppose we're done here?" Liebeck asked, rising from his seat.
Owens shifted a bit uncomfortably as he nodded. "Yeah," he complied, after a short pause. "Yeah, that's it. Thanks, guys."
As the men exited, Harry rolled the chair to his desk, gently tapping his fingers on his desktop. The thoughts running through his head bordered on treason, he knew it. Blasphemy or maybe even heresy.
What if the system isn't perfect?
What if the MBL isn't the way things should be?
What would your father say?
Is this really his MBL?
Owens shook his head, dispelling the evil thoughts from his head. This was not the way it was supposed to be. The MBL was in charge. All was as it should be.
The next thing Owens saw scared him to the core of his being. His attention was turned to his computer monitor as on his normally black screen appeared five ominous words, as if from nowhere: I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING...
