The FOUNDATION Project - Prologue

“Those who forget history are condemned to repeat it”

– George Santayana

It seems so unlikely that this quote from a 17^th century philosopher would be the basis of the FOUNDATION Project.   It started with curiosity.  Many of the mistakes of men were well-documented but Ken Easing, a 22^nd century scientist questioned our history.  He asked a simple question.  In a thought-provoking conference for the exceptionally brilliant, he asked this:

“We know that a great philosopher said that, ‘those who forget history are condemned to repeat it’, and I agree with him, but what if the history that we have is not the ‘pure’ history that was available at Santayana’s time?  We make mistakes; that is what makes us humans, and being human also comes with embarrassing events.  Many of us remember how we did many embarrassing things and covered it all up.  I remember how I tripped on my first day of university and fell into the lake.  I remember how I just decided to skip the entire day in the campus’ toilet just for my clothes to dry.  This was a huge embarrassment to me and I made sure no one ever found out – until now of course.  Embarrassing situations and mistakes are one of the same.  If we so readily prevent people from learning something as minute as ‘there’s a hose near the lake, be careful you might trip on it’ then what about bigger mistakes?”

Easing’s question sparked the contributors of the conference to start the FOUNDATION Project. First funded by historians and philosophers, the FOUNDATION Project soon received generous contributions from other scientists, businessmen, and other ‘private’ contributors.  The pressure for the FOUNDATION Project escalated when funds started coming in from politicians. The workers at the Project worked almost round the clock to create something that has never been created before.

After months of theorizing and constructing, the WARP was completed.  The WARP was a helmet like device that hooked up to a generator that folded the time streams.  If one wore the helmet, one could see through time, but WARP had a weakness, it could not travel back more than four months.  One scientist theorized that this was so because the time stream they bended was not the entire time stream but only a portion of our present.  WARP was redundant because anything progressive up until four months ago was the FOUNDATION Project.  But this was a start…

Soon physicists constructed a way for the WARP to take a larger portion of the present and therefore create a bigger fold.  WARP began to reach years, and after more tweaks to it, months, years, decades, centuries, and even up to a millennium, but a limit was reached and the capacity of the present could not venture further than that.  Even though a ceiling had been reached, it did not stop the WARP from being used. 

Historians learnt from history and taught it accurately, scientists learnt about ancient theories that could never have been run in the past and tested them, and the most surprising use of WARP was for the usage of entertainment.   Soon a WARP Projector set could be found in almost every home and people started flipping through the past like switching programs from a television set.  People loved the unpredictability of the past and the fact that it was real. 

But it became ironic that the machine that was meant to help people learn from their mistakes became the downfall, a mistake was repeated.  The greed of the people wanted more than just a view into the future; people wanted a portal instead.  The FOUNDATION Project split into two factions with one side endorsing developing the WARP to the next level and with the other side warning against abuse of power.

The power of change is a great responsibility and the two factions continued to debate while others continued to work. The faction that held against ‘back-walking’ became known as the TIMEKEEPERS for their unwillingness to change with the times while the group that were for it began calling themselves PORTAL for they aimed now to create a means to travel between the times.

Both sides knew that it was only a matter of time before ‘back-walking’ became more than just a debate so both sides started preparing for when such thing happens. 

Under the guide of Sam Long, the TIMEKEEPERS developed equipment that would remain unnoticed in the past yet able to take physical form.  The TIMEKEEPERS discovered the TIMEOUT ZONE in which time became nothing but a great loop.  They kept the TIMEOUT ZONE a secret among themselves fearing that PORTAL might discover a way of using it as a transporter.  Above preparing for the eminent, the TIMEKEEPERS continue to upgrade WARP as a means of keeping their contributors pleased.

Jon Aero became the president of PORTAL and he turned the entire focus on physical transport.  Unlike the TIMEKEEPERS, PORTAL did not need to maintain working on the WARP, because their research was enough to attract more and more sponsors. 

Soon, Aero took over the FOUNDATION Project as CEO and fired Long and his coworkers.  The internal conflict between the two departments ended.  Long was forced to leave and take his work underground.  Long’s last words to the press about the matter were short and simple.

“What is happening here could be the very end of us,” Long was recorded saying, “The FOUNDATION Project is nothing but a company now.  What started as a belief, changed into a conflict, and now the balance is lost.  We are the TIMEKEEPERS and we warn you all that we will not be forgotten.”

After that broadcast, Long and the people under him along with their families went underground.   For a few years, nothing happened, until the first back-walker…

Perfect - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Clichés

The moment I entered the office the following day I went straight to the computer and searched for the profile of the man in my dreams—green eyes with brown hair.  My estimates were right; there were only five people that fit the profile in the entire district and only one had a doctorate (who else would have to wear a lab coat?).  I made my way to the office of Prof. Colleen. 

The office was situated in the heart of the city.  The city hub was not my favourite of places to be in especially with the after-work jams.  I took the subway to avoid just that. 

While walking to the building, I ran through Prof. Colleen’s file in my head.  Prof. Colleen arrived in the city about a month after I was found.  He is a research scientist specializing in tissue reproduction.  No marriage.  No divorces.  No history before he arrived here.  The only reason why he was in the database was because he was suspected of using live human subjects in one of his experiments. 

But what connections did he have to me? Except his timely arrival a month after my discovery, there was nothing.  Unless I was one of those live human specimens he tested on.  I did have rapidly regenerative skin compared to others, but doctors have said that it was because of my super high metabolic rate.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” Prof. Colleen said as he greeted me into his lab.  I saw stasis tubes by the hundreds holding various samples of skin.  I noted none were big enough to hold a human in, but then again, research like those is carried on behind closed doors.

“I would like to ask whether the name Adam rings a bell.” I said as I sat down at his desk.

“You have to be more specific than that, I’m sorry.”

“Adam thirteen?” It was there that I caught his eyes widen for a split second before going back into his normal stern face. 

“What exactly are you investigating, Detective?” Colleen spoke defensively.  He reached for his hip—a move common of enforcement agents who instinctively reach for their sidearm.  There was of course no real danger as I did not see the bulge of a gun at his hip when I first entered the office.

“That information is confidential,” I could not believe I used the oldest cliché in the police book, “what can you tell me about Adam thirteen?”

Colleen smiled at me and said:

“My dear, Detective, I just need to make just one phone call and you’ll be out of a job.  I ask you again, nicely, what is your case?” 

“Are you threatening an agent of the law?”—again another cliché—“As long as I uphold justice, there is nothing you can do.”

Just then there was a knock on the door and two men in suits walked in.

“Is there a problem, Prof. Colleen?” One of them said as he reached at his hip as a warning to me.

“No,” Colleen said, “This detective was just about to leave.” He said it sternly and I knew that it was a threat.  I could easily take the two men down, but I would risk getting into a lot of trouble.  I decided that it was better to continue my investigation not behind bars.  I got up and said:

“Don’t leave town.” Another cliché?  Was I becoming a real cop now?   

I was escorted to the exit where I thanked the security for the hospitality—sarcastically.  I do not know whether they wanted me to know or not, but it was obvious that one of the security personnel was following me.  I steered myself into the most crowded areas, not to disappear, but more to avoid giving a chance for a clear shot.  I took a quick glance at the guard and I noted that he was carrying a firearm—with the safety off.  I knew I got myself into a big mess.  I tabulated my options.  The most logical move was to flee.  Fleeing would mean civilians would be safe and my chances of survival would be higher, but it would also mean giving this suspect a chance to escape. An alternative option would be to confront the target, but that would risk innocent injuries and even deaths.  I decided on another alternative and walked towards the secluded, abandoned construction site.  I stood behind a steel pillar before unhooking my holster and pointing my firearm at him.

“That is far enough. Put your hands where I can see them.” The amount of police clichés I have said today was really bothering me.  I was greeted with a gunshot.  The blast would have got me if I had not been behind the pillar. Instead the bullet ricocheted off the metal pole creating sparks.  More bullets soon followed suit, but they came from various directions and the bullets were from different calibre guns.  I heard the sound of a sniper at my right.  Shooting would risk getting shot myself, so I stayed my ground.  I almost called for backup but then decided not to as too many people would be at risk.  The shooting soon stopped.  The man who was following me shouted:

“This is a warning! Stay away from the ADAM case! You will not be given a chance next time!”  He walked away and I heard the other shooters move away.  45 seconds passed before I decided that it was safe.  It was then that the pain hit me.  Bullets had found their way into my shoulder, shin, and thigh.  I reached into my phone and dialled the number of the PD while I felt the world blacking out.  I heard the front desk officer Elaine’s voice.

“This is Thomason…trace…me...” I drifted into unconsciousness.     

Purpose is a motivation to live.  What is man without a purpose? What is life if there is no reason to live?  Man needs a purpose no matter how small to keep him going through life.  May it be to get an ‘A’ on an exam or to sing on stage, we all have a purpose to live.

I awoke in a hospital bed surrounded by doctors running around the room. 

“He’s awake! Someone, sedate him now!” a doctor yelled.  I looked at my body.  My shoulder wound was probably caused by a sniper and my leg wounds by a sidearm.  I managed to speak through the mask they put on my face.

“The bullets are evidence.”

“We know that, sir, please let us get them out of you first,” The doctor was clearly shocked at my ability to speak, “Sedate him now!”

“We already have…twice,” shouted the nurse.

“Must be the adrenaline pumping,” the doctor concluded, “Up the anaesthetic.”

I tried to defy the doctor’s orders, but soon the anaesthetic started taking its effect and I felt my world fade away the second time in the day. 

Unconsciousness

Catch Your Breath

Verse II

It seems like the world is moving too fast

It seems what we have made is not made to last.

Everyone is rushing and running today

It seems like we’re rushing and running away.

 Pre-Chorus

So can we take this slow?

I want to know.

Cause the world keeps on forcing itself on us

But I want to keep you first

Chorus

So catch your breath

Take your time

I can wait

For you tonight

There’s no need to rush

There’s no need to shout….hush

Let’s enjoy what we have

And catch your breath.

Verse II 

We have time to make this bloom

Into something above the tomb

Of broken hearts and broken dreams

‘Perfect’ may not be what it seems

Bridge

No matter what the miles between us; no matter what the pain

No matter what the trials before us; no matter what the rain

No matter what the time it takes us; no matter who’s to blame

No matter what the past behind us; to me it’s not a game

Dedicated to the one who is waiting for me

Love Everlasting

“Love is strong even in the time of absence.”

Scene:

Man enters bus and sits next to young man (Most of scene will be from young man’s perspective).  Man is holding a huge bouquet of roses.

Young Man (YM):

*listening to mp3 (Music plays when his earphones are on). looks at the bouquet and goes back to reading his work. After some time the man taps him on the shoulder. He removes his earphones (music fades).*

Yes, uncle?

Man:

I’m guessing you are wondering why I’m having these flowers.

YM:

Actually I was listening to a song about flowers and thought it was coincidental that you were carrying some.

*silence as the ride continues.  YM puts the music back in his ears and music begins again.  After a few glances at Man, YM removes his earphones again (Music stops)*

YM:

So are those for your wife?

Man:

Huh? *looks at flowers* Yes, they are.  It’s our fortieth anniversary today.  White tiger lilies are her favorite. 

YM:

I thought white flowers were not for…these kinds of events?

Man:

*chuckles* When you reach my age, you’ll realize that symbolic meaning for colors have no meaning  when compared to the ones you share with each other.  You got a girlfriend?

YM:

No, uncle, been single all my life.

Man:

That’s good.  When you get a girlfriend, you’ll understand what I mean.  Anyways, you are too young to get into a relationship now. I mean, you are like what? 15?

YM:

20, uncle, I’m 20 this year.

Man:

Close enough.  So I’m guessing you have at least a girl in mind now?

YM:

Yea, but I doubt it’ll become anything.

Man:

Oh, don’t say that.  Trust me, if you really want something to work out, it’ll work out.  Just don’t push it.  Want some advice from an old man like me?

YM:

Don’t say liddat la uncle, you don’t look that old. But sure, I would love to know your story at least. How did you meet your wife?

Man:

She was something back in the day.  Didn’t even know she had an eye for me until a few years after we’ve been friends.  *pauses: reflective* I asked her out on our first date alone after knowing her for three years.  I’ve had feelings for her for almost two years then already but was always too shy to make a move. I rather we stayed friends and avoid the awkwardness.  But I finally found my guts and we were off like rockets.  After three years of going together (of course with the bumps and turbulence) I proposed and we were married the year after that. 

The only tip I can get you is, don’t wait too long like I did.  I waited while she jumped from relationship after relationship, getting her heart broken, and getting angry at all the jerks that took advantage to her.  She told me when we were dating that she was actually waiting for me to ask her but she taught I had an eye on someone else… Well, who could have known? In the end, even though all things worked out for the better, I just wished I had more time with her…

My stop’s here.  See you around and all the best with your girl.

*YM looks blurred out but greets Man goodbye.  Looks out the window to see Man walk into a cemetery.*

-END

Lines from my Darkest Week

There’s a cry in my heart for a meaning to live

There’s a hole in my chest searching out for relief.

Where can I find a peace in my mind,

When all that I think about is what’s behind?

The emotions are great and I hesitate.

The fear is real and I’m scared to fail.

The pressure inside finds no place to hide

And I’m left alone, exposed and prone.

I’ve been the giver; I’ve been the taker

I’ve been the seeker for the right answer

But where can I search for something unseen?

But where can I look for something within?

Who am I to the world outside?

I feel like I am standing in a divide.

An in-betweener; a man without a cause,

Who’s searching for meaning and has no time to pause.

Everyone has a place; of such, I was told.

But who can tell me mine? Come answer, ye bold!

Don’t tell me lies; or half-truths, be warned!

For I’ve been deceived; I have been faced with scorned.

Where do I belong? Are there many who sing this song?

Alone in the midst of the crowd; invisible to the faint and loud

Are there others like me; in this same misery?

Do I have brothers or sisters to call; when I begin to fall?

Perfect - Chapter 2

Chapter 2
Simon

In the afternoon, after I cooled down a little, the chief called me into his office. 

“You remember that guy you caught two nights back—Tony long?” asked the chief when I steeped through the door.  He had an opened file in front of him—Tony’s file.  In no mood for words, I nodded.

“Well, he was sentenced yesterday.” The chief looked at me to see my expression before continuing, “two years.”

I nodded emotionlessly.  In truth, it was an honest judgement since my report stated everything important.

“What’s troubling you, Thomason?”

“Nothing,” I replied coldly, “Just not happy, that’s all.”

“With?” prompted the chief.

“Life,” I stated plainly.

“You need a counsellor?”

“Not necessary.”

“Sure ‘bout that?”

“Yes.” I emphasized the word.

“Fine, then take the day off.”  It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.

I nodded and walked out.  With the rest of the day off and so many productive things that I could do, I decided to head home. 

This time Simon was not at the door with his empty bowl.  Instead, the bowl was only half-drunk and Simon was nowhere to be seen.  I did not bother looking for him.  He is a cat after all—when he is hungry, he looks for you.  I sat at my coffee table after I made my coffee and wondered about that day I found Simon.  It was my third year of consciousness and my sixth month on the force.  I was examining the crime scene of the murder of Elizabeth Lee.  She had been shot at point blank range in the back.  I was going through her room when a cat came through the open window.  I recognized the cat as the cat in her photos.  The collar that Simon wears now is the one Elizabeth was going to give him on his tenth birthday.  I kept Simon after I cleared up the paperwork.

The phone rings.  Where did I put it?  I made a mental note to get one of those gadgets that has everything in it so I would not need so many things in my pockets. 

“Hello?” I said after finding my phone in my left pocket.

“Mr. Thomason?” A woman’s voice answered.

I nodded.  Then I remembered that I was talking to the phone and said yes—I need to focus…too much daydreaming.

“I’m Samantha Lee.  Elizabeth Lee was my mother.”

“Yes?  How are you Samantha?”

“Umm…I was wondering…do you still have Simon with you?”

I didn’t know what to say.  I dreaded to say yes and hear her ask whether she could have him…after all he rightfully belonged to her.  I dreaded to say no and to come up with story on where he is now.  And most of all, I dreaded to lie. 

After a very awkward pause, I said yes.

“Great!” She answered and I felt sick—figuratively, I have never been sick for as long as I can remember.  I closed my eyes as she continued, “I am around the neighbourhood and I saw a cat that looked exactly like Simon running after a police car, and I thought that he should be with you…”

“I think that is him, Samantha,” I answered laughing a little, “You see, Simon doesn’t like being in the house all the time, and he gets out here and then.”

I heard a laugh at the other end of the line, and then I heard running and a siren as Samantha ran after the van shouting Simon’s name.  I hung up the phone after all I could hear on the other end was heavy staccato footsteps, a loud annoying siren, a woman’s effort in calling a cat’s name in the middle of a run, and the annoying panting when she tires.

I check my phone again.  The siren sounds still seem to be ringing.  No, the call has ended.  Now I hear a woman’s panting?  I look at the window in time to see Simon jump in through the window obviously exhausted.  He went straight for the half-drunk milk bowl before he spotted me and jumped.

“Hi to you too, Simon,” I greeted, “how was the little police chase?”

The cat gave me a curious look and went back to his bowl. 

I hear the lift.  I sigh as I walk to my door.  A fist greeted me as I opened the door.  I had opened it one second to late for Samantha to withdraw her knock.

“Sorry!” was all she managed.

I check my nose.  Not to see whether it was broken, but more as a cultural expectation.

“You can come in,” I said while I left the door opened for Samantha, “Simon’s inside.”

Samantha rushes in to see her mother’s cat.  I sat at my coffee table and observed.  Samantha had changed from the last I time saw her.  She was more mature in every sense, but her fashion sense needed improvement.  At age twenty, media played a very important part in her life.  She dressed plainly with a blue baby-tee shirt and track pants.  She was most likely jogging when she spotted Simon.  I couldn’t analyze her face as it was blocked with her long ebony hair. 

I got up to get her a drink.  One minute and twenty-four seconds passed before she got up and sat at the coffee-table.

“He looks well,” said Samantha motioning to Simon.

“He is fed twice daily, he has no restrictions—he can go anywhere he wants, and he eats Miaowers the ‘ultimate cat chowder’.” I noticed she stared at me rather strangely, but she laughed at my last statement.  I wondered what was wrong with Miaowers. 

Now I could view her face.  She looked exactly like her mother, with her father’s eyes.  She looked at me and I quickly turned away.  The awkward silence lasted for fifty-three seconds, until she began talking. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I got the day off.”

“Sick?”

“No, the boss didn’t like my attitude today.  Well, no one liked my attitude today at the office.”

  

“Why?”

I looked straight into Samantha’s eyes.  Should I tell her my problems? Why should I even confide in her? It won’t improve my condition, and I already told the chief that I didn’t need a counsellor.  But she looked interested in my story, not the usual story that everybody had probably already heard—the man-recovered-from-the-river-now-works-in-the-police-force story—she seemed interested in my story.

“I have been having disturbances in my sleep.” I confessed, “I have been dreaming about the same dream for sometime now and I think it has to do with my origin.”

“What do you dream about?”

I told her all that I remembered from the dream.  All she did was nod with understanding, but what does she understand? She knows where she was born; I don’t even know whether I was.  That A.D.A.M. 13 mark on my back is a constant reminder of the past I am trying to recall, but all I have about my past is my dream and that mark.  Is my life meant to be such? Am I supposed to live like a vagrant for the rest of my life? Her eyes widened at the description of one of the scientists.

“Green eyes and cropped brown hair?” she clarified. I nodded.  The description was that of a plain man.  It wouldn’t even help in an investigation, but now as she sat puzzled, I recalled that there were not many people with green eyes and brown hair in the city—in fact, only a handful.  “You can see colour in your dreams?” Her question threw me off.  I thought she was thinking of all the men that could fit the profile, but she had drawn her attention on something more important.  She was right; colours in dreams meant that the dream was of a real memory—at least that was one theory.

“What does that mean?” I asked.  It was clear she was thinking a lot, but I was not sure what she was pondering upon.

“It means that your dreams could actually be concrete memories.  Real memories suppressed into your unconscious that it only manifests itself when you let your guard down—when you sleep.”  It was only then that I recalled Samantha’s vocation.  She was a clinical psychologist.  Great, I told the chief I did not need a counsellor and here I am with one in my house, but she knew about something that could help me in my hunt for the truth.     

I did not know how to respond so I just laughed.

“What did I say?” she asked blushing.

I laughed before replying:

“It’s just that I told the chief of police that I didn’t need a shrink today.”     

We both laughed together before we returned to our cups of coffee.  The awkward silence was unbearable so I broke it.

“So, these dreams could be about my past?”

“There’s a possibility that they are, Adam, but I can’t be sure.  There are many different theories about dreams, but as far as I can tell, it’s rare to dream in such detail, let alone, remember all of your dreams.  These dreams that you are having are connected somehow with your history.”

After the conversation carried on for another twenty-three minutes, Samantha took a look at her watch and decided that she needed to leave.  She took a last hold of Simon and left.  She left me with something to hope for.  Something in my past manifested itself in my dreams.  Just how exact they are, I will never be sure, unless I investigate.  

What We are For

We have been dead for far too long

The enemy's hand is for too strong

Break the chains

Let the Spirit reign

We can't remain in the past

It's time we change

Let's not be strange-ers

To the outcasts.

It's time the world knows what we are for

It's time to open up the door.

To our neighbors and friends

Let us lend them our hands.

Let's wash the feet

Of those in need

God, empower us all.

It's time the world knows what we are for.

Let us open our eyes to see

That people will not heed our plea

Unless our actions

Shows our passion

For the One who made us.

So let us be rid

Of our selfish seed

And be like Christ Jesus.