He was shaking when he got back to HQ. He’d seen canisters like that from his history classes, used primarily in biological warfare half a century ago, so what was Indo doing with it?

From what he’d studied, one of those containers could wipe out a small nation and contaminate the very soil so no crops would grow for decades after, but they had been banned before 895G was born and were only mentioned in history classes as a ‘mistake of the past.’ GreenHouse had become a large conglomerate by then and helped preserve the peace by sending out Scouts to decommission all canisters around the world by removing their gas cartridges, therefore rendering them useless. But the gas contained had been so potent that the majority of the Scouts sent to recover the weapons reported to the hospital with signs of stomach ulcers, internal bleeding, and tumors. 895G hoped the concentration of the gas lost its effect after fifty years otherwise he was going to be in a world of suffering.

Practically running down the hallways to the medic center, he checked himself in and had as many tests run as he could in order to prevent falling victim to the gas’s effects. His results came back almost immediately, proving that there was nothing wrong with his system, although the doctor attending him offered psychiatric help because of how frightened the Scout appeared. 895G turned it down, relief rushing through his system when he was given a clean bill of health. Before the doctor could insist on him having therapy, he left to his office to try and make sense of everything he had seen in the bunker.

Sitting down in his soft chair, he reached into his pocket and laid out the pictures of the oddly colored sky on his desk. However, no matter how closely he looked at the images, he couldn’t seem to find a reason how or why the pictures had come to be. Getting nowhere, he decided to write his report to the Head around the plants and canister, not mentioning the articles and images he had found. It only took him an hour to write, and that was mostly because he struggled with correctly formatting his report so it looked more official and ‘Second Commander’-ly. Of course, he’d written debriefings before as an Active Duty Scout, but he wanted to be sure he lived up to the Council’s expectations of him since they were the ones that promoted him so suddenly.

Leaning back in his chair after sending his findings to the Head, he stared at the images once again strewn out on his desk. On a whim, he typed in “Blue Sky” into his search bar. Articles about a designer electric company known for creating ceilings that changed colors popped up, but there was no record of what he was looking for. He typed in “Old World” to change things up.

Only a few selected articles appeared, all praising GreenHouse for their efforts in robotic technology that raised people’s standard of living and their efforts in creating injections that lead to people not needing respirators if taken daily. There was nothing about a time before GreenHouse existed besides mentions of the destruction the war caused and the valiant efforts of GreenHouse to aid the people. 895G had been raised to worship GreenHouse like a god, but all these articles struck the wrong cord and he knew there was a dark side to the company and yet there was nothing but praise on public forums. Not even a single conspiracy theory showed up regarding the company, and if the free speech the nation of Wivern proudly sported was in effect, there was no way there wouldn’t be a handful of rumors thrown around about the giant called GreenHouse that rose during the war.

As he delved deeper into the pages shouting nothing but endearment to the company, his mind continued to wander down the path society had trained him not to travel down. Every bone in his being was telling him to just accept the fact GreenHouse had dark secrets and just ignore them, but his brain shouted at him to continue to doubt GreenHouse and build his suspicion.

“The Head would like to see you in his office.”

A Trooper peaked into his office and 895G nearly crapped himself at the sudden head poking through his door.

“Thank you, I’ll head right up.”

When the Trooper left, 895G quickly shifted the images of the blue sky into the drawer of his desk before straightening his uniform out. He had changed since his trip to the junkyard, reverting back to his older Active Duty Scout suit rather than the nicer Second Commander one he had destroyed. Pushing all thoughts about the secrets GreenHouse was hiding, he left his office and took the elevator up four stories and exited into the hallway of the fourteenth floor, all the while nervously fidgeting with the hems of his uniform as a growing feeling in his stomach told him that he had done something wrong and the Council had decided to fire him. Had he written his report correctly? He braced himself for bad news as he pushed the door to the Head’s massive office open.

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“My boy! Sit down, sit down,” The Head greeted him enthusiastically when 895G entered the room. He seemed to have read the Scout’s discomfort and tried to set the younger man at ease.

“Don’t worry, you’ve done nothing wrong. Quite the opposite actually. I just finished reading your report and want to know in more detail about the old world relic you found in the bunker. Was there anything important written on it?”

“No sir, just a warning about the toxic levels. I’ve already checked in with the medics and there are no signs of gas contamination, so I don’t think it’s leaking if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I see, so there was nothing else written on it?”

“No, it was very dark and I was using plants to light the area. As soon as I saw the warning I left.” 895G wondered what was so important on the canister that the Head was so intrigued about. “Would you like me to visit the bunker again and observe the canister more thoroughly?”

“NO!”

895G jumped in his chair at the abrupt response, but the Head calmly regained his composure.

“I mean, no, that is not necessary. You’ve done a fantastic job completing the first portion of your investigation as a Second Commander; the board was right in choosing you.”

895G shifted in his seat, uncomfortable by the words of praise coming out of the Head’s mouth.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why was I offered the job? Surely there are more qualified candidates than me.”

“Because you showed astounding loyalty to GreenHouse even when you were taken hostage, not all Scouts can say that. Plus, the position was vacant due to some unfortunate circumstances regarding the previous Second Commander.”

“Unfortunate circumstances, sir?”

The Head grinned at 895G, but the Scout could tell it was forced and there was something sinister behind his face.

“Let’s just say that Second Commander 390A found some sensitive materials pertaining to GreenHouse and refused to let a case go, so he had to be forcibly removed. I hope we made the right decision in hiring you and won’t see that behavior repeated in this station.”

A chill ran down 895G spine at the Head’s words and at the dark shadows that passed over his commanding officer’s eyes. The room seemed to have dropped a few degrees in temperature since the time he had walked in and 895G didn’t feel safe in the same room as this larger man.

“No sir, no problems here.” He squeaked out, fighting back his urge to curl up into a ball and cry and hating himself for even having the inclination to do so.

Wordlessly, he stood up from his chair when the Head dismissed him with a wave of his hand and wandered down to his office, closing down his computer and shoving the images back into his pocket before making his way to his apartment. He ignored the stares the others gave him as he made his journey home, more focused on theories as to why the Head had wanted to know what was written on the canister while voraciously disagreeing with him visiting the bunker again.

The instant he got home he stripped and threw all of his clothes into the laundry basket and then proceeded to vigorously rub a solid three layers of skin off while standing under scalding hot water. Eldern Landfill’s smell clung to him no matter how powerfully scented his soap was and he gave up his losing battle against the stench after twenty minutes. When he wiped away the steam that had fogged up his mirror, bloodshot eyes and a gaunt face stared back at him. In the two days since he’d escaped captivity, he’d felt as if he’d aged twenty years. In fact, he was more frightened back under the HQ’s roof than he had with Indo, Petri, and the robot, and considering he had bawled his eyes out when he’d first been captured that was saying volumes.Maybe he should just forget about the canister and the blue sky and find out about Indo’s plans like he was supposed to rather than investigating the company that paid for his everything.

Gas canisters from the old world, GreenHouse’s involvement with the war, no negative articles written in the past century about Greenhouse, the Head’s words about his predecessor; there were too many things stacking up against the company to be a coincidence.

No, he wasn’t going to forget anything. Fighting against his flight response, he glowered at himself in the mirror and vowed that he would get to the bottom of this mess. He was going to learn about the old world and the secrets GreenHouse held close to its chest, and he had a good idea of where to start.