Unity Carl Stubblefield (read book TXT) 📖

waste time fighting against it if he was going to be equally miserable either way?

Congratulations! You have chosen your second Guiding Principle.

Guiding principles offer many benefits as long as you hold them in solemn regard and do not break them, offering stat boosts and enhancements as long as you remain true to the tenets of the principle.

You have chosen: Sacrifice.

When you are working in a team aligned with your values and views, you receive a +5 increase in all basic stats and a 10% increase to XP gain while the status is maintained. Be true to yourself, and you will continue to grow and develop!

Access to a unique team ability based on team dynamics available:

Conditions: You must have worked with a team a minimum of three months for this perk to become effective.

The prompt stood there for a minute until Gus finally dismissed it. For whatever reason, this appeared to be his destiny. It was nothing like he had hoped that it would be. He compared his options: what he had dreamed in blissful ignorance, and what would do the best good.

All those times he had imagined what he would do differently if only he was a super. How he would show everyone the things he could do, if he only had the chance. It had just magnified his own selfish scrabbling to prove himself to others. That he had some worth that they just didn’t see. That the whole thing was just a misunderstanding, and now that they could see the real Gus, everything would be clear and everyone would be happy.

But he had failed. Again. For the millionth time, and he didn’t know how long he could keep fooling himself. The universe kept batting him down as he tried to rise past his station into something else that was incompatible with his nature. It would be better to burn up in a blaze of glory than to allow himself to go down the dark path that beckoned. Or die of a brain aneurysm or something with these headaches. He had to do something. Now.

Gus clicked accept on his second Guiding Principle.

There were some preparations to make first.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Stutter

Aurora burst into the motor pool and saw Rory lying down. He was reading on the worn couch in the corner, his feet up on the opposite armrest.

“Rory!”

The large man looked up in startled surprise, and tossed his book to the couch as he jumped up to embrace Aurora, swinging her around and squeezing her tight.

“I knew you were going to be alright! You’ve always been a smart one.” His bristly beard tickled her neck and she pulled away to take a look at her old mentor.

“I’ve missed you so much! So how have you been?”

A dark shadow passed over Rory’s face before he could turn away. “I can’t really talk about it.” He started to fidget with his fingers in a way she had never seen him do.

“Rory, what’s wrong?” Aurora pressed.

“S-Something is rotten in the s-s-state of D-D-Denmark,” he managed to stammer.

“What?”

“S-S-Strange things are afoot at the C-C-Circle-K,” Rory, was turning red, trying to get the words out, as if he had a lifelong severe stutter.

“What is wrong with you?”

Rory braced himself on his knees, panting. Little by little, he pulled in ragged breaths as his airways began to open again.

“Are you okay?”

“That’s a negative, Ghost Rider,” Rory said with a little less struggle.

“Okay, weird. But I’ll play along.

“I write the songs that make the young girls cry…” Rory sang, the stuttering becoming less pronounced.

“What?” Aurora looked at Rory in confusion as the burly man began to twitch his head like he was listening to a Haddaway song. His head bob was towards a messy desk. Invoices with oil stains on the edges littered the top of the desk.

Rifling through the papers, she saw no rhyme or reason. A small shelf with chipped blue paint drew her attention. Paperback books with the spines cracked from multiple read-throughs were lined up there. Only one book was hardcover. A thin one, practically pristine, with a leather cover.

Sliding it out, she quickly found that it was a journal. As she opened it, Rory let out a relieved sigh, tension draining out of him like a deflating hot air balloon as he sagged back into his sofa.

She thought it odd that he wouldn’t be concerned with someone reading his most private thoughts, but she skimmed to the last entry:

Things aren’t right here. And it isn’t just here. I was talking this morning with some of my buddies in my old squad. One is in Eurasia, and another in Australia. It’s the same story there. Something is wrong with the leadership. What happened to Tempest has been happening all over the place. And we’ve all been too divided and distracted to do anything about it. Someone is behind the scenes, moving us all like pieces on a game board. Those who didn’t step down voluntarily like Tempest have met with mysterious ‘accidents,’ if you get my drift.

We’ve been led to have this constant rivalry with Orange and Green Factions as if they were our real enemies. Bickering back and forth, while we ignored who is pulling the strings just off stage. I fear it may be too late. They are making everyone go through some reassessment. Mine is tomorrow. I don’t know what kind of brainwashing is going on, but things are getting weird. Even the most vocal in their criticisms have suddenly turned taciturn and distant. It’s so out of character.

I don’t know what I am going to do. Travel has been restricted. There’s been no transports to repair, and I’m going stir crazy with being cooped up in the shop. You never realize how much you get wanderlust until they say you can’t go out. I’ve always been a homebody, but now I have this foreboding that I just need to get out.

There was another dated entry, but after that there were just scrawls and scribbles, as if a small