What have I done? I fear I have destroyed our beloved Pied Piper. I fear I have destroyed us all.
I write this from Jack Barker’s office. He has called us in: Richard, Dinesh, Gilfoyle and myself, and here we wait. Jack has left us sitting here, and has stepped out for a moment. A coffee run? A bathroom break? A miniature psy-op designed to demoralize us still further? Who knows. But when he comes back, all hell will undoubtedly come with him. Why? Well.
We thought we were so very clever. We intended to subvert Jack’s Box project by feigning our assent to build it, while in secret we meant to build the platform instead. But we were discovered, because I quite literally tripped Richard up with an appallingly filthy “joke” that, even now, I cannot believe escaped my guilty lips.
What will he do? Fire us all? Press charges for attempted fraud? Blackball us from other employment by sullying our names? Resort to physical violence? We will soon find out: I see him now, lurching in his ungainly fashion in our direction, through the glass door of his office.
This is my fault. The fault here is mine. My disgrace is utter and complete. I should have counseled Richard not to take this dark path, but instead I encouraged him, with exciting anecdotes of the Great War that strengthened his resolve. Failing that, I should not have punctured the deception with my vile toilet of a tongue. I should never use that tongue to speak again. I should tear it from my mouth. I should be made to live in a cave. No, a hole. And eat garbage and offal. And wear rags. Or nothing at all. Like a beast. The beast that I am. For I have destroyed us all.
“Let the day perish on which I was born, and the night that said, ‘A man is conceived.’ Let that day be darkness.” —Job 3:3-4