Entry One: Orientation Day

It's orientation day today. I have to write in this journal and... well shit, I don’t know what to write here, but in case I die and this gets published or something I should probably describe myself a little bit. I am 36 years old. I'm pretty tall and I’ve got a full head of black hair. It is a little messy at the moment, but not as bad the creepy slob guy sitting across from me right now; he's wearing a rat’s nest made out of dingle berries. I get my hair from my mom, who is Italian, and my pale skin is inherited from my dad. He is an old Irish tough-guy and currently sitting behind bars at the Mass Correctional Institute of Cedar Junction. Same place as that dickhead Aaron Hernandez of the New England Patriots, the one who murdered that guy and screwed our offense up.

Anyway, another gift from my dad, is my "dreamy" sky-blue eyes, and per the ladies it is my best feature. Although to be honest, I don't seem to have luck with the ladies. My problem is that I'm attracted to women who have zero interest in me, yet I’m somehow popular with girls I’m not into at all. Which pretty much dooms every relationship I’m in, but I don’t want to get into that.

Today is the day that my life changes. Just yesterday, I was dead broke and scared to look over my shoulder. I guess I’m still broke and I’m still a bit scared because even though I’m on the right path to fixing my problems, I have people looking for me. Bad people. The kind of people that only a gambler can get to know, you know what I mean? 

My name is Jack McCoy and I am a broken, degenerate, sleazeball fucking gambler.

I would never say something like that about myself if I was winning because when I’m winning it all makes sense. I feel great. Nothing can stop me. The thrill you get from winning big is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, but it doesn’t last. It never does. Before you know it, you’re making bigger bets, you’re spending money stupidly and you’re forgetting to pay the bills. Of course, I always think I’m gonna keep winning, but I never have. I’m a loser. That’s what I am, and that’s why I’m here at the Nexus Mind Research Labs offering myself up as a guinea pig.

It all started seven days ago when I was at a gamblers anonymous meeting in downtown Boston. There was a small group of us and after we were all done telling our sob stories my buddy Vic says he’s got this big opportunity he found on some online ad site where we could make $300 a day. I’ve fallen for my share of scams, so I immediately told him he was full of shit.

“Jack, I ain’t shitting you, man. It’s a drug trial! Ain’t you never heard of those?” He says loudly.

I took a sip of that cheap shit coffee they got for us and gave him my “okay, tell me more” look.

​He gets more excited and says, “All you gotta do is fill out the application, a bunch of stupid questions and if they like you, you get a call and you’re in. It can last up to 30 days so we’re talking 9 Gs!”

“They call you yet?” I ask trying to hold back my growing interest.

“Nah, but I’m sure they got a lot of applications to sort through. You better hurry the fuck up.” He says lighting a cigarette. I ask him for one.

“Fuck it.” I say, and that night I went to the Boston Public library and filled out the application. I guess Vic didn't make the cut which means I'll be going this alone. I can’t say that makes me feel comfortable, but my life is one big ole’ train wreck anyway, so fuck it. I’m here.

Me, and a bunch of people are all just sitting inside this laboratory right now which is within this old building (in the middle of nowhere) waiting for a drug called Formula 35C. Well, half of us will be taking the drug and the other half of us takes a fake drug that apparently doesn’t do shit. I don’t know if I’ll be on the actual drug per se, but I hope to hell I am because then I can stay the whole time. With my stupid damn luck though I’ll end up in the “controller group” (I think they called it) and kicked out after only a couple days. If that is how it works anyway. I really do not know for sure because I wasn’t paying too much attention when they described all the tiny details. I think they said that not everyone will be needed the whole time for whatever, such and such reason.
 
You see, here’s the thing, and I really didn’t want to get into this, but I feel compelled to let it out... I owe a shit ton of cash to the mafia. These are some dangerous people. Until I can pay them back, I really can’t be showing my face around Boston, you know what I mean? Just the thought of those pricks out there looking for me right now gives me a bad, bad feeling. I tried to give them this shit called bitcoin to pay for my debts. A few years ago I won a poker game with a guy who had like 10,000 bit dollars or bitcoins or whatever and gave me 2500 of them which he said was worth about $10k or something, but I never figured out how to cash them out. He gave me the address of where they were on the internet and told me to hold onto them. What the fuck? I suck at keeping records so I tattooed this long ass code thingy on inside my middle finger. Maybe one day I'll find a nerd to help me cash them out.
 
Anyway, the scientists who are running this show told us they are going to pay us $300 every day to take this drug, and it could go for long as 30 days. In other words, the next 30 days could save my life if I can get through to the end. That is really all I can think to write here, but they want us to keep writing.
 
It’s packed in this place and I can smell ten different types of farts and some pretty rancid body odor. I’m sitting at a table with 5 other people and the rest of the bunch are sitting around the room on recliners, a lime green couch and some Asian kid is on the floor. He looks like he misses his mommy, poor bastard. 

It’s Saturday today and the weather sucks wicked bad right now. The ground has 3 feet of snow and its colder than a witch's tit. Speaking of tits, there's a blonde girl sitting across from me over to the right and man, she has a pretty nice set! I’m starting to feel a little better about this place already.  As far as I can tell we are a mixed group of strangers from all walks of life. 
    
I am here at Nexus Mind Research Labs of my own free will.

I was just instructed to write that above statement. The doctors said they don’t want anyone to think we all got kidnapped off the street and forced into this shit against our will or something. If you had any idea how weird and secretive the process was just to get here, you would know what I mean. I don’t think we’re going to be tortured or anything, but you never know man... I've seen enough cartoons to imagine what these mad scientists are up to. I just hope this drugs is not going to do some damage I can't walk away from.

This laptop I'm typing on is pretty nice and they said that we could keep it after we leave. That's pretty good news. Once I am out of here, I’m taking it to the pawn shop for sure. It should fetch me around $200. Of course, while I am here, I’m supposed to write entries into it every day. "Talk to it like it's your therapist," they said. Today’s topic was, “Why are you here?” I could have made this a quick entry by just typing, I'm here for the money, but as I said, they're insisting we write as much as we can.

​When we got here this morning the security guys made us hand over our cell phones, keys, and my pack of smokes. I was not aware I would be giving up smoking while being here and I'm a little pissed off about it now. The Doctors said it was part of the deal, and that they had to have everyone’s intake of food, chemicals and liquids be the same. Therefore, unless everyone smokes; no one smokes.

“Oh, don’t worry Jack, you’ll be okay, smoking is bad for you anyway,” they said. Fucktards.
 
So, I had to give them my damn cigarettes and cell phone. I let them know it was bullshit for not telling us before we signed up. They did not seem to care.

The bastards then made us read tons of pages of boring-ass paperwork and release statements this morning. I think I signed my name close to 100 times and right now my wrist is killing me.

Anyway, one of the documents I had to sign actually stated that neither I, nor anyone in my family could sue them upon the occurrence of my accidental death, dismemberment or any form of impairment. Christ, $300 seems a little low-slung if I could die from being part of this. Just writing this shit down makes me nervous.  I just hope I don’t end up regretting this. I’ve already got so much regret to live with it’s not even funny. Things I can’t talk about, you know?

As if the paperwork was not enough… I also had to go through a shit ton of exhausting tests today just to get accepted into this trial. The mental testing alone took almost four hours and made me feel like a complete and utter moron. For starters, it has been almost 19 years since I dropped out of high school, and to be honest, I wasn’t even all that bright of a person back then. School for me was about chasing tail and smoking in the boys’ room. I hate establishment and anything having to do with structure and conformity. So, I’m not sure if I was stupid, or just stubborn? My teachers seemed to think I was a lost cause. At any rate, I was positive the doctors were going to pull me aside after the tests were scored and inform me that I was just ‘too slow’ to be here, but they didn’t, so amen to that brother.

Then came the physical tests and they were brutal as well. I pretty much never exercise other than when I walk to the store for smokes or ride my huffy to the casino. I’m on this sort of, Ramen noodle and Red Bull diet which makes me shit a lot and suffer roller-coaster emotions. In the mirror, I look like I’m a pretty fit guy, but the truth is, the way I’m going, I won’t live past fifty which ain’t exactly too far away. They wired me up and had me run on the treadmill for 30 minutes. I mean what the fuck right? I thought for sure I was going to die. I’ve been smoking since I was fifteen years old and I’m pretty sure I coughed out every drag I ever took on that evil running-machine. I don’t know what the drug is going to alter or add to our bodies, but I hope we don’t have to keep running. Five minutes into it and my heart was crying tears of beef flavored ramen and droopy Red Bull wings. Hold on a minute, they're talking to us.

Okay, once AGAIN, I must insert here that I am mentally good in the head, and I am here at the Nexus Mind Research Laboratories to partake in the Formula 35C experiment of my own free will. I thought we covered that damn good this morning with the video interview and all the fucking paperwork. Holy fuck, what kind of drug are we going to be taking that they’re so damn worried about this shit? And by "they," I mean the scientists running the experiment, Dr. Waters, Dr. Roberts and Dr. Nelson. Dr. Nelson said he was going to be the one to read all our entries here. So, I better talk about some of the shit he expects me to be writing.  

It is orientation day today. As I mentioned already and we are supposed to write about our feelings and the things that come to mind during our involvement here. We must do this all the way through the experiment on a day-to-day basis and submit it to them after each entry. There is a little button for that at the bottom of the screen that I can see.  I suppose it makes sense for us to do this so they can keep track of what’s going on in our minds. Most of these people who are going to be on the drug could be ticking time bombs for all they know and it’s a good idea to get them out before they hurt others. Man, this is going to be weird.

I have never written in a diary before. It makes me feel kind of girly to be honest. Nothing against girls that write in diaries, but it’s just not my thing. The last time I wrote anything down was in high school just before I dropped out. I wrote a short story about a homeless guy with a couple of sponge’s duct-taped to the bottom of his feet that he wore as shoes, and all the shit he went through being a bum. I let him win the lottery in the end. Great story, I thought it was anyway, but I still only earned a C because he cussed too much. Fuck, I'm just rambling now... and everyone else is still typing shit so I'm supposed just keep going? I take back what I said earlier, they are going to torture us, they're doing it now. 

Fuck it, I'll just be honest and write what's on my mind. I am a little edgy about this place and this experiment. I have not heard a damn thing about what I’m going to be experiencing from this Formula 35C drug they’re going to give us. Which makes me wonder if I am going to be clawing my eyes out and screaming bloody murder after the first day. Formula 35C… weird name. I can imagine a bunch of shovel wielding scientists in white lab coats standing in some middle-of-nowhere field on a rainy night saying, “Well, Formula 34C didn’t work, looks like we have to try something else,” as they dump a bunch of human corpses into unmarked graves. I hope not.

Apparently, from what little information they've told us, Formula 35C is supposed to do something to enhance our brains, but there have not been any details, which I find to be damn strange. I understand we are just “subjects” in here but giving us a little courtesy info about the drug we are being injected with would be nice. Especially if it is like LSD or something. That shit is nasty man... I never… want to do that again, ever.

The nice thing is, while we are here is that it is all free living. They are taking care of our asses by giving us hygiene products, food, and I guess you can call it "room and board," since we each get our own bed. It is also great I won’t have to spend money on stupid shit like toilet paper and toothpaste. You would be surprised how valuable those things are when you don’t have money to buy them. They’ve fed us pretty well so far too. When we got here today there was a long table topped with an assortment of trays containing fresh vegetables, grilled chicken, fish, and a couple different rice dishes. I could get used to eating like this. Lord knows my body needs it.

We each have our own personal little sleeping cubbies that are like walk-in closet sized rooms. Each room has a small cot, tiny table and a lamp. There is enough room for about one and a half people. Two, if you want to cramp yourself in. I guess they do not want any sexual things going on here being that it is just a science experiment. Then again, what if the drugs make everyone super horny?  Who knows man…? So far, I have seen there is a total of two hotties in here, and I’m hoping to get acquainted with the blonde/tit’s girl. There is another semi-cute college chick and then a not so good-looking heftier woman who wears glasses and reeks of feminism. Not that I want to be disparaging about her looks or whatever, and the fact that she is overweight. I mean who the fuck am I to be judging anyone about self-control? I am sure she’s got a great personality and shit when she’s not man-hating.

The bathroom situation kind of sucks. There’s a men’s room and a separate women’s room, and both have two toilets and two showers. The showers run on a timer so that no one can take longer than 5 minutes. Actually, you can, if you sit there like an asshole and wait two minutes for the water to come back on, which kind of sucks. Or you can hop over to the other shower and start that one, but they are set apart in such a way that you would have to run out bare-assed about three feet. I don’t know these people well enough to be flashing my nakedness in front of them, so it’s not really ideal.

I think I counted 15 of us in here and I guess that means I was the last to be voted in, since on my folder it says “Subject 15”. I do not know how many people applied for the experiment, but I think that makes me damn lucky. Maybe my luck is changing.

I have been talking to this guy Randy. He seems like an agreeable sort of dude and someone I could get along with while in here. He is doing the drug because he is unemployed and needs to pay the bills or as he says, his “bitch wife” will take the kids and leave him. Randy seems to think that we are all going to wake up with our brains cooked, the fucking bastard. I like him though. He gives the impression of being entertaining and down to earth in a “woe is me” kind of way. He’s got big chipmunk cheeks, and brown eyes. He loves to talk about his fucking kids though... I mean, like on an irritating level. I don’t care too much to listen to it, since I don’t have kids, or a wife, or a girlfriend for that matter, but whatever, I’m happy to have someone I can talk to already. Randy used to be a high school janitor, until he got shit-canned for smacking one of the students across the face, after the kid punted some homosexual freshman in the nuts. Got to give the guy credit for being stand-up like that, but man, what a temper. I can already sense he can be a little bitch when he wants to, and I just hope the drugs don’t mess with his already short fuse.

You know what? The reality of what I am about to do is hitting me suddenly and I’m feeling kind of anxious and scared. You ever get that nervous breakdown feeling? I’ve taken drugs before, and sometimes they’re good and most times they’re not. Especially the aftereffects. It’s occurring to me right now that I could potentially lose my mind in here. This has me wondering if it’s not too late to get out of it. 

When I get paid and get out of here, I’ll go back to my shitty little studio apartment in the bad part of Boston and try to find a decent living again. If I can’t, then I will probably have to live with my mom which is not good for me. She is a lost and miserable soul. Plus, I like having my own space. I mostly don’t like that she’s a drunk who pukes all over the place. I hate the smell of that shit. Her house is disgusting because she doesn’t clean it at all, and it’s littered with all kinds of trash, dishes, and smells like second-hand smoke mixed with cat litter. I try to see her at least once a month, but I really hate going there.

So anyway, that is why I’m here, the money. I have no idea what this drug is they’re giving us, but it doesn’t really matter does it? I need to pay bills, and people, and yeah... I hope they allow me to leave this place for a few hours next week so I can pay my rent at least. That’s something I totally forgot to ask about this morning, fuck!

I don’t know what else to say right now, I just hope I can stay here and make a good bit of money. I also hope that Randy isn’t right about the brains getting fried thing. Although, that would solve my problems too. Shit, morbid thoughts, I got to shake those out of my head. They are requesting that we now prepare for dinner and then go to sleep because tomorrow morning we are going to take the first dosages. If all goes well, I will be writing again tomorrow night to tell you about the effects.    

Wish me luck  
  
-Jack

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