The Secret Society's Secretary

Today is my day.

I have to make it my day. I will hold my head up high, strut my stuff, and show them what I’ve got. I’m ready to prove myself. This new job is exactly what I needed, and I need to show them I’ll work hard.

First day on the job, and I’ll be taking minutes for the meeting. The company holds a meeting every week with all board members and managers.

“Good morning, everyone.”

The only color on the CEO is the red on her lips. Her hair, suit, and earrings—all white. She looks like the Snow Queen.

Chairs scrape against the boardroom floor, and anticipation fills the room.

The CEO peers over her glasses at the Chief Operating Officer. He sighs and runs his hand through short blonde curls. Then he clears his throat and gathers the pile of papers in front of him, tapping them together as if they weren’t already perfectly aligned.

“First on the agenda is… cancer…”

A short, tanned man stands and straightens his tie—which was already straight as an arrow.

**“The media has become more aware of what causes cancer, so we’ve started putting carcinogens in clothing. It will take months—hopefully years—before doctors realize it’s in the dye. We aim to increase cancer rates by 2% in the next year.

We’re also... regretfully announcing that Dr. Hugo Jaeger, who was exploring new cancer treatments, has passed away in a car crash.”**

What? I think he’s confused. He must’ve switched his words, like saying he put the fridge in the milk. Maybe he meant the opposite?

“That is very good to hear,” the CEO coos.

He gives a proud bow.

“I’d just like to recommend we vary our methods. If too many die in car crashes, it’ll look suspicious. Try a gas leak next time.”

She peers over her glasses at him.

Wait. Did the CEO just say they killed the doctor? They staged his death?

Confusion mixes with fear. It feels like the first time someone broke up with me—when they said they didn’t love me anymore. Sound fades, and everything sharpens after the blow.

They killed that doctor?

“Yes, ma’am.”

The short man dips his head and takes his seat.

“Next up is birth rate.”

I adjust in my chair, trying to keep my breathing steady.

Focus. Focus.

A skinny man with hollow cheeks stands, looking gloomy and ominous.

**“Over the last two years, we’ve worked to increase the cost of living to discourage high birth rates. Soon, we’ll shift strategies. Constant recession is bad for business. We’ve partnered with the feminism department to push the ‘men are trash’ narrative on social media.

While that’s going well, we’ve also collaborated with the nutrition department to slowly supplement infertility chemicals into food. We hope this will push up adoption rates.”**

“Wonderful news,” the CEO says with a wicked smile.

“A creative solution.”

I look down at my pages. My pen feels sticky in my hands. Just take the notes. Write down what they’re saying. Maybe it’ll make sense later.

I scribble the main points, but my hands are shaking—it looks like a doctor’s illegible scrawl.

“Food department?”

The blond COO glances at his list, a curl falling from place. He looks calm—too calm—for someone leading a meeting about mass manipulation.

“Hi, I’m Kendal. I’ve taken over from Veronique.”

Everyone gives a quick nod. She’s quirky, a bit older than me, but much more extroverted.

“The food department’s focus this past decade has been distributing carcinogens through food. As the public caught on”— she gestures toward the short, tanned man— **“we’ve pivoted to assist with the birth project and raise food prices.

Our main project this year is misinformation around diets. It’s been done before, but we believe it still has potential.

We’re also covering up holistic medicine, as always.”**

“Thank you...?” the CEO squints.

“Kendal, ma’am.”

“We hope to see you diversify. Remember, our vision at this company is broader than spreading doubt or reducing numbers—it is…”

She waves her white-clawed nails in the air, like a teacher waiting for an answer.

“Control,” the boardroom says in unison.

“Exactly,” she purrs, eyes gleaming as she peers over her glasses at Kendal.

“Think of how your projects can take away people’s control.”

The saliva in my mouth turns bitter. I’m getting sick. I feel nauseous, but I try to focus.

Kendal swallows hard and nods as she sits.

“Lastly, we have media.”

The COO pushes his curls back again.

A pepper-haired man rises, filled with pride.

**“Last year’s consumption project succeeded. It began in the ’80s and has become so ingrained in culture that we no longer need to promote it.

Now, the media team focuses on organic growth—letting the public do our work for us. With enough false information and doubt, they’ve started eating their own tails.

This year, we aim to make them believe they have free will. We’re also handling a few journalists.

There will be a power plant explosion next week Wednesday.”**

I gag. I have to swallow my breakfast back down.

The CEO runs her eyes over the man like a lion over prey. Her pale eyes see everything. See through me. Please don’t look at me. If she does, I’ll cry.

“A bit vague,” she says,

“but confusion is your job. You’re on track.”

He nods and sits.

The COO closes the meeting with a few dull words, but I don’t hear them.

Everyone rises like schoolchildren after the bell.

The boardroom had thirty people. Now it feels suffocating.

They’ve killed people.

They’re poisoning people.

They’re controlling the world.

“Are you alright?”

The COO leans toward me. I’m frozen in my chair, unable to move.

I gape at him. No words. Just fear. A frog in my throat. I fumble for my papers.

“It’s your first day?” he asks, calm—like nothing insane was just said in that meeting.

“No.”

“No? But you just started? Isn’t this your first day?”

“It’s not my first day. It’s my last.”

I shoot up from my seat. My legs nearly give way.

“Is your blood sugar low? Go have a muffin in the tea room. I’ll take you.”

“No, it’s okay!” I clutch my papers to my chest and steady myself.

I burst out the boardroom doors and lean against the wall. Breathe.

Psychopaths. I’m surrounded by psychopaths.

The wall holds me up as I try to stand straight and suck in more air.

Don’t sound like a racehorse. Breathe.

It’s not working. Blood drains from my head to my legs. My legs melt. My head spins.

I hit the marble floor.

I’ve fainted.

They killed my mom.

They poisoned her. Drained her life away.

Her bright light dimmed by their chemicals and projects.

Did they cause her cancer?

Grief crashes down again, drowning me.

“I’m so sorry I have to leave you, sweetie.”

That’s what she said those last days.

My soul collapses. Torn in despair. Shattered in pain.

I gasp for air.

I want to scream,

but no sound escapes.

Not even a whimper.

It’s all been one big lie.

A hoax.

There—on the marble floor—it catches my eye.

A logo inlaid in the tiles.

A triangle.

An eye inside.

The all-seeing eye.

Watching us destroy ourselves.

Like the CEO’s pale eyes—

seeing right through you.

“I think you really need a muffin.”

I look up.

The COO stands there, hands in his pockets.

The devil, comfortable in hell.

That’s why he’s so handsome—like an angel.

The embodiment of the fallen angel.

Lucifer.