Bring your child to work day.

Have you ever noticed that “Bring your child to work day” sort of comes across as a command? Well, in the town of Clearview, we take that command seriously. The April after they turn thirteen, every child in Clearview is required to go to work with their parents. And where do most of the parents in Clearview work? RYNECORP.

I vividly remember that Tuesday in April when I went to work with my dad. I was excited to be getting out of school—even though, in Clearview, schools are closed on bring your child to work day.

As excited as I was, even as a thirteen-year-old, I sensed some hesitancy, a little discomfort in my dad as we drove into the RYNECORP parking lot.

“Are you okay, Dad?” I asked.

“Huh?” he said, snapping out of his thoughts. “Sure, I’m fine.”

But when we parked, Dad turned the car off and looked at me with that serious look that made me pay careful attention.

“Everything is going to be okay,” said Dad. “Just be sure to follow all instructions. And whatever you do, keep your voice down.”

Panic shot down my spine.

“Alright?” I replied, hoping the inflection of my voice would yield more information from my dad.

“Don’t yell. Don’t scream. Do you understand, Eliot?”

“Sure, Dad.”

Perhaps, I thought, it was just rude to be loud in an office space. That was all… right?

We exited the car, and I followed my dad into the RYNECORP building. It was a sprawling space. We were greeted by a large vestibule with a cascading fountain in the center, pouring down water into a pool filled with orange fish and hundreds of coins lying on the bottom.

Dad gave a friendly wave to the secretary, who sat behind a large marble desk, and continued beyond a set of large double doors.

Here, everything looked different. It looked… tan.

This was back when tan was the style for office buildings. All the cubicle dividers were tan, the furniture, the desktop computers, printers, monitors—all tan. Any of my worries were set at ease when I saw this space. It was as innocuous as could be.

Dad set his bag down on the floor next to his desk, pulled up a chair for me to sit in and sat down in front of his computer. As the computer booted up, he tried to explain to me what he did, but I didn’t understand much of it.

I did, however, notice all the other parents and their kids walking past Dad’s cubicle, somber, as if they had been sentenced to death. Again, the gnawing sense of unease crept in.

After about an hour, I was more bored than anything else. But the announcement on the intercom overhead changed everything.

The RYNECORP children’s presentation will begin in ten minutes. Please escort all children to the presentation room. There are no exceptions.

With a sigh, Dad stood up and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Just remember. Quiet.”

My heart was racing as I stood and followed my dad, who filed into a crowd of other parents and their kids, down the hall and into a large auditorium.

The parents all left, and the lights dimmed as a screen descended from the ceiling.

A grainy black and white video featuring a man in a suit began to play.

“Welcome to RYNECORP! Over the next hour we will show you everything that happens within these walls to innovate, protect and provide for the citizens of Clearview and beyond!”

The video continued, going over products, supply chains and all sorts of things that children are not interested in. But after a few minutes, something shifted up front. The screen retracted, the stage folded into the floor, and all that was left was what looked like a roller coaster sitting on a set of tracks below.

A voice sounded overhead.

“Please file onto the tram. One per seat.”

Obediently, we rose to our feet and relocated to the carts. Each one progressed along the rail once someone sat down.

I followed the queue until I too was seated in one of the carts.

A voice sounded from a small speaker in front of me.

Friendly reminder. For your own safety, keep quiet for the duration of the interactive component of the presentation.

The cart wound through an industrial-looking hallway, lined with red blinking lights and thick metal pipes. The speaker sounded again:

You’ve seen what RYNECORP does. Now you will see how we do it. Because nothing at RYNECORP would be possible without… RYNE.

The cart turned a corner and into a vast open room, larger than a football field. In the center of the space, larger than a house, sat a giant, pinkish, undulating blob. Dozens of thick, sinewy tendrils spanned from the blob to all corners of the room, even down to the floor.

Upon the surface of the blob were dozens of pulsating pustules, hundreds of blinking eyes and even what looked like a mouth, lined by concentric rows of triangular teeth.

Just looking at the thing made me want to scream. But I checked myself, remembering what Dad warned me. Still, I looked around for any route of escape. I was at least 30 feet above the ground— no way to get off the cart.

As if reading my mind, the cart clicked, and a pair of shackles sprung out and fastened my legs to the floor.

My heart was racing as I drew nearer to the thing in the center of the room.

RYNE powers the entire industry here at RYNECORP. RYNE is also responsible for our unprecedented innovation, giving our engineers insights otherwise impossible for a human being.

As the speaker droned on about the monstrosity before me, a claw passed through an opening above me carrying a full cow carcass. It hovered over the mouth of the blob, which opened expectantly. I turned away as the cow fell. But when I looked back. The cow was gone.

The cart was drawing close to RYNE now, so close that I could make out the network of veins beneath its thin, translucent skin. Then the cart stopped and turned toward the wall of flesh.

About twenty eyes opened in front of me, each fixing me in a hollow stare.

I couldn’t look away, despite trying with all my might.

But after a moment, the eyes closed, and the speaker sounded:

Congratulations! RYNE sees you.

The cart pressed on for another few seconds, stopping again at another part of the blob.

In a flash, a tendril shot from the mass and attached to the top of my head. Blinding pain shot through my scalp as my vision went white.

I don’t know how long that lasted. But when the tendril retracted back into the blob, the speaker sounded once more:

Congratulations! RYNE knows your thoughts.

I collected myself through heaving breaths, trying my best to stay quiet as the cart moved on.

The track ascended until I was sitting over the mouth into which the cow had been dropped earlier. The shackles on my legs fell off with a click, and the cart began tipping over. Slowly, I was leaning closer and closer to that open maw, pulsating in anticipation. The wet slapping of the mouth as it waited for me was the only sound, aside from my stifled sobs.

Though, for all my struggling, clawing and gripping onto the cart with all my might, I didn’t scream. I didn’t scream.

Soon, I could hold on no longer, and I fell.

My body was subsumed in warm, wet flesh. It felt like I was being tossed about in an ocean of warm stew, with the occasional hard object brushing against my back or side. I struggled to escape. To find a breath of air. But warm, wet darkness was all there was.

Finally, just as I was resigning myself to be digested by that thing, I felt the cold air on my skin. I saw the light. I was lifted by one of the tendrils, and returned to my cart.

Congratulations! Gracious RYNE has spared your life.

Trembling, I covered my face with my hands and prayed for the end of this ride. But not before I heard something worse than anything I’d yet experienced.

I heard a scream ring out behind me.

I whipped my head around to see another empty cart tipped over the, now closed mouth. I waited and waited until the cart was out of sight, but never saw anyone emerge.

The cart led me back through a hallway similar to the one I had come in from. And one last message came through the speaker.

Did you know? RYNE’s tendrils reach throughout Clearview. If you’re in Clearview, RYNE can reach you!

The cart stopped back in the auditorium, and I got out, hardly able to stand on my shaking legs.

I was led back to my dad’s cubicle, where he met me with a relieved sigh. But never said anything else about it.

I sat next to his desk for the rest of the day, watching him move numbers around a spreadsheet. And that was fine with me.