Don’t Shoot the Puppy

Will Harold Get Dressed?

“Look, it’s already been decided, I am not putting on pants, taking the aspirin, or doing anything, until someone properly explains to me what is going on.” Harold was standing naked at the front of the small metal room, where three large television screens filled one wall. They appeared to be showing various readouts of weather, current, course. Something seemed to be saying they were headed south east. This bothered Harold into thinking that he might not be anywhere near the resort. “They must be holding me on some kind of ship,” he thought.

The Captain, unfazed by Harold’s nakedness, brought a picture of a rubber duck on a computer screen in front of him. “This is the first NADS prototype.

Your subsidiary is selling these. The Captain handed the rubber yellow duck to Harold. He turned it over and could just read his company information printed on the bottom. It was hard to know what was true. Harold wondered if he could play along, until he found a chance to escape. “Look, what do you want me to do, quit my job? They like me there.”

Eugene laughed “You want to be employee of the month at the death factory?”

The Captain picked up a rubber duck that had been sitting on a console. “Everyone of these will contain nerve gas, enough to kill a lot of people in horrible ways. Some will get sick. The rest will be terrified and do all the dumb cruel things people do when they are scared. The plastic does degrade. When you set that degradation, you have a fuse. Your chemists can control the degradation can’t they?” the Captain said.

Harold nodded but wasn’t convinced. Everything felt so crazy so fast, as if his life was rolling downhill and picking up speed.

“Why would anyone want to make death ducks. It makes no sense,” Harold said.

“Harold, will you please put some pants on,” the Captain said.

“Answer the question,” Harold said sitting naked in the Captain’s chair, leaning back with his legs spread wide.

“Damn it Harold,” Eugene said turning around.

Patrick snuck away so quietly, no one had noticed he left.

“Okay, I will explain it to you,” the Captain said, sitting in a chair next to Harold. “Did you ever watch Steve Wilco?” the Captain said.

Harold snickered “That show with the lie detector?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Do you know how accurate it is?” the Captain asked.

Harold shrugged his shoulders.

“A lie detector knows your heart rate, your blood pressure, and your respiration. It’s good at fear. It detects and inspires fear. It’s invention comes from the idea that people that tell the truth have nothing to fear. So if you are afraid of the question, you must be lying. It’s a bit like witch dunking in that you drown either way,” the Captain said.

Harold wasn’t sure what to make of this. “The only time I ever watched the show was after a car accident. The commercials were all about workman’s comp, structured settlements, malpractice, and debt.”

“The show is about using a fear detector to interrogate people about child abuse,” the Captain said.

“True, but the show is trying to help the audience feel better about their horrible life, and the bar has been set really high” Harold said.

“Have you ever asked yourself why people do it?” the Captain asked Harold.

“No, I haven’t,” said Harold “I had thought they must pay them,” Harold said.

“They get a free ride and a hotel stay,” the Captain said twirling around in his chair.

“I’m not sure what else they get. Maybe a version of the truth, but not an objective one. For the show to work you need faith in authority, but mostly you need faith in the lie detector test.”

“ And you are saying that all that faith is in something that doesn’t work?” Harold asked.

The Captain twirled around his chair quickly and stomped his feet down in front of him, facing Harold.

“You would be surprised at how much work goes into creating that much faith,” he said.

“Does everyone know it doesn’t work?” Harold asked.

“Yes,” the Captain said getting up out of his chair and leaning over Harold. “Faith is about what you don’t know, what you think you know, and what you want to believe. It has nothing to do with what works.”

“I have a little game that explains faith in practice,” he said.

The Captain brought up a game on the computer screen. It was a simple drawing of a gun and a puppy with the words “Don’t shoot the puppy across it in a childlike writing font” Harold touched the mouse and the gun went off splattering puppy guts across the screen. They didn’t go away and sat in quivering animation guts. A new puppy was placed in the center of the screen. A window came up and said “Press Enter to Start”. Harold pressed enter and the gun went off again blowing another little animated body across the screen. “There was something mean about this game”, he thought. Harold pressed the space bar down and held it. Soon the screen was filled with puppy corpses. Harold looked at the game and looked at the Captain. “I hate this game,” he said staring at the screen. The Captain looked at the screen; the gun going off in quick succession, filling the screen with puppy gore. He gently picked up Harold’s finger. “What happens when you do nothing? Relax, and do nothing for a moment.” He walked away leaving Harold confused, but he was happy to do nothing, so he did nothing. Well, not exactly nothing as he found himself glaring at the screen. The last puppy sat stupidly, wagging its tail amid the gore of the ones Harold’s space bar destroyed. The game flashed up a dialog box that said “Game Over, Press the Space Bar to See Your Score.” Harold wanted to do something. He wanted to smash the screen in but instead muttered a “fuck you” at the game, which played an odd midi file that sounded like an ice cream truck. The dialog box disappeared. The puppy barked and slowly walked off screen. The game quietly closed itself.

“I’m not learning anything,” Harold yelled in whatever direction he thought would ring the Captain’s ears.

The Captain returned smiling. His lanky body moved with a certain fluidity that surprised Harold, who didn’t think a man his age could move like that. The Captain leapt over the arm rest of the chair next to him, and didn’t make the chair move on its wheels. It almost looked like he floated through the air.

“ People want to believe it’s that easy,” the Captain said rolling a set of military dog tags between his fingers. “Everyone thinks oh I would have done the right thing. I would have done this or that as if this or that was even a thing back then.” He looked at Harold hopeful that he might have gotten through. Harold looked back confused. The game makes you face the reality that what you think is the right action, the action you put your faith in, could be manipulated and could be wrong.

In one quick motion the Captain grabbed Harold’s arm and injected something. Harold squealed and tried to pull his arm away from the Captain’s grip. He could feel the pinch, and began to feel groggy as black speckles filled the corners of the room and everything felt heavy.

“Whaaat,” Harold managed to say, his mouth hung open and his tongue lolled to one side.

“I’m sorry but we are going to the Glass Lake, and you would never do it conscious,” the Captain said as Harold drifted off.