I

The edifice stared at me blankly. The gate looked like a remnant from a King Kong movie; black, roughly eighteen feet tall, thirty wide, complementing the sumptuous flavor the place exhibited. The building directly behind it looked to be four stories high, and appeared to stretch on for a fourth of a block. The entire location, I was told, covered 24 hectares of grass, brick and metal, all top-notch. If anyone told me a year ago that this place was a school, I'd have laughed. Had anyone added that this facility doesn't charge tuition, I'd have gone hysterical. Not much has changed. This isn't a school. It's someone's overly ambitious, exquisite fantasy.

Fortunately or otherwise, the fantasy had the likes of me in mind.

I am Henri Theodore Carpan, one of close to 300 enrollees outside college facility Bracchia, known to most simply as 'the facility', the single most expensive educational venture in recent memory. I'm 16, like most of the students here, among whom about 85% are from the provinces, and 60% are women.

"We have to stay in this piece of crap?" an unfamiliar voice lamented.

"Are you always this depressed, or do you reserve it for days like these?" I asked.

"I really haven't thought about it. Probably the latter," she said. "I'm Donita."

"Theo," I said.

As we entered around two in the afternoon, I confirmed two things. First, that if Bracchia was proud of its name, it wasn't apparent. There was no banner name on the gate, no history written on the walls, not a trace of self promotion, only a shy, marble two-meter-long "Welcome to Bracchia" on a metal plate to the right coming from outside. Second, this is one of those places that live up to every pre-conception you have about it. Even the five star hotels have a painting not perfectly hung, a misplaced wastebasket. Not so for Bracchia. Not a structure has a flaw: no paint scraped off the buildings, no litter on the sidewalks, everything crafted to exude a plush, if formal, atmosphere, which I found slightly discomforting.

Anne, a female guide with a low-pitched robotic voice guided us through the most important areas: the mess hall, the main building lobby, the gym, the library, you know the works, seven buildings in all.

The tour ended in the auditorium, where we were asked to listen to the opening ceremony speech of Benjamin Heindrich, Bracchia's lead consultant. Something tells me he's the school president and the actual school president doesn't really matter; it looks like a massive PR cover-up, as American school presidents don't play well in public.

Heindrich was six feet flat, blue-eyed, gray-haired. His jaw line was pronounced and his shoulders wider than good for him. In his stiff black suit, he appeared to be in his late fifties.

"I'm not a fan of long speeches, and we all have much to do, so this will be quick. Bracchia now relies on you. So while the reality is that you will be exposed to some of the most challenging schooling there is to offer, please bear in mind that you are our priority, our concern. The reason I'm telling you this, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, is it's going to be tough. We are asking you to perform in the most trying of circumstances, so that no obstacle will keep you from what must be done, so that no barriers will keep you from our common goal. Allow yourselves errors. You will need to. Challenge your beliefs. We all must. Push yourselves that the direst of emergencies become but meager hurdles. Compete, that you make each other better. After all, we are asking you now, like we have asked others then, to be the best. Welcome to Bracchia."

While I could have missed the speech altogether if I turned, Heindrich struck a nerve. There's no question in my head this place will be brutal. But what he said sounded like a pronouncement of their intent to make us comply unquestioningly. Still, all I could feel was a special sense of elation.

Heindrich approached me as we walked outside. "Theo, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I managed to utter. Thousands of applicants, 300 enrollees, could he have known all our names?

"We need you to come over at the faculty quarters later today."

"What for?"

"A short briefing."

I nodded though I had no idea what was going on.

"Sir, may I at least know how many people are coming?"

"I think it serves the meeting best that you do not know. We'll inform you about the specs later."

Keeping us in the dark, it seemed, served to keep us thinking. Whatever their plans were, they would be in a position of strength. We would have less time to contemplate our decision. Which means that whatever it is, they needed us for something, and they needed us to make a quick, probably important, decision. While I disagreed with their methods, part of me was applauding every move. I stopped thinking about it.

"What was that all about?" Donita asked, approaching.

"Things I would never be able to tell you."

"Why's that?"

"Well, he didn't approach me when there was a crowd. He waited a bit until I was alone. That means that whatever he had to say, he had to say it to me. I tell you about it and it's a breach of ethics."

Donita just stared.

"And I ask again, why is that?"

"Look Donita. My ethics and love for figures are all that I really have. If you could let it go-"

"Love for figures?"

"I'm a fan of numbers. There's a kind of classy certainty in them that that makes all those gray areas crass. I'm in love with figures because they delineate, they define borders. That's the way I live my life. I need that certainty, if only for a few things. I need those borders if only for my ethics. I need to know if I've done something wrong. I recognize, this is a tough way to live, but to me, the alternative is unthinkable."

"And if you ever tell anyone about this conversation, I will deny it ever took place," I added.

"Wouldn't that be a breach of ethics?"

"I knew you'd say that. Can I ask you a question? Why are we here?" I said somewhat hurriedly.

"It's a little too late to say no, isn't it?" she answered.

"No, now would be just fine, thanks."

"Hmmm. Seriously, it's okay, but I'm not sure what you're asking me, so I'll just rant. If what you mean to ask is 'are we here because we're the best?' the answer is no. But obviously we did pretty well on their entrance exam and somebody thinks we are worth it."

"I get that. But I mean, Donita, what is this multi-billion facility doing in the heart of metro? Don't you find that a tad scary?"

"I find a lot of things scary. That's never kept me from doing stuff. Any chance you could stay here a while, scout for the answers and take it one question at a time?"

"Not my style."

Dinner came in the way of the conversation. Bracchia was almost soundless save for the occasional grating of utensils against each other. That aside, it was somewhat getting comfortable in here.

For starters, there were a few recognizable faces in the mess hall. Its arrangement was basic: nine rows, eight columns of tables for five, though about 40 seats were empty. I was seated on the third table from the left, first row, and over by the fifth table was Jamie Rose, one of the biggest personalities in the room, no question. A writer, debater and commercial model with an attitude problem, she's about as intimidating as it gets and she's extremely talented. I met her in second year high school, at a national writing competition where she took second place in her event. We call her "chip."

At the second row, second table from the left was "Iron Man" Michael de la Cruz. I had read about him in the papers, and he wasn't difficult to spot. At six feet two inches, with two percent body fat, he holds the high school record for several track and field stints. Events, I should say, events.

We seemed to be segregated by discipline. All the faces in the first three rows were from journalism; I recall five faces at rows four, five and six from philosophy; the rest probably from psychology.

There were no encouraged prayers before or after the meal. In fact, I was beginning to believe that nothing was here without design, nothing here was an afterthought. Everything in place seems to be here out of necessity. The plain white walls, the gray tile flooring, paintings, electronic equipment meticulously kept at the corners, everything blended together perfectly, with an overall classy feel- it was scary. Where were the freedom walls, the couches out of place, the littered wrappers in the hall? It was very spacious and very suffocating.

I went out and toured the southern part of the facility shortly after dinner, looking for some reassurance I wasn't in a five star prison cell. The seven buildings we toured earlier, as well as our quarters- suites, really- were on the northern section of Bracchia, the gate side. The south, it seemed, was dedicated almost entirely to law students. The area was well lighted and, as expected, delicately designed.

Nevertheless, everything looked the same, save perhaps the law library, which had all those signs. Every other building looked the same from the outside with a generic mark, while inside, everything was crammed in the corners, and no extras whatsoever were present. Just as I was getting convinced I would find nothing interesting, I saw what seemed to be a radiant glow at the center of the naked southern side.

Left of the quarters was a two-by-nine meter steel sign that shone in the moonlight, with wooden letters embossed onto it:

"WHATEVER IT TAKES"

A shiver ran up my spine. "Whatever it takes," I repeated to myself quietly.

"Wandering off?" Heindrich was behind me.

"Sir, I'm still assuming I couldn't ask about the briefing."

"No, you're free to ask, though you won't get anything."

"Sir, what's all this?"

"You'll find out. Trust me. Right now, you don't need that yet."

"Why?"

"You'll have to take my word for it."

"Well is there anything I can ask that you can answer?"

"I like my steak well done."

"Funny."

"We have an extremely rigid lifestyle. We apologize, but when you entered Bracchia, there was an understanding you agreed to that, lifestyle, timing, dissemination of facts, everything."

"Point taken. Doesn't this positional jockeying leave us helpless?"

"Bracchia exists to empower. If in the process it may do quite the opposite, it is certainly an evil we can all live with." He left with that.

"Nice view huh?"

The comment caught startled me. It was Jamie, and like every stranger I know, she asks questions in lieu of making statements when she doesn't know a person that well.

"Do you regularly sneak up on strangers like that?" I asked. Love the tactic.

"I hardly do anything regularly. I don't sneak up on people and you, Henri Theodore Carpan, are no stranger. Besides, you were in trance. My footsteps could have been heard on the north and you still wouldn't have noticed me," she said.

"Didn't think you'd remember me." I said.

"Give yourself a little more credit. I keep track."

"Of what?"

"Of people who make life interesting."

"Vintage, Chip. I don't know whether to be flattered or to think myself a grand toy."

"Be flattered."

"Thanks."

"Who gave me that ludicrous nickname anyway?"

"That would be me. I coined it because you do text analysis and you speed read. People liked it, it caught on.."

"So you made my life miserable."

"I didn't know all the popular people were supposed to rendezvous here, should I go back to my quarters now?" Donita said as she arrived.

"Modesty doesn't suit you, you know?" I told her.

"Popular and witty. Wow."

"Are you trying to win me over?"

"Get a room!" Jamie said.

"I kind of like it here." I said. "Besides, what harm could there be in staying a while?"

The sprinklers started working. We got wet waist down.

When Jamie told us to get a room, Donita and I took it for a joke. The people behind Bracchia must have overheard, because sure enough, we did. Apparently the school wanted to break every school convention, and the quarters were coed. I found out Donita's full name was Donita Tobias Carpio, and the so, we were room mates.

Bracchia was so off the wall that I wouldn't be that surprised to see professors teach in their underpants.

But if I had issues with the rules, I had none with the room. It was about twelve meters by seven, loaded with a twenty-four inch TV, cable, a PC with modem and Internet access, a phone with fax. Two massive cabinets were at the sides, and were arranged so that the room looked so symmetrical it's creepy, except that a door on her side leads to the bathroom. I wondered if there was room service.

"Theo?" Donita asked.

"Yeah?"

"'You okay with the roommate thing?"

"Sure."

"Any chance you would know why we're here? What in the world is this multi-billion peso facility doing, why is it doing this, and what the crap are we getting back?"

"Well, you wouldn't happen to want to stay here a while, scout for the answers and take it one question at a time, would you?"

"You know what? Not my style either."

Someone knocked on the door. This place has a knack for ending conversations.

"Theodore?" A male voice asked outside.

"Coming." I got the door.

"Professor Benito Pe wants you in the faculty quarters in 20 minutes," the mid 20s, bemustached guy in black shirt and blue jeans said.

"What does he look like?" I asked.

"Chinese. You'll know."

"I'll be there, thanks," I said with a straight face. I closed the door and checked my watch. It was ten thirty.

"Did you leave a bomb back there? What exactly did you do near the faculty quarters?" Donita asked, a bit worried.

"'Didn't do anything."

"I don't want to be you right now."

"I don't want to be me right now either."

The walk to the southern side lasted a few minutes. It was a short walk that seemed longer because of all the worrying. Is my presence here a hoax of sor--------

I made out the faces from the corner of my eye. It was quite a sight. The law library has a café to its left, and in it were two senators-at least, two that I recognized- five congressmen, the vice president's publicist and three people in absurdly formal suits.

They were roughly 20 feet away but I could see their faces were of serious countenance. Worse, the café was in the way of the faculty quarters.

I started walking faster. My pulse went haywire. I felt every heartbeat, every breath, and each one weighed me down. Whatever was happening in there was deeply intriguing business but it wasn't any of mine. I pressured myself to shut out the conversation, but the café glass wasn't sound proof, and I was too piqued. I would have given anything not to be there but I couldn't keep myself from hearing them.