

### Troubling Tangent

Robert Venanzi

Copyright 2011 by Robert Venanzi

Smashwords Edition

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### ACT I

The rotor blades. They spun with a steady, violent resolve as they defiantly cut through the haze that hung about the night. As I listened to their incessant whirring, I found myself envious of the ease with which they enforced their will, tearing through the air that stood in their path without hesitation. I tilted my head a bit to the right and peered out the window of the craft. The city below was awash in a beautiful constellation of sparkling lights, but I was much too exhausted to afford the scene my full appreciation. Feeling the heaviness on my eyes worsening, I rested my head upon the back wall behind me.

I wanted to believe that my destination was unknown, that the possibilities for the journey were as endless as the waves of shimmering towers and spires below seemed to be. In my dispirited and exhausted state however, I lacked the ability to convince myself of such a lie. I knew precisely where I was headed, and that the craft would be arriving there in a short time. As the trip neared its conclusion, I began to feel a weakness in my muscles and a terrible coldness flowed through my body. I placed my right hand on my forehead and wiped my brow, then thoughtfully inspected the beads of sweat upon my fingers.

I decided to turn my head and look upon the city again. Briefly I reflected on how the sprawling behemoth was indeed a testament to the ever-present need and desire to expand and thrive. As I gazed at the metropolis, I did my best to savor my last moments of detachment from it, as well as what teemed within it. My seclusion was fleeting, and within a few minutes I was lowered back into the cage once more.

As the craft touched down, the side door opened vertically. Not a word came from the front cabin, and as I stepped outside and into the night, I wondered for a moment if the craft had been piloted remotely that entire time. I shrugged, then looked on as the machine lifted up and disappeared into the sky.

I found myself standing in an empty paved lot, facing a plain, nondescript building. Two stories tall with rows of black-bordered windows, it was a long structure that stretched all the way down to the adjacent street.

I made my way toward a pair of large double-doors and entered the building. As I stepped into a long hallway, I felt a discomforting shiver down my arms as my body tried to adjust to the sudden drop in temperature. The hallway had a terrible look of decay about it – much of the paint on the walls had chipped away, and the brown carpeting was soiled and repulsive. Rows of doors flanked each side, the numbers etched upon them almost completely faded away. There was a conspicuous stale scent draped on everything, so pungent it were as if fresh air had never dared to venture into such a place. Though my mind felt disoriented, my feet seemed to know the way as I headed onward.

I turned at a hallway junction, and then another. If not for the slight difference in the location of the stains on the carpet, each corridor would have appeared exactly the same as the last. As I approached another intersection, I heard a thunderous pulsating bass emanating from behind one of the doors – a distressing reminder that I was not alone there.

I arrived at a smaller door with no number on it, then opened it and entered what was a tiny dank washroom. It contained a single toilet, wash basin, and mirror. I locked the door and stepped in front of the mirror, which was just above the basin. I recognized the man staring back at me, but only barely, as he seemed significantly older than I had remembered.

"You again? Just can't stay away, huh?" I said aloud to him curtly, while turning the hot water spigot on the basin. Using a small bar of soap that had been resting beside the spigot, I began to scrub my hands vigorously.

As I began to rinse, I could feel my mind floating away from that cold, cramped space. A refreshing drink, a lively dialogue. Festive music and an adoring smile. A gentle touch and a conviction that true felicity was both real and attainable. They were places I had been and places I yearned be. Places I knew I would return to again.

There came a loud knocking on the door, and I was abruptly and mercilessly transported back to the washroom. I wasn't sure how many minutes had passed, but my hands were a bright red from having remained under the hot water. I tore off a sheet from a paper towel roll that was sitting atop the toilet tank and quickly dried my hands. As I tossed the towel into a trash basket located beneath the basin, I glanced again at the man in the mirror.

"Try to do better this time, huh? If not for yourself, then at least do it for her," I said to him, almost pleading.

I opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. Whoever had knocked on the door must have grown weary of waiting for me, as there was no one to be seen.

I took several more steps down the hall, until finally my feet stopped in front of another door. The number on it was quite worn, but still barely legible – 1220. I felt a tingling sensation in my fingers, and I reached into my back pocket and removed a wallet that I somehow instinctively knew was there. I fumbled through a series of folded and crumpled papers that seemed fairly familiar, until I found a blue plastic card. I waved it over the lock, waited for the beep, and opened the door.

As I entered the room and closed the door, a sensation of confinement began to overtake me. I stumbled forward to a bed in the corner and sat upon it. I took a deep breath while soaking in the silence, the welcomed yet disquieting solitude, and the twisted feeling of familiarity. The tingling in my fingers returned, and I rubbed my hands together in the hope of alleviating the trauma. My mind was flooded and heavy as I looked around the dark room. A modicum of light seeping in from beneath the door made it possible to see the outlines of the furniture, but nothing more.

I lied down upon the bed in the fetal position, placing my head upon a cold, foul-smelling pillow propped against the headboard. I closed my eyes and forced myself to feel as if I was floating. Moments later I would succeed in drifting off to where I could revel in one of my victories. However just a split-second before I did, in that tiny pocket of time just prior to being fully asleep, I actually almost felt glad to be back home.

I awoke a few short hours later to the relaxing sound of rainfall outside my window, as well as the more violent sound of tractor trailers screeching down the roadway adjacent to the building. Groggy and with an aching head, I sat up and faced the room. There was a lone figure sitting in the desk chair only a few feet from the foot of the bed, illuminated slightly by a streetlight now peering through my blinds. I sighed and placed my head back on the pillow, my eyes gazing at the ceiling.

"Salvo why have you come back here?" I asked with weariness.

He was dressed in the same attire as always – long, black overcoat with red inner lining, black pullover shirt with white buttons, and recently ironed black slacks. Like he was attending the funeral of an unpopular diplomat, as I was fond of saying.

He did a smug little laugh that he was wont to do, then snuffed out a cigarette into the ashtray on my desk.

"I am only here because you asked me to come," he said, as he removed a cigarette case from his coat pocket and quickly proceeded to light up once more. "So how much longer are you going to do this?" he asked while exhaling a cloud of smoke.

I sighed and sat up again to face him. "Why do you always ask me that?" I grumbled dejectedly as I rubbed my fingers on my aching forehead.

He tapped a bit of ash into the ashtray. "Because you always ask yourself that."

I sighed again. "I'm sure I'll get out of here eventually. I'm sure I'll do something about it eventually." My words were flat and monotone.

He laughed again, even more smugly than before. "Yes, of course you will. If you keep saying it, it must be true." He inhaled and tapped his cigarette on the ashtray again.

"It isn't as if I want to be here forever. It isn't as if I want to just rot away, to let life live me rather than vice versa. I don't want that," I said sedately. It was such an onerous conversation to have, time and time again. But like any tedious chore, it was simpler to endure rather than attempt to avoid it.

He smiled as he put out his cigarette. Then he clasped his hands and leaned forward in the chair. "So," he said, "what do you want?"

I took a deep breath and collected my thoughts. "What do I want... what do I want..." I muttered.

He was looking at me with what seemed to be mock expectation. I shifted my eyes down toward the bed and took another deep breath. Oftentimes during similar junctures in Salvo's visits I would shrug, mutter a short dismissive answer, then roll back to sleep. For whatever reason though, this time I felt moved to give a more substantive response.

"I listen to the rain and think of all the artists, and explorers, and dreamers who have been inspired by that sound," I said pensively. "I imagine all the different kinds of places upon which a rainstorm could be falling right now. I wish I had the courage to put on my jacket and shoes, open the door, and just walk. Walk without worry, walk without trepidation, without fear. Just walk to all the corners of the world, and beyond. Through the great cities, beneath mountain ranges. Past forests and deserts. Walk and drink in the rain, drink in the journey. As it drenches me, and quenches me. But I cannot. For I do not possess that courage. Instead I can only listen to the rain, and lie here. Call it what you will."

I looked up at him. He had been listening intently, or at least was hoping to come across as if he were.

"Wow. So poetic, so charmingly wistful. Beautiful really," he said as he nodded slowly. "I suppose one could call it inspiration without ambition."

"Perhaps," I replied.

He leaned back in the chair again and smiled wryly. "So basically," his smile grew wider, "you have absolutely no idea what you want."

I just stared at him. He laughed again, clapped his hands together once, and stood up. "Well I suppose I should be going," he said. "Oh, have you spoken to her lately?"

I began to rub my fingers upon my forehead again. "No. No, I haven't," I said with a pained look.

"Well you were supposed to. I'm sure it's only a matter of time. She'll be around at some point," he said. The cheerfulness in his voice only served to intensify my headache. "Anyway you should really get back to sleep, you look like hell. I'll see myself out as always."

"Wonderful, Salvo. Just... wonderful," I said. "Farewell for now," I mumbled, then I placed my head on the pillow and flipped over.

****

I woke up in the early afternoon feeling refreshed and ready to greet the day, or at least as much as I possibly could feel such a way. I rolled over and opened the small refrigerator at my bedside, and was horrified at what I saw – nothing more than half a can of Alacrity. I knew I should have purchased more drinks the last time I had been out, but my actions refused to comply with my thoughts. Perhaps I had simply hoped that more cans would magically appear in my fridge. I got out of bed, downed what remained in that lone can, showered, and got dressed. Then I grudgingly walked out the front doors of my building and stepped into the world.

Disdainfully I surveyed my surroundings. Automobiles and low-rise buildings stretched as far as my eyes could see. When the great cities of the nation were being designed, urban planners thought it a good idea to have buffer zones between all the heavy concentrations of skyscrapers and crowds. Thus they created the Peristyles, small enclaves surrounded by city towers on all sides. They were to be places where life was supposed to move at a slightly slower pace, where the sidewalks were not so cramped and the roads not as packed. The intention was to have somewhere to which people could escape from the hustle and bustle of the cities. In actuality, however, the opposite became true. Residents of the Peristyles spent much of their time in the cities, desperately trying to flee from the horrid boredom and monotony of their daily lives. In short, to find something to do. Surrounded on all sides by the massive city of Cynosure was Peristyle 46, my hometown. Such a sterile, nondescript name was quite befitting for such a place.

As I walked along the sidewalk on my way to the store, I was afflicted by a particularly unpleasant sensation that frequently accompanied me on trips of that nature. Too often I found that running a mundane errand would cause my mind to obsess over the notion that so much of life – too much of life – was comprised of such tedium and banality. Indeed there were times I could abstain from such unhealthy fixations. I would saunter down the sidewalk headed for the store, whistling a merry tune while beaming from ear to ear. But those instances were rare – and they had become increasingly infrequent as the years crept along.

I arrived at the store and picked up eight cans of Alacrity and two packs of tobacco cigarettes. I swiped my purchase card, exited the store, and quickly headed back whence I came. When I returned to my room, I decided to enjoy one of my newly purchased cigarettes on the small slab of concrete I called my back porch. I lit a cigarette, gazed at the clouds scattered about the blue sky above, and briefly enjoyed the warm air upon my face. I turned around and looked through the window at my room, and felt sick at the thought of going back inside. I was so weary of those walls, and suddenly felt disgusted by the fact that standing outside on a small piece of concrete actually make me feel somewhat free. So, undaunted by these feelings, I walked over to the edge of my porch, and I leapt.

My feet felt light and free, as they were no longer weighed down by the terrible shackles of my every days. My entire lower half became a springboard to a journey beyond that place, away from the cold desolation of those walls, the imperfections of which had been burned into me for too long. I took flight, and rose far above the tired and the routine, leaving it all behind to discover a more palatable condition. I spread my arms wide, and my weightless body became a vessel for a voyage to become something more than I had been. Within moments I was well beyond the reach of the world that had pursued me relentlessly, out of the range of the sharpened, savage talons that wished to squeeze the last bits of me from my mind. Those foes of mine, once so numerous and invincible, disappeared as I ascended to the skies. They were plunged into a eternal state of panic, as they knew they could never stalk me again.

I hovered above all I had cast away, and could feel myself gaining velocity as the air sped past my skin. I took a deep breath, and soaked in the calmness of my surroundings as they delivered me from the tortuous familiarity and stagnation. I knew I was finally free, free to claim that which had eluded me for so long. I surrendered my skin and my bones to the ethereal transport of the sky. A smile came across my face as I watched all the parcels and trappings of what I had been peel off me and evaporate into nothingness. Like arriving at the final leg of an arduous pilgrimage, I brimmed with anticipation, knowing I would soon be at the doorstep of my destination. The future I had longed for would finally become the here and now. The promise and the present would merge at last.

After what could have been anything from minutes to days, I gazed down at the world beneath me and spotted an enormous complex situated beside an large, beautiful and blue body of water. My feet started to become heavy once more, but this time it was by way of the warm, joyful expectation filling me. As I descended, I could see four figures gradually coming into focus. They were standing in a row, and each of their faces looked up at me as I approached them from above. Their expressions conveyed a sense of jubilant wonder, and I became saturated with peace and welcomeness as my feet touched down upon the surface just beside them. With unbridled exuberance they rushed to greet me – three young women and one young man. Each wore a stately blue uniform and a wide smile.

"We've been expecting you, sir," said the shortest member of my reception quartet, a beautiful young lady with shimmering black hair done up in a ponytail. It appeared she found it such a privilege to be the first to speak to me that she seemed ready to burst at any moment.

"I can see that," I said with a laugh and a smile, the liberating sincerity of which I made it a point to bask in for a moment.

The young man boisterously stepped in front of her. He appeared to be at least a foot taller than each of the women and towered over all of them.

"This is for you, sir," he said with a nervous hurriedness to his voice. He held up a jacket similar to what they were each wearing, but rather than blue it was a piercing crimson.

"Please sir, allow me," said another one of the young ladies, a lovely redhead with stunning blue eyes, and curled hair resting perfectly on her shoulders. She took the jacket from the young man, then scurried behind me to place it on me. Not surprisingly, it was a perfect fit. "It looks splendid on you, sir!" she said gleefully.

Finally the last young woman, a tiny and adorable brunette with a fantastically infectious smile, spoke up. "Shall we get going now, sir?" she asked.

I calmly inspected my new attire, and took in a deep breath of the satisfyingly brisk air. Then I looked at the faces of the vivacious quartet huddled around me, and could not help but smile at the elated sense of anticipation painted upon each of them as they awaited my response.

"Indeed we shall," I said graciously. "Lead the way." Then each of them let out their own kind of giddy cheer, and we headed toward the immense complex off in the distance.

We made our way down a narrow paved road that ran alongside a small stream that a few steps later would empty into the lake I had seen earlier. There were many beautiful rocks of all sizes at the point where the stream eventually emptied into the lake. The clear freshwater twisted and turned around the larger rocks and ran gently over the many smooth small and medium-sized rocks that had been scattered about. A light breeze then caused some leaves that had been dangling from a majestic tree nearby to parachute daintily onto the surface of the stream, and I watched as it was carried into the lake. The entire scene had a wondrous sense of tranquility to it, the kind paintings often try to convey but generally fail to do so.

All the while, the energetic quartet accompanying me was especially talkative. The black-haired one went on about a new addition to the gallery, and spoke of masterpieces and symphonies that were still to be completed. Her voice was especially cheerful when she mentioned how she wished to discuss some new ideas with me when we reached the complex.

"Sir?" she asked. "Do you receive more joy from the feeling of coming up with a new idea, or from seeing that idea come to fruition? Personally I think..."

Her voice was drowned out for a moment by the brunette, who was emphatically describing all the games and entertainment planned for that night's feast. "You'll really have to be at your competitive best tonight, sir!" she said, while giving the impression that she at least was convinced that I would be. She then started to give a detailed list of each food that would be consumed during the feast.

The young man was desperately trying to use his deeper voice to his benefit, though he was still somehow managing to be drowned out by the three female voices. He was telling me about battles that were to be won, lands to be conquered, beasts to be tamed, and mind-bending mysteries that we would soon solve.

"With you at the helm, sir, I know we will emerge as victorious on all these fronts!" he said, his confidence shining as brightly as his blond hair in the sunlight.

The redhead seemed to have a special knack for speaking only when one of the others was taking a breath, and was intent on informing me about all the scientific breakthroughs that the labs had been nearing. Diseases that were to be cured, undersea caves that could soon be explored, and many new discoveries that could not be ignored.

"I hope you will allow me the honor of joining you on your next trip to uncharted lands, sir!" she said.

I laughed and smiled at all of their precocious behavior, and confirmed that I was just as excited as each of them at all that lied before us. Beneath my feet I could see that the road was now a black marble, decorated with beautifully intricate designs which were colored in silver and gold. The magnificent complex that had once reached skyward toward me, and had sat awaiting us in the horizon, was now upon us. An enormous kind of gate greeted us – two imposing black doors, each at least 50 feet high, flanked on both sides by a wall of equal height. Though by their size and appearance those doors may have at first seemed uninviting, they were actually quite the opposite, as they opened with a flourish before I even got very close.

What was unleashed upon my senses as I stepped through the gate was nothing short of extraordinary. I stood now in a massive marble courtyard, where hundreds of onlookers had come to witness my arrival. Each wore an elegant uniform similar to my own to those of my companions, but the colors ranged from pristine white to sky blue to a fiery orange. In the middle of the courtyard was a great fountain, impressive in both size and design, and situated around it were six beautiful glass and stone sculptures each depicting a particular ideal.

I walked clockwise around the fountain, and gazed at them one by one. Each was a figure captured in a magnificent pose, with its name inscribed on a stone block on which they stood. I marveled at Ambition, her hands reaching skyward, and was captivated by the look of fierceness chiseled on the face of Determination. After them was Inspiration, Fascination, Discovery, and Passion – the last of which, with her hands outstretched and body turned, appeared engaged in a timeless dance.

I made my way back around to the front of the fountain, where curiously there was a stone block with no inscription and no sculpture placed upon it. I stood a few feet back from the block, my arms folded and my head tilted in thought. The quartet was standing silently behind me. I gazed upward and looked at the immense towers looming in the background, their spires piercing the sky. Some towers were constructed of only glass, and the way the sunlight caught them was quite a pretty effect. Others appeared to be made of metal, stone, or a combination of the two. Each commanded attention, though I was especially taken by the sight of a sky bridge that connected a beautiful glimmering jade tower with an equally enormous obsidian structure.

I took a deep breath, and felt a pleasant quiver down my spine. The air was warm and sweet, almost delicious. Faintly I could hear a lively tune somewhere nearby, and could not help but start tapping my left foot. Once again I stared at the plain stone block at the head of the fountain.

"Fulfillment," I said finally and with great assuredness. I turned around to face the quartet, my arms still folded. "I shall begin it first thing in the morning."

They each flashed an excited smile, and looked as if someone had just handed them each a wrapped gift. The black-haired one even went so far as to begin applauding.

We eschewed the elevators that flanked the area just beyond the fountain, and instead headed straight toward a gigantic marble staircase. Each step must have been 60 yards from end to end, and the designs that had guided our path to this point continued upward. There was no need for railings on a staircase such as this, as the steps were so large that one took three paces before reaching the next. As I briskly made my way to the top, the tune I had heard previously became more noticeable, as did the sweet scent in the air. In their excitement the quartet had skipped past me, and as I neared the apex of the staircase they were standing in a row waiting for me.

"Hurry, sir!" said the brunette, and I could not help but pick up my pace a bit at her joyful insistence.

The staircase gave way to a large balcony of roughly the same width. The area was adorned with flower boxes that boasted a beautiful array of colors. I headed over to the balustrade at the edge of the balcony with the quartet in tow, and leaned and placed my elbows on the railing. The balcony overlooked a huge open area, which was currently teeming with scores of people. Some were laughing, others were dancing to the music I had heard, but they all seemed to be having a marvelous time. A cavalcade of men were bringing out large plates of food. For a brief moment the intoxicating scent of fresh breads and good food overcame me, and I felt yet another wondrous quiver throughout my body as I imagined partaking in the feast below.

The four of them had huddled around me once again, and returned to their amusing habit of talking over one another. "The festival is just getting started, sir!" said the brunette. "And I just know you'll be the star of the big game later!"

"I hope you enjoy the main roast, sir. It's the spoils from an exhilarating hunt," the young man said boastingly. " I hope you'll be free to head up the next expedition."

"Do you hear that music, sir?" said the black-haired young lady. "Will you be joining the bands onstage later this evening?"

"There is so much to do, sir," said the redhead. "So much to do and so much to be done," she stated thoughtfully. "I'm so glad you're finally here to share in this."

At that moment I felt an odd, almost alien feeling grip me and shake my insides. It was undeniably positive and beautiful, but strange and new nonetheless. It struck me that everything I had experienced in life, all I had done, seen, said and thought, was for the purpose of leading me to this very point. I smiled widely as I began to realize just what this incredible and mysterious feeling was. It was peace. I felt at peace – and it was as bewildering as it was wondrous.

I turned to look at the beaming faces of the quartet. "As am I. Now let us begin," I said, and we headed to the opposite end of the balcony, to a descending staircase that led to the open area below.

****

I put my cigarette out in the ashtray I kept on the porch then finally went back inside.

"Yes, let us begin," I uttered quietly with a sigh.

The silence in the room caused me a sick feeling in my stomach, so I switched on the electric fan situated on my dresser to create some background noise. The clock beside the fan revealed that the afternoon was still quite young, and I slouched despondently into the desk chair, wondering what the simplest way would be to fill up the time. Without further thought, I switched on the desk terminal and logged onto the Muninn Access Dynamic in the hopes of drowning out the day in the global exchange of goods and demagoguery.

I was immediately greeted by a message from SatisfiCorp, the makers of Alacrity. It was an interactive game that featured a young man of my age, build, and complexion who wanted to casually ask me questions concerning what I liked and disliked about Alacrity. Unable to delete it without completing it, I moved it into the folder where I kept all the other fun games that were sent to me each time I swiped my purchase card.

There was also a scrolling marquee at the bottom of my screen. "Only 8 cans?" it read. "Next time, why not 16?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes," I whispered aloud. "I probably should have stocked up a bit more."

There was another new message awaiting me, and I perked up a bit when I noticed it was from my friend Grebe. It had been sent about an hour earlier and read simply: "Drinks in 2 hours?"

Suddenly a vibrancy surged through my mind at the mere possibility of engaging in something even remotely resembling mental stimulation. Before I responded, I decided to check my finances, knowing that I wasn't scheduled to receive my next Consumer Supplementation payment for another week. The beauty of that particular government program was that it allowed the jobless to have enough money to do simple shopping and pay the rent. Unfortunately in order to remain eligible for the next payment one must first have spent the entirety of the previous payment. Realizing that at my current pace of spending I couldn't possibly empty my account by the following week, I decided that a night out with Grebe was in my best interests financially as well as mentally. I replied to his message with a simple "I'll see you then" and shut down the terminal as I grabbed my jacket.

I took the long bus into Cynosure. I knew that about halfway through the trip the bus would stop near an apartment complex called Ten in the Woods. It was there that on certain occasions a particularly captivating young woman would step onto the bus. Whenever that stop was just ahead I'd find myself conflicted as to whether or not I hoped she would be there, and this evening was no exception. As it turned out, not only was she there, she would choose a seat that allowed me the opportunity to glance at her. This was in contrast to when my view of her would be blocked by some large grotesque person, or worse yet, when she would take a seat to the rear of mine, which was often the case. Her face always seemed to be wrapped in melancholy, though it had an incredibly alluring angelic quality to it. There were slight discolorations beneath her eyes, and the shape of her lips gave the illusion of a perpetual frown. However despite the outwardly plainness to her, she possessed an unmistakably exotic quality. Perhaps it was the paleness of her skin, the beautiful definition in her cheekbones, or her stunningly long black hair, but each time I glanced her way I got the impression that there was something extraordinary within her. Something mysterious that needed to be withheld from public view, something both terrible and tantalizing. Though as I snuck one final glance as my stop approached, I knew it was not something I would ever have the pleasure of uncovering – and what a pleasure I was certain it'd be.

Grebe and I had been frequenting a bar in a distant neighborhood for the past year, ever since the ordinance banning smoking in all Peristyle 46 commercial establishments had gone into effect. Sadly the local oversight commission deemed it should no longer be permissible to inhale noxious smoke while voluntarily imbibing intoxicating liquids. So Grebe and I had decided to take our business to a cozy little place called Untamed Wilderness, which was located on the third floor of a high-rise in Cynosure's Taupe Commercial district, nine blocks from the western boundary of Peristyle 46.

I stepped off the bus and glanced down at my watch – I was 20 minutes early. I ducked into the building, lit up a cigarette, and decided to watch the procession. Several professionals of varying ages passed through the door shortly after I did, each clad in their black and white uniforms and electronic accessories. Their features appeared eroded, and their eyes had a kind of tragically eerie glaze to them, as they scuttled like phantoms into an elevator, perhaps off to some board meeting or whatnot. After them came a contingent of university-aged females, all dressed in whites and pinks and sparkling from head to toe. Most of them were carrying shopping bags almost bigger than themselves, and their shrill and consistent giggling laughter disgusted me. Despite this I still did a quick glance at each of them as they headed past, and I was nearly certain I made eye contact with a fairly cute short-haired brunette, though only for a split-second.

A moment later I saw Grebe heading up the sidewalk toward the building. He was smoking a cigarette, and wearing the long carmine jacket that he so often wore when out in public. He moved with a determined gait, but stopped abruptly to hold the door open for a tall blond in a black miniskirt.

"Hey," he said to me as he entered the foyer, still looking in the direction of the blond as she headed toward the lobby.

"Hey," I repeated back with a nod, and we made our way over to an elevator.

The third floor was essentially a shopping mall of sorts, and just off to the right of the elevator between a shoe store and a novelty bookstore was Untamed Wilderness. The door to the establishment was made of stained glass and was emblazoned with the image of a fox, and I turned to Grebe as I opened it.

"Booth or bar?" I said, as was my custom at this point in the journey.

"Ehh..." He hesitated briefly. "Booth, why not?"

We headed over to an empty booth near the back of the restaurant, beside a row of windows overlooking the main street. Along the way, Grebe smiled slyly at one of the waitresses, and I did the same at another. Grebe managed to light a cigarette just as he sat down.

The place was designed so that no matter where one sat, he or she would have an excellent view of least six television screens. As I took my seat across from Grebe, my eyes glanced around at the screens visible to me. It appeared I had been blessed with two political-themed programs, two shows dedicated to the exploits of various celebrities, and two football games. The screens were set at identical volumes – not so loud that one would need to shout over them, but just loud enough so that it would take superhuman concentration to block them out entirely. It was nearly as challenging to focus on a single program, so it was customary to simply pick up snippets of each and let the mind weave it all together as best it could.

Before even looking at me again, Grebe fumbled through his pockets to retrieve his Vital. Upon doing so, he immediately began tapping away on its numerous buttons, so I took a moment to update myself on one of the football scores. As I did, a small yet powerful sensor attached beneath the screen noted the exact moment my eyes gazed up at the screen, then shortly thereafter noted the exact moment my eyes turned back away.

"So," said Grebe finally, his cigarette dangling from the edge of his mouth, "it took you nearly forever to get back to me." His eyes were still fixed downward on his Vital, as he continued to furiously press away on its keys, undoubtedly for the purpose of accomplishing something of great importance.

"Well I was outside for a bit – wait," I cut myself off, "I got back to you in under an hour," I said with irritation.

"Yeah exactly," Grebe scoffed. "If you had one of these you could've gotten back to me immediately," he said as he pointed at his Vital. "I'm telling you man, once you get one you wonder how you ever lived without it." He then tapped a bit of ash into the booth's ashtray.

"Yes, I really don't know how I get by," I replied, without even the slightest attempt at masking my sardonicism. I stared bewilderedly at him for a few seconds as he fiddled away. "So, what are you doing anyway?" I asked at last.

"Hmm?" said Grebe. "Oh I'm trying to decide on a new background image for my message screen. Last night I downloaded this cool design that looked kind of like a meteor shower, but then I got bored of it. So now I'm thinking of going with this awesome image of a Tyrannosaurus flying a fighter craft. See?" he said, turning the Vital around and showing me the screen.

"Mmm," I replied. "Really don't know how I get by," I repeated, mostly for effect. "Though... that is a pretty awesome image," I conceded.

"I know!" said Grebe emphatically. "Anyway, I guess we'd better order." He reached his hand over to the small trackpad located on the wall beside our booth, and ordered two bottles of beer imported from some far-off land we'd likely never visit. He then punched the buttons to indicate a running tab and separate bills for each of us. "You know," he said as he submitted the order, "I miss the days when you'd give your order to a waitress." Of course I had been thinking the exact opposite as I watched him use the trackpad.

"It's almost a non-issue given that the waitress still has to bring us the drinks," I said, the end of my statement coinciding with the arrival of the waitress. She put down a pair of coasters, placed a bottle on each, smiled at Grebe, then sauntered away.

"I don't know," responded Grebe as he put out his cigarette into the ashtray. He had finally placed his Vital down on the table. "It's just not the same, really." He then began to guzzle from his bottle.

Half-aware of the shaking of my own head, I took a swig of beer and glanced up at one of the political programs. A man labeled as some kind of official from the Tails Party was talking to a beautiful young woman reporter. Concentrating a bit, I could hear him blame the Heads Party for the recent defeat at Elle Isle, then credit his own party's policies for the recent boost in the economy. He then said something about our brave men and women.

"Damned Tails Party!" bellowed a man seated a few booths behind us. "It's time we put the Heads back in power!"

I took another swig of my beer then looked at Grebe. "Wait a minute. Aren't the Heads already back in power?" I asked, fairly certain that they were. Grebe just shrugged his shoulders and lit another cigarette.

I lit one up as well, and stared off into the distance. My view caught a brunette seated several booths away. I instantly became enchanted by how beautifully her eyes lit up as she smiled and laughed with her friend seated across from her. I risked detection for a few more seconds, then immediately darted my eyes back toward Grebe just as her eyes met mine.

I took a particularly deep drag from my cigarette, then slowly exhaled up toward the ceiling. "Grebe," I said finally, "do you ever worry that we've peaked?"

A befuddled look came over him as he swallowed a bit of beer. "What?" he said, as if he honestly hadn't any idea what I meant.

"Well," I said while looking down at the table, "we always had these notions of who we were going to be, what we were going to be. Big ideas and grand visions, that sort of thing. I was just wondering, do you ever worry that this is it? That this is who we are? That we've peaked?" My voice drifted as I spoke, but I made sure to use the plural 'we' rather than the singular 'I'. I looked up at Grebe again and saw that his befuddlement had turned almost to amusement.

"Absolutely not," he said while swallowing some more beer. He was shaking his head vehemently, and I was honestly startled by the confidence in his voice. "I've only just begun. I will be everything I planned on being. I will be remembered. Nothing is going to stop me, I know that." His words and demeanor were simultaneously both inspiring and dejecting. Never before I had I been so envious of him – me, envious of Grebe. I felt a terrible wrenching in the pit of my stomach.

"I just wonder sometimes if this is it," I repeated, trying desperately to sound more contemplative than somber.

"Well it isn't. Not even close." He put out his cigarette and quickly lit another. "You know if you don't get around to getting one of these," he said gesturing toward the Vital and completely changing the subject, "it's going to really hurt your ICICLE score. Then you'll end up getting your ConSup reduced, and like you really want to deal with that nonsense."

"Yeah, yeah," I said exhaustedly, still trying to manage the pain in my stomach, which I did by drinking more beer. I hardly wanted to deal with him even mentioning it. The ICICLE, or Individual Consumer Inactivity CataLoging Engine, was essentially a public listing of those who hadn't been doing enough fashionable purchasing. It was a points-based system based on the ownership of popular items, and as a non-owner of several ubiquitous products – such as the Vital – I didn't have nearly enough points to keep my name off the list. "I know, I know," I said prior to finishing my bottle with one final swig.

"Oh hey," exclaimed Grebe, "I watched another documentary the other night about the Marble Patera, you know, up on Etude?"

"Ah yes," I said. "That's some really interesting stuff." My tone may have caused my words to seem insincere, though that was truly not the case. I did find the topic quite interesting, but I was simply unable to really concentrate on it at the moment. My thoughts did turn however to wondering just how many offers for discounted museum tickets Grebe must've received on a daily basis.

"They've discovered some really incredible stuff, possibly even evidence of a previous society," he said, and his eyes widened as he spoke. "One day I'd really love to get up there and see the Patera for myself. I'm hoping that if I play my chips right, that day will arrive sooner than later." He took a swig of beer and nodded approvingly at his own words.

"Well, interworld travel is pretty damned expensive," I said. This had become an obligatory response of mine in recent times. I'd said something to that effect a week earlier when Grebe spoke of wanting to visit the far moon of Concusso, to journey to the Four Temples located at the foot of Cataclysm Plateau. A month prior to that he had concocted an idea for a computer game in which players could surf along the scorched rivers on Villanelle – though he planned on experiencing the real thing first, of course. "It's even more expensive when you consider we'd only qualify for the excursionist rate rather than the commuter rate," I added for good measure.

"Oh sure, sure, I know," he said, waving his hand as if he were brushing aside my pessimism. "I'm thinking though that barring any surprises, a little over a year from now I'll be able to afford a trip to one of the Near Moons at the very least. Especially considering that I got another raise recently. Did I mention that to you? Yeah, it kicked in last week..."

Grebe was likely going into details concerning why he had gotten a raise, and possibly some story regarding his supervisor, though I wasn't entirely sure as I had a habit of toning him out whenever the subject of his job arose. This was a mutual reaction, of course, as Grebe regularly did the same thing back when I was employed and I was foolish enough to start going on about workplace trivialities. Honestly, I did not know what Grebe's job even was exactly. I only knew that for fifty hours a week he provided some kind of mindless, unfulfilling service for a company to which he had no emotional investment, and received in compensation just barely enough to survive in the world. Which essentially was to say that Grebe had the same kind of job that I once did.

"Bottom line," said Grebe, those words recapturing my attention, "I now make three-tenths of a percent more than I used to," he said.

"I see," I replied while lighting another cigarette. "It's funny, isn't it," I said, looking down at the table. I took a long drag, exhaled, and continued. "We're all so willing to accept someone else assigning a value to our time. Our time is supposedly the most precious thing we have, yet we all so readily give so much of it away for next to nothing. A pittance."

I looked up at Grebe. He was staring off at one of the television screens, and I could tell he hadn't really been listening. Not that I could blame him, as I was sure he realized that our frequent and random fits of profundity had never gotten us anywhere. I had more thoughts on the matter, but decided to refrain from rambling on any further. Instead I simply pondered silently.

"Hey Port Viola is totally kicking ass," Grebe said as smoke exited from his nostrils.

"Hmm?" I awoke from my thought-induced stupor and looked over at one of the screens. "Oh yeah, they're actually really good this year. Just two games out of first place. League-leading defense," I said. Grebe nodded his head and leaned over to the trackpad again. He ordered each of us another bottle.

"So," I said as the waitress placed down our new drinks, "it's been ages since I spoke to Aurora." I didn't realize until the words had left my mouth that it was entirely possible that Grebe was no longer capable of caring about such things.

"Yeah well, you're better off," he said, tapping off a bit of ash. "Believe me, it's a waste of your time."

"Yeah," I said, while doing whatever I could to hide my despondence. I wanted to believe he was right – in fact, I did believe he was right. What I could not do was make it so that it actually mattered that he was right. I could not react in accordance to my own thoughts.

I looked up at Grebe once more and noticed he was glancing off at another screen. The other political program was featuring a representative from some coalition that backed the Heads Party. Concentrating to tone out some patrons who were cheering at one of the football games, I could hear the elegantly dressed man praise our recent decisive victory at Elle Isle. He said more victories abroad were surely on the way, and that the recent downturn in the economy – which he linked directly to misguided Tails Party measures – would not effect the valiant efforts of our best and brightest, or somesuch. Grebe then let out a derisive laugh.

"Man I hate the Heads Party," he scoffed. "Those guys really need to just shut up."

"Yeah," I responded half-heartedly. "It's just that I need something interesting and different, and she's – well – she's interesting and different." I lit another cigarette.

Grebe sighed, almost patronizingly. "You need to focus on things that really matter. That's the only way you're going to get anything you want," he said assuredly. "Hey, I'm going to his party in a couple days. Why don't you come along? It'll be good for you, to help get your mind off meaningless distractions."

"I don't ever even create anymore," I said, as my sadness made me unable to enjoy the irony in what Grebe had just said. "I just can't seem to make anything happen. All those unfinished pieces... I doubt I'll ever actually finish even one them." Thankfully there had remained a part of me that still refused to believe that, however small it had become.

Grebe finished his beer and looked me with a kind of wild disdain. "Are you going to come to the party or not?"

"The artist without artwork," I mumbled to myself. I looked up at Grebe again. "Sure sure, why not," I said, knowing full well I'd regret the decision. "It could be fun." I was hardly convinced by my own lies.

"Excellent. Contact me around 8 in a couple nights to remind me to come get you," Grebe said. "Anyway I need to get home and get some work done, so we'd better leave." He put out his cigarette and then lit yet another. We each swiped our purchase cards along the side of the touchscreen, and once I had retrieved a pen from my jacket pocket, we signed the receipts the touchscreen had spit out. As we exited the booth, Grebe exchanged smiles with the waitress who came to fetch our receipts.

Grebe turned to look at one of the screens and erupted into a hearty laugh, prompting me to look as well. Apparently a celebrity I'd never heard of had been recorded driving her car into a swimming pool. As we walked past the bar area on the way to the exit, an old man seated at the bar firmly grabbed my arm. Startled and stopped in my tracks, I turned around to look at him. Grebe stopped and turned as well. The man wore an olive fedora and a long, tattered beige trench coat. His expression was solemn, and his eyes seemed older than the rest of his face. The hand that was not grasping my arm was clutching a flask filled with a red liquid. He looked directly in my eyes and spoke.

"No matter how many times you play through, the outcome will always be the same," he said gruffly, yet calmly. "Forget about the setting or the roles, altering them will do nothing." His tone seemed kind, but his voice also had a hint of desperation to it. I looked over at Grebe, then quickly back to the old man. "It is not the game that can change. No matter how many times you play through, the outcome will always be the same." At that, he kindly released my arm, and turned to face the bar as if I was not there. I stood there for a moment utterly dumbfounded, my mouth agape.

"Exactly, just like I said," chimed in Grebe. "C'mon let's get going." Still quite bewildered, I managed to close my mouth and make my way to the exit just a step behind Grebe. As we waited in the elevator, Grebe informed me that he'd give me a ride home.

****

I sat back in my chair, facing the window and sipping on a beer, when I heard the door opening behind me.

"Good evening to you, Salvo," I said as I took another swig from the bottle. I spun the chair around as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"And good evening to you. Enjoying a bit of a beverage?" he asked as he lit a cigarette. He then removed his coat and placed it beside him on the bed.

"Indeed I am. Nothing like a cold drink after a long and arduous day," I said, as I handed him the ashtray from the desk. "It is the little things that make life worth living, after all."

Salvo interlocked his fingers, grinned his grin, and tapped some ash into the tray. "Do you know who it is that would say that?"

I took another swig of beer, widened my eyes and tilted my face a bit so as to acknowledge his setup. "Do tell," I said, just for good measure.

"Those who only have little things in their lives," he said.

I nodded in a somewhat patronizing manner, and took yet another swig. "I see," I said.

"When was the last time," he continued unabated, "you truly went somewhere or did something big? Something you'd categorize as particularly memorable?"

I leaned back to think, and tapped the bottleneck against my chin. "I suppose," I said thoughtfully, "that would have to be those two weeks in North Cliffs – about two years ago."

"And do you remember a good deal of that little adventure?" Salvo asked while exhaling a puff of smoke.

"Oh absolutely. Swimming in that perfect water, good sex with the girlfriend I had back then, peaceful walks on the beach at night, drunken revelry with friends, some hiking. It was a fantastic couple of weeks," I replied, sincere in my assessment.

"And how much of your life do you recall since that time?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Barely much at all," I responded without hesitation. "It's mostly a blur of being in this room and going to the store or the bar." I tapped the bottleneck on my chin again, and held back a sigh. "I cannot believe that North Cliffs was already two years ago. It seems more like two days. Time certainly does fly." I shook my head.

"It is not time's fault," said Salvo dryly. "If two years only feels like two days, then you have only yourself to blame. For apparently you only did two days worth of living during those two years."

I did not respond, and simply stared forward while taking another large swig of beer.

"It would seem then," he went on, "that the little things don't seem to be worth much at all. On the contrary, it is actually the big things that make life worth living. The lasting memories and grand experiences that define you and stay with you. The things your mind actually bothers to remember."

Salvo deeply inhaled what remained of his cigarette, paused, then gave out a mighty exhale before putting it out in the ashtray. He looked as though he was basking in his own profundity.

"I suppose you're right," I capitulated. "More of such things would be nice," I said, now looking down at the floor. This time I could not hold the sigh back.

"Yes, wouldn't they?" he said.

I placed my chin in my left hand, and looked up at Salvo. "Salvo, do you recall the Night of the Distant Siren?" I asked.

Salvo gave a wide grin. He then looked down at his watch and started to put his coat back on. "I apologize, but I do have to run. I'm sure we can get together tomorrow," he said as he stood up.

"Oh I'm sure. Farewell for now, Salvo."

"Farewell," he said as he headed toward the door.

I spun the chair around again and listened as the door hinge clicked behind me. Then I finished the last bit of beer, placed the empty bottle on the desk to my left, and stared quietly at the floor.

****

Grebe didn't arrive to pick me up until 8:45. "Forgot to charge my Vital," was his excuse. As I buckled in, Grebe lit up a cigarette, exited my complex's parking lot and headed for the highway. The party was being held at a slightly more upscale neighborhood in the northern part of Peristyle 46. Though of course, upscale meant that the homes had second floors, as well as front doors that were directly assessable from outside.

"So tell me you know at least a few people who'll be there, and then tell me they're at least remotely tolerable," I said, each word just dripping with my intense desire to be at this party.

"Oh sure sure," Grebe replied. "There'll be at least three or four guys I know personally. They're pretty cool dudes and..."

I'm sure Grebe mentioned their names, or in what capacity he knew these people, but I wasn't listening. Rather, I began to think about how it'd been nearly a month since I'd been able to speak to Aurora, and how much I would have preferred spending the evening with her. I was hardly in the mood to exchange false pleasantries with nameless bit characters. I was just about to mention to Grebe that Aurora was on my mind, and even began to open my mouth to do so, but I immediately thought better of it and instead simply let out a sigh.

"Oh right," exclaimed Grebe as we finally turned onto the highway following our parade route through a series of red lights and construction delays. "So I had sex last night, and let me tell you, funny story."

An opening like that deserved nothing less than my full attention, so I gladly took the bait. "All right, please do go on," I said curiously.

"Well I was at the store picking up some smokes, and there was this chick in line right behind me. Turns out I bought the last pack of my brand that they had, and she was going to get them too."

I was already anticipating the part where they would soon engage in some witty banter and head back to his place.

"So I offer to let her have them and buy a different pack, and of course she was really flattered and impressed by that..." Of course, I thought. "...so we go outside, light up, and start talking about stuff."

Surely a discussion about neo-postresplendent art and its place in modern society, I mused to myself, fully aware of my own terrible smugness.

"So anyway it turns out she took the bus there, so I offered to drive her home." Her home – a slight miscalculation on my part. "So I take her home, back to some complex called Ten Woods or something."

Immediately my mood shifted, and my haughtiness evaporated. "Ten in the Woods?" I said, finally interrupting him aloud.

"Yeah I think that was it. Somewhere on the West End," said Grebe.

"Uh huh..." I said worriedly. Though really, I thought, what were the chances?

"So yeah we get back to her place, and oh man," he laughed, "it's funny because at first I didn't really think she was that attractive, you know?"

"Oh no?" I said, bracing myself for the details that I knew were to follow.

"Yeah she had this long black hair, and you know I'm not really into that. But her skin was pale, so that was cool. I don't know, she wasn't like gorgeous or anything but there was this weird vibe about her that drew me to her, you know?"

A terrible writhing struck the pit of my stomach, and I felt a chilling wave pass over my entire body. I even began to lose a bit of the sensation in my hands.

"Yeah... yeah, I know, I understand..." I said, trying in vain to mask the feeling of shock overwhelming me by speaking as normally as I possibly could.

"None of that is the funny part, of course," continued Grebe.

I was looking down at the floor, consciously taking long, deep breaths while listening intently. Despite everything, I still wanted to know what happened.

"We were in her bedroom, making out, putting our hands all over each other." The pain ravaging deep within my abdomen grew worse, but I continued to listen. "So after a couple minutes we're still doing that, and I decide to ask her what she wants to do. So she looks at me – and I'm telling you, the look in her eyes was intense – and says 'I want us to unleash our primal instincts upon one another. I want us to have our way with each other,'" he said, shaking his head and smiling. "So obviously I thought that was an awesome answer, but still, I said back to her 'Well okay, sure, I just wanted to know if I should show a little restraint.' And what did she do next?" he said, turning his head to look at me.

"Please go on," I said, purposefully using the same phrase as earlier in the hopes it would appear as if nothing was amiss. Though one would presume it was rather obvious that I was grasping my stomach.

"She tears my pants off, tears her pants off, gets on top of me and says 'Restraint? There is no restraint... nor discretion, nor shame, nor lament. There are no deadlines, no obstructions, no boundaries. There is only pleasure. Just pleasure. Now let us immerse ourselves in it.' Then she started to ride me like a wild animal. Oh man," he let out a confident laugh, "it was just really awesomely bizarre. She was just... I don't know. It's like she'd been hiding that personality inside her and somehow I just let it out, I guess."

He shrugged his shoulders and put his cigarette out into the dashboard ashtray.

"I guess," I said while rubbing my hands together. I was staring out the window watching the rows of townhouses pass on by. Frantically I wished to think about something else – Aurora, anything – but my mind was not yet ready to move beyond Grebe's story.

"So where is this place?" I said, turning my head and hoping a tone of fake interest would mask my despondence.

"Oh it's down this street, just a few more blocks I think," said Grebe as he lit up another cigarette.

"Good, good," I said, and I began to look out the window once again.

As we approached a house that had four cars parked in its driveway, I presumed we had arrived at our destination. Grebe passed it by and parked in the first available spot along the curb, about twenty yards from the house. I looked around and noticed it was one of only two or three spots remaining on the street.

"Seems to be a packed house. Or there are other parties going on around here too," I said as I exited the car.

"Probably," responded Grebe. He swiped his purchase card alongside the parking meter.

We headed toward the front door of the house, where a group of four young men who seemed roughly our age were talking, each with a cigarette in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. "Oh man, no. That movie is utterly horrible. Don't waste your time with it," I heard one of them say as I neared the porch.

"Oh really, so you've seen it?" asked another upon taking a swig of beer.

"What? Oh no, no. But the reviews were really bad, so..." responded the first one.

Without acknowledging any of them, I walked past and headed through the front door, which had been propped open. Upon entering the house, my eyes did a quick perusal of the place. There were about fifteen to twenty people in the room, clustered in groups of three or four. In one corner was a stereo which was blasting a song I had never heard, and beside it was a television that was on though no one seemed to be watching it. There was an old couch alongside one of the walls, and on one corner of it sat a young man with his arm around a young woman. On the other side of the couch was another young man who sat with his body leaned up against another young woman. The room reeked of an unpleasant combination of alcohol, tobacco smoke, and the sweaty dank evening air that was seeping in through the open windows and front door. I also could not help but notice that the living room alone was larger than my entire apartment.

I turned to my right and saw Grebe standing beside me. As pathetic and embarrassing as it was, I decided my best option was to essentially follow him around, seeing as how he was the only person there I knew. I watched as his eyes darted around the room, and hoped he would recognize someone. It seemed instead that he found the cooler. "Let's get something to drink," he said.

"Sure, why not," I replied, and I followed him over the cooler, which was situated on an end table beside the couch.

The room reeked of an unpleasant combination of alcohol, tobacco smoke, and the sweaty dank evening air that was seeping in through the open windows and front door. I also could not help but notice that the living room alone was larger than my entire apartment.

"Virile or Rugged?" Grebe asked while glancing down at the bottles.

"Whatever," I said tersely, and Grebe reached into the cooler and handed me a Rugged. I tore off the cap and took a swig, then looked with wonder at the bright red label that featured a picture of three smiling towel-clad college girls. The label was certainly more palatable than the contents of the bottle. "These types of social gatherings always seem to serve the finest in quality beverages, do they not?" I mused to Grebe.

"Meh," Grebe shrugged and took a swig of Virile. "I happen to enjoy a bit of slumming."

There came a wave of shrieking and cackling laughter from one of the corners of the room, as someone surely must have said or done something of immense hilarity. "Yes," I nodded to Grebe. "A bit."

Grebe was heading toward one of the congregations situated near the back patio door. He was instantly recognized by several of its members, who shouted out his name as they raised their bottles high. Grebe raised his bottle in acknowledgement and I instinctively did the same. Hurried, obligatory introductions were given, and I forgot each name almost instantly.

Apparently Grebe and I had entered in the middle of a conversation. A younger guy – Matt, or Marcus, or possibly Mathis – was discussing his prospects for ascending the payroll ladder at his job.

"So basically if my interview next week goes well," he said, his voice as scruffy as his unwashed face, "I could finally get out of information exchange and move up to schematic design. Basically I could be looking at a ten percent pay increase."

"Basically," I muttered as I sipped my beer.

"Oh man," interjected another. "I just make sure to check the market reports right after I wake up. If we can inch toward plus fifty by the end of next month, I can finally get that hardwood flooring put in."

I glanced over at Grebe, who seemed extremely interested in his beer, and almost tiptoed away toward a group of people gathered around the door to the bathroom.

I stormed past the group where I had last seen Grebe and slipped through the back patio door. As I stood on the wooden patio deck and removed a cigarette from my pocket, I was about to begin railing aloud when I spotted a lone figure over to the right. I caught myself in time, and quickly put the cigarette in my mouth almost as a means of shutting myself up. The figure, a young woman, turned her face toward me.

I wondered at that moment if she noticed how my eyes lit up. For she was a gorgeous creature, with long black hair that curled at the tips, a wonderfully curvaceous body, and a face that managed to seem soft while conveying a sense of permanent indignation. She was standing with her left leg bent and the sole of her left shoe placed upon the side of the house, with her left hand in a pants pocket and her right hand holding a cigarette. Much to my relief, she avoided any awkward silence by addressing me immediately upon looking at me.

"Having fun in there?" she asked with a devious smile.

"Oh yes, absolutely," I said, the cigarette bobbing up and down in my mouth as I spoke. I lit the cigarette and took a long drag. "The time of my life."

She chuckled then took a long drag of her own. She was wearing a white buttoned shirt and black dress pants – a look that suited her to perfection. I loved how her dark hair looked upon the backdrop of the white shirt. I realized that it may have been terribly obvious to her that I was indeed checking her out, but at that moment I simply did not care.

"So what are you doing here?" she asked curiously. "Here at the party, I mean."

"Oh, my friend thought that I should go out and relax," I said, maintaining a sardonic tone. "It's going oh so swimmingly. And yourself?"

"Who, me? I guess I'm just here to make sure I don't do anything constructive with my night," she said. The acrimony inherent in her eyes seemed to deepen, which made the friendly tone of the conversation all the more fascinating.

I gave a chuckle of my own then peered inside through the screen door. "I suppose I should be getting back in there soon," I said somewhat exasperatedly.

"Oh, is that so?" she responded. "Will you be putting on a show?" I was quickly becoming impressed at the natural ease with which she saturated her questions with a potent wryness.

"I very well may do just that," I said with a confident smile.

"Well then," she said, "you had better not let them find out you're a fraud."

For a moment her words froze me. I felt naked and defenseless, like prey that had been captured by a predator, and could only remain motionless while being torn asunder. But as I looked at her alluring brown eyes, those cold feelings of feebleness disappeared as quickly as they had descended upon me. I gave a sly smile as I shook my head, and my grin began to widen as I started to laugh.

"No no, my dear," I said with a hubris that stood in stark contrast to how I had felt only seconds earlier. "The show is quite real, I assure you. There is not a single fraudulent aspect to it whatsoever."

She gave a bit of a shrug as she exhaled a large cloud of smoke. "All right," she replied. She did not exactly sound entirely convinced.

I stepped back inside the house and quickly scanned the room in hopes of locating Grebe. Failing to find him, I walked over to the couch and sat down, deciding to take advantage of the empty spot. As I glanced down at the less than hygienic cushion, my mind for a brief moment seriously considered standing right back up again, though I quickly brushed aside such thoughts.

To my right on the other end of the couch sat a young man who appeared to be about my age. His appearance was essentially a caricature of precisely what one would expect to see at such a party. He sat slouched, his legs spread apart, with his right hand clutched around the neck of a beer bottle that he rested on the arm of the couch. His hair was disheveled and his face unshaven, and there was a disheartened, almost defeated look on his face. He turned his head and noticed my presence, then must have automatically assumed that I wanted to engage in conversation.

"You see that blond over there?" he said, pointing with his bottle.

I looked over at a group of young women. "Yeah," I said, though I didn't actually know which one he was pointing to specifically.

"She's an ex of mine," he said, then he took a fast swig of his beer.

"I see," I replied. At least I wasn't caught off guard by the unpleasantness of the topic.

"And you see the one she's talking to right now?" he continued. "I had a thing for her. But never really got a chance to do anything about it."

"Okay," I said. I wondered if he wanted me to pry, perhaps ask him why he never got the chance, but I had no intention of doing so.

"And it's weird," he said after taking another swig. "Looking at the two of them right now. I've been with one, and I've fantasized about having the other. And you know what? It's like, what's the difference?"

Suddenly I was somewhat intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"Well it's like I said. I have real memories of being with one, and fantasies – basically fake memories – of being with the other," he said. "But as I think about it, there's really no difference."

"No, of course there's a difference," I said, deciding to actually join the conversation. "One was a genuine experience, because it really happened." I wondered why something so obvious would even need to be stated.

"So?" he responded nonchalantly. "Even if I did get with her, I'd still be sitting here on this couch right now. A real memory would do me just as good as the fake one I have – which is next to none. So in the end, there's no difference to me at all."

I wanted to tell him it was an utterly ridiculous position to take, then mock him accordingly. Yet I feared there may have been some sense in what he was saying. My thoughts immediately shifted to the young woman on the bus, and for a moment I wondered if Grebe's actual memories were really of no greater value than my fantasies. I would have none of it, however, and abruptly dismissed such a notion.

"No," I said after what had been somewhat of an awkward silence. "No figment can replace the real thing, no matter how vivid it might be. There's always going to be some detail it's going to miss."

I had managed to convince myself, even if he was a lost cause. Then so as to avoid the possibility of a protracted discussion, I sprung up from the couch. "I'm going to get a beer," I said as I darted away.

Rather than get a beer though, I decided it was time to take up the gauntlet, and I strolled into the center of the living room. Quickly the throngs gathered and attentions were fixed. My opening barrage was not across their bows, but rather struck directly at their hearts. The moment was mine alone to claim and thrive within, mine alone to mold as I saw fit – and I did so unequivocally.

I tore through them with everything I had, in rapid and feverish succession. References to popular advertising slogans, imitations of prominent commercial celebrities. I insulted both the weak and powerful, questioned the status quo, and crafted songs spontaneously.

Through raucous cheers and laughter, I would often be posed questions – "Where is that song from? Is that sketch from a show? Where did you hear that joke?"

And of course each time my answer would be the same. "I just conjured it, right now," I would reply truthfully, always making sure to alternate between saying it modestly and saying it arrogantly. And each time they would roar and applaud in boisterous approval of my performance.

I was so very grateful to be afforded the opportunity to engage in the symbiotic dance between star and admirer, but soon it was time to wind things down. As the production concluded, I knew unceasing howls of merriment were far better tokens of gratitude than a bouquet of roses ever could be. Finally I took several bows, shook some hands, then exultantly returned backstage – or to the back patio, at least.

As I had hoped and expected, the woman in the buttoned shirt was in exactly the same spot as when I had left her. I couldn't be sure whether she'd moved at all during my absence. "Not bad," she said without turning to look at me.

"If there were aisles, they'd have been dancing in them," I said flatly as I lit up a cigarette.

"It's so nice of you to waste your abilities in a place like this," she said.

"Well I do what I can," I said with a smile, refusing to be noticeably affected by her aspersion.

"So you still accept those little victories whenever you can stumble upon them, hmm?" she asked, her eyes still facing forward.

"I do," I replied confidently. "After all, I earned them. So why not?"

"Because they don't go anywhere, they don't lead up to anything," she said bitterly. It was past midnight, and a slight cool wind had picked up, causing some of her long black hairs to be blown onto her face. She brushed them aside with her free hand as she took a long drag of a cigarette. "After you've done nothing but run in place for so long," she continued, "you realize you might as well just stop running."

I stood there smoking my cigarette, unsure whether to simply nod in agreement, or instead try to respond with something uplifting. Before I could decide, she spoke up again.

"Do you know what I want to be?" she asked. She had finally turned her gaze toward me, and I could see a wild fervor in her lovely brown eyes. "You know whenever a celebrity or important person dies in some tragedy, there's often at least one other person who dies in the incident? Like the chauffeur if it's a car crash – that kind of thing?" Her words increased in velocity as she spoke, as if her lips were desperately attempting to keep up with her mind.

"Okay..." I replied.

"I want to be that other person," she declared.

"What? Why?" I asked bewilderedly. She certainly had piqued my curiosity.

"For days there would be so much news and chatter regarding the celebrity. People will be lining up to give their condolences and share how their lives had been touched by this tragic event," she said, speaking in the tone of someone reading a prepared speech. "And amidst all the prattling, lost in the din of the clamoring circus, there may be a few lines of text... somewhere... devoted to my passing. An account of my legacy, of my existence, forever etched into the public sphere."

I simply stared at her, smoking my cigarette, unable to compose a suitable reply. I could only hope that she would continue. Thankfully she did just that.

"Don't you see?" she asked, the ardor in her voice burning as intensely as ever. "To be forever linked to such an event, an event of such infamy for the commoners, but only on the periphery. It's like a kind of muted immortality, don't you think?"

I exhaled a large cloud of smoke and tossed my cigarette aside. "Muted immortality," I said aloud, fascinated by the phrase.

"Yes exactly," she said. "To be permanently tied to a famous event, but barely anybody will care to know. One would have to research the celebrity's death in the Archives to find out. But if someone ever did... there it is."

"Yes, there it is." I retrieved another cigarette and lit it. "Your few lines of text," I said, my tone treading the line between patronizing and genuine curiosity. "But again, why? What's the point?"

She attempted to stifle back a fit of laughter. "The point? Well aren't you just the one to ask such a thing," she said, then she freely let the laughter loose. "Let's just say it strikes the perfect balance. It's a way to ensure leaving some semblance of a legacy without all the hassle and baggage that comes with actually doing anything." She gave a gleeful smile and sighed, seemingly quite satisfied with herself.

I shook my head. "It's a way to ensure being nothing more than a superfluous footnote," I said dryly, unconcerned as to whether I was adequately masking my disgust.

She shrugged her shoulders. "It's still more than what most will wring from all this nonsense," she said while maintaining the gleeful smile.

For a few moments I simply stood and stared at her, repulsed by her sentiment yet enamored by her willingness to flaunt it. I also couldn't stop thinking about how good she looked in that buttoned shirt. Finally having grown weary of slogging through my ambivalence, I decided to break the uneasy silence.

"So really, what are you doing here anyway? Here at the party, I mean," I asked with a smile.

"I'm here to make apathy and surrender seem appealing," she said as she finally unbended her leg and stood with both feet firmly on the ground.

I shook my head again. "No, I really don't think I needed anyone to do that," I replied with a smirk.

"Well then more appealing I guess," she said. She began to walk toward me, and I found myself fighting to avoid becoming intoxicated by her strides. She stopped a couple yards short of me. "It's time for me head home," she said looking off into the distance. "My place is only a few blocks from here."

"All right," I said while mulling over numerous ways to appropriately conclude the conversation.

She turned once again to look at me and placed her hands on her hips. "Do you want to come over and have sex?" she asked impassively.

Her request shocked me, but failed to shake me. Despite quite the tremor that had rippled from the base of my neck down my spine, my expression remained unchanged. "Sure," I said with as much nonchalance as I could spare. "Why not?"

****

The next evening I woke up after the longest period of sleep I'd had in ages. I had forgotten how it felt to actually feel rested. As I opened my eyes, I was invigorated by the scent of a familiar perfume, and I sprung up from my horizontal position. To my surprise and delight, there was Aurora sitting in my desk chair, facing a canvas supported by an easel. The front of the canvas was turned away from me, so as she attacked it with her brush I could only assume the results of those strokes were magnificent and moving. She halted her strokes momentarily, peeking her face out to the side to look at me.

"Hi, Tangent," she said with a warm smile. "I let myself in a little while ago. I hope I didn't wake you."

"No no, not at all," I replied, and instinctually I began to fix my hair with my hands.

"I'm glad," she said. "I wanted to let you sleep for as long as you wanted." Her face then disappeared behind the canvas once again, and she returned to wielding her paintbrush like a wand. "So how did last night go?" she asked.

"Not bad, I suppose," I said. It must have been because of the good long day of sleep, because the previous night already felt like ancient history. So much so that as I sat up in bed and listened intently to the sound of Aurora's brush dancing upon the canvas, I really had to force myself to remember anything of note that occurred. "Her walls were littered with so many posters and other crap that I thought I was back at university."

"But you had fun?" Aurora asked.

"Sure, sure. The sex was fine, she was great. Everything was great," I said with a complete and utter lack of enthusiasm. I wasn't particularly concerned with how blatantly listless my responses were.

She gave an audible sigh, then peeked her head out from behind the canvas again. "You should give it chance... a real chance. At least get back to her, okay?" she said with exasperation.

"Sure," I replied, knowing how unlikely it was that I would.

Aurora shook her head. "You know, for a guy with such a pessimistic outlook you'd think it'd be much simpler for someone or something to exceed your expectations," she said dolefully.

"Even if you expect nothing and instead get mediocrity, it's difficult to get too excited about that," I said.

"Sometimes I wonder if there's anything at all that could impress you enough to actually make you feel contented," she said.

"Yes," I said as I looked at her. "Anything at all."

She then emphatically did one final brushstroke upon the canvas, and the smile returned to her lovely face. She stood up and turned the easel around so that I could witness her creation. "Do you like it?" asked Aurora, her face glowing excitedly.

That I did. It was a beautiful depiction of a group of children playing in a large, open field. Some were running, some were playing ball, and others were flying kites. What was most impressive was how she was able to portray so stunningly the sheer joy and exuberance in each of the children's faces.

"I like it very much," I said.

Aurora smiled again and then leaned the artwork upon the wall in the far corner of the room beside the bed. "Well good, because it's for you," she replied. She then placed her brushes and paints into a small bag and zipped it up tightly. "I need to get going, but it was fantastic to talk to you again." Then she folded up her easel and tucked it under her arm.

Quickly I leapt out of bed to get the door for her. As I saw her out, she turned around to look at the painting again. "I just love that feeling of accomplishment... that sense that you know you've created something lasting and beautiful, you know?" she said warmly.

"Yeah..." I said. "Hopefully we can talk again, soon. Goodbye for now, Aurora."

"Bye, Tangent," she said, then she passed through the doorway and into the hall.

I waved to her as she walked away, then stepped back into the room. I walked over to the corner where the painting was and crouched down to get a closer look at it. It truly was a splendid work of art.

"Such tranquility," I said aloud. "Some paintings do succeed in conveying it."

I took a deep breath and noticed that the scent of Aurora's perfume was suddenly nowhere to be found – the room reeked of the same foul staleness that it always did. I let out a deep sigh and decided to crawl back into bed. I felt so very exhausted.

****

I writhed impatiently in my seat, crossing one leg, then switching to the other, before finally placing both feet firmly on the floor. I'd been told the doctor would see me shortly, and I began to dwell on how annoyingly unspecific a duration that was. My eyes wandered about and my mind drifted and fixated on random things for short intervals. First it was the floral pattern on the carpet, then the barely-audible muffled gibberish coming from the intercom above my head, then the hypnotizing monotone beeping of some machine probably located down the hall. Finally I decided it'd be best to focus on my own apprehension rather than outside distractions.

At last the doctor came sauntering in from down the hall. Without even slowing his stride, he looked up from his clipboard for barely a split-second to make eye contact with me as he walked past. I presumed this was my cue to follow him into the lab. Salvo, who had been standing against the wall with his arms folded this entire time, apparently agreed.

"Time to head on in," he said as he too walked past me.

I followed them down one corridor and then another, through a set of brown double doors. Despite my best efforts to keep up, both the doctor and Salvo were already in the lab when I arrived. The former was standing just by the door still staring down at a clipboard, scribbling on it emphatically with a pencil every once in a while. The latter was on the far side of the room, arms folded, perched over a cot. The room had a stale, antiseptic smell, the kind one would expect from a hospital. I walked past the doctor and headed over toward Salvo.

On the cot lay the lifeless body of a young child, or – if one wanted to get philosophical about it – what was once a young child. The body looked unharmed and at peace, as if the child were simply sleeping, and was dressed in soft cotton pajamas. For a brief moment, Salvo and I simply stood there and looked upon it quietly. Eventually Salvo broke the silence.

"You are not prohibited from holding," he stated. "You can do so if you wish."

I had already been considering it before he had spoken. I imagined myself carefully picking up the body and cradling the child upon my shoulder, perhaps even gently rocking it back and forth. The kind of actions that would seem normal and commonplace if not for the horrible reality that this child was not alive.

"No, no..." I said finally. "Nothing good can come of it..."

We continued to stand there, both of us with our arms folded, for several more moments. At one point I glanced in the direction of the doctor. He was still standing by the door, seemingly entranced by whatever papers he had attached to his clipboard. Every fifteen seconds he would scribble something down, then another fifteen seconds later he would flip his pencil around and erase something. I found myself briefly wondering what the chances were that he was writing and then erasing the same thing over and over again.

I turned my attention once more to the child. I kept getting a gnawing feeling that I should say something, as such a situation demanded poignant words rather than mere idle silence. I took a deep breath and exhaled. "Terrible. Just terrible," I said quietly. It was hardly an eloquent speech, I thought, but at least succinctly conveyed how I felt.

"Is it?" asked Salvo, his stare still remaining focused downward on the child.

"Yes. It is," I responded calmly. I was more surprised by the fact that Salvo had said anything at all than by what he had said.

"Such a young child," Salvo said, "never to know misery, rage, rejection. Never to be crushed by dashed hopes. Never to feel lost or worthless."

"Are you saying the child is better off?" I asked him, intrigued.

"I am saying," continued Salvo, finally turning to look at me, "that it isn't madness to consider such a thing. Far from it. Especially since those things make up so much of life."

I looked again at the child, and shook my head. "No, no..." I said firmly. "To miss out on the positive as well? All the joys and pleasures life has to offer? Better off?" I shook my head again. "No, I just don't believe that. I don't believe it all."

At this Salvo's eyes seemed to sparkle and widen, as if he'd just been told the most utterly extraordinary and fascinating thing he had ever heard.

"Really?" he said. "Well isn't that very interesting."

I gave him an annoyed and perplexed look, and may have even unconsciously raised an eyebrow. But before I could form any kind of response, a great blaring noise derailed my train of thought. It was a warning siren, and while it was emanating from far off in the distance, the open window just by the cot allowed us to hear it loud and clear.

Salvo stepped over to the window and peeked out in the night. "I suppose it's time to get going," he said.

He turned around and began to briskly walk toward the door. I gave one last, long saddened look at the child and then turned away to follow Salvo. We walked past the doctor – who was still focused upon his clipboard – went on to the hallway, then down two flights of metal stairs to reach the ground level of the building. We stepped between a pair of sliding automatic doors and onto the sidewalk. A block away there was a column of tanks streaking down the street perpendicular to the one we were on, and Salvo peered at them as they rumbled into the intersection and then disappeared behind a building.

"Land Thunder FF4As. Very nice," said Salvo as he turned around to face me.

"Hmm?" I said with a quizzical look.

"You can tell they're the FF4As because of the shape of the turret," he stated. "Incredibly aerodynamic design, supposedly solving all problems the earlier models had while in hover mode. Really an impressive bit of engineering."

I nodded slowly, the puzzled look on my face worsening. "I... see."

The siren was still blaring away, but there was also a tremendous roaring above, and both Salvo and I instinctively turned our gazes toward to sky. High above the skyline we could see six heavy gunships headed in the direction of the siren. Suddenly I was overcome by a strange, disorientating feeling.

"Haven't we heard this before...?" I wondered aloud, though with all the noise Salvo was unable to hear me.

As the roar of the gunships' engines faded into the distance, leaving only constant sound of the siren, Salvo turned around and looked at me. "Well, perhaps this might get interesting," he said, his hands on his hips.

A few steps away there stood a young woman who had also been looking skyward as the gunships had passed. She was wearing jeans and a tank top, and her jet black hair was done up in a ponytail. Despite all that was going on, I couldn't help but spend a brief moment taking note of how attractive I found her. She walked toward me, and there was a fervor and determination in her eyes.

"This is it at last," she said triumphantly. "Everything changes from this point forward."

She went off and joined a crowd of people who were heading down into the subway. Salvo and I decided it was best to follow suit. We made our way down the steps and into the terminal, and soon found ourselves confronted by a crowd of what appeared to be at least one hundred people. Some were leaning against the walls, others were seated on the filthy tile floors, and seemingly just about everyone was chatting away on a Vital.

Salvo and I slithered through the crowd, doing our very best to brush up against as few people as possible – I had the displeasure of coming far too close to a man who had apparently dipped himself in a vat of cologne, and Salvo's face nearly had an unfortunate meeting with a woman's perm. We found a small stretch of wall that wasn't terribly cramped, and we parked our backs against it.

Just to our right, nearer to Salvo than to I, was a rosy-cheeked young man listening intently to his Vital. He turned to Salvo and in an absurdly ebullient manner said to him, "I'm listening to my Vital for updates!" He spoke as if genuinely proud of such an accomplishment.

Salvo responded in the only way he possibly could. "Is that so? Well, good for you!" he said in the most blatantly patronizing voice he could muster.

The young man seemed unfazed by Salvo's tone. "There's probably some major stuff going on, so I'll be sure to keep all of us informed on the latest!" he said.

Salvo nodded with fake enthusiasm. "All right, you do that!" he replied, and I couldn't help but smile.

To my left was a younger guy sprawled out on the floor, talking on his Vital. Though I wasn't particularly interested in doing so, I could make out nearly every word he uttered with little to no effort, as he was almost screaming each one of them.

"I'm telling you, man, this is it! I told you something like this would happen! ...Yeah man, I know! I'm telling you, nothing will be the same after tonight, guy! ...Yeah man, I know...!" It was followed by some boisterous laughter, and then a repetition of essentially the same words.

To force my ears to focus on something else, I looked straight ahead to a woman about ten yards away who talking frantically on her Vital while pacing back and forth. She was waving her arms wildly and seemed to be saying little more than "I don't know! ...What? No, I don't know!" When she was not throwing her arms about she was simply furrowing her brow.

I sighed and turned to Salvo. "Maybe we should have just stayed outside," I said.

Salvo shook his head in disdain. "Yes," he replied. "It does seem that way."

"Hmm... what, outside?" said the one with rosy-cheeks. "Yeah... yeah! Oh there's some big-time events happening up there, I tell you." He held his Vital up to his ear, opened his mouth slightly and squinted, as if mimicking someone trying to hear through a wall. "You hear that? Did you hear that? I can't believe it. Crazy stuff, huh?" We of course did not hear it, as his Vital was not beside our ears, but neither Salvo nor myself felt the need to explain this to our crimson-dimpled friend.

From my left came yet another horrid wave of laughter that pierced my very core, and I immediately turned to Salvo. "So... shall we head back outside?"

Salvo had already begun to walk off while I was in mid-sentence. "Yes, absolutely," he said, and I quickly followed.

We went back through the crowd again, this time with less regard for those blocking our paths. Salvo nearly stepped on a group of people who were huddled in a circle playing a card game through their Vitals. We run up the steps returned to street level, where we could again hear the distant siren.

"Let's head down that way," said Salvo, pointing in the direction where the gunships had headed earlier. Despite the enthusiasm in his voice, I could sense also a bit of disappointment. He had undoubtedly hoped this night would involve more fancy machines and less chitchat with the locals.

We still could still hear rumblings and roars well off in the distance as we ran down the empty street, with Salvo several strides ahead. Suddenly however all the rumbling seemed to cease, and just a few seconds later the wailing siren also fell silent. Both Salvo and I stopped in our tracks, and I felt a bit unsettled by the quiet stillness that had so abruptly descended upon the early morning. Salvo turned his body around to face me, and once again placed his hands on his hips. He shook his head, and for a split-second there seemed to be a look of palpable dissatisfaction and frustration on him. It quickly dissolved however, and a wide grin formed on his face.

"Oh well," he said, shrugging his shoulders. Then I shook my head, realizing that Salvo's easiness and composure never ceased to amaze me, no matter how many times I had witnessed it.

As Salvo began to walk back toward where I was standing, I could hear the sound of distant footsteps approaching from behind. I turned around and saw a man running down the sidewalk in our direction, seemingly as fast as he could possibly go. Salvo and I simply stood there and watched him speed toward us, and I stepped out of the way to avoid a possible collision as he went past. He continued on without pause.

"What is it? What's going on?" I said aloud. Finally about twenty yards away, the man's legs grinded to a halt. He then opened the door to a building and scurried inside.

Salvo and I took a few steps into the street to get a view of the front of that building. It was a breakfast and coffee shop. Salvo then glanced at his watch.

"Ahh... That's right. Everything there is half-price before six," he said matter-of-factly. "And it's three minutes to six."

I opened my mouth to speak, but could not find words suitable to utter. Looking around I could see numerous people ascending from a nearby subway terminal, as well as several cars heading up the street, which quickly forced Salvo and I back onto the sidewalk.

We continued on and stopped at the next intersection. The sidewalks were now full of pedestrians and the streets choked with cars, and lights were turning on in stores that opened at six. As Salvo and I waited for the signal to change, we could see a large crowd of people had gathered just down the street to our left. We decided to forgo crossing the street and instead head over and investigate.

"Maybe they know what's going on?" I asked.

"Perhaps," said Salvo.

As we neared the crowd of people it became obvious they weren't simply standing about, but standing in line. A line that seemed to stretch down the block and around the next corner. At the end of the line was a young, disheveled man.

"Oh man are you guys here late," he said as we approached him.

"They're really not much worse off than the rest of us," said the next person in line.

"Dude, don't remind me," chimed in another. "I would have been here half an hour earlier if Heed and Survey avenues weren't closed down."

"Why were they, anyway?" asked the man nearest us.

"I don't know," responded the other. "I just know some officers were rerouting traffic and I had to go all the way around. Like I said, cost me half an hour."

"So, why are you guys waiting in line?" I finally asked. It was a terribly uncomfortable question to pose, as it was evident we were supposed to have known already.

Anyone in line who was within earshot let out a boisterous laugh. But as I stood there awaiting a response, their smiles quickly turned to looks of dismay.

"Oh... you're serious..." said one of them, clearly dumbfounded.

"Uh... the new redesign of the Confidant-Plus is being released this morning at eight," said another.

"Ah... that's right," whispered Salvo, seemingly to himself.

"Supposedly they're only going to have fifty of them," said the disheveled one nearest to us. "So the people here at the end of the line might be screwed. But maybe we'll get lucky, and besides, it's only two hours in line!" The others nodded and smiled in approval.

"I see..." I said bewilderedly. "Well... good luck to you guys!" They responded to my false enthusiasm with hollers and cheers, and then started to talk amongst themselves.

As Salvo and I moved onward, I instinctively and desperately attempted to recall what the Confidant-Plus even was. I drew a blank, and could only think that whatever it was, my lack of one would undoubtedly drag down my ICICLE score to even further depths. For a split-second I opened my mouth to ask Salvo if he could clue me in, but immediately decided against it. After all, I could always just look it up once I got home.

We halted at a bus stop and stood off to the side, away from the dozen or so people who were already there. I watched as others simply walked by, yammering away on their Vitals as they entered into shops or descended into the nearest subway terminal. Then I looked over Salvo, who had put on his sunglasses and lit and cigarette.

"So... what happened? Did anything happen?" I asked him in the off chance that he somehow possessed information that I did not. "Those people waiting in line.. it's as if nothing happened at all."

Salvo did a half-shrug as he exhaled a bit of smoke. "Oh I'm positive something dramatic happened last night. And I'm sure it was all over the news, and all anyone could talk about," he said almost listlessly. "But then that was last night, and this," he gestured with his hand, "this is this morning." He then took another puff from his cigarette.

I nodded slowly. "I see," I said.

I would then be somewhat startled by an unfamiliar voice emanating from right behind me. "The world spins far faster than any one of us ever could," the voice said.

I turned around and saw an old man seated on the edge of the bus stop bench, only about a yard away from me. He wore a sky blue jacket, and his thinning reddish-brown hair was uncombed and seemed to have been blown about by the wind. He was staring directly ahead, toward the opposite side of the street, and continued to do as he went on.

"That is why," he continued, "its memory seems so short." He turned his weathered, unshaven face toward Salvo and I. "But we needn't follow suit," he said. Then he turned and again stared straight ahead, and did not utter another word.

I stood there both fascinated and bewildered, and looked over Salvo. He gave a bit of a nod, then yet another half-shrug as he smoked his cigarette. For the next fifteen minutes as we waited for the bus to show up, both he and I would remain silent. I stood there and thought about what the old man had said, diverting my attention every now and then by giving a quick glace at any beautiful women that walked by, or by looking up at the advertisements that were playing on the giant screens affixed to the front of the buildings across the street. When the bus arrived, I took a seat across from Salvo, who would sit with his eyes closed and arms folded for the entirety of the twenty minute trip. I alternated between gazing out the window or looking down at the floor.

We exited the bus about a block from my apartment complex. When we arrived at the front doors, I turned to Salvo and finally broke the silence.

"You're right," I said. "There is more pain than pleasure, more bad than good. But we put so much value on the good. Why else would we go on? It's like watching a lousy movie just because it has a few funny scenes. But we do it... we can't not do it." I shook my head and gave a bit of chuckle. "Maybe that's all survival instinct really is. Being gluttons for punishment," I said, still shaking my head and smiling.

Salvo responded with his wry grin. "It's not about good or bad," he said assertively. "It's about experience of every kind. The pain and the pleasure, the highs and the lows. To experience the gamut of what life can throw at you. That's what makes it all worth it. It's about being. About living."

I nodded and, holding back a yawn, realized how heavy my eyes had gotten. Salvo, presumably thinking the same thing, looked down at his watch.

"I'm going to get going. I'll see you sometime later," he said. "Farewell."

"Sometime later then," I replied as he started to walk off and head back down the street.

I went into the complex and headed for my room. Once there I tossed my jacket onto the chair and crashed onto the bed. I let out a long sigh while contemplating all I'd seen during the night. As I rolled onto my side, I hoped my thoughts would soon turn to something less distressing.

****

I was awoken from my slumber by a loud knocking upon my door. I sat up in bed abruptly and rubbed my face, hoping to wipe aside all signs of dishevelment.

"Just a moment," I shouted almost instinctively.

I went to open the door and found a tall, muscle-bound man standing on the other side of it. He was holding a specialized kind of Vital, and was dressed in the imposing black uniform of a Inspection Official. I instantly felt a terrible weight in my chest, as I knew precisely why he was there.

"You are the resident of this room, correct?" he asked, though he certainly already knew the answer, as his Vital undoubtedly had my photograph and file on it.

Quickly I cleared my throat – I could not remember the last time I spoke aloud to someone other than myself. "Yes, that is correct," I said in a low voice, and my heart began to race.

He looked down at his vital, then looked at me coldly. "Our records indicate that you have been stagnant for a period of three days," he said.

"I... I haven't been feeling particularly well, and I... lost track of the time," I stammered. It was a lame excuse, but nevertheless the best one I could conjure on the spot.

"Mmm..." said the Official as he entered something into his Vital. "And yet you did not order any kind of medications."

My hands were shaking and I was desperately trying to avoid making eye contact. "Uh... well as I said, I lost track of the time..." He continued to type something on his Vital. "I was planning on purchasing some cigarettes after my nap though," I said, blindly hoping to say anything that would end the conversation.

"That's good," he said robotically, then he finally ceased tapping on his Vital. He looked up at me again. "Seeing as you lack any semblance of a valid excuse, this must be entered into your file. Do you understand?"

"Yes..." I muttered.

"You do not want this to happen again," he asserted.

"Yes, sir. Thank you," I said in a defeated tone. I was mostly thankful that he was about to leave.

Without uttering another word, he placed his vital into his pants pocket and walked down the hall. I slowly closed the door and remained standing there, shaken by the experience. I tried to take some deep breaths in hopes of alleviating the pain in my chest, but I knew it would be some time before it would begin subside. Finally my fear and fright would transform abruptly into sheer anger – directed almost entirely at myself.

I slammed the side of my fist onto the door, then turned around to go sit on the bed. For good measure I slammed my fist into the mattress a few times as well. I could not believe I had allowed such a thing to happen. Though I had come precariously close a few times in the past, I'd always managed to avoid it just in the nick of time. On this instance however I had been too careless, too reckless.

There was no time to be upset however. I needed to throw some clothes on and head out, or before not too long I may have found myself with another unwelcome visitor at the door. Thankfully I had an appointment to visit someone I hadn't seen in many years. Someone I yearned very much to see again.

****

With a brisk pace I made my way toward a cell at the end of a long corridor. There was a spring in my step, and I was filled with the enthusiasm of a child preparing to open a beautiful and long yearned for present. I had been able to procure some favors from an associate of an associate, who through a quick though impressive bit of string-pulling, had acquired for me and placed in a cell the gift I was itching to unwrap.

I opened the cell door and slowly stepped inside. It was a small space, only about nine feet by nine feet, and the walls were comprised of a kind of black metallic brick that seemed to naturally give the illusion of a terrible darkness closing in upon you. Though it was not I whose mind was to fear such terrors, but rather the poor rogue whose arms and legs were chained to a chair located at the back at the room. I walked toward him, my hands interlocked, and looked at him with a wry smile. He did not look back however, as he kept his eyes fixed squarely on the floor. As I stared at him, my thoughts were awash with anticipation and glee, though I knew I needed to shed any positive feelings if I were going to carry out the deed that had brought me to the place.

That deed was to be the administering of punishment – punishment that would give way justice, vindication, and finally catharsis. For as I stared at this young man, about a decade my junior, I knew that it was he who was to blame for my chaos. He was to blame for the all stagnation and tortuous malaise. He caused there to be no discernable path upon which I could forge. Filling myself with these truths, all blithesomeness evaporated, replaced with a terrible rage that would permit me to do what needed to be done.

With tremendous force and conviction, I struck him across the face with my fist, and he responded with a muffled grunt. Then came another blow, and another, again and again. In the abdomen, in the chest. Then a kick to the stomach, and a stomp on the knees. It was unknown to either of us if this went on for minutes or for hours, as if the perception of time itself had not followed in behind from the hallway, and the cell became a terrible, beautiful swirling mess of bloodied fists and cries of pain.

After a bit my hands began to swell, so I removed from my jacket a loaded pistol and emphatically hit him across the face with the butt of it. Pleased with the sound the gun had made as it connected with its target, I struck him with it again before holstering it once more. I then calmly stood there before the young man who had made me his victim, albeit unknowingly, and soaked in what I had accomplished so far. The sight of his shattered and bloodied body brought me some joy, but in the eerie calmness of the moment I realized that I still wanted more. It was then the I decided to speak to him.

"It is time for you to answer for your all your errors and foolishness. Time for you to understand what your mistakes have wrought, what your reprehensible lack of foresight has created. To answer for what you did to me." I spoke in the kind of confident and dominating tone that the celebrated hero would take while standing over the thwarted, conquered villain. "Do you see now? Do you see what happens when you wrap yourself in your own delusions?" I continued. "Do you see how no matter what you may believe, the harshness of reality will always find a way through your cloak, until finally, before you can react it has enveloped you? Look at me, you ignorant thing. This is my moment of retribution, of justice. You will know what you have done, and you will know you've paid dearly for it."

I was pouring it on, lost within my prose, intoxicated on ego and victory. Basking in the glory of the moment and brimming with anticipation for all the moments to follow, I gave a devious smile and began to prepare the next part of my oration. But something would happen that would cut short my celebration. For just then, the young man in the chair began to laugh.

It wasn't just any laugh, either. It was mocking and derisive laugh, and quite a hearty and boisterous one at that. It was the kind of shrill, terrible laugh that causes those within earshot of it to stop in their tracks and experience a cold uneasiness ripple down their spines. It was, quite simply, the kind of laugh one would expect from the triumphant victor on his feet, not the beaten wretch chained to the chair.

Stinging from both newfound rage as well as a kind of utter shock at the situation, I turned again toward the chair. "What is so funny?" I demanded to know.

He looked up at me smiled – the same kind of defiant, sardonic smile with which I had mocked him only minutes earlier. "You," he said in a chillingly familiar voice. "What you've been become. It's pathetic. You're everything I do not want to be. ...or anyone wants to be," he stated calmly.

I was positively boiling. Not only did this wretch dare to interrupt my jubilant triumph, but he had the utter gall to speak such words to me. Despite my rage, I consciously focused on maintaining composure, and decided to respond to him in the same grandiose and condescending tone I had been using earlier. "This is your doing," I said confidently. "Your mistakes. You're nothing but fanciful, false dreams wrapped in empty intellectualism. You want and crave things, grandiose things, when you know you cannot have them."

"At least I want something. I have the passion to desire the world to be my own," he responded.

"It isn't real, you wasteful wretch! It isn't real." My composure was beginning to slip.

"Haha, wretch. You do enjoy using that word, do you not? Go ahead, please keep saying it." he taunted. "Oh, and what of you is real? Underneath the condescending laugh, beyond the contemptuous glare... what of you is real?"

I became overwhelmed with a kind of horror at the realization that I no longer had control, that I was now on the defensive. "The hole that you dug for me, from which I struggle to climb out, day after day... that is real," I said sadly and bitterly. "I remember being you... being like you... I still remember."

"A struggle, you say? For you there is no struggle. You surrendered long ago. And that hole? You dig it with each passing moment, if it even exists at all," he goaded me. "Perhaps it is just another pathetic fantasy. Wouldn't that be a shock? You had infinite opportunities to evolve beyond what I am but instead you just clung to your walls and decay. I could have brought forth an interminable era of order and prosperity, and it would have been you indulging in its limitless spoils. I could have built for you a citadel to the heavens, but you'd still be too weighed down with self-pity to even consider climbing its steps."

"You could never build anything meaningful," I said. "What you build are just games, pretend, children's nonsense. You can only coast from one broken promise to another. And years later, it is I who must suffer for it."

"It is you who broke promises," he countered. "You who let it all slip away. I may be careless, and I may even be a fool... but I still have passion to be something more than I am. That is how I know I could never become something like you."

"Do you not think I want more than this? Do you not think I crave something beyond this madness? But I have you to blame for my woeful predicament. You cannot plan, you cannot focus, you cannot consider anything beyond the day you fritter away. Why must reality be so frightening to you? Why can't you see things as they truly are?" I was almost pleading with him, begging him to see things my way before the scene disintegrated completely.

"You fancy yourself a tragic figure, a tormented man who yearns to do great things but just cannot manage to find a way," he persisted. It was now he who was intoxicated and lost in prose. "Such woe, such anguish... such nonsense. You want nothing of the sort. You prefer your life to be the simple and meaningless void that it is. A soulless abyss, bereft of any real calling or purpose. Why? Because it's just so much easier that way, isn't it? Ambition and accomplishment are such terribly troublesome things, such difficult things. Oh but you could never admit any of that, not to anyone, and certainly never to yourself. So you play the role of the tormented. And oh, how admirably you play it, with such gusto and charisma! You really are pathetic."

With that I could hold on no longer, and again I focused my rage into violence. "This was to be my vindication you dross. This was to be my moment to vanquish the source of all my suffering – your pitiful mistakes! Your appalling lack of understanding and wastefulness." Each sentence was accompanied by yet another terrible, vengeful fist to his face or chest. "You and your dreams and visions that could never possibly be realized. Your thirst for life that I could never hope to satiate. You... you... you... it's all you!" I was screaming and short of breath, but continued to land a series of terrible blows.

"Tell me that it's your fault. Confess to me that this is all your doing, that I could never had even the slightest chance of living up to your expectations. I could never avoid being a failure in our eyes... you stupid worthless fool... fanciful garbage... tell me that this is all your doing... that you are to blame... bring me my peace... tell me... bring me my peace..." I was so drained, so depleted, that I needed to pause my words just to be able to throw another punch and take another breath.

By this point his body was horrifically bruised and beaten, and he was spitting up a great deal of blood. Unable to continue with such physical exertion, I stood there with sweat dripping off my brow and my chin, and awaited from him any kind of response. He looked up at me, a torn and pained expression upon his face, and said, "I will tell you... it is all my fault. It is I who is to blame."

Then his pained expression transformed into one of wild delirium. "But we both know that it's just another lie..." he said, once more flashing a wry albeit bloodied smile.

Standing directly before him about three yards away, I unsheathed my pistol and aimed it at his forehead. Perhaps I should paused first, just briefly, to give the scene a more suspenseful feel. It may have increased the dramatic tension, even if only slightly, if we were each permitted just one more moment to ponder the tragic nature of our roles and consider the inevitability of the next step. But I did not – I did not hesitate, even for a second. I aimed the pistol and fired immediately. His neck snapped back violently, and the room filled with the echoes of the empty casing plummeting to the floor. There he sat, completely still, his body torn and bloodied. My arms fell to my sides, and my body drooped and slouched. Having served its purpose, the pistol was gently released from my hand without conscious thought, and it too fell to the floor. My expression nearly blank, I looked off to the side. I was not disgusted or repulsed by the sight of the still body before me, but neither was I particularly moved to stare at it, so I was content with it simply being in my peripheral vision. I walked a few steps away and took a deep breath.

"Nothing. Not damn thing. He's stolen this from me as well," I muttered, shaking my head. My voice was empty, and I could not even find it within me to become enraged again. "He was right wasn't he?" I questioned aloud as a small grin formed upon my face. Quickly however the grin melted away and I bowed my head to the floor. "I hate him so much..."

A moment later I slowly opened my eyes, and realized that I was now the one in the chair. As I sat up straight once again, I looked over at the sad figure standing only a few steps away. I shook my head, with equal parts amusement and disgust.

"You're certainly not going to get rid of me that easily," I said with a laugh. I looked over at the pistol he had dropped onto the floor. "It would seem your pistol is as useless as you are. Go on, pick it up, fire it at me again. Should be funny."

I blinked and the figure vanished, as though it slipped into the darkness in order to elude my cold condemnation. As he disappeared, so too did the myriad wounds and bruises he had inflicted upon my body. I walked over to the door of the cell, opened it, and stepped into the corridor. It was flooded utterly with light, which permitted me to peer a great distance. Unfortunately however, that mattered very little, as there was nothing and no one to be seen.

I began to walk down the corridor in the hopes of finding something – a door, stairwell, elevator – anything that could possibly lead me to somewhere else. Thanks to the large helping of light though, I could look ahead and clearly see that there would be nothing more than a pair of empty white walls on either side of me for quite some time. A pang of terror began to creep up my back, and without a conscious thought my pace quickened greatly. As I watched those white walls approach me then slip behind in a constant, almost dizzying procession, I began to lose my sense of just how much ground I had covered and how much time had passed. I was, however, fully cognizant of the terror that was preparing to spill out from the pit of my stomach and consume my entire being if the horrifying blankness of that corridor went on any further.

Instead, something wholly unforeseen would occur. In an instant, the light that had filled the corridor was snuffed out entirely, and I was surrounded by darkness. Rather than be stricken with fear at the prospect of having to flounder about in the dark, I was amused and filled with a sense of relief that the situation had at least changed. Instinctively, I got into a crouch and slowly crept along, running my hands along the floor as I went. I was convinced I would find something, and in a matter of moments my hands discovered what felt like some kind of handle protruding from the floor. I pulled at it with all my strength, and in doing so removed a panel from the floor, revealing a hatch. Without hesitation I placed my hands into the hatch and felt a ladder leading down. I then climbed into the hatch and proceeded further down into the darkness.

The ladder was rather short, and it lead to a large room that was lit dimly by a few flickering lights on the walls and ceiling. I could see sets of columns, and the walls appeared to be decorated in some fashion, though it was too dark to make out anything specific. Shadows of unknown objects danced about in the flickering light, and I paused to wonder if I was not entirely alone down there. My ears would receive no hints however, as no rival sound had come to challenge the echoes of my footsteps.

I came upon a large staircase and ascended it to find a large steel door attached to the ceiling just above the top step. I removed the latch and lifted the door, revealing that this was an exit to the outside. I climbed up and found myself standing on ground level at last. I looked about and surveyed the area, and was utterly bewildered by what I saw – or rather, what I didn't see. I was surrounded in all directions by near nothingness. If not for the charcoal-colored ground and the near-constant whistling of the wind as it whipped through my hair, I would have sworn that I had climbed outside of the universe itself.

I took one step forward before the sense of desolation would be shattered quite strikingly, as a voice from behind pierced through the raging wind.

"Old man."

I slowly turned my head then my entire body around to face the source of the voice. Standing before me, only about twenty yards away were three figures lined up in a row. The were each dressed in identical grayish-silver cloaks, and though shrouded beneath their hoods, even what could be seen of their faces appeared to be gray. I decided not to question how exactly they seemed to have materialized out of thin air.

"We are the Fog of Cnyllan," said the same voice. While not entirely monotone, it was nevertheless quite subdued and melancholy, though at the same time there seemed a proudness to it as well.

"Cnyllan?" I asked curiously. Immediately however the word would trigger a deluge of fresh memories. "Ah, yes. Cnyllan..."

"This is scarred land, but also sacred land. We the Fog of Cnyllan have sworn to protect it from those who would desecrate it," said a soft female voice from behind one of the cloaks.

"I see," I said.

"It is you who is responsible for this. You are the one who chose to scar this land," said a third voice in a forceful, yet restrained tone.

"Many years ago, on what seemed a beautiful and typical afternoon, you unleashed upon Cnyllan a weapon of devastating and horrific power. A power so intense and malevolent, it sought to eradicate the city completely. To erase it from existence. And it almost succeeded," said the female voice.

"Only those who were underground at the time survived the wrath of the weapon," explained the first voice. "Though their numbers were small, and would dwindle further as the days and weeks passed and food and supplies became increasingly scarce."

"We and the memories we hold are the last remnants of the proud, majestic city of Cnyllan. A people whose only crime was to stand valiantly in opposition to you. To conflict with your vision," the third voice said.

"You speak as though it were a trifling offense," I stated with overdramatic arrogance.

"Do you find your choice that day to be commendable? Did it bring you the outcome for which you had hoped?" asked the first voice.

"It solidified my power. After Cnyllan, there would be no more opposition. As I had anticipated," I replied.

"So your power was assured. Is that not what you had sought all along?" asked the third voice almost sarcastically, as if he already knew the answer.

"I sought purpose and peace. Power brought neither," I stated with despondent honesty.

"All these years later," said the first voice.

"With all have you wrought," said the female voice.

"And you still search for victory?" said the third voice. Each spoke their part in a mocking manner that I found particularly irritating.

"I don't even know what that is," I growled, then took a deep breath and exhaled. "But I'm an old man now, and I only wish to survive long enough to perhaps find out."

"Haha... all he has wrought..." a familiar voice said with a laugh, and I felt my heart nearly skip a beat. I looked over to my right and standing there only a couple yards away was the figure who had earlier vanished from the cell. His arms were folded and he was grinning quite merrily.

"Why must you fuel his ego with such laughable fairy tales?" he said to the three gray figures. Then he gave a hearty laugh and looked back over at me.

"Worry not, pitiful wretch. Cnyllan and its inhabitants are safe, at least from you," he joyfully ridiculed. "No one will ever condemn your name or your actions, for no one will ever know your name and your insignificant actions will remain all but inconsequential. Never must you bemoan a lack of fulfillment from your deeds... for there never will be any deeds. Return home, now. Your four walls await you. Perhaps," and his patronizing grin seemed to get even wider, "perhaps you are there already? Haha..."

I opened my mouth to respond but found that I could not speak. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by a horrid lightheadedness. Piercing pains shot through my ears and my temples, causing me to fall to my knees with my hands placed on the sides of my head. The ground seemed as if it was evaporating beneath my feet, and I began to feel the sensation of plummeting at a rapid rate. As I fell, a terrible cacophony of knocking, derisive laughter, and what seemed to be traffic noises swirled violently about my mind. Instinctively I pressed my hands harder against my ears, but to no avail. Through the suffocating noise I tried again and again to simply utter a word, though each time I was unsuccessful. With my mind seemingly collapsing upon itself, I tried to focus on just saying something, anything.

"Just say something," I blurted out at last. I opened my eyes, and saw that my forehead was pressed against a closed door. I also noticed that I was sitting, so I stood up then knocked on the door forcefully.

"Anything..." I pleaded.

I heard the click of the lock releasing, and soon the door would be opened, though only slightly. I gave out a sigh and pushed the door open completely. Standing there behind a bathroom sink was a beautiful young woman clad only in a towel. She was holding a hairbrush in her right hand and a hair dryer in her left, while staring intently into the mirror that ran along most of the wall. Busily and hurriedly she brushed and dried, dried and brushed.

I felt a tingle down my spine as I looked upon her – at the droplets of water beading down her arms, at the way her wet, copper red hair fell upon her back. I was captivated by the way her body fit so perfectly into her towel. All desire to swoop in and remove the towel needed to be ignored if I was going to maintain focus and stay on message.

"I just want to know what it is you're doing tonight," I said with a forced calmness. My gaze darted back and forth between the her and the floor.

She turned off the dryer and placed on the counter. Then after a few finishing brushes, she placed the hairbrush on the counter as well. She then reached over a retrieved a container of facial cream and started the process of applying it to her face. With each passing second devoid of a response or even a glance, I felt a growing ire seething deep in the pit of my stomach, and I began to involuntarily tap my right foot.

I was just about to repeat what I said, when I was interrupted by a loud knocking. At this she finally turned her head, but rather looking at me she looked past me, in the direction of the front door. She then immediately looked back toward the mirror.

"Could you get that?" she said as she turned on the water and splashed some upon her face.

I briefly considered ignoring her request, but when another wave of knocking came only seconds later, I decided to acquiesce simply so I wouldn't have to hear any further knocking. I walked over to the front door and opened it, and like a blur another young woman stepped into the apartment and darted right by me. Though I recognized her, she looked unlike how I'd ever seen her before – with her hair and face completely done up, and wearing an utterly ravishing outfit. I remember thinking she looked ever better than the woman I'd been looking at a moment prior.

"Hey, you almost ready in there?" bellowed the visitor with a boisterous delight that I found dreadfully grating.

I tagged along behind as she headed down the hallway toward the bedroom, from which the other one would emerge clad in a tight revealing top and skirt combination of her own. Despite all the contempt I was currently feeling, there was just enough room left in my mind for a bit of disdain at being unable to watch her get dressed.

"Oh that outfit is so cute!" cooed the visitor.

"I know, isn't it?" happily replied the other.

For the next several moments they continued to swap vapid pleasantries accompanied by obnoxious fits of laughter at seemingly regular intervals. Unable to force myself to concentrate on something so uninteresting, their words eventually melded into a kind of high-pitched hum.

"So where are you going?" I asked bitterly.

Even to myself, my voice sounded like little more than background noise swallowed up by their laughter. I thought I saw one of them glance at me for just a second, and as if suddenly reminded that their conversation was not private they made their way out of the hallway and toward the front door. Once again, I would follow.

"Oh, so what are we doing after we visit the animals?" asked the guest as she opened the door.

"Well I managed to get some passes to the Museum of Temerity, so we'll see how many people at the party want to come along," replied the other with excitement.

I shook my head. "Wait, what?" I said with fervency. "Hold on a minute..." They were heading through the door, and I followed them out into the lobby. "Look I know I wasn't invited, but..."

Finally she turned to look at me, and her festive expression turned to one of annoyance. "Look," she said patronizingly, "you wouldn't wanted to have come along anyway. I'll see you some other time, or whenever."

I did not respond, but simply watched as she and her friend faded away as they headed down the lobby and toward the main doors. I felt powerless, like a child who'd just been scolded, and my chest was tight and heavy.

Sitting on the floor just off to my side were two guys laughing and joking while playing some kind of card game. I looked behind me at the door to the apartment, then glanced over in their direction. Suddenly I felt a terrifying shiver, as a chill swept through the lobby. The lights appeared to dim a bit, and the walls seemed to be a darker and dirtier shade of red than they were a moment before. One of the two card players turned his head to look at me, and as he did his joking smile utterly vanished, replaced instantly by a terrifying blank expression.

His face pallid and his eyes glazed, he spoke to me: "Is that a box, with its lid and with its locks? Is it a cage for a sinner or a sage? Is it a cell, you have carved into a hell?" His voice was ominous and robotic, and his words seemed to burrow themselves into me.

The other card player then turned to look at me, his appearance similar to that of the first. "Or shall we just assume," he said in a deeper, even more unnerving monotone, "that it merely is a room? The room where you decay as your mind aches? For when all you can make are excuses and mistakes, that is where you rot as your mind breaks."

I said nothing, and simply headed back into the room.

****

In the corner of a stage, illuminated by a spotlight, was a disheveled young man sitting in a chair by a small table. On the table was a half-empty bottle of bourbon, and in the man's hand was a shot glass. The man sighed, ran his free hand through his unkempt hair, then filled his shot glass with the bourbon. He swirled it around a bit, then downed it emphatically. Then he gave a small chuckle.

"The malaise of comfort," he said, his voice echoing through the small room. "Do you know what that is? Oh I'm sure you do," he said ostensibly to the audience, though his gaze remained fixed firmly at the empty shot glass in his hand.

"It's having just enough to get by, knowing that you needn't worry about whether you'll make it to the next day. Knowing that you needn't fight to stay alive. You have enough to eat and a roof over your head. Comfort." He began to nod slowly as he ran an index finger along the rim of his glass. "Comfort," he repeated.

He reached for the bottle again. "But that's not enough, is it?" he asked as he snatched the bottle off the table. He filled the glass again and held it up to his face. "No... no it simply is not," he said, then he downed the shot. He put the glass and the bottle onto the table, rose from his chair, and began to pace about the stage.

"I saw a small bird this morning, in my backyard," he said as paced back and forth, staring down at the floor. "I think it's the same bird I see every morning. It pecks for a bit at the food I leave in the birdfeeder, then it flies off. It lives only to survive – to feed and procreate. That's what it does." He stopped pacing and finally looked up at the audience, wide-eyed. "It survives."

He walked slowly back over to the chair and leaned up against it. "I am not a bird. I am a man. I am capable of so much more..." He paused, and his gaze turned toward the bottle. "Aren't I?" he said unsurely. There was a chilling and woeful tremble in his voice. He grabbed the bottle and stared it, while continuing to lean against the chair.

"I am an extra, placed into the story to fill a vacant space in the background. But the story is never about me." He slumped into the chair, still gripping the bottle. "I live in a building I did not construct, where I listen to songs I did not compose and read books I did not write. I drive a car I did not design on roads I did not pave. I work for a company that I did not start, filling out paperwork for products I did not invent." He paused dramatically, then gave out a heavy sigh. Finally he filled his shot glass once more, and slid it over to himself.

"I am as nonessential and incidental as that bird," he said, as he again began to dejectedly swirl the bourbon around in his glass. "And I don't know how to be anything else. I know only that I will live to see tomorrow." He downed the shot, then slowly rose from the chair. With the glass in one hand and the bottle in the other, he gave a final quick look to the audience then stared back down at the floor. "The malaise of comfort," he said stoically.

He then turned around and walked out of the spotlight and into the darkness just behind the table, where he vanished from view. With that, the spotlight was turned off and the entire room was blanketed in darkness. A moment later the lights above the audience turned on and shined brightly once again.

As my eyes readjusted to the light, the stillness was broken by the sound of spirited applause coming from two young women who unbeknownst to me had been sitting in the back row of the theater. I turned to look at them, and saw they had risen from their seats and were headed toward me. They each smiled at me cheerfully, and quickly were standing directly in front of me. Their sanguine expressions were an odd contrast to the dreariness of our surroundings.

The shorter one of the two spoke first. "Oh it was brilliant, absolutely brilliant," she said in an almost giddy tone. "It was incredibly moving!" She seemed to bounce as she spoke, and it gave the appearance that her strawberry red hair was dancing as it brushed against her shoulders.

"I thought it was amazing," said the taller woman, the shorter one nodding emphatically beside her. "Just amazing." The way they were looking at me, it was as if I was the one who'd written the play, and for a brief moment I began to wonder if I had.

"So," said the shorter one buoyantly, "we were going to have late lunch, and were hoping you'd want to join us." As they awaited my response, they stared at me with such exuberance I wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or simply uncomfortable.

"No no," I said politely, "I think I'm going to see if there's another show." It wasn't a lack of interest in their offer so much as I simply didn't feel like getting up yet.

Simultaneously they each frowned with disappointment. "Awww, that's too bad," the shorter one said sadly. Almost immediately though their smiles returned. "Well hopefully we'll see you around soon!" she said.

They each waved amiably as they walked away, and I gave them the courtesy of waving in return. As they neared the exit, I could clearly overhear the shorter one uttering the word "brilliant" several times as the taller one nodded. Before I could really begin to process what had just happened, the lights started to dim and a new show was about to begin.

Seated behind a desk in the center of the stage was a middle-aged man of distinguished appearance reading through a stack of papers. He wore a greatcoat adorned with numerous orders, medals, and other insignia. While his specific position was unclear, it was quite evident it was one of great importance in the hierarchy of things.

A younger man entered the stage from the right and stood before the desk. He too wore a greatcoat, but with far fewer adornments. He gave a salute, and the middle-aged man looked up from his papers and nodded in response.

"I saw two more of them today, sir," said the younger man somberly.

"Were they the same as the others?" asked the middle-aged man.

"No. These were much further along. The others... they were like skeletons. I could still see their features, and their flames, while small, still burned defiantly. But these were..."

"Like ghosts," the middle-aged man completed the thought. "Clinging to what remains, for that is all they know to do." He placed the stack of papers onto his desk and folded his hands together.

"Yes, their flames had extinguished. Why do they still walk among us, sir?"

"They yearn to be real again. To reclaim what they have lost."

"Lost, sir?"

"The hope for something more. The will to be whole."

"It is terrible," said the younger man. "There are so many of them."

"And there always will be. But time is working against them. As another day passes, the chances of their flames reigniting diminishes a bit more, and they grow to accept their fates."

"Acquiescence to their obscurity."

"Precisely. And most of them will inevitably succumb to it, no matter how brightly their flames may burn today. As I said, it is only a matter of time," said the middle-aged man as a shook his head drearily.

The younger man frowned. "How sad."

"It is. But that is what must be," stated the middle-aged man.

"No! It shouldn't have to end that way!" I defiantly asserted as I sprung from my seat. Though I had spoken quite loudly, no one onstage or in the audience seemed to even take notice of my little outburst. Undaunted, I galloped to the exit and stepped outside.

The night sky and its stars had cascaded upon the skyline, and rows of streetlights shined upon the sidewalks that flanked an empty boulevard. I looked left then right in the event that the two young women I'd met earlier were perhaps in the vicinity, but I knew that they were surely long gone. As I started to wonder whether or not to regret declining their offer, I could hear the faint unmistakable sound of saxophones off in the distance. Intrigued, I decided to walk in the direction of the source of the beautiful music.

I turned the corner and came upon a large courtyard that had been transformed into an outdoor ballroom. Dozens of couples were dancing cheek to cheek to the rhythm of the sensuous saxophones. As the percussion and guitars joined the party as well, my eyes shifted to one dancing couple in particular. About twenty yards away, there was young man whom I was sure I recognized, dressed to the letter in snazzy tuxedo. In his arms was an absolutely gorgeous young woman. Her long, cocoa brown hair draped upon a splendid black gown covered in sparkles. The floodlights surrounding the courtyard made her sparkle like diamonds, and it seemed as if all the majesty and radiance of the universe was focused upon her. I stood there silently and marveled at what I saw, not just her beauty, but also the look on the young man's face. He was positively beaming with the confident exuberance one could only feel when enveloped by such a moment of joy and triumph.

Soon I could hear the music increasing in tempo, and their dancing increased in speed to keep up. Then just as the song was about to shift completely, the young man released the young woman's hand. She spun away from him 180 degrees and I watched with fascination as she completely faded away. Unmoved and unconcerned, the young man also turned around and immediately found himself dancing with a different woman. She was a vivacious beauty, possessing long fiery-red curly locks and an equally as striking red dress that hugged her every curve. I stood as they danced feverishly and the guitars wailed, then a few moments later the same thing happened as before. The music shifted, the redheaded knockout faded away, and a different young lady was in the arms of the young man – this time a lovely black-haired woman with tanned skin and a blue dress.

I had started to become quite put off by the whole peculiar scene, and desired to find someone who could clue me in as to what this little shindig was all about, or – failing that – I wished to simply leave the area entirely. However, as I attempted to lift my leg, I found that I was completely immobile. While attempting to comprehend this disturbing discovery, soon I was horrified by another shift in the music. For reasons I did not understand, I suddenly felt as though I recognized what song had been playing all along – and I knew that it was only a few seconds from finishing. I looked over again at the young man dancing with the woman in the blue dress, and instinctively was overcome by a great need to warn him of impending tragedy. I tried to run, but still could not move my legs. So I desperately opened my mouth to yell, but found that I was mute. I could only watch in sadness and horror as events unfolded exactly as I knew they would. Just as the song came to a rousing conclusion, he released the hand of his dance partner, who spun away and vanished into thin air. But when he turned around once more, there was no new partner to greet him. I felt a horrific clenching deep in the pit of my stomach as I watched the crushed young man's face, once flush with joyous and bold aplomb, disintegrate into an expression of utter despair. He then lowered his head, then he too and faded away.

Overwhelmed by what had transpired, I could only stand there with my head lowered as well. I felt as if I had failed that young man, and though I could neither move nor speak, I was convinced I still should have found a way to warn him. A moment later, still lost in sorrowful lament, I heard a voice from behind me.

"Sir, it is time," it said.

I lifted my head up and stared forward. While clenching my right fist, I took a deep breath and exhaled, as if trying to expel from my very being the plaintive scene I had just witnessed. "Yes," I agreed. "It is time."

I turned around and found myself standing in a large room brimming with people talking and bustling about. I knew immediately that I was in the operations hall of the Apotheosis, a Gauntlet-class superdreadnought that was infamous throughout the star system for being the most imposing war machine ever devised. Spread out before me was a huge computerized three-dimensional map of the sector, depicting in awe-inspiring detail the real-time locations of our forces as well as those of enemy. At least a dozen technicians fitted with headsets were milling around the room, being fed a constant stream of information that streamed in from the front lines.

I looked at the map and could see that our fleet was nearly within range of the moon Elegy, the location of the dissenters' last remaining major installation. A voice from a few yards away then confirmed what I already knew.

"Sir, two minutes until we are in range of Elegy," said one of the technicians.

"Move missile interceptor groups A and B into attack position Gladius the moment we are in range," I ordered confidently. The technician dutifully repeated my command into his microphone.

A moment later as my eyes remained fixated upon the map, I could see hundreds of missiles fired from Elegy streaking in our direction. Almost simultaneously, the missile interceptor platforms moved into position and fired their opening volley. It was a rousing success, as only about a dozen enemy missiles struck a target.

"Sir, the heavy cruiser Wolfpack is reporting severe damage, but insists they can go on. The heavy cruiser Mimosa has been lost," said a technician off to my right.

"Sir, the carrier Elizabeth is reporting. It is in danger of an imminent hull breach, but flight decks are still intact," said another.

"Sir, scanners indicate the enemy has depleted at least 85% of their ground-based missiles," said another.

"Order the Wolfpack to maintain defensive posture Epsilon-1," I said, my gaze remaining firmly on the map. "Order all carriers to unleash all Safmurges immediately. Safmurge squadrons are to concentrate on the enemy fleet. All heavy cruisers are ordered to fire upon any and all available targets on Elegy."

My voice was controlled and composed. I was in my element, rising to the occasion with prudence and precision. I was not simply in command of a fleet – a fleet that had come here to expunge the last remnants of those who had stood in my way. No, I was also in command of the moment itself, for it was the moment I had envisioned for so very long.

I continued to stand there, my arms folded, and give out the kinds of orders that a brilliant and wise leader would surely give. My tone was determined and unwavering – certainly befitting someone who wore such an elegant, grandiose uniform. Indeed, everything about my performance proved that I was perfect for this role, and for this moment.

Soon the map would indicate that the steady, inexorable push my forces were making upon the enemy stronghold was nearing its conclusion. Knowing that I had done all that I was capable of doing, I waited in silent confidence for the confirmation of success. Rather than find myself torn with impatience, I instead found this an excellent time to soak in my surroundings and bask in the riveting anticipation. Besides, I knew it would not be a particularly long wait.

Only minutes later, all of my forces had converged upon a single point. A technician confirmed what I had already known to be true. "The enemy command center has been breeched and its defenders have been subdued. All surviving enemy forces are standing down," he said as the operations hall of the Apotheosis erupted in cheers and gleeful hollering.

With the battle won, I finally turned my back to the map. I gazed around the room to witness the celebration. In a seemingly spontaneous outburst of reverence, everyone in the room stood up, looked at me, and began to applaud.

It had been so long since I had felt such pride in so many things – myself, those who stood by me, and the ideals for which we fought. Filled with dignity as well as sincere gratitude, I acknowledged my cheering acolytes with a waving of my hands. They then formed a pair of lines and began to exit the operations hall through the two doors at the rear – all while continuing their uproarious extolling of my greatness.

When the doors finally closed behind them, all that remained was myself and Salvo – who'd been standing off in a corner without having said a word.

"Reminiscing are we?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes," I said quietly. "That was so many years ago."

"Your final victory, it was called. And it was just that," said Salvo.

"Yes. Little wonder why I look back upon it so often," I muttered.

"You know, for someone seemingly so obsessed with victories, it is extraordinary how you insist on saturating yourself with failure."

"You act as if it were by choice," I said with resentment. Even having predicted the direction Salvo was going to take the dialogue, I still could not manage to fully hide my anger.

"It isn't by accident, we know that."

"Failure finds its way to me," I snarled.

"Perhaps it senses a kindred spirit."

"I want this, do you understand me?" I said, pointing my finger at him defiantly. "I want this feeling, no matter how fleeting. Even if it is destined to become a fading memory I cling to, so be it."

"How wonderful it must be, inspired by the promise of being a once-great man," Salvo said as he shook his head.

"That's not fair. My aspirations are not limited to this," I replied, almost demanding that he believe me. "They aren't."

"If you say so," he said.

I stood there shaking my head, my arms folded, staring at him coldly. It took nearly every bit of self control I possessed to not unleash upon him a tirade that I was so convinced he deserved to hear.

After a brief moment, Salvo sighed and rolled his eyes. I was positive he knew what was going on in my mind. I just wasn't sure if he was mocking my desire to give a bitter screed, or simply mocking my decision to repress it. Either way, his actions only served to irritate me further.

"Well go on," he said with a smile as he eyed the doors. "They are waiting for you."

I took a long and deep breath, then began a slow walk to the doors. I did not release myself from the indignation that filled me, but rather seized the reins of the authority it had over me. I knew I would need to use that bitterness to its full potential if I was going to effectively fulfill my impending obligation.

I was going step past Salvo without acknowledging him, but at the last second decided to shoot him a glance just to see if he was still smiling – which he was.

I stepped through the doors and into what could either have been called a large conference room or a small auditorium. I had entered through a side door at the back of the room, and so I found myself facing the side of a stage. My initial instinct was to turn and head toward the numerous rows of chairs facing the stage, in the hopes of finding myself a good seat. The room was packed what seemed like dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people. Some were engaged in loud conversations, while others were merely whispering, and the rest sat silently. All of them though, strangely enough, were dressed in matching gray shirts and pants.

While trying to ignore the natural feeling of embarrassment that comes with being the only person standing in a packed room – like the last one to arrive at an old movie theater – my eyes quickly surveyed the room for any empty spaces left for me to fill. There was but one – a single unoccupied chair located in the first row, just off to the center. With great haste I headed over and claimed the seat as my own.

As I sat down, I wondered if my arrival would cause those around me to feel uncomfortable. I was worried that they could become noticeably agitated, or perhaps they might even get up and leave their seats in protest. Nothing of the sort occurred though, and the gray clad throngs surrounding me continued in their conversations just as they had before I had taken my seat. While I was unsure whether it was a result of acceptance of my presence or simply indifference, I nevertheless found their reaction – or lack thereof – to be somewhat comforting.

However, after several minutes of staring at the stage and its one lonely podium, I began to feel very uneasy. An underlying sense of anticipation had bubbled to the surface, and I was getting terribly impatient. With every nearby tapping of a finger, or far-off echo caused by somebody shifting in their seat, my eyes darted forward. But never was the sound I heard that of someone stepping onto the stage after emerging from the dark green curtain in the back.

Finally I could bear no more. With my heart beating rapidly, I emerged from the dim obscurity of my seat and headed toward the stage. As I did, I wondered if any of the eyes suddenly focused upon me thought I had been motivated by a belief that I simply did not belong seated amongst the crowd. I wondered if others assumed that I considered the spot in front of the podium to be my rightful place, and mine alone. But all such assumptions could not have been further from the truth. I merely wished for something to happen, and somehow managed to take measures into my own hands.

I looked upon the dark green curtain at the back of the stage and gently brushed my hand against it. Then quickly I turned around and stood at the podium, scanning the audience before me. The room had become eerily quiet, and seemingly all eyes were fixed on me. I could almost convince myself that I had their full attention.

"So, where did we leave off?" I asked into a microphone, as if the sequence leading up to that moment had been nothing more than a brief intermission that followed some unseen episode. My tone was relaxed and conversational, which is why it sounded so strange to hear my voice amplified across the entire room.

"We were discussing the state of political discourse," spoke up someone near the middle of the room.

"Ah yes," I replied, nodding thoughtfully. "And how no matter the era, it seems to always be little more than a debate between those who hope desperately for a future that can never be and those who long for a past that never was. Correct?" This elicited nods from the audience.

"So does that mean," said a voice near the back, "that would be strive for something more? Or perhaps avoid such debates altogether?"

I chuckled. "Avoiding such debates is the something more," I said. "Besides, I prefer a dandy fusion of the two schools of thought."

"What do you mean?" someone asked.

"Have it both ways. Romanticize the past as best you can, and be assured the future is teeming with riches. Only then will the present seem bearable," I asserted.

"Can such a practice endure?"

"If you embrace it, it can," I replied. "Give yourself to it. Be creative. When you look back on this day, try to imagine that my words were actually inspiring rather than empty. When you think of those who joined you here, reflect on how they sustained and supported you, avoiding the reality that they were merely background noise. Believe in your yearning to live this day again."

There came a lengthy period of silence that felt as if it lasted nearly ten minutes. I wasn't sure whether everyone was ruminating on my words, was puzzled by them, or if they had all just stopped paying attention to me. Finally a young woman in the front row stood up and spoke, mercifully ending the silence.

"Are you the one who is to lead us to that future? The future that teems with riches?" she asked with wide-eyed excitement.

I took a deep breath and paused for moment in order to formulate a proper response. As I gazed upon her face and its delicate features, I wanted to give her an answer that managed to be truthful while somehow also uplifting. In her eyes I saw a fervent willingness and eagerness to follow me to that future. But as I stood on that stage fielding questions from the curious, I found myself with little appetite for acolytes. Yet I did not want to dishearten her, for fear of causing her flame to diminish even slightly.

"I was once," I said at last. "And I almost definitely will be again. But not today." I glanced down at the podium, then looked at her again. "Not today," I repeated.

She seemed contented by my answer, as not a whit of excitement faded from her expression. She gave a single nod, then finally sat back down in her chair. I let out a relieved sigh, which thankfully was not picked up by the microphone.

"Now," I said, "please excuse me. I really must get going. I have a train to catch."

****

Navigating the tunnels and terminals of the sprawling Central Railway Nexus was a terrible chore. One could ascend one of the many escalators sprinkled throughout the immense, bustling complex and after just a few steps down a hallway, find themselves two or even three levels lower than where they'd began. It also was seemingly possible to travel in endless circles about an atrium or food court without ever passing by the same thing twice. Even two adjacent doors could each open to platforms that were on opposite ends of the complex from one another.

The madness of the Nexus' layout was matched only by the absurdity of its artistic style. The place had the look of a resort casino, or one of those entertainment museums to which busloads of wide-eyed children were sent to touch and gaze at all the shiny exhibits. The walls were awash with brightly-colored lights – some that flashed at bizarre intervals, others that spun like pinwheels. Those lights sparkled sublimely off the frosted glass that covered much of the floors, and gave the appearance that one was walking upon a dazzling assortment of rock candies.

The colossal atriums that seemed to spring up between various terminals were home to an impressive array of eccentric establishments. I passed by one store that was peddling reptile skins imported from the jungles of the torrid moon Trocken, and another whose walls were lined with nothing but acrid perfumes, and stepped into a little shop that sold grotesque masks and small pieces of chocolate. I purchased a small, round truffle from the strikingly gargantuan man who stood towering over the checkout counter. He wore a wholly intriguing mask that seemed to be portraying a kind of callous indifference or detachment – the eyes were sunken and small, and the mouth was little more than a short straight line. As I exited the store, I couldn't help but imagine how horrifying it would be to behold a legion of soldiers with every face clad in that mask.

I unwrapped the truffle and placed it under my tongue, savoring its sweet taste as it quickly began to melt. I passed through a door just beyond the store and much to my amazed delight found myself at the terminal for the Purlieu Express. I headed over to a scanning machine to authenticate my ticket, then stood on the platform just beside a large crowd that had gathered to await the next available train. It seemed the Purlieu regions were becoming an increasingly popular destination, and traveling there was getting simpler and more tempting all the time.

A train bristled into the terminal and came to a sudden stop. There came a message over the loudspeaker system that this train would be leaving for the Purlieu regions in ten minutes, and the next train to the Purlieus wouldn't be arriving for another ten minutes after that. At this the crowd became noticeably agitated, and the people began to fuss and scramble hastily. I slipped through one of the rear doors of the train – a sleek, silver monstrosity of a vessel – and quickly located my pre-assigned seat near the back.

There I sat as the crowd began to file into the train, and I took note of all the enormous and bulky trappings so many people had tugged along with them. Everywhere I turned there was an overstuffed duffel bag or suitcase blocking the aisle, taking up its own seat, or obscuring the face of some unfortunate passenger forced to keep their luggage upon their lap. I watched with curious fascination as a tall, brutish man attempted in vain to stuff his bag into the overhead compartment, only to finally resign himself to having to share his seat with it. I gave out a sigh, and appreciated how beneficial it was that I had so few meaningful or essential possessions. It was certainly nice to be making this trip with so little baggage.

A moment later the doors shut automatically and the train began to crawl out of the station. I ignored the headphones attached to my armrest and the small television screen fixed to the back of the seat in front of me, and instead attempted to shelter myself with my own thoughts. This proved difficult however, as I was quickly overrun by the conversing of the other passengers.

"He was never proud of me. It doesn't bother me though..."

"There's just too much pressure. I can't do the work of three people..."

"He's the last person to take advice from, even if he is right..."

The words hung in the air like a dense soot, and I could feel their thickness coating my insides as I took them in. As one pronouncement began to fade aside, another unfailingly arrived to take its place.

"So what if I failed out, it wouldn't have done me any good anyway..."

"I just miss when she would actually be happy to see me..."

The train weaved through dark imposing forests, passed through tunnels cut into the sides of mountains, and journeyed across bridges that spanned sparkling, picturesque seas. At least, that is what I imagined. I was riding in the Scanty Class section of the train – anything more luxurious was far out of my price range – and so was not afforded the extravagance of windows.

Thankfully a steward eventually came by and handed each passenger a packet of disposable utensils, and something resembling a meal. Situated in the center of an oversized plastic tray was a small piece of what appeared to be grilled chicken. In the event the chicken lacked sufficient flavor, one could dip it in the dollop of gray, fetid sauce provided in the corner of the tray – indeed a banquet that was as filling as it was delicious.

The screen in front of me was showing only commercials – to get programming in addition to the commercials cost extra. There were also several games available, but they were merely interactive versions of those same commercials, and most of them cost extra as well. So I spent most of the journey switching between staring at the gray floor below me, or the gray wall to my left – all the while tapping my foot in the hopes of drowning out the bits of neighboring conversation constantly attempting to slip past my defenses.

As I sat there, my eyes closed and my foot still tapping, my thoughts turned once more to the man in the mask I had seen in the store. Again I imagined what a spectacle it would be to see thousands, even millions of figures clad in such a mask all gathered together. I envisioned a huge boulevard in some nameless city, filled to the brim with them as they marched as one, slowly and inexorably. How frightful and ghastly it would be for onlookers as they witnessed columns of frigid, impassive faces descending upon them for reasons unknown. Maybe they had come to unleash some kind of unspeakable vengeance, or perhaps they'd arrived simply for the purpose of finding a home. Or could it be that they'd always been there, overlooked and unnoticed, and at last decided to assemble and make their presence fully known?

I began to wonder just how much one could see and discern from behind such a hollow face. Captive and confined within those sunken eyes, surely it would be nearly impossible to perceive one's surroundings with any clarity. I realized then how unlikely it would be for such a great assembling to materialize. Unable to truly recognize one another, those in the masks would simply drift along the canvas as lone specks, destined to never coalesce into something more powerful or more beautiful. A tragic pity, I thought to myself.

After what must have been several million toe taps, a message blared from the speaker stating that our arrival at Purlieu Station was imminent. The train ground to a halt, and I passed through the automatic doors. Purlieu Station was a quaint, charming little railway depot – the kind of idyllic place that was only supposed to exist long ago, if at all. I turned my head and noticed that none of the other passengers had exited the train, and the train itself must have already started again and departed the station.

I stepped off the platform and underneath the roof of the small, doorless depot building. I passed by a large bulletin board covered in train schedules, and noticed an old man standing behind a counter, sorting some papers. He looked up and acknowledged me.

"Heading over to the field?" he asked affably.

"I am," I responded. We exchanged friendly nods of farewell, and I continued on my way to the back of the depot.

There, just as the concrete pathway ended, a small hill blanketed in soft green grass rose up from the ground. I jogged to the top of the hill, then paused to soak in the spectacle. Stretched before me was an expansive field, littered and choking with twisted, contorted wreckage. Innumerable heaps of tangled metal were ablaze – the red flames and turbid black smoke billowing from them provided a stark contrast against the serene, powder blue sky. Yet despite the presence of still-burning fires, as well the notable pungency of carnage in which the scene was thoroughly draped, there was a lingering feeling of antiquity to it all.

Whatever occurred in such a place, I suspected, it was not as recent as it may have seemed. To my right, on the far edge of the landscape, stood a building several stories high. I found it peculiar how out of place this lone structure appeared. It seemed to be a part of the scene while simultaneously detached from it, like a general on horseback commanding and overlooking a battle from afar. I glanced again at the ruination scattered across the field and desired to get a closer look, but immediately thought better of it and instead decided to head over to the building.

Upon closer inspection, the building resembled an abandoned hospital or storage facility. It was an imposing brick behemoth, with an unnerving desolate feel to it. Each one of its five floors had over a dozen windows, and eerily enough all of them were open – almost as if it were a sign of welcome.

I felt compelled to accept this flattering invitation, and entered the building through the main double doors. There was no vestibule or reception area, and I was abruptly cast into a narrow, drab hallway with what appeared to be small lockers lining each wall. The double doors closed behind me in a slow, laborious manner, and when they finally slammed shut an intimidating echo rippled down the hallway.

I headed forward, through the gray insipidness, to the end of the hall. There was a door there, an unremarkable nondescript tan door with a small window positioned at my eye level. I peered through it, but the glass was translucent and I could not make out a thing. Just beneath the window there was inscribed upon the door a capital letter B. I traced the letter curiously with my index finger, then stood back and stared at the door for a brief moment. As I reached down to turn the doorknob, I suddenly felt as if I knew exactly what awaited me on the other side.

I stepped into the room and was immediately overwhelmed by a sense of reminiscence. Before me were several rows of small desks, and seated at each of them were faces with which I had already been acquainted long ago. The room was awash with familiar voices, though none of them directed toward me. I tilted my head just slightly and spotted an empty seat along the back row, which I quickly went to claim for myself.

I hunkered down in my seat and observed resentfully the numerous conversations percolating all around. At that moment I could vividly recall when I was the catalyst, the highly esteemed driving force, rather than a mere trifling bystander. I shook my head.

"There's not a day that goes by that I don't find myself thinking about some of you," I said aloud, though one wouldn't know it by the absence of any reaction from those seated around me. "I wonder what's become of you, what's become of your dreams," I continued. "I wonder what in this world has found you since we last spoke, and what paths you have taken. Mostly though, I just wish I knew why none of you ponder these things about me. Oh I know you don't. I realize I keep myself pretty secluded... I may have drifted past the margins and off the pages altogether. But in this world, if you really wanted to find someone, you can," I said lamentably.

"So what was it?" I persisted despite the lack of acknowledgment. "What was it that made it so easy to just cast me from your minds? I remember all the laughter and mirth I supplied. You," I said looking at a young man to my right, "you said I was the funniest person you'd ever known. I still look back fondly on the all the adventures we had."

My gaze then drifted toward a young woman whose face was turned away from me.

"I can still recall vividly the look of sheer joy on your face whenever I would arrive at your doorstep. I remember how you longed for my embrace... you told me you felt secure in my arms," I said with a dour exasperation.

I looked at a talkative young man seated beside her.

"You, you would tell others you wouldn't be attending a party unless I was there, for you knew I would be the one to inject life into it."

I stared down at my desk and with my chin resting upon a fist, I continued on.

"How many of you did I console when you stumbled, did I rally into shape when you were petrified?" I asked bitterly. "To how many of you did I entrust my darkest dreams... so willing was I to deprive myself of my armor and let you see the scars and bruises beneath it. Do those days mean nothing to any of you?" My voice was rising in anger. "I know it was meaningful and worthy back then... so how then was it so simple to transport yourselves to a place where I cannot be seen? Have I truly wronged all of you so terribly? Or is it that I was never really as essential as you all led me to believe I was?"

Enervated and having said my piece, I turned silent and placed my hands upon my forehead. Just when I was certain that all my words had gone unheard, a familiar haughty chuckle arose from the seat just to my left. I tilted my neck to peer in that direction, and instantly my shoulders slumped when I discovered the source of the laughter. There beside me, with his chair leaning back against the wall and both feet placed on his desk, sat Salvo. His demeanor seemed to resemble that of someone lounging peacefully by a pool, though admittedly his long black coat would have been somewhat out place in such a setting. His eyes were fixed upon the ceiling as he gently tapped some ash off a cigarette and onto the floor.

"How did you find me here?" I asked, my words laced with equal parts annoyance and embarrassment.

"Oh it was simple," he replied, still gazing upwards. "I just followed the stench of regression and self-pity."

I decided to ignore the callousness of his response. "As someone who frequently praises the beauty and benefits of solitude, when I actually have it, I..." My voice began to trail off. "I suppose all characters eventually run their course within a particular story."

"If you need an audience so badly, then form a new one," said Salvo. "But you had better accept from the start that it too will eventually need to be replaced."

My eyes surveyed the room once more, taking note of all the faces they recognized. "I just thought we were closer," I uttered ruefully to no one in particular. "I really did."

"So what is worse?" Salvo asked. "That you weren't that close after all, or the mere fact that you're capable of being so terribly wrong about something like that?"

I knew Salvo had posed the question mostly for his own amusement rather than for the purpose of actually receiving an answer. "At least you'll always be around, Salvo," I said dryly, evading his question entirely.

He gave another patronizing chuckle, then turned to look at me. "Oh, of course," he said with a mischievous grin. "Whatever you say." Salvo then used the floor to snuff out his cigarette and immediately retrieved another from his coat pocket.

Once more I shook my head, then took a deep breath, and rose up from my chair. Wading through the voices as they hovered about my face, I headed for the door. Upon taking one step back into the hallway however, I found myself frozen in place. Something powerful, something invisible, had seemingly grabbed onto me and refused to release me from its clutches. It beckoned me to remember that there remained a bit of unfinished business in the room behind me, and so it was not yet time to depart. Smiling, I began to nod slowly, as if to convey to the unseen force that I had realized my error.

I spun around and went back into the room, returning to the seat just beside Salvo. He gave me a quick glance, then spewed a large puff of smoke upwards to the ceiling.

"Oh what extraordinary escapades you surely must have had since last we spoke. It's been so long," he said mockingly.

His tone was easy to brush aside, as my attention was turned elsewhere. Nearby, just a few seats away to the left, sat a mesmerizing young woman. She possessed an alluring elegance, as well as the type of flawless features that would be the envy of even the most coveted television starlets. One would find it simple to imagine her present at a high society gala – and not simply in the background, but rather as the one whose grace and charm captivated the attention of all those in attendance. Yet despite her air of nobility, of otherworldly refinement, there was an unmistakable softness to her. She had a kind of neighborly affability, and seemed capable of befriending everyone with whom she came in contact.

"Look at her, Salvo," I said. "See her smile as she laughs? Is she not absolutely stunning?" I was doing little to mask my how enamored I was.

Salvo gave a look in her direction. "She is quite attractive, yes," he said with a nod. "You came back here to remind yourself of that?" He almost sounded as if he was actually curious.

"As I lean back in this chair so casually, I think perhaps I should turn to see. See the beauty that I should have known a little better than I could have known. Just look into her eyes on this day, and tell her what I need to say," I said half-singingly. I wasn't really sure if I had come up with that right then, or had done so much earlier.

"How very moving," replied Salvo. "Hackneyed, but somehow moving nevertheless. So wish you could have told her how beautiful she was?"

"Yes. But not simply that," I said. "I wish I could tell her how... enchanted I am by her beauty. Her radiance is often the only thing that makes the days bearable." I was fully aware of how terribly quixotic I was being, but something about that moment made it seem acceptable, perhaps even necessary.

Salvo took a long puff of his cigarette. "I see," he said.

"I've only spoken to her a handful of times, and never for very long. I cannot even remember her name... do you believe that?" I gave a bit of chuckle. "Her voice is so captivating. I really think she could have made me happy," I said with a sigh.

At this, Salvo forcefully threw his cigarette straight down onto the floor beside him.

"Enough. This ends now," he said sternly. His typical brand of condescension had suddenly given way to a wrathful austereness. While not exactly intimidating, it was still off-putting enough that I was immediately roused from my fanciful state.

"Come with me, I have something to show you," he added.

Salvo sat up abruptly and began to head over to the door, and I followed him as he asked – more like demanded, really. He opened the door and held it, allowing me to pass by him. As I stepped through the doorway I found myself not back in the hallway, but instead inside a small room. It contained a television in one corner, a desk in another corner, and a twin-sized bed situated parallel to the far wall. Sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the lone empty corner of the room, was the young woman whose visage had transfixed me only moments earlier.

"Go on," said Salvo, gesturing with his hand for me to go further into the room. As I did, he exited and closed the door behind him.

Instinctively I went to sit in the desk chair, and turned it around so that I was facing the television. The sound was muffled and indistinct, and the images on the screen were blurred and grainy to the point where I could not make them out at all. Nevertheless I sat there, remote control in hand, and stared at the screen anyway. Every few moments I would press a button on the remote to change the channel, which would bring forth a slightly different though just as blurred image. There was a small glare on the screen, created by the slits of light peeking through the window shade just to my right. With my free hand I reached over, my eyes still peering forward, and tugged on the string that closed the blinds.

The room had a worn, exhausted feeling to it. There was stale scent, and a noticeable layer of dust blanketed nearly everything. The ambience was similar to what one would expect to find in a tenebrous study or library located within the bowels of an ancient citadel. Though unlike such a place, there were no books to be found – the shelves just above the desk were home to nothing more than some miscellaneous knick knacks and unlabeled disk boxes.

Finally, after what may have been minutes or hours, the beautiful creature seated on the edge of the bed decided to speak.

"I can't do this anymore," she said. "I won't do this anymore." Her voice was soft and subdued, but there was still a firmness to her words.

As she spoke, there came a jolt to the pit of my stomach. My fingertips felt pained and weak, though not too terribly. Perhaps such sensations were being tempered by the air of sheer inevitability saturating the room.

"You don't even pretend anymore," she continued. "You've ceased even bothering to feign interest. So this is long overdue." I maintained by gaze toward the blurry television screen as she spoke, and began to hasten the speed at which I changed the channels.

"I know there was a time when being with me brought out the best in you. I know this didn't start out as a charade. I know it was real. But it isn't anymore." She sounded as if there was a bulleted list of points she wished to make, and wanted to divulge them all at once so as to not needlessly prolong the conversation. "I'm sorry," she said genuinely.

At this I turned off the television and finally looked over at her. Her body was still facing the empty corner, but her face was turned toward me. Her expression was somber, but I could also see a feeling of relief in her eyes. I was struck, as I had been so many instances before, by what an exceptionally beautiful creature she was. Though there was a fatigue and weariness etched upon her face that I could not remember seeing before.

"No. No, Kleio," I said with sincerity. "I'm sorry. I am."

She got up from the bed and slowly walked toward me, and I rose up out of the chair to meet her. She looked at me solemnly and we put our arms around one another, each of us resting our heads on the other's shoulder. We released our embrace after a moment, and she looked at me again.

"Goodbye," she said, as a faint warm smile briefly flashed upon her face. I wanted to respond in kind but my mouth would not let me, and I watched taciturnly as she exited the room.

I stood there for a moment, preparing to allow a sense of isolation to wash over me, when instead the door opened again and Salvo entered the room. Immediately I attempted to change my facial expression from one of forlornness to one of thoughtful reflection.

"Her name was Kleio?" I asked somewhat unsurely.

"You tell me," Salvo responded in brusque manner.

With that my despondence subsided, and I became incensed at his unrelenting audacity. I was tired of his lessons and lectures that seemed to exist only as a means of denigrating me.

"What was the point of showing me that?" I shouted angrily.

He folded his arms, likely amused at my outburst. "Hmm... to awaken you from your slumber?" he pondered aloud.

"You are the one who told me that life is about experiencing everything there is to behold," I said. "The highs and the lows... everything. Now you show me this, why? To imply that I should avoid the risks and play it safe?"

He made his patronizing grin and shook his head.

"Just extraordinary. No, you fool. This isn't about experiences, but rather what you think will come of them. You ramble on about how this or that could have been the solution to all your problems. It is time you awoke from your delusion that happiness is something that someone else can bestow upon you or present to you on a platter," he said.

"I suppose then you know of a similar scene involving Aurora," I said, while simultaneously struggling to avoid imagining it.

"We'll never know," Salvo replied.

"Typical," I snapped.

Salvo unfolded his arms and reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

"Look, I'm finished with this," he said as he lit one up. "If you want to rot away in a tomb of lament, so be it. But I have reached my limit regarding how much of this nonsense I can witness."

"I am not as infatuated with lament as you have been led to believe," I said defiantly.

"Oh no?" Salvo said with a laugh. "Then why do you often stare so wistfully at that painting?"

His gaze was fixed upon the wall just behind me, and so I turned in that direction as well. Hanging there just above the bed was the painting that Aurora had given to me. Suddenly I could recall numerous dull evenings that I filled by sprawling across that bed and looking upwards at the painting.

"I..." My attempt at responding to Salvo failed, as I had nothing at all to say.

"Go ahead, say it's because you're moved by the astute usage of color, or the firmness of the brushstrokes," he said derisively. "Or is it that you long for a return to what it depicts – a more innocent and carefree time?"

I feared that Salvo was wrong, and it was far more likely that my fondness for the painting was almost exclusively a result of it having been made by Aurora.

"So what if it is? So what if I long for a simpler time?" With my overly combative tone, I hoped to confirm Salvo's suspicion as fact, to both he and myself. At least his explanation was slightly less pathetic, I thought.

"A simpler time? You mean a time when you could do nothing more than fly kites and play games," he replied with a scoff. "You are in the prime years of your life, when you should be staking claim to whatever it is you desire. But instead you cling to a time when you had no such ability, and of course none of the guilt that accompanies frittering away such an ability. Or worse yet, you wrap yourself in regret for the things that once slipped through your fingers so long ago. But as you do so, how much more slips through your fingers in the meantime?"

I stood there, wondering if I should bother to formulate a response out of what little I had to say. In the silence, Salvo's expression changed, and his stare was suddenly very cold.

"You take nothing from this world, and that is why you have nothing," he said. His words lacked the histrionic flair I had grown so accustomed to hearing from him. Instead they seemed distant, and marked by a kind of languid weariness. He then turned his back and began to walk through the open doorway.

"Where are you going?" I asked fervently.

"I am heading to the starting line," he replied without turning around. "As I said, I will take part in this no longer." There was no condescension, no haughtiness at all.

I looked down at the floor. "So you must all abandon me, I see," I whispered indignantly.

"Continue to delude yourself if you must," he said, the sounds of his voice and footsteps beginning to fade. "You know where to find me if you so choose."

"Do I?" I muttered to myself.

There was a brief silence which was broken by the sound of the double doors shutting. Then silence once more.

### ACT II

The moist sand beneath our feet stuck to the bottoms of our shoes as we walked side by side along the edge of the shore. It had stopped raining a short while earlier, and the air was still sweet and damp. No longer choked with clouds, the starlit night shined magnificently upon the clear sea below, and simultaneously we each stopped in our tracks and turned to gaze upon the beautiful scene.

"What a lovely backdrop," said Aurora in her warm voice.

"Yes it is," I replied agreeably. It felt so soothing to be in such a place, like old times. That I was joined by a creature as special as Aurora served only to make the experience sweeter and presumably more memorable.

"So what do you think?" she asked.

"Well," I said, then I paused to take a deep breath and tried to treasure the moment as best I could. "I believe it is essential to have something in life that can one can always view as perfect," I continued confidently. "There have been too many things that I once saw as perfect, only to have the callousness of reality eventually tear those illusions apart. Few things are as painful as when that happens."

I turned to look at her. She was nodding reflectively at my words, and I could see genuine care and concern radiating from her eyes. The sight of some of her hairs being swept onto her face by the light wind, the scent of the air, and the sound of the waves –

everything came together in impeccable fashion. It helped not just to put me in an especially philosophical mood, but also filled me with a boldness to express myself freely and honestly. Liberating was a word that kept coming to mind.

"Of course," I finally went on, "everything – every person, every place, all of it – everything is plagued by some amount of flaws and frailties. Some barely noticeable, some all-consuming. Everything has its imperfections. But if you are lucky enough to discover something that seems to be perfect..." I paused to take deep breath, then continued. "...It might be best to keep it just out of reach. Just enough so that those flaws never become discernible. Only then can the illusion of perfection be maintained. The archetype remains intact."

"So that's what you'd want?" she asked thoughtfully.

I chuckled, then looked out toward the sea again. "I never said that's what I'd want," I replied in a slightly softer voice. "Only that I thought it might be the best course of action, to avoid the inevitable. Unless one actually found something that truly was perfect. But then..." I trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

She brushed some hairs off her face and nodded again. Something about the tenderness of her expression told me she knew what I was trying to say.

"You wouldn't know if it was perfect until you got close. Then once you did..." she chuckled. "Yeah, right back to where you started," she said with a plaintive sigh.

I smiled, thankful that she was able to complete my line of thought.

"Oh hey," she said enthusiastically, essentially apprising me that the subject had changed. "How goes the pursuit of the arts? Make anything cool lately?"

I let out a hearty laugh and shook my head. "All I make are excuses and mistakes," I said smiling.

To my dismay, I could see that my response caused her shoulders to droop slightly, and the beginnings of a frown formed on her face.

"Aw, don't say that. I'm sure things will turn around," she said consolingly. "Just make sure you're facing the right way when they do."

Though what I had said was an honest expression of what I thought, I quickly regretted having said it. It was not my intention to garner sympathy or to make Aurora feel sorry for me, and I felt terrible for putting her in a position to do so. Such were the risks of impetuous self-deprecation.

"Oh I know. It's just a bit of a lull, that's all." I smiled buoyantly and, to my relief, she responded with a similar smile of her own. Immediately it were as though my discomfort was whisked away by the warm sea breeze.

We stood there silently for a bit, watching the water creep up onto the sand, recede, then repeat. As I watched the cycle unfold, I wished to inform Aurora that Salvo had gone, but I thought better of it. I knew that in an effort to cheer me up, she'd simply tell me that it was only a matter of time before I saw him again. And I knew that if she said it, I would believe it.

Finally I turned to look at her again, and gazed with awe at the lovely features of her face – features made all the more striking by the starlight. She then looked at me and smiled again.

"Tangent," she said. "Remember. This isn't it. It's only a distraction."

"Yes," I replied, then glanced down at the sand.

"Well," she said with a sigh, "we should probably get going."

"Yes. Things to do, things to do," I said.

"I had a wonderful time, and this is such a lovely place," she said happily. "We should really do this again sometime soon."

"Yes, we most definitely should."

We parted ways – she went off in the direction from which we both came, and I continued walking along the shoreline.

"A distraction..." I wondered in a whisper. "A distraction from what?"

****

I awoke in the late morning facing in the wrong direction, as my face was where my feet normally laid. As I spun around to reorient myself, I was abruptly stunned by what I saw. My room had seemingly been torn to pieces. Some books had been knocked off the bookshelf, desk and dresser drawers had been pulled out and their contents strewn about the floor, as was everything that had been on the end table beside the bed. At first I could only gaze in shock and bewilderment at the result of whatever catastrophe had befallen the room, but I began to realize something as I inspected the mess more closely –

the ruination increased in severity as my eyes moved from left to right. This was not the fallout of some wanton, haphazard devastation, but rather a meticulous ransacking that grew in fury with each passing moment. Clearly the culprit became more enraged and destructive as he stalked clockwise about the room, unable to locate his prize.

As I got up and headed toward the desk, I was bombarded by a series of sudden and chilling flashbacks that pierced my mind's eye. I could see my hands tearing through the contents of the desk and hurling drawers onto the floor. I saw my arms wildly knocking the items off the end table, and I watched as my feet kicked and stomped upon those items after they fell. I could feel my heart palpitating as if it wished to leap from my chest, and my mind shook as I heard a mighty and incensed shriek bellow outwards from deep within me. Its terrible sound caused me to shiver, and I could sense beads of sweat dripping down my forehead and onto my face. In only a matter of seconds, I had relived the events of the previous night that I had forgotten. As I sat on the edge of the bed and began to accept that I was the source of the devastation, I could not help but wonder exactly what I had been looking for and failed to uncover. I wanted to know what could have been so important and equally as elusive. Soon however I was overcome by a terrible thought – perhaps I never knew, even as I was frantically searching.

I shook my head, let out a deep breath, and rubbed my eyes. As I once again surveyed the damage I had caused, I thought about how much effort it would likely take to fix and restore things to their previous state. Then I realized about how much simpler it would be to just toss everything into a box or two.

****

I stood in awe before the immense Forest of Fortuity. Historical records contended that the forest was so named following an incident during the Second Final War. The story went that townspeople from the local area, upon learning that the army of one of old nations was fast approaching, fled into the forest in the hope of avoiding certain death. They stayed there, hundreds of them, camped out beneath the towering evergreen trees, listening to the thundering sounds of battle that echoed through the night. Supposedly many of the people bonded with one another, connecting with complete strangers through their shared feelings of distress and fear. There are several tales of people roving the forest and visiting one campsite after another, introducing themselves and bearing their emotions for all to see. When daylight broke, word spread that the invading army had been annihilated just prior to reaching the area. The people celebrated and rejoiced, and recognized the role they believed the forest had in bringing them closer together. And so, says the story, the Forest of Fortuity was then given its name.

The forest was enormous and expansive, packed with thick tall trees that permitted only bits of light to pierce past their dark green needles and leaves. Yet there was a stillness to the forest, a kind of serenity, and it was bereft of such things as poisonous flowers or dangerous beasts. So it managed to be simultaneously imposing as well as inviting.

I'd come there to complete a set of tasks, though I had only a very rough idea as to what they were, and wasn't even sure how many there were. Despite such a less than enviable predicament, I found myself cautiously optimistic as I stepped into the shade beneath the forest canopy. I believed – perhaps because I had little choice – that through clever and dedicated improvisation, the undertaking would be a rousing success.

After taking only a few steps, I noticed a pair of small buckets placed at the base of a tree. I crouched down to examine them, and noticed that one on the left was filled with water and the other was empty. Figuring that I had discovered one of my tasks, I lifted the bucket filled with water and emptied half of it into the second bucket. I stayed crouched, looking upon the two buckets that now had equal amounts of water in them, unsure if I had correctly completed the assignment. I sighed, and decided to take the first bucket and empty the rest of its contents into the other. Then I switched the placement of the buckets, placing the full one on the left. This gave the appearance that I had changed nothing, even though I certainly had. Looking upon my accomplishment, I gave a nod and was hopeful that it had been done properly.

There came a low humming sound from nearby, noticeably growing in intensity with each second. I slowly stood up and turned around, facing the direction from which the noise seemed to originate. Soon I looked skyward, and saw that peering through a space in the treetops was a large recon airship. It was a bit smaller than those gigantic, plodding heavy bombers that were once deployed primarily for the psychological effects they had on their targets. Still, it was quite a large ship in its own right, and the whirring noise caused by its six identical propellers brazenly pierced through the calmness of the late afternoon sky.

In its underbelly were two powerful searchlights, and they conspired with one another to reveal all that hid beneath them as they intruded upon the shadows. My first instinct was to run, but instead I remained there, staring with fascination at the immense craft hovering just above the canopy. Suddenly one of the searchlights shined directly upon me, and I felt a great shiver in my heart. Before I could even put my hand over my eyes, the light quickly turned away. At this, the ship began to ascend and soon became completely out of view. The great whirring sound started to subside, and after a moment it too had vanished entirely.

I remained there, my arms folded, gazing upward at where the ship had been. As I waited patiently for my heart rate to return to normal, I attempted to sift through my bewildered thoughts. I presumed the airship would be returning again at some point, yet I was far more curious about it than I was frightened or worried.

Eventually I was on my way again, weaving through the trees and treading lightly over piles of leaves and broken branches. A short while later I encountered two small children, a boy and a girl, each holding tightly onto the string of a balloon. They were seated on a single bench that was propped against a large tree. The boy's balloon was green and speckled with red stars, whereas the girl's balloon was red with green stars. I noticed the children sported uniforms that matched their balloons – the boy in green overalls with red buttons, and the girl in red overalls with green buttons.

Though I was standing only ten or fifteen yards away from them, neither child turned their head toward me or acknowledged my presence in any way whatsoever. Despite feeling like an unneeded, even somewhat unwanted spectator, I knew it could not be a coincidence that I would come across such a peculiar setting. I was convinced that I was about to be presented with another one of my tasks.

Suddenly the children simultaneously released their grips on the balloons, releasing them into the air. With keen interest, I watched each balloon as they ascended toward the forest canopy. They remained side by side in their race to the top, until tragically the green balloon collided with a large branch and became pinned against it, unable to continue its ascent. Conversely the red balloon was able to avoid such impediments, and maintained its course unabated. Eventually it had risen so high that it disappeared from view completely.

"Red with green stars is the victor," I said to myself, then I looked at the children again. The girl had raised her arms in triumph, whereas the boy, ignominious in defeat, had lowered his head.

Realizing the event had concluded, I nodded my head and began to trek deeper into the forest. Surely, I thought, by taking note of which balloon had won I had completed a task. Quickly however a whole series of questions then flooded my mind. What qualities, if any, did the red balloon possess that the green did not? Was the girl more skilled than the boy at releasing the string from her grasp? Was it simply chance, dumb luck, that one balloon succeeded, or was there something more?

Fascinated by these questions, I wished I could find someone with expertise regarding balloon-based competitions. I wanted to delve further into the subject matter, have discussions with other enthusiasts, and read essays written by those who'd devoted their lives to becoming knowledgeable in such an engrossing field. Perhaps, I thought, this particular task would not be fully completed until I acquired meaningful answers to those questions. I could not wait to do so.

Further along in my journey through the forest, I discovered a particularly immense tree. Just a few yards upward, resting upon the lowest of the tree's long sturdy branches, was a beautiful wooden tree house. The house was accessible via a long rope that hung from the porch. Instinctively I gave the rope a few tugs to test its tautness, and it seemed to be quite secure.

Off to the side just a few feet from the tree, seated in two plastic folding chairs, was an elderly couple. They were dressed as if aboard a vacation cruise – the man in a buttoned shirt with slacks and loafers, the woman in a flowery dress and heels. They acknowledged my arrival with nods and warm smiles, then each of them looked up toward the tree house.

As if right on cue, there came a series of discordant notes from what sounded like an ancient calliope. The peculiar echoing effects of the jarring music made it impossible to discern whether it originated from the tree house or somewhere off in the distance. Nevertheless, I mimicked the onlookers and turned my gaze upwards.

The chilling yet strangely upbeat tune concluded with a sudden flourish, and with that a pair of lovely eyes peeked out the window of the tree house. Having detected my presence, they widened considerably. To merely suggest that the eyes were as wide as saucers however would be to unjustly steep them in banality, thus disparaging the extraordinary depth of emotion within them. They were like portals to a strange ethereal realm, from which joy flowed unbridled and untamed.

Then came a wide smile and a shriek of delight, followed by a hasty trip down the rope.

I recognized her immediately. She flung her arms around me and squeezed tightly, as if attempting to extract something from deep within me.

"I missed you so much," she said with exhilaration as we ceased our embrace.

"I missed you as well," I replied dispassionately, yet my words were truthful.

She was a beautiful young woman, with stunning copper red hair and a delightfully voluptuous body. By far her most bewitching quality however was her ability to convey and evoke so much with just a single expression. She could give a look that was both calming yet provocative, or one that was equally sassy and adorable. It was an uncanny talent, and one that I found so outrageously mesmerizing. And though I was mindful that she was not as uniquely attractive as Aurora, it hardly mattered to me at all.

"So have you given any more thought to residing in Naiad Manor?" she asked.

"Not really," I said, maintaining my candidness. I then gave a quick glance toward the elderly couple. Though they had remained silent, they were each leaning forward and appeared to be listening intently.

"Well you really should," she said in a kind of playfully scolding voice. "It's truly a magnificent place. The house overlooks a great waterfall, and the pristine beaches downstream are concealed from the exterior world. Unknown and unmarred. And the pastureland! Oh the animals are so warm and affectionate. You must help me give a name to each of them."

She had started to merrily skip around in circles – first around the large tree, then around me. I smiled and let out a sigh. Her words were not uninteresting, but she wasn't telling me anything she hadn't already told me long ago. As she continued to speak and skip, I looked skyward and noticed a plume of smoke hanging just beneath the canopy. It seemed to be coming from a short distance away.

"And many of the animals will allow you to sit upon them. In fact it is as if they implore you to do so." She ceased her skipping for a moment and placed her head on my shoulder.

"And when we're done riding upon the animals, hopefully we can find something else to ride," she said in a seductive whisper, then immediately resumed her skipping.

"I've never really understood the appeal of your outlandish menagerie, honestly," I said.

I followed her with my eyes as she continued to skip about. Though she was quite gorgeous, the knowledge that she was not Aurora began to creep up on me. I could feel it breathing upon my neck, and I shuddered a bit.

"Too effortless," I mumbled. "There must be something lacking here. There must." I looked up again at the thickening clouds of smoke, and wondered how long it would take me to find their source. Then I shot another glance at the elderly couple. They each had puzzled expressions on their weathered faces, and were pointing at me while muttering to one another.

"It's not just the inspiring scenery and the splendid creatures of Naiad Manor," she said with verve. "Though it is an unrivaled romantic retreat, tucked away from all those who would intrude, it is hardly cut off from the civilized world." She then took both my hands and began to spin us around in a kind of wild, chaotic dance.

"It is merely a jaunt away from the venerable port city of Asomim," she said as we twisted and twirled. "A celebrated hub of culture and sophistication, praised by both song and show. It is where the exhilarant is commonplace!"

"Oh good," I said with obvious sarcasm.

"I know someone who works at the Museum of Temerity there," she said. "They're looking to hire an aid for the assistant curator. I think you could get that job without a problem."

"That doesn't sound particularly appealing," I said under my breath as I looked into her eyes, then off into the distance. I then released my hands from her grip and watched with fascination as she continued to dance without me. Her vivaciousness was notably unchanged.

"So, doesn't it seem as if everything just falls into place perfectly?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied. "I suppose you could say that."

With that, the irritating calliope music started up once more. I sighed and shook my head. I did not want to think about vapid museums or naming cuddly animals. Nor did I wish to waste another moment listening to that shrill music or realizing that she was not Aurora. I had begun to worry frantically that I had spent too much time standing there, and I wished to set off and find the source of the smoke plumes.

"Look, I think I'd better get going," I said. "I'm sure I'll come back eventually."

Her frolicking halted abruptly. She looked down at the ground and let out a deep sigh, then she turned her gaze toward me. In an instant, all the qualities that made her face so alluring had disappeared, replaced instead by an icy and pitiless stare.

"I won't be here," she said coldly. Though her eyes remained open, the portals that had once afforded me the honor of glimpsing into euphoria itself were now shut.

"Duly noted," I replied and nodded, strangely unaffected by the sudden change in her visage and demeanor.

I turned and began to walk in the direction of the smoke. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the elderly couple throwing up their hands and shaking their heads in disdain.

"Where is he going? Why is he walking away?" I could hear. I quickened my pace, and even tried to focus on the calliope music of all things in the hopes of blocking out the words. But it was to no avail.

"Why doesn't he turn around? What is he doing? Why is he leaving?" I put my head down and continued walking. The music had almost completely faded away, but I could still hear those words loud and clear.

A short while later I could tell I was getting closer to the origin of the smoke. The music had fallen silent, and I was a fair distance away from her and the tree house. Nevertheless, I could still hear the words.

"It doesn't matter how many times I watch it, he never turns around. He just never turns around."

I stopped immediately in my tracks. Finally I realized that it was not the elderly couple who'd been uttering those things. The voice I had been hearing was my own.

Suddenly I felt physically ill. I considered briefly sitting on the ground or leaning against a tree, but decided against it. I looked all around, and found it terribly unnerving that I could not discern the direction from which I came.

I took a series of deep breaths in hopes of alleviating the malaise. "I'll come back, eventually. It'll be fine," I said aloud, attempting to comfort myself. "I just don't have the time now. Things to do, things to do."

I did my best to brush the haunting feeling off me and advanced forward. As I did so, I was almost certain that the airship I had seen earlier was in the vicinity. The distinct humming sound I heard coming from somewhere nearby was unmistakable. Before I had the opportunity however to decide whether to be troubled by the sound, I spotted a small cottage just a short distance away. I was delighted to see that the cottage had a chimney from which short bursts of smoke were being thrust into the sky. A bit of hopefulness crept into me as I wondered if I had completed another task. Still unsure, I thought it would definitely be wise to get a closer look at the cottage.

I walked over to the front of the dainty little house. Just as I began to reach my hand toward the intercom beside the front door, the door suddenly swung open. Standing there was an unkempt young man who looked to be at least several years my junior. With his tousled hair, unshaven face, and stained, ruffled clothes, it evidently had been quite some time since he'd groomed himself.

"Hey how are you?" he said genially. "Come on in, come on in!"

"Why not," I said with a shrug, and I stepped inside the cottage.

"A couple friends and I are just hanging out. You may as well join us," he said as I shut the door behind me.

"Sure, all right. I don't really have any plans," I admitted. Glancing around just a bit, I could see that it was a fairly nice place, albeit a bit untidy. The walls were made of brick and the floors were fully covered with thick carpeting. As we walked from the foyer, past the staircase, and into the living room I was quite surprised to see a fully functioning fireplace.

Facing opposite the fireplace was a long couch. Seated on one end was a young woman looking down intently at a Vital, and on the other end was a young man staring ahead at an enormous television screen hanging upon the wall. They both seemed about the same age as the one who'd greeted me at the door.

"Have a seat, man," said the disheveled one standing beside me. "You like Rugged? We got plenty. Let me get you a bottle, all of you," he said as he stepped away and disappeared into an adjacent room.

I sat down in the center of the couch, leaned forward, and interlocked my fingers. "Hey," I said nonchalantly.

"How's it goin'," said the guy, maintaining his gaze at the television.

"Hi," said the girl without taking her eyes off her Vital.

"Yeah," I said with a nod, unconcerned with the obvious indifference regarding my presence. "So what are you guys up to?"

"Absolutely nothing," said the young man with a contented smile. "And it is magnificent."

"Is that so?" I asked.

"Yeah man," he replied with great enthusiasm. "After trudging through a long day riddled with tedium and monotony, you just want to sit back and relax, am I right?"

"By doing pretty much nothing," I stated agreeably as I leaned back.

"Exactly," he said. "At my job, I just sit there all day..."

"Oh good," interrupted the young woman. "More riveting stories about your job," she muttered sarcastically, still without altering her gaze.

"Hey, he asked," he replied, pointing his thumb toward me. I of course did not ask about his job, but decided to permit him to regale me with anecdotes nonetheless.

"So I work at this huge company," he continued. "I'm not sure what the company does exactly, but that's not important. All that matters is that every hour, on the hour, the accounting department uploads an hourly earnings report onto the Muninn Access."

To my left the young woman let out a loud, exasperated sigh.

"Anyway, my team is supposed to check to see if all that information is accurate, even though it's already been uploaded. Tabulating things, looking through records – real boring stuff. When all that's done we confirm whether or not the report is correct."

"And how long does all that usually take?" I asked.

"Oh, usually just over an hour or so," he responded.

"But doesn't that mean..." I immediately cut myself off. "Please, go on."

"Well after doing that through the entirety of a nine hour shift, you just want to get comfortable and do nothing at all," he said.

"I suppose there is something to nothing," I said. I then looked over at the oversized screen hanging upon the wall. "So what is this you're watching anyway?" I asked.

"Oh, this program shows security footage from office buildings across the nation. I love it. You wouldn't believe some of the stupid, hilarious stuff some of these people get caught doing," he said with a laugh. "It reminds me of some of the weirdos I have to work with."

"I... see," I said slowly.

Suddenly his cheerful expression turned sour. "What is taking him, anyway? Probably yammering away on his Vital. Didn't you hear him say he was getting us beer? Unbelievable," he muttered angrily. "Screw this, I'll be right back," he said, as he got up and headed off into the adjacent room.

I shrugged, then looked over toward the young woman. Her focus was still fixed upon her Vital, which she grasped tightly with both hands.

"So, uh, playing something?" I asked her.

She very slowly nodded her head but said nothing. She then tapped away at a few of the keys.

"Thirty-nine seconds! Yes!" she exclaimed, and threw a fist into the air. "I unlocked the last level, finally," she proclaimed triumphantly.

"What's the game?" I asked with sincere curiosity.

"Well there's colored light on the screen, and after a certain amount of time the color will change. You have to count in your head how long it took to change, then enter the exact number," she said.

"Oh," I said. "All right."

"Shhh, okay, starting the last level," she said excitedly.

Out of respect for her passion and dedication, I leaned forward again and sat silently for the next couple moments. I began to twiddle my fingers as I listened to the crackling of the fireplace whilst trying to ignore the sounds from the television.

"Yes! Fifty seconds!" she rejoiced. "That's it, I won!" She placed the Vital on the couch and put her raised her arms upward in celebration.

"So... what did you win?" I asked with a wry grin.

"The game, silly," she replied. "It took my nearly all day, but it's finally done."

"Ahh," I said.

I then just happened to glance down at the floor around the couch, and noticed several crumpled pieces of paper strewn about. I reached over and grabbed one, then flattened it out with my hands. There was definitely writing on it, but the words had faded badly and were completely illegible. I reached down to grab another, and soon discovered that it too had faded, indecipherable writing on it.

I held the papers outward toward the young woman. "What are these?"

She took them from me and glanced at them. "I have no idea," she said, shaking her head. "I don't remember what they could be. I guess they couldn't have been that important." She then crumpled them back up and tossed them onto the floor with the others.

"Oh well," I said.

She leaned back onto the couch and looked forward at the television, which was still showing people in ties and buttoned shirts making fools of themselves. "Meh," she said as she waved her hand at the screen. "Well I'm bored," she groaned, then she turned herself so that her body faced me.

The feeling was certainly mutual. "Yeah," I said. Being able to look at directly for the first time, I noticed that she was actually quite an attractive young woman. I was struck especially by the delightful shape of her nose and the softness of her brown eyes. I then decided that I had nothing to lose by tossing all inhibitions by the wayside.

"Well," I said, "would you like to go somewhere and fool around?"

At this she pressed her lips together and rested her chin upon her fist, as a look of deep contemplation swept across her face. After a moment, she began to slowly shake her head. "Nah," she responded. "Honestly, I just don't think I'm in the mood," she said in a regretful tone.

I nodded. "That's okay. You know what? I'm really not either," I said truthfully. "I just figured it would be a decent way to combat the boredom."

"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "I should probably go take a nap or something. I've got work in a few hours." She stood up and put her Vital in her pocket. "It was very nice to meet you," she said warmly.

"You as well," I replied. She then headed up the staircase and vanished from my view.

Shortly thereafter, just as I was beginning to feel quite awkward sitting by myself in an unfamiliar house, the disheveled one returned. "Whoa, hey, sorry about that, huh? I was typing comments about some sports highlights and I must have lost track of the time," he said. He then handed me a bottle of beer, and I immediately twisted off the cap and took a swig.

I stood up. "Hey, I think I should get going," I said, then took another long swig.

"Oh sure, no problem man. Thanks for dropping by."

"Hey thanks for having me," I said, raising my bottle into the air.

I stepped over to the front door, saw myself out, and ambled down the stone pathway. Moments later, surrounded by the grand forest once again, I wondered briefly if I should have bothered to learn the young woman's name. I then shrugged and continued on.

After what may have been several hours, I had become quite discouraged by the lack of notable things I had come across since departing the cottage. Trees and rocks had given way to nothing but more trees and rocks. For a moment I considered the possibility that I had simply been going round in circles, but quickly dismissed the notion as nonsense. Still, it seemed very strange that I could travel such a fair distance without coming across anything that made me want to stop and take a closer look. I started to question the successfulness of my mission in the forest, and felt miles apart from the wondrous feeling of hopefulness I'd experienced earlier.

Eventually there was barely any light trickling through the forest canopy, and I knew that nightfall was imminent. Moments later, I was not the least bit surprised to hear the now familiar hum of the airship looming nearby. After a few more steps forward I arrived at a clearing. Able to see the sky without obstruction, I gazed upward at the dusk that was slowly fading into night. The prodigious craft was in full view, and I could see that its propellers were shifting slightly.

I stepped into the clearing, and observed the airship as it began to descend. I moved closer, surrounded by clouds of dust and dirt that were swirling all about as a result of the mighty force of the propellers. Soon the ship halted its decent and hovered in place. A rope fastened to the craft was released, and it fell just short of touching the ground. I watched as a man fast-roped from the ship, and landed gently just a few feet away from me.

He was a small, unassuming man, sporting a handlebar mustache and a long buttoned dark tan trench coat. He had the look of a tidy, meticulous records clerk, and almost seemed as if he had hailed from a different era entirely. With a brown glove-covered hand, he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a stately hunter-case pocket watch – something I had never before seen in person.

He checked the watch, then turned toward me and fired a look of contempt.

"Time's up," he said scornfully. He then shut the metal cover on the watch and placed it gently back into his pocket.

"I didn't finish all the tasks, did I?" I asked, noticeably abashed.

At this, an incredulous expression formed upon his face. "Umm, no." He seemed to be irritated by the fact that I had posed the question at all.

"If... if only I had a detailed list..." I said stammering, in an embarrassing attempt to find a plausible excuse. "Or damn, just a basic list would have helped. I'm sure of it."

"And that would have ensured that you completed everything?" His tone suggested that he was far from convinced.

"Well, I..." I wasn't sure at all what to say, and his grim, contemptuous stare made it impossible to maintain eye contact with him.

"I shouldn't have stopped into that house," I muttered with my head down. "Too many distractions..."

"Time to go," he said coldly. He then looked upwards and made a gesture to someone in the airship. A second rope was then released, and it fell beside me.

Without uttering another word he grabbed onto the rope nearest to him, and I immediately followed suit. Holding tightly as the rope was pulled back into the airship, I gazed downward as I was lifted. Moments later I was in the cargo bay of the ship as it started to ascend high above the canopy once again. As I peeked out a porthole to look upon the majestic Forest of Fortuity for the last time – watching it become smaller and smaller – I couldn't help but wonder what could have been.

The mustached man began to walk toward the entrance of a nearby hallway and instinctively I followed him. Lining the short hallway on both sides were several large black steel doors. They were each firmly shut, giving the impression that whatever lay behind them was a secret, and that I was not intended to discover that secret.

Quickly we reached the end of the hallway. A large door opened as the mustached man approached it, as I trailed behind by a couple steps. Without breaking stride he entered the next room and I continued to follow, just barely making it through an instant before the door shut behind me.

We had arrived at what must have been the bridge of the mighty airship. Several people were seated at various consoles scattered throughout the large circular room. They each wore black, macabre uniforms with black visors that shrouded their faces. Slowly I walked toward the center of the room, my hands folded behind my back, my eyes peering around in all directions. I halted beside one of the consoles where one of the cloaked figures was sitting.

"So...where are we headed?" I asked timidly. In addition to being honestly curious regarding the ship's course, I also wanted to help get my thoughts off my presumed failure back in the forest. Though my question was not posed to anyone in particular, the one seated near me very slowly turned his head then shot me a brief glance before returning to whatever task he was undertaking. It was a reaction I found quite disconcerting.

Undaunted, I did a half-shrug and leaned over to brazenly take a peek at the console. Luckily, one of the screens depicted a course setting and I was promptly provided with my answer.

"Arx?" I questioned aloud in a tone that conveyed both my curiosity and surprise. "Really?"

"Yes," the mustached man replied wide-eyed, seemingly shocked at my surprise. He had remained standing beside the door to the room. "Is that not where you are going next?"

I tilted my head to the side, furrowed my brow, and gave long contemplative stare toward nothing in particular. Then slowly I began to nod my head.

"Yes," I said at last. "Yes it is."

The small man smiled at me condescendingly."Well then, that should hopefully explain why we are headed there," he said.

****

According to authorized historical records, Arx was originally a principal military installation in the era prior and during the Third Final War. Following the defeat of the tyrannical Primoris and the restoration of the Commonwealth, Arx was opened to the masses and underwent a kind of renaissance. The monstrous assortment of communications towers, landing platforms, and hangar bays that once serviced the infamous First Armada of the Primoris still remained, but no longer were they the focal points of the city. Instead they shared the landscape with hundreds of lustrous skyscrapers and other impressive structures. In a span of just a few decades, Arx transformed from a restricted fortress to a vibrant cosmopolitan metropolis. Built within a valley that carved through some of the tallest peaks on the globe, Arx seemed the antithesis of everything for which Cynosure represented.

Cynosure was conceived out of some obscene utilitarian ideal – a banal mosaic of the same four pallid buildings repeated again and again, block after block. Its thoroughfares and alleyways, the size and locations of each district, all of it was designed and plotted meticulously for the purpose of maximizing output and productivity. Planners even utilized advanced supercomputers to determine the most efficient distance between a lamppost and a curb. Yet the most amusing aspect of Cynosure was that despite the lofty aspirations of its creators and their obsession with forging a "flawless urban apparatus" as it was called, it hardly lived up to its promise. Its streets were regularly choked with gridlock, entire swaths of the city often lost access to power for hours or even days at a time, and a torpid bureaucracy prevented any meaningful cooperation with the Peristyles. Quite simply, the city was a categorical and catastrophic failure.

Conversely, Arx was dynamic, it was alive. There was no grand plan or ideal envisioned for the city, so it developed and expanded organically. Massive towers of glass and steel huddled around old warehouses and foundries. Quaint apartment complexes sat snugly across from docking bays, and laboratories that once churned out the most fearsome appliances of war were flanked by lush, lavish gardens. There was also the famed Arx Transitway, hovering high above the streets, always teeming with thousands of high-speed magnetic transports. It weaved wildly throughout the city, tying itself in countless knots and loops, seemingly unaware of which direction it wished to go. It was both highly unconventional and aesthetically captivating – especially when fully illuminated at night – and so epitomized the very essence of Arx.

There was a kind of artistry to the slapdash patchwork of the city, a beauty to all the disarray. It gave the impression that commonplace restraints and impediments were not in play in Arx, and that anything was possible there. Surely, I thought, the starting line of which Salvo spoke must be located within such a place of limitless potential.

A bit of research on the Muninn Access had led me to conclude that searching for a home within Arx itself would have been utterly futile. The city was as popular a destination as ever, and was still growing at an alarming rate. Hence the demand for residences far outpaced the ability to construct them, which led to soaring prices and long waiting lists. This was a disappointment, but certainly to be expected. However, what I found terribly dismaying was the realization that I hadn't any idea long it would be until I could even afford to put myself on a waiting list.

Thankfully I'd stumbled upon what was billed as the perfect solution to my dilemma. Located near the foot of a mountain about twenty miles outside city limits was a former supply station that once served as an ancillary base to the installation at Arx. A decade ago, as a response to housing shortages, the station was hastily converted into a residential complex with enough space for a few thousand people. The complex came to be known as the Impermanentarium, and it was intended to provide cheap living quarters for those waiting to find a new home within Arx.

The ubiquitous signage told the story – "Welcome to Sanguine Skyport at Arx." The merry greeting was plastered everywhere. On the hundreds of signs that hung upon the walls and dangled from the ceiling. On dolls lining the windows of the gift stores, and on the plastic cups from the coffee shops. Yet despite the clear excessiveness of it all, it did manage to make me feel especially welcomed to be there.

The Skyport itself was a crowded and confusing place, though I was convinced it was still far more organized than anywhere I had been in Cynosure. As I meandered through the multitude, I recalled having once read that the Skyport had previously gone by the sterile moniker of Landing Base Five. To its credit, the Commonwealth had done all it could to remind visitors of the new name. Though it was strange, I mused to myself, that it seemed to rename everything within Arx, but never bothered to rename the city itself.

I spent the next couple hours waiting in lines and roaming about looking for the right lines in which to wait – the former being far more relaxing than the latter. After a particularly grueling wait, during which I promised myself I wouldn't scurry off to another line again, I finally reached the head of a line. I was under the assumption that I was about to finally receive the two boxes I had packed.

Awaiting me was a curly-haired middle-aged woman behind a counter. She was punching something into her Vital with a lethargy I had never witnessed for that particular task.

"Reason for coming to Arx?" she asked impassively, her eyes never lifting up from her Vital.

Flustered, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. It just happened to be the truth. "Um... to... find the starting line?" I stammered.

"Please head over there, to line 65-A," she said.

Realizing what I had said, there was a split-second in which I wish I could have changed my answer. Then I quickly realized it was very likely the woman hadn't actually listened to my answer anyway. I then frantically tried to recall what direction she had pointed to as she said "over there" – then I remembered she hadn't actually pointed anywhere at all.

After searching for line 65-A for a half hour, then waiting in it for nearly an hour, I was eventually told by a sluggish young man that my boxes had been sent to my new apartment. Exhausted, I finally headed toward the exit. The unpleasant realization crept into my mind that I probably should have just exited the Skyport immediately upon arriving there.

"Still better than Cynosure," I mumbled while forcing open a defective automatic door.

I stepped out of the Skyport and into the clear Arx morning. As I took a hearty breath, I was positive the air tasted crisper than any I had inhaled before. Though nothing outside struck me as exotic or uncommon, I still knew I was in a strange and different place. And it was wondrous.

Lining the sidewalk outside the Skyport was a row of taxi shuttles. Given the trying nature of the last several hours, I was fully expecting the act of finding transportation to the Impermanentarium to be equally as difficult. So it was much to my astonishment that the very first shuttle I approached had an inviting green light just above the handle on the rear door. My eyes widened at the unexpected stroke of good luck, and I quickly got into the vehicle.

My experience with taxi shuttles was limited. I had only ridden in a shuttle two, or perhaps three times back in Peristyle 46 and Cynosure. There the shuttles were entirely automated. Indicate your destination on a touchscreen map, wave your purchase card over the screen, then sit back as the driverless vehicle took you on your way. The downside of course was that shuttles almost seemed programmed to take the longest, most convoluted routes possible.

So as I settled in my seat, I was a bit shocked to discover that a touchscreen was nowhere to be found. Instead, attached to the wall in front of me, was an intercom box. On its side was a small indentation for which to slide a purchase card.

"Good morning!" a cheerful voice gushed from the intercom. "Where can I take you?"

I took few seconds to compose myself before I responded. There was apparently a driver seated behind the wall – a development I was hardly expecting. I realized I likely would have been able to see him while standing outside, but I hadn't bothered to glance at the front of the shuttle before getting in.

"The Impermanentarium, please," I said into the intercom as I cleared my throat.

"So, headed for the Impermanentarium, huh?" said the driver. "So you must be waiting to get a place in the city, right?"

"Uh, yes, that's correct," I responded with false politeness while swiping my card. I felt like someone had just asked me if I were drinking something because I was thirsty.

"Oh yeah, I gotcha. Well good luck to you, all right?" he replied as he put the shuttle in motion. His jovial attitude made me feel terribly uneasy, and I hoped that it was nothing more than a performance. Perhaps it was presumed riders would be more likely to start inquiring about local restaurants and clubs if the driver acted like their new best friend. Yes, I was convinced, his politeness was indeed fake.

Gazing upon the marvels and curiosities located through the window could not fully distract me from the sensation of apprehension I felt as I sat there. Just a moment later my fears were justified, as the voice of the driver again seeped out of the intercom in front of me.

"Hey, you know what?" he mused. "I was browsing the Elucidasphere last night, and I learned something pretty interesting."

"Mmhmm," I said.

"It turns out none of us are actually from here. At least our ancestors weren't," he asserted enthusiastically. "Apparently they once lived someplace called the Broken World. But because of all the famines and plagues they packed up and came here. To find sanctuary, and to start over."

"Wow. I had no idea," I said in an impressive display of feigning congeniality.

"Yep," he said. "This was about a thousand years ago. That's when our ancestors arrived here, that's what it said."

"That's crazy," I said.

I had stumbled across such a story before – or at least some variant of it. The version I'd heard claimed that it was irradiated water and rampant infertility that had rendered the Broken World uninhabitable. Also the escape from the Broken World was referred to as the Dire Egression, and it took place 600 years ago, not 1000. Of course, it was most likely that neither account had much basis in reality.

The Elucidasphere was the largest and most popular slice of the Muninn Access – an immense archive of information, misinformation, equivocation, and exaggeration regarding every and any subject imaginable. Once solely a tool of the authorities used to feed the masses a single unifying message, the Elucidasphere would be transformed following the Third Final War into an unfettered source of data. Content was supplied by those from every corner of society.

I found it preferable however to acquire information from sources that were approved by the Commonwealth Council. Though I hardly considered these sources more trustworthy or reliable, the data provided was generally far less self-contradictory than most of what was available in the Elucidasphere. I figured since it was impossible to verify the accuracy of anything, I might as well go with information that was at least consistent and coherent. Besides, I presumed at least three-quarters of what I had learned over the years was probably true.

"It sure is crazy, isn't it?" replied the driver.

I nodded nervously and glanced out the window, hoping fervently that the dialogue portion of the program had ceased.

Several silent yet agonizing moments later, the shuttle came to a halt outside a fancy hotel. The far passenger door opened, and as it did I instinctively slid over to the left side of the shuttle. A man ducked into the shuttle and sat down in the empty spot next to me. Though I only glanced at him for a second, he appeared to be several years younger than I was. He wore stylish clothing and reeked of what was probably an expensive cologne. For a split-second I was curious whether he had just come from some kind of snazzy upscale party – the kind Grebe had always said he wanted to attend – but then I quickly stopped caring.

"The Dion Pub," he said clearly into the intercom. "It's just a few blocks from here," he added while swiping his purchase card.

"Sure thing," the driver replied, his voice just as cheerful as when he had spoken to me.

I placed my hand upon my forehead and rolled my eyes. So very fake, I thought to myself.

"So, meeting up with someone?" the driver asked. I managed to refrain from rolling my eyes again.

"Yes that's right," said the man. "A potential buyer... a producer," he explained. "Going to pitch an idea for a movie series to him."

"Is that right?" said the driver.

"Yeah this is my first real test. I've scored some smaller advertisers since I finished school, but this is my first big opportunity," the man said. "Hopefully I can tell him what he wants to hear and make it happen."

Though his words were modest enough, there was something about his tone that conveyed total confidence in his ability to succeed. It was to be his night, and he knew it. At least that's what I gathered while staring out the window and only barely listening.

"Yeah, we're just pulling up now," said the man, and I quickly looked over and saw that he was speaking into his Vital.

Soon thereafter the shuttle slowed down and stopped just outside the pub.

"Good luck tonight," said the driver.

"Hey thanks a lot," said the man as he exited the vehicle.

I watched as he then raised his hand to acknowledge a group of fashionably dressed women standing near the entrance to the pub. It was only as the shuttle pulled away and turned back onto the road that I realized how uneasy the man had made me. Quickly I presumed it must have been the pungency of his cologne, which I hoped would dissipate with haste.

My solitude in the back of the shuttle would once again be short-lived, as the vehicle soon parked outside a small restaurant. Accompanying me this time on my trip through uptown Arx was a woman with a Vital in one hand and a purse in the other.

"No, it really is that simple," she said into her Vital as she sat down, her tone clearly exasperated.

I turned my eyes toward her, but only for a second. Other than a pretty wool cloche hat tucked over her eyes, there wasn't anything particularly notable about her appearance. I felt more compelled to look outside at the buildings that lined the streets, as I was fascinated by their radiance and diversity.

"Caritas Heights Apartments, please," she said as I heard her swiping her card.

"No problem, miss," said the driver. "It should only be a few minutes."

I shook my head. Surely she was aware of how long it would take if her destination was so close by. The driver only said that for the sake of saying anything at all, I thought to myself.

"We already went through all of this yesterday," she said, obviously talking to her Vital again. "Yes I already know that. ... Yes. ... Well what do they want? ... The northbound lanes between Oxcart and Terrapin Avenues have registered positive outputs for the last five months. ... I don't care what they say, his analysis is clearly flawed. That interchange is not a problem at all."

I was hardly eavesdropping, yet it was impossible not to hear every word she said. Still I managed to focus on the scenery that passed by. At one point as we went through an intersection, I thought I could see off in the distance a cluster of monstrous structures wrapped in light and dark grays. I wondered excitedly if I had caught a glimpse of the famed Marble Cerebrum, the headquarters of the high command prior to the restoration of the Commonwealth. After a moment I realized that I must have. Uptown was the old part of the city, and supposedly nothing in Arx was older than the buildings that comprised the Cerebrum.

I wanted to revel for a bit in the knowledge that I had gotten even a passing look at such an incredible landmark. Unfortunately, the loud and increasingly strident conversation – or half-conversation – taking place to my right was too great an interference.

"Hey, if they insist on pushing for the new interchange, that's great," she said, quite irritated. "It's not my money ... Well my data says it's completely unnecessary. ... Yes ... I know." She sighed. "You are very lucky I was leaving while you called. ... No, I wouldn't have. ... Because my sister is visiting all the way from Vera Cove, and I didn't need you interrupting our dinner. ... Yes, because we already went over this yesterday." She sighed again. "In a shuttle. ... Yes. ... I'm going to feed my dog and treat myself to a bubble bath. ... I know it's been a long week. ... Yes, goodbye."

I turned my eyes toward her again. She put her Vital in her purse – more like threw it in, really – then propped her elbow up against the window. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing deeply and audibly as she rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. As I observed her obvious display of exhaustion, I wondered for a moment if that was precisely how I often appeared. I considered saying something encouraging, perhaps reminding her that she was almost home, but quickly decided against it. No reason to suddenly mimic the role of the driver, I thought.

"Here we are miss," came the voice over the intercom. "Lovely Caritas Heights Apartments."

"Thank you," she muttered in a tired whisper. Then she slipped out of the shuttle and was gone.

I had been running through my mind things I could have said to the woman in the cloche hat, as well as possible outcomes for such scenarios, when the shuttle came to a halt yet again. My initial guess was office building, as the building to my right was so plain it couldn't possibly have been anything else. An older man entered the shuttle and a smirk formed across my face, as I realized I had been correct. He wore a sport coat, a white buttoned shirt tucked into a pair of brown slacks, and had a Vital attached to his belt. So that breed exists in Arx as well, I mused to myself as he swiped his purchase card.

"Corner of Cavalier and Bruin Bridge Road please," he said into the intercom.

"Sure thing," replied the driver.

The man exhaled deeply as he stretched his arms above his head. "My this week has gone by pretty fast," he said.

"That it has," the driver agreed. By that point I had gotten tired of rolling my eyes.

"It's probably because I've been doing nothing but working nonstop." the man said casually. "Certainly makes the time fly by."

"Yes it does," the driver agreed again.

"On the bright side though, I've made a good chunk of money this week. Probably more than I know what to do with," said the older man with a laugh.

"Well hey, that's nice," said the driver. "So what are you going to do with that money?"

I turned toward the man and observed with curiosity as a look of total bewilderment swept across his face. It was as if he was just starting to realize the implications of his throwaway comment.

"You know what," he said slowly, "I really have no idea." He paused, rubbed his chin, then finally continued. "I suppose I could pick up the new Confidant-Crucial-Plus that was just released. Maybe. Or perhaps some updates for my Vital..."

"Well there's an idea," said the driver.

"Yes. I guess I'll just have to see."

The next ten minutes or so we rode in silence, as the older man sat staring at the floor, still rubbing his chin. I wondered if he was still straining his mind to compose a list of all the wonderful new things he could afford to buy.

"And here we are," the driver said at last. We pulled into a parking lot that I presumed was situated at the corner of Cavalier and Bruin Bridge Road.

The old man looked up from the floor suddenly, almost as if startled. "Ah thank you," he said. "Off to get some sleep, then right back to work in the morning. Time is money."

"Yes, time is money," the driver repeated cheerfully.

Time is money. It was a phrase I'd heard so many times it had lost all meaning. I wanted to ask the older man if his time was money, did it necessarily follow that his money was worth the time? Instead I sat silently as he ducked out of the shuttle and walked off.

There had been a thinning of the scenery during the last several minutes, indicating that the we were approaching the city limits. While in Arx, surrounded by all its bustle and glitz, it was difficult to remember the city was built in the middle of an arid wasteland.

"You know what?" said the driver as I watched the trees and buildings be gradually replaced by rocks and emptiness. "I meet so many people every day. Then after ten, twenty minutes, they're gone. In and out, just like that. But in that short time, it's always nice to be able to learn something about them. Even if it's not that much."

I was somewhat surprised he had decided to start talking to me again, as it'd been quite some time since he had said anything to me. But I was far more surprised at his spontaneous display of sentimentality.

"Sure, I suppose," was my stock response.

"I guess for you though," he went on, "it doesn't matter if it's ten minutes or ten years. You're probably happy to learn as little about a person as you can."

My shock turned to utter disbelief. It wasn't just what he had said – though that was startling in and of itself – but how he had said it. His tone was not smug, or confrontational, or even harsh in any way at all. Despite his rather judgmental words, his cheery, upbeat manner had remained unchanged. I found it simply bizarre.

Thankfully I was able to compose my thoughts and respond quickly, avoiding any kind of awkward pause. I decided to take his words as a kind of challenge, to both my character and my ability to adapt.

"Oh no," I said with defiant confidence, "perhaps once that was true, but no longer. My arrival here marks a new act, a new chapter. Things will be different." I smiled broadly.

They were kind of bold words that would prove a fitting way to conclude my journey through Arx to the Impermanentarium. Unfortunately as I glanced out the window I realized the trip probably had at least another twenty minutes remaining.

Eventually I would reach my destination, cabin 113 of the Impermanentarium. Flipping a switch on the wall just beside the door caused a large ceiling lamp to fill the room with radiance. There was only a small bed, a desk, a dresser, and a bookshelf – in that regard the room was very similar to the one I had in Cynosure. It wasn't exactly the same of course, as the bed was facing the window and the dresser was right beside the desk. It was also slightly smaller and a tad more expensive than my previous place. However the most crucial and important difference was that the apartment was located not in Peristyle 46, but just outside the magnificent city of Arx.

I went and took a seat on the bed, and the mattress squealed as it sank beneath me. Beside the bed was a lone large box, one of the two I had sent to the apartment. I sighed, and forced myself to be pleasantly surprised that at least one of them had made it. As I looked around, I forced my mind to become comfortable with my new surroundings. At that moment it was merely the newest place I would be waking up to each day. But as I leaned over to pry open the box, I was hopeful that eventually I would be able feel as if it were my home.

****

After two months of applying for work had lead only to dead ends, I had begun to seriously reconsider whether my search was worth the frustration. It wasn't just that most of the available positions were paying at or only slightly above the amount I received from ConSup, but also the sheer lack of responses I was eliciting. Of the two dozen or so businesses I contacted, only one actually took the time to acknowledge me at all – and that was nothing more than a brief message informing me that they considered me overqualified for the job. I found that response quite amusing, as it was only a few years ago that a supervisor had told me point blank that my five-year degree in Extrinsic Arts was, as she put it, "essentially worthless."

Finally however, much to my delight, I received a message from one of the larger local advertising consultant firms informing me that I'd been accepted for a position that would allow me to work from home. So overjoyed to at last get a positive response, I set aside my desire to have somewhere to go, and basked in the realization that I would at the very least have something to do.

I felt as though I had finally come across some good fortune – a fantastically foreign feeling – as working at home was becoming an increasingly rare circumstance. Several years ago the Commonwealth Council, in an effort to reduce fuel consumption and lessen the strain on our diminishing reserves, proposed the Home Employment Act. Its aim was to ensure that 20 percent of all jobs could be done at home within the next decade. However many companies opposed the move, fearing it would have adverse effects to their bottom lines. The head of a major consortium went as far as declaring that impulse shopping done by people during lunch breaks was the backbone of a thriving economy, and that having so many people eating lunch at home would surely plunge the Commonwealth into a recession.

To no one's surprise the Act was never passed. Coincidentally though, when the brother-in-law of the head of the aforementioned consortium was elected to the Council the following year, a completely different version of the Act was finally approved. The new Act decreed that home-based positions would be almost entirely phased out over the next decade. I recall the subsequent outrage and condemnation from various conservation groups being a major news story for about two days, after which the subject was never broached again.

I immediately replied to the message, and emphatically thanked my new employer for such a splendid opportunity. Perhaps, I thought, moving to Arx truly had changed my luck for the better, and this was to be a sign of things to come.

The job was quite simple. The firm had sent me a program that would bring up on my screen a brand new advertisement that had not yet entered circulation. I was to enter the ad's index number, usually located somewhere in the center of the ad, into an input box. The program would then do some kind of processing or calculation, then after a couple moments would spit out a second number. I was to then confirm that number by entering it into another input box. I was to do this for exactly six hundred ads each day –

no more, no less. The task usually took just under eight hours to complete.

Look at an ad, find a number. Enter that number, wait briefly, then enter a second number. Six hundred times a day. It wasn't exactly the most challenging or intellectually stimulating of endeavors, but I was perfectly content with that. The less stressful and demanding my job, I figured, the more attention and focus I could give to all the other things going in my life. And there were so many, of course.

"You'd think they'd prefer to have the thing be automated, rather than have to pay people to do it," said Grebe, shortly after I informed him about my new job.

"Well," I replied, "they probably like the idea of a person looking at six hundred of their ads in a day. Not that I actually read them." That wasn't entirely true, of course. I always ended up reading the ads that featured an attractive woman or a particularly mouth-watering meal.

"And you don't even know what the program actually does?" asked Grebe.

"Nope," I said. "Perhaps it checks the resolution or searches for certain keywords."

"Or," he said, "it tracks how long it took you to enter the number, so they know if an ad interested you enough that you bothered to stop and focus on it."

Grebe was probably right, I thought. I leaned back in my chair and laughed. It was good to talk to my old friend again, even if they were just brief audio messages over the Muninn Access. Years earlier, Grebe had once said that he and I would remain close so long as our lots in life were similar. His reasoning was that nothing erodes a friendship quite like resentment does. As time went on, I realized how true that was.

"So didn't you mention before that you got you new ride, and for cheap? How's that working out?" I asked.

"Oh right," he responded after a pause. "Yeah, uh, let's just say I found out the brakes weren't exactly in great condition. That was a messy afternoon," he said matter-of-factly.

I could envision in my mind Grebe shrugging nonchalantly as he said that. I could have simply watched him do it of course, but I never bothered to purchase a video link upgrade. Yet another blow to my ICICLE score.

"So it's working out great then. Very good," I said.

My replies were not flat or lifeless. They were not monotone knee-jerk responses given only to conform with social mores. It felt so refreshing, so invigorating, to take part in a conversation that I actually wanted to have. A conversation that was wonderfully organic, and lacked the perceived obligation to add needless filler to the breaks and rests. There was no awkwardness, no feeling of dread, no need to periodically utter single phrases for the purpose of assuring the other person that I was still feigning interest.

Suddenly I recalled an exchange I once had while at work years earlier. During a rare moment in which I was unable to prevent my mouth from revealing my true thoughts, I spoke of my hatred for having to constantly listen to boring nonsense from my coworkers. Of course, someone took offense.

"What a rude thing to say!" had been a nearby coworker's immediate response.

"That's rude?" I had replied. "No, rude is the belief that the story about the sandwich you had for lunch is so interesting that you absolutely must tell the person next you all about it, in excruciating detail, for roughly half an hour. That is rude. Not to mention ridiculous."

I so terribly missed sincere, honest dialogue. Perhaps that is why I felt so dismayed when Grebe informed me that he had to get going.

"I have to go pack for a trip," was his explanation.

Of course when it came to Grebe, such a statement had a very wide range of possible translations. He may simply have meant that he was going to throw on some pants for the purpose of heading to the store to purchase cigarettes. Maybe he needed to pack some prophylactics into his jacket prior to an engagement with a ladyfriend, in which case pants were entirely optional.

Or perhaps he was finally going to take that long drive beyond the eastern boundary of Cynosure, through the reportedly toxic marshlands, past the ghost towns along the River of Prosperity, eventually to reach the old abandoned county library. Each of us had once heard that behind that library was an enormous field of crabgrass. There, Grebe claimed, free from any interference caused by light pollution, would be the perfect spot to camp out and gaze up at the night sky.

As I imagined Grebe embarking upon such an adventure, I began to experience small but growing pangs of jealousy and regret. Though I had felt such things before, especially in regards to Grebe, there was something about my absence that made the feelings more difficult to manage. I was convinced that had I still been in Peristyle 46 that I would accompany Grebe on such a journey, rather than be relegated to merely awaiting yet another exciting anecdote. I even started to desperately hope that Grebe wasn't about to do anything more riveting than go purchase cigarettes. While I was ashamed to posses such petty, selfish thoughts, I was also sadly unable to suppress them.

As I stared at my screen, only dimly aware of the scrolling messages from the makers of Badass Hero bourbon, I tried mightily to focus upon something else. I noticed I had a fresh batch of special announcements from something called the Society of Concerned Neighbors, informing me about the latest in mood enhancement technology. I had started to receive a deluge of similar bulletins about a week earlier, which just so happened to coincide with my ICICLE score dipping another level.

There was a brief attempt to force my mind to recall if I had ever heard of such an organization, but my thoughts refused to comply for very long. They insisted on fixating upon Grebe – specifically an image of him surfing the rivers of Villanelle.

"No way," I mumbled aloud. "He couldn't afford to do anything like that. Not this soon."

But my dismissive words were of little help. Jealousy had called upon defeatism, and I was convinced beyond a doubt that whatever trip Grebe was taking it was sure to be of the outstanding variety. Oddly enough my mind did allow for just enough room to feel happy for my old friend. Therefore it stood to reason that what I needed was to quickly engage in a constructive activity that would serve to occupy the parts of my mind that were not so happy for Grebe. Thankfully it was almost time for work.

****

After some time – an unknown number of weeks or months – I began to look upon my job as the lone stabilizing, calming aspect of my life. That job, so vapid, mindless, and methodical, was nevertheless something I could rely upon to soak up a good portion of the day. There was a kind of comfort, a sense of relief each time I awoke and rose from bed, knowing that for much of the morning and afternoon my existence had some semblance of purpose and structure. The fact that the work itself was so mundane and borderline useless mattered not to me. I did hate doing it, but what I hated even more was not doing it.

Each day as late afternoon was replaced by early evening, I would look at the counter on the top right corner of my screen and see that I had processed over five hundred ads. At that time, without fail, I would be overcome with an irrepressible sense of dread and apprehension. I knew the stability and order would soon fade and give way, and once the mission was complete I would again be cast into the wilderness to fend for myself.

Shortly thereafter the counter on the screen would read six hundred, and as it did every evening the program would shut down automatically, abandoning me. Oftentimes I would remain seated, choosing to delve into the abyss of the Muninn Access. But there was never enough there to really captivate me, and soon I would turn around to look upon my bed, and sadly realize it'd be quite some time before my body would permit me to sleep.

I wanted so much to pursue my desire to experience things of all kinds. I wished to embrace my love of the arts, to engage in a frenzied conception of inspiring and praiseworthy masterpieces. But stretched across my bed, I could only visualize the wonders I claimed I yearned to create, and could never seem to go any further. False ambition is what Salvo used to call that.

"Salvo," I said aloud. "The starting line."

I could not recall the last time I went somewhere other than the supply depot located just across the main courtyard. It wasn't as if I had a fear of leaving the apartment, as going to the depot caused me no anguish whatsoever. There was a shuttle leaving for Arx every half hour, and while the trip could be somewhat long, it certainly wasn't particularly awful. The shuttles themselves were often stuffed with the unkempt and unsightly, as were the streets of Arx. But my misanthropy was not so far advanced that I couldn't manage to avoid contingence with ease and allow the hordes to harmlessly fade into the background. No, what kept me from venturing into the depths of Arx was not founded upon anxiety or frightfulness, but rather a simple lack of motivation to do so. A lack of motivation that stemmed from my wholehearted belief that there was nothing there for me – no person, place, or thing that was going to stir my senses and intrigue me enough to make the journey worth my while. Of this I was certain. And so I remained in my apartment.

"There's nothing there, Salvo," I said aloud and irritated. "What shall I do? Head to the Exalted Emporium and gawk at the latest toys? Or perhaps mingle with the upstanding clientele at some tawdry club? What would be the point of that?"

I envisioned him shaking his head and sighing with contempt, then being kind enough to tell me that I just didn't get it.

"No, I suppose I don't," I replied angrily to the image in my mind.

I sat down on the bed and looked around the room. "I suppose I don't," I repeated softly.

****

I stepped out of the taxi shuttle and stared ahead into the distance. There, rising into the sky just a couple blocks away, was the extraordinary Marble Cerebrum. As I began to walk toward it, I felt as if the mood of my surroundings began to noticeably shift. The complex had such an unmistakable presence about it, and it seemed as though I were exiting the modern city of Arx and stepping into a world that had for so long laid dormant. Still standing were the immense metal walls that encompassed the Cerebrum, implicative of a time of great tension, secrecy, and fear.

Emboldened by my newfound obstinance and determined to embark on an adventure, I thought little of how strange it was that I could get so close to the complex without drawing any attention. The area was completely devoid of people, and it was quite likely that loitering outside the giant walls was at best frowned upon, and at worst wholly prohibited. Such things did not concern me however, as I was far too busy being utterly entranced by the mere sight of the structure. There seemed to be a commanding nature to it, as if the complex itself demanded it be shown the kind of extreme deference and respect one would usually afford only to a plutocrat.

I walked over to the main gate, which resembled something one would expect to find straddling the boundary between two rival nations. There were sentry drones hovering about, trip lasers, robotic gun emplacements, wall mines – it seemed no expense was spared for security.

For reasons I did not understand, there was suddenly the sensation of great, terrible heaviness cast upon me. I felt very worn and exhausted, and was overcome by a strange kind of melancholy I hadn't ever experienced before. I frowned and began to rub my hands together, as the cool evening breeze was causing a bit more discomfort than it had been previously.

I then looked toward the pair of steel doors in the center of the gate, and without a hint of trepidation I began to walk directly for them. Not one of the security measures scattered throughout the area seemed even the slightest bit provoked by my brazen and audacious act however, as I managed to come within a few feet of the doors without interference. They too would submit to me without quarrel, and my gait remained uninterrupted as the doors parted before me.

As the gate doors shut behind me, I slowly took a few steps and gazed upwards. I watched intently as a pack of wispy gray clouds crept languidly across the canvass of the sky. Before I was permitted to slip fully into my own thoughts however, I became distracted when I noticed someone standing about twenty yards away.

He was standing by an entranceway to one of the largest buildings in the vicinity, wearing a long black silken robe and a silly grin. He wasn't a terribly tall man, though he was taller than me, and he held a cigar in one hand and an old fashioned tumbler in the other. Which is to say it appeared to be just another typical evening for Vorago, High Minister of Order.

Vorago noticed me and immediately raised his tumbler into the air as a greeting. He then proceeded to down the remainder of its contents. I raised my hand in response, then grudgingly began to walk over to him.

"Good evening, Vorago," I said tepidly.

"Oh it certainly is," he said excitedly as he nodded his head. "It most certainly is. I'm just taking a very brief break from the festivities." He was clearly intoxicated, though not terribly so. "I didn't know you liked to roam around down here," he said.

"Yes, on occasion," I replied. Of course, the purpose of such roaming was to avoid unwanted conversation, though I presumed it was pointless to mention that.

He went to take another sip from his tumbler, then pulled it back and looked it upon it bewilderedly when he saw that it was empty. "Well that's unacceptable," he said. "Looks like it's time to head back up." He tossed away his cigar and took a step into the entranceway, toward the elevator located just inside. "You heading up too?" he asked, turning his head.

I glanced at the entranceway, then looked off to the right in the direction of a prodigious stone stairway. "I am, but I believe I'll use the stairway instead," I declared.

"What?" said Vorago, noticeably astounded. "Uhh... well, okay. Have a good time, I guess." He raised his tumbler once more and headed through the entranceway.

I nodded, then took the short walk to the base of the stairway. It was truly an imposing path, carved out of the side of the building, and leading nowhere but to the very top. I took a deep breath, then completed a few of the steps. Then I did something I told myself only seconds earlier that I absolutely could not do – I looked upward toward the apex of the stairway. It was literally unseeable, concealed by the fog that began to really thicken about three-quarters up the building.

I shook my head, took another deep breath, and went on. As the tightness in my shins started to worsen, I wondered if I would've decided to take the stairway even if I had not seen Vorago. Quickly though, I realized what a silly question that was. Obviously I wasn't braving this arduous path simply to prove to him that I could, I told myself. My choice was founded exclusively on my willingness to challenge myself – for my own senses of pride and satisfaction, and no one else's.

"No one else's," I repeated aloud, thus affirming the notion.

As the continued exertion necessary to endure the ascent began to exact its toll upon me, I found my thoughts drifting off to the first time I had met Vorago. I had been on a visit to one of the art museums tucked away in the far end of Cynosure. Whether it was to garner even a scrap of inspiration, or an almost masochistic desire to bear witness to the achievements of others, I'd decided to tour the various galleries and exhibits the museum had to offer.

The building resembled an ancient, decaying crypt with its filthy floors and seldom-walked halls. I moved deliberately from one room to the next, taking pains to look upon and study each piece no matter how utterly trite or ridiculous they may have been. As I entered a small side room that was flush with some particularly banal paintings, there was Vorago standing with his arms folded, seemingly staring at an empty space on the wall between two of the paintings.

Though we had never actually met before, I knew of Vorago years earlier. He and I had each attended Nonpareil University – a standard undergraduate facility for the consumer caste that provided a level of education just good enough to qualify as middling. I had seen him on numerous occasions in places like a food court or random hallway, though only in passing. Perhaps it was my superlative talents of recollection, or something particularly memorable about his face or mannerisms, but I recognized him the instant I stepped into that side room.

I walked over to a small, mangy little bench situated just behind Vorago's position and sat down. I glanced at the paintings, then down at the rotting floorboards, fairly certain that he had not yet noticed my presence.

"It is really quite discourteous of ambition and desire to disturb me when I'm so merrily in my rut," I said.

"Heh," he said without moving. "I know. Yes, I know," he said in a somewhat rueful manner.

Then almost simultaneously each of our heads turned to the right, toward a small group of people huddled around a painting on the other side of the small room. They were nodding their heads, pointing at various parts of the painting, and speaking in admiring tones. Then, as one, they moved on to the next painting and repeated the process.

"Look at them," said Vorago contemptuously. "Disgusting."

They performed their act in front of two more paintings, then exited the room through the rear door.

"Success here is measured by how earnestly one is willing to embrace the nadir," Vorago continued, turning his gaze back toward the spot he had been staring at previously. "You need only stir up the hive, and the drones will heap their praises and riches upon you. Their torpor knows no limits."

I was inclined to believe that Vorago would have been saying the same things aloud even had I not been there.

"It is a broken world, clinging pitifully to all that is flawed and obsolete," I asserted emotionlessly. "Nothing is as it should be."

"They are all simple fools who deserve the abyss they've created. They are capable of ruining anything. They literally make me ill, do you understand? They are not worthy of freedom, comfort, compassion. Certainly not worthy of the beauty of this planet. Ingrates and imbeciles." His scorn and acrimony were quite palpable, but while his words were laced with venom, his voice remained calm and subdued. Had I not been sitting only a few feet away from him, I likely would not have heard him at all.

He went on. "They wonder why I dare to think and aspire, why I wish I could cavort in my own world. The most divine people here just fade into the background, meandering about in half-lucid states, tossed aside like unwanted dreck. Rejected and forgotten."

"There is nothing here for us," I said, taking advantage of an opening to speak. "Only petty distractions. Only more nonsense. And only by replacing this world with another can we hope to find something worthwhile."

"They have their toys, their vanity, their idols," said Vorago. "And they'll just keep flailing about, tapping at keys, fornicating, and deluding themselves."

I nodded my head, then looked over toward the rear door. "Oftentimes the optimal way to define something is by simply stating its antonym," I said. "What are we? We are not them."

"Exactly," Vorago replied. "Exactly." He then finally turned around and faced me. "I know you, don't I?" he asked with a curious expression.

I looked at him and nodded again. "Somewhat," I said.

"Yes," he said, convinced. "Yes, I thought so."

From that point forward, Vorago and I grew to become close, trusted associates. As the years passed, we would challenge and motivate one another, staying patient all the while. At last, chance would embrace us warmly, as we found ourselves in just the right place when the world collapsed.

As my steps became slower and I struggled to persevere through the pain in my chest, I wondered what had happened to those two idealistic, determined young men who met in the museum that day. I asked myself, were their transformations inevitable? Or could it possibly have turned out another way?

My ability to focus on those and other ponderings diminished greatly with each successive step I took. Soon my thoughts would be fully consumed by the terrible discomfort coursing throughout my body. I sat down upon one of the steps, deciding to take a moment to rest. Through heavy breaths, I looked downward and noted the progress I had achieved, then turned my head and gazed upward once again. I estimated that I was likely somewhere in the vicinity of being halfway done – too soon to start visualizing the conclusion, but too far to even consider turning back. I sat there for a bit longer, watching the thick clouds assemble and feeling the cool wind grate along my face.

As the minutes swept by and my position remained unchanged, I found myself playing the role of vacillator. One moment I would deem it reprehensibly unacceptable that I was still there, and the next moment I would consider it ridiculous to even consider getting up. Feeling ensnared within some terrible void between defeat and success, I finally realized I had no choice but to press onward. And so I did.

The second half of my ascent seemed to pass by much more quickly than did the first. Perhaps I simply became acclimated to the pain and it was no longer capable of effecting me so profoundly anymore. Or I may have taken comfort in the knowledge that my goal was actually within reach, which allowed me to lay to rest any fears that my journey would be in vain. The most likely explanation however was that my mind had become so terribly bored with focusing upon tribulations, that it meandered onto more interesting topics – thus allowing for a more pleasant elapsing of time.

Whatever the cause of the fortuitous celerity, I soon found myself standing upon the last step of the staircase. As I prepared to claim the top in my name, I felt far more depleted than I did jubilant. I was also just as appreciative, if not more so, of the fact that the climb was over than that it was a success. I took one more step, and was poised to look triumphantly upon the guerdons and accolades I had obtained for my feat. Positioned atop the soaring tower, I surveyed what my commitment had earned me – absolutely nothing.

The roof of the building was a barren, derelict platform of gray concrete. There was a small rectangular structure located on the opposite side and – unless one were to see majesty in vents and drainage pipes – that was it. Slightly perturbed, I took a short stroll and looked all around at the sky and nearby area. Given the incredible elevation of my position, it should have made for an impressive and inspiring view – if there had actually been anything noteworthy upon which to view. The only things visible were the other nondescript towers of equal or lesser height that formed the rest of the complex.

Twilight now engulfed the complex, and the sky was painted an ominous black and orange, like a lava flow. I took a deep breath and shook my head. I did not even bother to think all about all the steps and stories I had traversed, only to be greeted by such desolation. It's possible I was too exhausted to form thoughts involving anger or self-pity, or perhaps at my age I had simply learned to react to such outcomes with quiet resignation. Though for just a moment, I did consider how Vorago had likely been lounging in his bathhouse for nearly the entire duration of my ordeal. Though I experienced a flickering of envy as a result of this, I tossed such feelings aside immediately.

Having accepted the vacuous scene imposed upon me, I walked slowly to the opposite side of the roof. There, just beyond the small concrete structure, was a lengthy terrace. It overlooked an outdoor courtyard situated just two stories below which could be accessed by a short staircase located at the right edge of the terrace. The courtyard had surely seen better days, as it was lined with ugly withering shrubbery and its presumably once-stunning fountains sat parched and inactive. Though despite the lackluster, almost funereal nature of the surroundings, the terrace did have an intimate, secluded quality to it that I found appealing.

I turned around toward the concrete structure and walked through its open entranceway. My steps echoed through a short, unlit corridor that led to a metal spiral staircase. I advanced gingerly down the narrow staircase and arrived in the Main Study – a room in which the presence of desk was the only resemblance to a typical study.

I walked over and stood beside the desk with one hand leaning against it, then did a perfunctory glance of the room. While it was certainly grand and magnificent, there was still something dull and conventional about it. There was a pristine marble floor, upon which stood numerous sculptures and statues – many that seemed several centuries old. Upon the walls hung many shiny, garish treasures, most of which seemed to be encrusted with baubles and jewels of every size and color imaginable. There were stone columns holding up the ceiling, breathtakingly intricate tapestries covering the furniture, and the windows were made with stained glass. The entire room seemed to be an ardent tribute to ostentation.

The desk was also precisely what one would expect within the context of such surroundings. It was enormous, and not surprisingly appeared to be constructed from the finest synthetic wood. There were elaborate patterns and markings painstakingly carved into the wood that rivaled those found on the tapestries in both complexity and craftsmanship. The knobs attached to the eight drawers were made of precious stones, and each was crafted to look like the head of particular mythological beast.

The desk was paired with a chair that resembled the throne of a prominent magnate. It was predictably large and imposing, and made of the lushest and coziest of materials. Such a chair seemed to be the perfect position from which to dispense orders of the highest magnitude, or perhaps catch a restful afternoon nap.

I could not shake the feeling that the entire setting was so very bromidic and tragically uninspiring. However, to my amazement there sat on the corner of the desk an object that, much to its credit, seemed wholly unbefitting a place marked by such artificial elegance. It was an old book, made not of the finest parchment and bound by leather, but rather composed of worn discolored sheets of paper held together by elastic bands.

I picked up the book and began to skim through its pages, making certain to do so with great care to prevent it from crumbling apart entirely. The pages were brimming with notes and peculiar sketches – most of which were etched in pencil of all things. As I cautiously flipped from one page to the next, I felt as if I were examining a priceless artifact. Though I was disappointed that some of the writing was obscured by smudges or illegible from having faded with time, I was nonetheless excited by how such things lent to the book's authentic quality. It even had a bit of a decaying odor to it.

I came across a page that contained fourteen lines of prose arranged in what appeared to be an ancient kind of verse form.

"A sonnet?" I uttered, following a quick delving into my memory.

Fascinated, I decided to read it aloud in its entirety.

Present, past, future, they bleed into one,

Merging dreams with reality at last.

Pretense is over, the charade is done,

Holding back no more, the die can be cast.

Neither pity nor envy holds court here,

Third Act awaits, impelled by ancient scars.

Lying in wait, poised to channel their fear,

The path made clear by the moons and the stars.

Though painfully slow, it falls into place,

Mutterings and scorn to things deemed impure.

Contempt swarms like maggots across its face,

Tonic for the virus surely the lure.

Humbled masses fall upon bended knee,

And delve further into that which they flee.

I stood there silently for several moments, then finally closed the book. I found myself feeling somewhat disturbed – not by the sonnet itself, but rather by the realization that despite its disparate appearance, perhaps the book did conform to its surroundings after all. In fact, the contents of the book may have been more pretentious than anything else in the entire room.

Exceedingly disappointed, I sighed, and decided to find solace by returning to the terrace above. While it may not have been the most stirring of places, the mute barrenness would certainly provide a welcomed respite from the current surroundings, I thought. Just seconds before I was able to make my getaway however, Vorago stepped into the room.

"Hey," he said.

I sighed regrettably again. It wasn't that I was terribly upset to see Vorago, but I had seen him already once that evening. I wasn't sure if he was more or less intoxicated than when I had seen him previously. After all those years, he was still nearly impossible to read in that regard.

"Have you seen the most recent report on the Huginn Records?" he asked with excitement.

I could recall when Vorago would mention the Huginn Records with grim-faced seriousness. He would want to discuss the recent behavioral trends of the populace and how they affected the overall stability of society. In recent times however, he would come into my study and simply want to laugh at the types of shoes or hats people were buying.

"No, I haven't even considered looking at it. Quite frankly, I don't care," I replied, my eyes looking over toward the metal staircase.

"Don't care?" said Vorago, noticeably intrigued.

"I'm finding it very difficult to keep my interest in any of this. Nothing more than further distractions, that's all..."

"Distractions from what?" he asked.

"What a very good question," I replied softly, yet with a hint of anger.

"But all this power, control," he said, looking down at my desk terminal. "I'm pretty sure it's everything you wanted."

"And I'm pretty sure you'd be wrong. It was supposed to be a means to an end. That is all. It was supposed to allow me the freedom to take the path of my choosing."

"And what path was that?"

"I had hoped I would know by now." I was so exasperated. I just wanted to head back to the terrace.

"You have molded the world as saw you fit. That should make for a nice legacy, you must admit."

"Legacy?" I snapped at him. "It's the thrill of performing the scene that matters. Not the praise that comes afterward."

"And what of the thrills that accompanied you along the paths you took to reach this point? You cannot tell me they mean nothing."

"Those thrills meant something once. They meant everything. But so ephemeral, so quick to evade one's grasp... They turn on you, Vorago." I shook my head slowly. "They know you can never reclaim them, but they remain always, hovering about in your mind. Haunting you."

"Unquestioned power, unrivaled dominance, yet not a hint of satisfaction," he said with a laugh. "Oh my friend, you really must learn to indulge yourself in the most basic of pleasures."

"You know that I am more than capable of that. It is the fleetingness of such delights, that is what vexes me."

Vorago smiled deviously. "I've found the solution to that is to just take part in such activities pretty much all day."

"You are certainly the resident expert in that field, Vorago. But still, even to this day you can tell me you truly remain satisfied by such things?"

"Would I keep doing it otherwise?"

"Some might..." I said.

"Perhaps those who wish to punish themselves for feeling nothing. Not I, though," Vorago proclaimed. "I assure you of that."

"But does it not become tiresome? The simplicity of it?"

His devious smile grew larger. "There are always ways to spice up a party."

"But can you ever look back and say that you've done anything... accomplished anything at all? Is it not just playing games in the fog?"

"What reason is there to look back when you have another game to play?" He laughed. "As you said, it is the thrill of performing the scene that matters. Correct?"

"I was imagining a scene of a greater distinction," I sighed. "Greater meaning."

"It would seem, my old friend," he said while looking around my study, "that you're always doing just that. Imagining a scene." Still smiling, he tapped his fist upon my desk a couple of times.

Then as if realizing that his time to depart had arrived, he abruptly spun around and started to leave the room. Just as he was about to head through the far doorway, he stopped and pointed an index finger upward.

"Oh by the way," he said without turning around. "When you do take a look at the Huginn Records, be sure to check out the new dance craze sweeping the land. Funny, ridiculous stuff."

"Wonderful, Vorago. Just... wonderful. Farewell for now," I said.

I headed up the short, spiral staircase and stepped into the small darkened corridor. However, as I was about to step through the entranceway onto the terrace, I noticed much to my dismay that I would not be permitted the privacy I had sought. Standing near the edge of the terrace and gazing out toward the courtyard was Sobrius, the High Minister of Progress. Presumably he had come up by way of the courtyard steps. I took one step backwards and remained in the darkness so as to not be discovered, as I was hardly in the mood for socializing.

Sobrius was a tall, dignified man of imposing presence, and the way in which he stood caused him to seem even larger than he already was. His brown hair was done up in a ponytail that rested just below the back of his neck. He wore a white ascot tie, as well as a stately sangria-colored buttoned suit that at once seemed appropriate dress for both a military parade as well as a casual party. The haughtiness of his attire as well as his posture, however, did not even begin to fully convey the level of esteem with which Sobrius regarded himself.

From off to the right there came a short, dainty little coughing noise. Staying in the corridor, I peeked in that direction and saw a young woman standing at the far end of the terrace. I recognized her immediately as Lady Melpomene, and my mind raced as I tried in vain to recall the last time I had seen her. While the sands of time had seemingly poached away her exuberance, they had been unable to erode even a fragment of her remarkable beauty. She resembled to me a princess from an ancient children's story. With her small, slender frame wrapped in an exquisite dark blue evening gown, and her black hair done up in a bun, I thought such a creature looked woefully miscast in such a desolate scene. And though I was too far away to give them the scrutiny they deserved, I presumed her blue eyes were as lovely as they had always been.

Her coughing must have alerted Sobrius to her presence as well, as he did a quick glance in her direction, then immediately returned to looking upon the courtyard.

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" he said to her derisively.

She seemed a bit startled by the question. "I often come out here at night," she responded timidly. "It's very tranquil."

"What a coincidence," said Sobrius. "That is precisely why I am here. Though had I known there was going to be company, I would have refrained from making the trip."

There was a bit of an awkward silence – at least, I found it awkward – as they each continued to stand with their backs turned to one another. Melpomene was looking down at the ground thoughtfully, as if she were summoning the courage to say something. I found the meekness she exhibited to be awfully disquieting, as that was hardly the strong, fortitudinous woman I knew.

I considered for a moment breaking the stalemate by stepping onto the terrace, but Melpomene spoke again before I could reach a decision.

"Why do you follow him?" she asked Sobrius.

He laughed heartily. "Follow him?" he replied without shifting his gaze.

"Yes, why do you?" she persisted. "Power is not beget from nothingness. It exists only because others allow it to exist. Because others willingly submit and follow. So what makes you follow?"

Sobrius laughed again, and this time turned around to look at her, revealing the gleeful look upon his face.

"Well well," he said. "Look who thinks she's capable of being profound. Isn't that adorable!" Suddenly however his blithesome expression evaporated, and his tone reeked of even more antipathy than it had earlier. "I do not follow him," he said. "Our association is one of mutual benefit. He created a world I find suitable in which to live, and I provided invaluable counsel that aided him in creating such a world. We are equals." He then turned around and faced the courtyard yet again.

As I stood there, leaning against the cold concrete wall with my arms folded, I thought it interesting that despite his palpable contempt for her, Sobrius still decided to give her a real answer.

"Yes, equal," she scoffed. "Equally mad, perhaps."

I gave a bit of smile upon hearing that. There was a glimpse of the witty, unyielding Melpomene I had known. Once again I wished so much to get a better look at her eyes.

Sobrius smirked and shook his head. "You are a relic," he said coldly. "An insipid fossil from a bygone era. You cling pitifully to all that is feckless and irrelevant. You deal in only in nonsense. And I haven't any idea why you're even here."

Finally I found it necessary to intervene, and I stepped out of the darkness and onto the terrace. "That will be enough, Sobrius," I stated calmly but firmly.

Sobrius turned around to face me, and flashed the same gleeful smile he had shown earlier. "Oh brave knight, I do apologize profusely," he said with brazen sarcasm. "I assure you I meant this maiden no harm."

"I'm sure, Sobrius," I replied, trying desperately to avoid rolling my eyes. "I'm sure."

Sobrius began to walk toward me. "We have important matters to discuss," he said.

"Oh I know," I said. "But it will have to wait for just a bit." I looked over at Melpomene. "First I wish to speak to Lady Melpomene. Privately, in her quarters."

She looked at me, seeming a bit surprised by what I had said. Not nearly as much as Sobrius though, who shot me an amused, quizzical look.

"Oh of course, of course!" said Sobrius ebulliently. "I hope you two have a fascinating little chat." He let out another burst of derisive laughter, then headed down the courtyard steps.

I waited a moment for Sobrius to have descended out of earshot before I spoke again. "Come, Melpomene," I said gallantly. "Let us go."

We advanced down the stairs with Melpomene leading the way, and entered one of the lower levels of the complex. Walking side by side without uttering a word to one another, we headed through a white, seemingly vacuous access corridor. At its terminus was an unassuming red metal door. As we approached it, I instinctively took a step forward to grab the handle and open the door for her, but much to my consternation there was no handle at all. Instead I watched disappointedly as she tapped a code onto a small keypad adjacent to the door, causing the heavy red obstruction to descend into the floor.

Together we passed through the entranceway, and stepped into Melpomene's quarters –though in actuality it was more of a luxury flat. As the door locked back into place behind me, I marveled at the decor of the main room. There were high ceilings, suede couches, and even a gorgeous concert grand piano situated in a far corner.

Melpomene was clearly observant of my awestruck expression. "It really has been a long time since you've been in here, hasn't it?" she asked with a hint of sorrow.

"I suppose it has," I said, embarrassed that I could not remember when that was. Nor could I even recall the last time Melpomene had spoken to me directly prior to that moment.

I sat down upon one of the couches and immediately wondered why I didn't possess anything nearly as comfortable. Melpomene remained standing.

"So," she said anxiously, "...what did you want to speak to me about?"

Suddenly I found myself blindsided by the unfortunate realization that I hadn't actually contemplated what I precisely was going to say to her. To actively invite someone into a dialogue without first planning for the specifics of the exchange seemed unthinkable. Perhaps, I thought, I should have spent the previous ten minutes considering such things rather than be hypnotized by the sight of her lissome frame moving in that gown.

I decided to simply ask the most generic question I could. "Well... how are you?" To my own surprise, there was a hint of nervousness in my voice.

She rolled her eyes and laughed, presumably at the absurdity of my question. "How am I? I'm here, or up on the terrace. That's how I am," she replied. She spoke with no anger whatsoever, no trace of resentment.

"You don't have to stay cooped up in here," I said.

Melpomene laughed again, but this time an unmistakable look of despondency formed upon the gentle features of her alabaster face. "Well, you've destroyed anywhere else I'd want to go," she said.

"Mmm," I uttered as I fought to hold back a frown. "I see."

At last I had a perfectly unobstructed view of her eyes, and as I finally looked upon them again I was endued with a fervidness that I hadn't felt for quite some time.

"It is so good to see you again, Mel," I said boisterously.

"Okay," she said. She gave a half-smile, but I could see the wariness lingering in those gentle blue eyes. I could hardly blame her though for not entirely trusting me.

I stood up and walked toward the piano. It was a finely crafted instrument and appeared to be in very good condition. I ran a hand along its smooth, dark auburn finish. "Fantastic," I said. The wood had some nicks and scratches here and there, but nothing too egregious. I was actually pleased to see a few flaws, as it made the piano appear as more than just a pretty decoration.

I looked over at Melpomene, who had turned around to face me but remained standing in the same spot. "You play, don't you?" I asked, quite certain that I was correct.

She tilted her head a bit and looked at me curiously. "I do," she said, her arms now folded.

I sat down upon the piano bench and began to playfully strike at the keys. The notes sounded perfect, and within seconds I was tapping out an impromptu little ditty. Melpomene still had not moved, and maintained an intrigued expression.

I looked up at her with a grin that unabashedly displayed my exuberance. "Oh I'm just messing around, making this up as I go along," I said. "But I would absolutely love to hear you play something."

Suddenly Melpomene's eyes widened, and I wondered if something within her had been stirred as a broad smile formed upon her face. "All right," she said, as she walked over to me.

I scooted over to the edge of the bench, allowing her to place her hands on the middle keys. She paused briefly and took a deep breath as if to summon forth her talents, then began to play.

I watched with blithesome reverence as her small, slender fingers hovered and danced over the keys, as if she were gently petting a great beast for the purpose of taming it. And tame it she did, as her touch managed to create something sublimely beautiful. It was just a silly little song, nothing that symphonic scholars would be debating the merits of for centuries to come, but that wasn't important. Finally after completing the opening, she began to sing as she played.

" _Hey there beautiful_

Hey there magical

It's so wonderful

To talk to you again

Hey there talented

Hey there gifted

We're so riveted

To have you here

If you only knew

What it means to know someone such as you

You are what inspires us

To be something more than what we are

Hey there wondrous

Hey there marvelous

It's so great for us

To know a friend like you

Hey there radiant

Hey there brilliant

What a thrill it for us

To be with you again"

She did not possess the most melodic voice I'd ever heard, but that hardly mattered at that moment. As her lips moved in perfect harmony with her fingers, I knew I was witnessing something extraordinary.

" _And later tonight_

When you head back home

And look in the mirror

When you're all alone

And you shed some tears

For what could have been

And you curse yourself

For what should have been

And you hate where you're going

And you hate where you've gone

And the days are empty

And the nights are long

You can't find the answers

Things are falling apart

You yearn to turn it around

But you don't know where to start

I wish I could be there

To help lessen the pain

Or come to the rescue

When you're out in the rain

Stand by your side

Until the battle is won

And hold you tight

When you're coming undone

I wanted to tell you

Make you comprehend

That when I'm collapsing

And at my wits' end

And I need a reminder

Of what makes life worthwhile

I just think your eyes

And I remember your smile"

Her voice drowned out utterly all the others that constantly competed for my attention, and briefly it seemed as though I had succeeded in escaping from myself. The scene was imbued with an uncorrupted warmth that I had not experienced for a very long time. She quickly glanced at me and surely saw my joyous unfeigned smile, but I knew even that could not accurately convey how I felt throughout that moment.

" _Hey there beautiful_

Hey there magical

It's so wonderful

To talk to you again"

She removed her hands from the keys and placed them upon her lap.

"That was flawless," I asserted.

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Not really," she said modestly, "but thank you."

"That was a pretty decent song too," I said. "Simple, not too fancy. I guess you could call it functional. Barely, anyway. Do you happen to know who wrote it?"

She shook her head and gave a half-chuckle. "You did, Tangent," she said, as if wholly anticipating that I would not remember.

"Hmm, really..." I said, embarrassed by the selectiveness of my memory. I tilted my eyes downward in order to think. "Do you recall if it's directed toward anyone in particular?"

Melpomene shrugged. "I doubt it," she replied. "You probably just wrote it to write it."

"Hmm, yes probably," I agreed. It was most likely the case.

Melpomene lifted herself off the piano bench and headed into her kitchen. "Would you care to indulge in some spirits?" she asked, trying to speak over the sound of her rummaging through a cabinet.

"Sure," I said as I walked back to the couch and sat down.

"You like Bohymic Brandy?"

"That sounds splendid."

She returned from the kitchen grasping a snifter in each hand. She gave one to me, and I held it up high, then took a healthy sip of its caramel-colored contents.

"This is quite good," I said.

"You do know your laws forbid the consumption spirits within the home? You can only have them within the confines of a levity hub," she said. She then sat upon a chair facing the couch and took a sip of her own.

"I lose track of all the pointless minutiae," I responded.

"You aren't even wondering how I got a hold of some?" she asked wryly.

"I honestly could not care less." I took another sip. "This is exceptional Bohymic Brandy," I said looking at the snifter.

Melpomene shook her head and half-chuckled again. There then came an extended moment during which neither of us said anything. I sat on the edge of the couch, hunched over, taking sips of brandy. I glanced up and saw her looking intensely at the floor, and I wondered very much what she was thinking. I also wondered how appropriate it would be for me to inform her of how positively stunning she looked in that gown.

"Heh," she said at last. "So you really liked my playing?"

I nodded emphatically as I swallowed a final mouthful of brandy. "Oh absolutely. The playing, the singing, all of it was superlative. I loved it. Your talents are amazing to behold," I said, struggling not to pile on the praise so much that it would then seem insincere.

"I see, I see," she said smiling. "You know... you seem to have somehow rediscovered your humanity."

I was struck with unease by the implications of her observation, though I managed to take it in stride.

"I wasn't aware that I had ever misplaced it," I said, almost coyly.

She sighed, and gave a somewhat pained, grievous smile. "You could have fooled me."

I returned her smile with a far more lighthearted one of my own. "Perhaps I've fooled a great many people," I said.

"The number is always smaller than you think," Melpomene replied, looking off to the side. She paused, then looked at me again and continued. "At least it seems you may have finally realized that you are no god. Even if you are still wearing that..."

I looked down, and for the first time that night noticed what I had been wearing. A pristine white greatcoat covered me from my neck down to my shins. The stately, double-breasted garment was fully buttoned except at the very top, revealing just a bit of a jet black vest beneath. The six buttons were made of brass and each boasted a brilliant luster. It was the garb of the Primoris. As I looked upon my attire, I wondered how it was not at all defiled during my treacherous march up the stone stairway.

Suddenly I felt terribly uncomfortable, as if the coat and vest were constricting and suffocating me. The mere sensation of the clothes rubbing against my skin became amplified, and made me somewhat nauseated. Noticing the morose expression on Melpomene's face, I became overcome by embarrassment, and wished so much to be able to just tear off the uniform and replace it immediately with something more fitting.

I tried to put my attire out of mind completely. "I have always known that I am no god. Always," I said, attempting to put the conversation back on track.

"I'm not so sure," she said.

"Ha," I laughed, having already rediscovered my cagey demeanor in just a short moment, "I think you may have mistaken simple aplomb for sheer vanity."

She remained doubtful, and I look the sullenness evident in her eyes as an ominous sign that she was about to withdraw from me once more. Having already given so much to reach such a point, I decided that further disclosure would be necessary to keep her from slipping out of focus.

"I was always convinced," I continued, "that I was capable of achieving great things. Capable – not destined."

"And do you think you've fulfilled this promise?" she asked curiously.

"No," I responded flatly. "I know I haven't. For if I had, then it would have fulfilled me in return. At least, one would hope that's how it works."

A thoughtful expression formed on her face. "Do you want to know what I see when I stand out on the terrace and look with disgust upon the vile, rotten fruits of your madness?"

Wide-eyed, I nodded my head so as to signal her to continue. She did just that.

"I see an obsession with the abstract. A deranged need to deconstruct the constructs, to replace one foul system with another. And for what? To claim ownership of a flag upon a mountaintop?"

She spoke with an alluring fervency, the type of which I hadn't heard in a very long time. "Please, go on," I said, hoping not to come off as too enthusiastic.

"All of it is a monument to misguidedness." Her tone was quite impassioned, though the soft volume of her voice remained unchanged. "Because you tear along that course with your head down, and inevitably you disregard what is really important in life. The connections we make and the relationships we forge with other people."

I smiled. "You had me right up until the last part, Mel."

"What I tell you is true," she said in a tender tone.

"No, Melpomene. These connections of which you speak, I believe you assign far too much value to them. They can be beneficial and certainly good fun, but they are ultimately superficial," I said.

"They needn't be like that," she replied. Her gentle tone seemed to desperately implore me to believe her.

"But they must, due to their very nature," I said. "There will always be that which cannot be uncovered, and remains concealed from all who would pry. Even if I were to love you, you could still only know of me what I allowed you to know, nothing more." As those words left my mouth, I thought it very bizarre that I would permit myself to say such a thing.

"Love requires you to open yourself fully," she said, "so another may know you fully."

"The only person you can ever truly know is yourself," I asserted. "Yours are the only veils you can lift completely, through regular introspection and reflection. That is why in the end we are all very much alone. There is no merry troupe – we are merely solo actors who, thanks to chance, have all been thrown onto the same stage to perform." I began to worry that an overuse of metaphor could discredit whatever point I was trying to make.

"I don't think it's always just a result of chance. I honestly believe some of our encounters are fated to happen. That's why the bonds created with certain people are all the more special, because you know it was supposed to happen," she said.

I sighed. "Bonds... just a euphemism for saying that two people currently find their relationship to be useful or convenient. I just don't know, Mel," I said while shaking my head. I was fully aware that she would likely consider much of what I'd said to be terribly unfeeling, cynical, and downright unpleasant. But to withhold such things would have made the conversation a sham. "Honesty can be quite unpleasant," I whispered.

There was then an extended period of silence. I didn't feel as if it were marked by awkwardness or uneasiness though – it was simply two people quietly digesting what had been said. I was then struck by a thought unrelated to the previous conversation, and it caused me to chuckle aloud.

Melpomene, who had been staring toward the grand piano, looked back at me. "What is it?" she asked.

I looked up at her with a jovial grin. "They're on their way, aren't they?" I asked.

"Yes," she confirmed calmly, and without a hint of hesitation. "Not immediately, but soon enough."

I nodded. "I thought so," I said, the smile still etched upon my face. "Well I had better go meet with Sobrius. Don't want him to get too cranky."

I stood up, gave a farewell nod, and headed for the door. Though I briefly considered embracing her before I exited, I decided to preserve things as they were. Just as I was leaving, Melpomene called to me.

"Tangent," she said warmly. "Don't but a stranger, huh?"

I paused, and let the sincere affection in her voice wash over me. I let out deep breath, as a bit of the heaviness that had been draped upon my spine seemed to simply evaporate. Then I turned my head to face her again.

"I won't," I said, as I savored a final moment in the presence of her beauty.

Shortly thereafter I was descending the spiral staircase and returning to the Main Study. Sobrius, as I expected, had been waiting for me. He stood with his back to me, his hands folded behind him, facing the wall lined with stained glass windows. I walked right past him and sat in the desk chair. I contemplated for a moment leaning back and putting my feet up on the desk, but decided against it.

"You have something to report, I presume?" I said in an almost mischievous tone.

"If the dross yearns so much for an idol, then I shall provide them with precisely that," he said excitedly.

I sighed. "Yes, Sobrius."

"I will bestow upon their brokenness a new resplendent tenet which will render them spellbound in perpetuum," he continued. "An interminable era of order and prosperity shall follow, and for that they will call me Primoris."

I sighed again, and this time rolled my eyes as well. "Yes, Sobrius. I am aware that I once said those things."

His tone then turned quite caustic. "Now all I see is someone spellbound by a wretched, ignoble prisoner. I am far too sickened to even ask how anyone could have tumbled to such depths. But perhaps I should have seen this coming."

I thought about saying something to the effect of Melpomene being the only one of us who wasn't truly a prisoner, but decided it would be senseless. Besides, by that point I was convinced that Sobrius was simply talking to himself.

"I am not in the mood for any of this, Sobrius," I said, weary and bored. All that was missing was the inclusion of a loud, conspicuous yawn.

"No, of course not," he said curtly. "Then I suppose we should turn our attentions to the more serious matters at hand?"

"Oh yes, exceedingly serious," I said.

"We have lost all communications with Orbital Platform Heimdall," he stated.

I leaned back in the chair and folded my arms. "Yet another instance of sabotage?"

"That is what was theorized at first. However, it has now been over six hours and still nothing. No mere act of sabotage should take nearly that long to rectify. Doubtlessly something else is going on here," he said, uttering his words very quickly.

"I see."

"I have dispatched the nearest fleet, the Second Tutelary, to investigate."

"All right, good good," I said with a quick series of nods. "Well keep me abreast and all that."

"There is something... unsettling about this situation. I wish to assign it top priority," said Sobrius. I presumed that meant he already had.

"Unsettling? Oh Sobrius you and I both know that you could never become... unsettled," I said with roguish glee. "Worry not, old friend, there is nothing that could put our perfect little world in peril. Don't you agree?"

He finally turned to look at me, and while his expression was one of disdain, I swore I could still see in it a glimmer of the vibrant, droll young man I once knew.

"About the perfection or the peril?" he said.

"Indeed. Ha ha," I laughed as Sobrius walked briskly over the staircase and headed back up to the roof.

I spent the next several minutes – though it may have been hours, or even days – sitting in front of my desk terminal, staring blankly at a map of the world I had created. It was a world conceived by ambition, built on force, and sustained by steadfast surveillance and constant modification. I could recall times sitting in that chair for what seemed near-eternities monitoring, reviewing, scrutinizing everything down to the finest detail. Education, finance, transportation – I desired to be submerged in all of it. I had often summoned my private shuttle, the Apotheosis, so that I could witness construction of a new city or the unveiling of the latest fusion reactor facility. Then with unyielding ardor I would return to my desk and continue to meticulously, and oftentimes ruthlessly, toil in the quest to perfect my world.

But as I sat there looking upon the screen, I knew I was utterly bereft of the passion and tenacity that had fueled me in years past. In their place were things I had not known for a very long time. Boredom. Indifference.

On numerous occasions, Sobrius would enter the room and update me personally on the latest of a series of dilemmas and crises. The sudden malfunction of an electrical grid, the disappearance of a cargo freighter, abnormal energy readings in the Asteroid Rim – all events that seemed to confirm what Melpomene had told me earlier. They were indeed coming.

"Thank you, Sobrius," I would utter listlessly each time he had finished droning on. "Your continued dedication is greatly appreciated."

But Sobrius was no fool. I knew he was aware of my disinterest, and I could tell by his mannerisms that he was perturbed by it. But I began to wonder if even Sobrius truly cared anymore, or if he was simply going through the motions due to a sense of personal obligation.

****

I was seated at my desk much like always, observing real-time satellite imagery of a storm forming along the coast of the southernmost continent. Since I was only going to sit there and watch time elapse anyway, I thought I might as well do so in a manner that could at least pass as mildly interesting. It was certainly more entertaining than watching the numbers on the clock march toward infinity.

Unbeknownst to me however, a seed had recently found its way into my mind, burrowing itself deep within. Within moments it germinated, and its fruits rushed to the forefront of my thoughts. Suddenly I felt the pressing need to seek out Vorago so that I could ask him a question.

My back and legs creaked and cried as I sat up, but I paid to them no attention. Without bothering even to shut off the desk terminal, I hastily went through the doorway then breezed through the Great Garnet Hall. Then beyond the observatory, down the East Stairwell, and past the Grand Vault. Finally I arrived at a place that I had once described as the physical manifestation of all the eccentricity in the world. A place where petty thoughts and wild aspirations seemingly came together to form the very floor beneath one's feet. A place that was called Vorago's Lair.

Though my trip from the Main Study had been determined and swift, I still had the time to consider how strange it felt tracing those steps. I had visited Vorago in his place of refuge countless times in the past. But for whatever reason, this particular walk to the Lair was accompanied by a bizarre feeling of unfamiliarity. Perhaps, I speculated, it was a result of not having taken that walk for so very long. But then, oddly enough, I wasn't even sure if it really had been very long at all.

I sighed and attempted to shrug off the peculiar thoughts. "It's always something... always something when it comes to Vorago," I muttered to myself.

I set foot in the Lair fully prepared to be awestruck. I was not disappointed.

"Just... wow," I said as I shook my head.

A series of floodlights had been strategically placed all around, successfully creating the illusion of being outdoors during midday. Seated in a lawn chair placed on a wooden deck was Vorago. Looking the pinnacle of relaxed, he was leaning backward with a cigarette in one hand and a half-empty glass bottle in the other. He was dressed in swim trunks, a dirty T-shirt that didn't seem to fit him correctly, and a pair of old-fashioned shades.

The deck overlooked an enormous indoor swimming pool, which at that moment was filled with water but empty of people. And positioned directly between Vorago and the pool, sprawled out on her stomach, was a woman lying on a beach towel.

As I stepped closer, Vorago lowered his shades and put his arms into the air, holding his bottle up high.

"Hey man!" he said jovially. "Glad you could come on by." He then stood up and walked toward me.

As I stood before Vorago I could see by the label that his bottle contained rum. I could see also see that the woman on the towel was clearly attempting to tan herself, as she was topless and wearing only light blue bikini bottoms. Her face was on the towel and hidden from sight, leaving a damp light brown ponytail as the only part of her head in view.

Vorago knew what I was looking at. "Man, this buddy of mine," he said with a sly smile, "that's his older sister!" He was whispering for some reason, even though we were standing near enough that she would definitely have heard so long as she was not sleeping.

I looked him with bewilderment. "Wait... so what... you're just..." I could barely contemplate it let alone say it. "You're just sitting here, hoping you eventually see her flip over?"

He laughed boisterously, making his previous use of whispering seem all the more pointless.

"I just... I ..." I gave up trying to form words and simply smiled and shook my head.

"Man, sometimes you just have to get back to basics, you know?" said Vorago. "Indulge in those simpler joys from simpler times."

I glanced over at the pool again, watching the short artificial waves ripple on by. The floodlights gave the crystal clear water a beautiful shine. It then occurred to me how odd it was that the Lair was so quiet, so serene.

"So," I said, thankfully able to speak again, "the last time I was here, wasn't this a bathhouse? I mean, a gigantic bathhouse?"

"Wow, really?" He then paused for a moment to think. "It's really been that long since you've been down here, huh?"

"I guess so," I said. "And not only was it a bathhouse, there were something like five hundred people here, weren't there? Some in strange costumes, some wearing only masks. Oh, and there were wild animals everywhere. And some of them even wore masks. And fruits dangled from the ceiling..." The memory of the debauchery became more vivid the more I went on.

"Wow, yeah. That was a long time ago," said Vorago. "This place has gone through several phases since then."

"Oh I see," I said. "So it's the Lair that undergoes phases. You're just along for the ride."

He nodded insouciantly, then did a quick look over at his buddy's older sister. "There are always ways to spice up a party," he said. "Oh yeah, if you feel like it, do you want to get in a game?"

"A game of what?" I asked curiously.

Vorago took a long swig from his rum bottle. "I've got a pool table behind the deck."

I took a few steps past Vorago and peeked over the side of the deck, as if I required visual proof. Sure enough, there was an old-fashioned nine foot pool table. It appeared to be in excellent condition, either because Vorago took good care of it or because he almost never used it. I presumed the latter, of course.

"Hey sure, I'm game," I said. "But didn't tell me a while ago that you were sick of pool?"

"If I did, it was because I'd been playing it too much, too often," replied Vorago. Then he leapt over the deck's short railing and onto the floor.

I followed, walking slowly down the steps to the side. Vorago handed me a cue stick then tossed me a cube of chalk.

"Rack them up," I said as we prepared to play. We each knew the game would be 8-ball – no word of reminder needed to be spoken.

I watched Vorago's terrible break shot unsurprisingly fail to sink a single ball. As I prepared to take my turn, I could feel the knots in which apathy had tied me loosening ever so slightly. It was strange playing a game that we had once enjoyed so much, so often – enjoyed being so comically awful at it. A wonderful sense of nostalgia was tempered by an understanding of how different things had become.

Years earlier when we would play, we would spend hours venting and plotting deep into the night. We'd analyze the triumphs and follies of great historical figures – information we gleaned from the dust jackets of books we never actually read. As we strolled around the table planning our next shots, we would also be planning our conquests. Passionate diatribes would often drown out the sound of stick hitting ball. The indignities of the present and the endless promise of the future were the topics of concern always.

But there in the Lair, as I shook my head after missing yet another easy bank shot, I knew things had changed very much since those days of restlessness. Though I did wish to savor the moment, it was not the present nor even the future that was gripping my thoughts.

"So what made you come down here, anyway?" asked Vorago after he somehow managed to sink his third consecutive shot.

"Oh, you know. I just wanted to indulge my need for depravity. To carouse with the outcasts. That sort of thing," I said dryly as I tried to ignore his run of good luck.

"Really?" said Vorago as he committed a double hit.

"No, not really," I replied. "But I did suddenly need to ask you something."

"All right," he said.

"Do you remember you once told me something about the two segments of the flawless universe?" I asked while perusing the table for a shot I had even the slightest chance of making.

Intrigued, Vorago squinted his eyes. "Go on..." he said.

"You said that you were a segment of a flawless universe. And that roaming the world was one of great beauty who was the other segment. If you were to join with her physically, that universe would be made whole, and it would reign supreme. The two of you together as one, as that universe." I still couldn't find a shot worth taking.

"Yes, I do remember something like that," he replied. "But are you sure I told you? Weren't you the one who told me?"

"Perhaps..." I said. "Perhaps."

"Still, I think you've long since disproved such a theory." He chuckled. "We both have."

"I don't think it is the type of thing that is capable of being completely disproved," I said, finally attempting a shot as I did.

"Haha, all right, I'll grant you that. Nonetheless, you thought you'd found the other segment before. On several occasions, I might add."

"Yes. Yes I did." I nodded slowly.

"And then once you finally realized you were wrong, it was only a matter of time before you thought you'd found it again. So full of optimism and certainty. Every time."

"I did truly believe it too," I said, almost whispering and still nodding. "Every time."

"Maybe we have become wiser with age," said Vorago as he applied chalk to his cue stick.

"Sure," I replied. "If being wise is synonymous with embracing a doctrine of pessimism, and wholly rejecting the theories and whimsies that once provided meager shreds of hope."

Vorago laughed. "Oh now that is something I'm positive you've already told me."

"Perhaps," I said smiling.

****

"So, it has at long last come to this, has it? They have arrived? Well then, I am going to take one of the Safmurges," I said.

Sobrius was standing just off to my side, but frozen in his obdurate expression he may as well have been in a different room. I took a step toward the elevator, then turned back to look at him.

"Aren't you going to warn me of the dangers? Or at least lecture me about the fruitlessness of my intended endeavor?" I asked, intrigued by his silence.

He shook his head, and still did not look at me. "For what purpose?" he said. "You are not so much of a fool that you aren't already utterly aware of such things." He sighed with frustration. "I am so very tired of pointless words."

"I see," I replied. "Well then, time for some futile action instead."

I turned away again and pressed the button to activate the elevator. I looked up at the five red lights above the door and waited for each of them, one by one, to turn green. As I did, Sobrius spoke again.

"How very fitting, how pitifully expected it is that you would rise to meet the moment only until failure has already been assured. Go, take empty comfort in your belief that you acted. The possibility of success, of having to take the reins of a life of distinction – such things will no longer trouble your frightened, petty mind. Go," said Sobrius.

I smiled, and continued to face the elevator. "Tired of pointless words, huh Sobrius?" I said.

With that, the fifth light turned green and the elevator opened. I stepped inside, pressed the button for the sub-basement, and leaned against the back wall. At that moment I was not contemplating the magnitude of what was to come, nor was I at all reflecting upon anything Sobrius had said during his little rant. Instead, I stood there and focused completely on the low humming sound the elevator made as it sped to its destination. It was soothing, almost therapeutic – like listening to the whir of a ceiling fan on a humid summer night. It was a relaxing contrast to the grating sound of someone yammering on about nonsense.

Finally the elevator came to a stop, its door opened once more, and I stepped into the massive hangar located deep beneath the Marble Cerebrum. The air in the hangar was noticeably freezing, though I managed to refrain from shivering as I gazed upwards at the majestically high ceiling. My steps echoed loudly as I walked, and the incredibly bright lights that lined the walls forced me to squint a bit.

Within the hangar were six rows of Safmurges, ten in each row. The Safmurge was the backbone of the fleet – a sturdy and reliable multirole craft that was simple to build and easy to maintain. Its attributes made it indispensable during the days leading to victory. Though its time at the top of technological mountain had long since passed, it was still very much a cultural icon as well as a highly valued asset.

With my adrenaline poised to surge, I was about to hop into one of the Safmurges when my eyes caught sight of an odd craft situated down at the opposite end of the hangar. It was a large machine, imposing and red, and unlike the Safmurges it was parked without another craft anywhere in its vicinity.

I took the short walk and stood beside the peculiar machine. Instantly my mind identified it. "Doomsday," I said aloud.

The craft was the end result of the Doomsday Contingency Initiative, a plan put in place by Sobrius many years prior. The plan was to create an entirely new line of heavy support vessels capable taking out an invading fleet in the event all other defensive measures had failed. Unfortunately the hour of reckoning was at hand, and the prototype I looked upon was still the only one of its kind ever built.

"I'm sure we'll get around to it," I could recall saying when Sobrius had mentioned the issue months earlier. "Though I doubt we'll ever really need them."

I remembered the ship being officially designated as XCC-004, or something similarly nondescript and lifeless. However, I had bestowed upon it a far more appropriate moniker – the Finale. I had watched countless videos detailing its awe-inspiring abilities, and even took a computer simulated flight training course created for it, just for fun. Sadly, no actual living person had ever flown the Finale, as the pilot recruitment program never got off the ground, as it were.

"We'll find someone qualified to fly it, no need to worry," I had said to Sobrius one evening while approving university course catalogs.

Such recollections brought me to smile. "Or grotesquely unqualified, whatever the case may be," I said as I leaned against the wing of the great crimson craft.

I looked at the sensor bar next to the cockpit, and a light beside flashed green, indicating that it had recognized me. With that, the canopy opened and I was able to climb inside the craft. I buckled myself in, and immediately the dashboard lit up. Any apprehension I'd felt regarding my ability to recall those training videos from years ago evaporated when a friendly female voice began to speak.

"Hello, and welcome to the flight compartment of the XCC-004 Finale," the voice said in a soothing and affable North Cliffs accent. "Please indicate whether this is a training session or a combat mission."

"Combat mission," I stated clearly.

"You have chosen combat mission. Full shield capabilities and live ammunition are now functional," the voice replied.

I smiled and shook my head. "You aren't a self-aware artificial intelligence are you?" I chuckled. "No, I guess not, otherwise you wouldn't need me here, would you?"

"I do not understand the question."

I laughed. "No, I suppose you wouldn't."

The brief exchange evoked memories of another conversation I once had with Sobrius. I told him that no matter the advances in technology, I wanted craft to always be piloted by human beings rather than artificial intelligence. In my view, a human mind would always be far better suited to react and adapt to unforeseen situations. Sobrius however disagreed vociferously, and spouted a long list of reasons why automated piloting systems would be more reliable and dependable. I would have none of it though, and refused to eschew human resourcefulness for a supposed increase in cold precision. Sobrius finally relented, more than likely a result of simply wanting to end the argument rather than being at all moved by my words.

"At least your way will probably be significantly less expensive," was his closing remark.

A noticeable whirring sound filled the cockpit as the craft's engines began to power up. Automatically the Finale began to move toward the nearest hangar door, gaining speed as it approached.

"Just a short moment," said voice of the craft.

Suddenly I could no longer prevent that accent from gaining control of my thoughts, and I was briefly whisked away to the halcyon streets of North Cliffs. I recalled a time, many years prior, when I stepped into a quaint little bookstore located right in the center of the town. Though I was unsure who, if anyone, had accompanied me on that trip, the dusty scent of the store and the sound of the bell that rang as the door opened were still palpable in my mind.

Most vivid in my memory though was the vision of the beautiful young woman employee seated behind the counter. She sat there reading a book that I'd once promised myself I would read but never got around to it, and she appeared to be roughly halfway done. We shared the same hair color, and she appeared to be very close to my age. She was even wearing a similar outfit, though her clothes were a bit tidier than mine. As I looked at her, I couldn't help thinking that she represented what I could have been with only the slightest bit more effort – especially considering at the time I was once again between jobs.

She looked up at me from behind her stylish glasses and asked if I needed anything. I responded affirmatively, though my memory was quite hazy regarding the specifics. Perhaps I asked about a particular book, or a release date, or a particular author. I was also quite certain that I threw in a very clever joke. Whatever it was that I had said, I was positive she responded with a kind laugh and a nod. Then, just as she was about to turn around and check something in the storeroom, she smiled at me warmly and spoke.

"Just a short moment," is what she said, her accent conspicuous and lovely. The recollection coincided with an uncomfortable shiver down my back. I realized it was almost a certainty that the voice of the Finale was made to mimic the voice of that beautiful bookstore clerk.

For reasons I could not recall, I ended up leaving that bookstore before she had returned from the storeroom. Perhaps I was running late for some other engagement, or maybe I had been accompanied by someone else and he or she wanted to get going. Whatever the reason, I never did she her again.

"Hangar door is now open," said the voice. "Departure is imminent."

With that, the whirring shifted to a great roar as the ship exited the hangar at tremendous velocity. Soon thereafter I was free from the comfort of the planet's atmosphere and ascended eagerly into the inauspicious darkness of space.

****

The elevator seemed to move more sluggishly this time around than it had earlier on its way downward. As I ascended to the bunker once more, my mind was nearly idle and clouded with fatigue. I wanted desperately to lie down, clutch a soft blanket, and immediately drift off to an interminable rest. I felt very worn. I felt very old.

Finally the elevator doors opened, and I stepped back into the bunker control room. Sobrius was there, still in the same position he was when I'd last seen him, his back turned and arms folded.

"Ah, welcome back. Did you have a fun little sequence of gratuitous heroic action?" he asked with false enthusiasm.

"The craft, it flew and maneuvered like a dream, as they say," I replied. I went and stood just off to his right.

"Do they say?" He actually went so far as to mockingly place his had on his chin, as if in actual contemplation.

"Yes. It was exhilarating beyond imagination. I'd go so far as to say it was the most character-affirming experience I could ever know." I wasn't sure how true those words were, but saying them aloud seemed to uplift my spirits just a bit.

"A shame then that I missed it," said Sobrius. "But I'm sure it will be reenacted with great fervor for centuries to come. Perhaps then others will have the honor of sharing but a slice of the majesty of your deeds."

"I exited the hangar and sped unflinchingly toward the great armada that had been sent to topple us from our perch," I said.

At this, Sobrius took a deep breath and shook his head as he came to the horrible realization that I was about to recount the entire sequence to him.

"Yes, and such a lovely perch it is." He paused and looked around the bunker. "Down here."

I couldn't help but smile a bit at his retort, then I continued. "I soon felt a great uneasiness. It wasn't really fear or apprehension, mind you. But plunging – no, charging – headlong into the unknown and unpredictable like that... Still, the possibility that I might perish never crept into my thoughts, not even once. I'm not really sure why. Perhaps I honestly cannot even fathom such a thing ever occurring."

"You are utterly invincible, after all," said Sobrius with a sarcastic nod.

Telling the story seemed to reenergize me, but only just slightly. While my mind was functioning well enough that I was capable once more of verbosity and embellishment, there was still a lingering weariness enveloping me that I could not shake.

"Perhaps. Such a possibility cannot be dismissed, after all. But yes, exigent and unscripted, it was everything I could have desired," I stated.

"Oh, of course. Your two favorite qualities, to be sure."

I could hear clearly terrible rumblings that sounded like thunder, and instinctively a tilted my eyes and head upward. I wasn't sure if the noises were coming from the ground level, or if the carnage was already only just a few levels above us. I continued my recounting in a vain attempt to ignore what was going on.

"Though the onboard computer was effective in quickly informing me of which button did what, the speed of the craft itself took some getting used to," I said. "Those first few minutes were extremely disorienting, I'll admit. But eventually the craft felt like an extension of myself."

"No wonder it was so up to the task," he said, at the very least proving that he was still listening.

"Looming ahead was an enemy fleet comprised of nearly a two dozen capital ships. Silo destroyers, heavy frigates, battlecruisers – enough firepower capable of inflicting critical hits on the defenses of Arx."

"Seems like you were staring down quite a menacing foe," said Sobrius.

The thunderous roars had already gotten considerably louder, and I could no longer pretend that Sobrius could not hear them.

"I elected to use the element of surprise to my advantage by doing the opposite of what they would expect, so I charged toward the center of their formation. The battlecruisers were positioned on the flanks, presumably to snuff out any attempt at a flanking maneuver. But of course, this made the middle a far softer target. Obviously though, it also meant that most of the armada could collapse their fire upon me."

"Fortune does indeed favor the bold, does it not?" Sobrius said, smirking sarcastically.

I smiled. There I was, attempting to ignore our predicament by telling a suspenseful and stirring tale of great valor. Yet I found it fascinating that Sobrius ostensibly was not doing anything special to remain poised and calm.

"That it does," I agreed. "So I pressed onward, and once the enemy was in range, I fired off a ferocious barrage of riptide missiles. They streaked across the darkness of space, and I watched with pitiless glee as they struck a frigate, tearing through its hull."

"How exciting. I'm sure it was a hell of a show."

"Hell is what the guns of those heavy frigates at close range looked to deliver upon me. To endure the onslaught, one must create an impenetrable screen around their own thoughts, and focus solely on performing the constant evasive actions necessary for survival. It is like sinking into a trance, really."

"Interestingly enough, I feel as if I'm doing just that right now," said Sobrius without missing a beat.

The screens scattered about the room were broadcasting live footage of all the miserable defeats occurring throughout the world I had created. I thought it would be pathetic to close my eyes or even stare down at the floor, and so I refused to do so. As a result there was always a few screens in my peripheral vision no matter which direction I decided to look.

"Of course, it is also quite nice to be flying a craft equipped with a pair of riposte cannons. With their adeptness at targeting and chewing up incoming fire, they are the best companions you can have on such a treacherous mission. Unfortunately they can't catch everything, and as I swept past the first row of ships the Finale shook as several shots struck the shield."

"It all sounds so frighteningly alliterative," Sobrius remarked.

"The control stick was covered in sweat from my hands, and my heart thumped wildly. I could hear the terrible thunderous sounds from the impact."

"Even while in your trance? Astonishing!"

It would have been quite appropriate had a particularly deafening explosion occurred at that moment, but the events above declined to oblige. There was still plenty of noise though.

"I broke hard to the right, then to the left, then to the right again, in the hopes of making it more difficult to focus a stream of fire upon me. It was a sound tactic, but it took its toll on the craft's systems – to say nothing of my nerves."

"Ah, but to say nothing of your nerves would be to diminish the valiancy with which you stared down such overwhelming opposition. Would it not?" Sobrius pondered.

"Soon I found myself situated near the center of the formation," I said excitedly. "Though I had been firing off riptide missiles at every opportunity, being constantly on the defensive made it nearly impossible to concentrate fire on any target for very long. As a result, I had damaged some ships but hadn't taken any out."

"Yes, I did notice the lack of large, pretty explosions in this story. Though I'm sure that will be remedied soon," said Sobrius, presumably making a subtle reference to our impending fates.

"So I hovered there, surrounded, knowing this would be my only opportunity to inflict a real blow to the enemy. My heart was pounding, and though the main batteries of about a dozen ships were poised to lock on to me, I did my best to take deep breaths and focus."

There came an awful sound of something very nearby shattering or collapsing. It may have been a door or wall, or perhaps a mechanized sentry apparatus. Whatever it as, it triggered the emergency lights within the bunker. They had been merely flickering to that point, but were suddenly flashing with palpable franticness.

"My word, this is dramatic, isn't it? Your story, I mean," said Sobrius, apparently losing his grip on the art of subtlety.

Sounds that sought to unhinge I had little difficulty in tuning out. But the constant flashing yellow and red light ungraciously pervading the bunker was a different beast entirely. Still I was determined to finish my tale.

"As I locked on to all available targets with the craft's most potent weapon, the haymaker missile, I tell you I could feel within me the pivotal nature of the moment. In it I was briefly reinvigorated – reborn – as if it were the old days all over again. It was me or them, and boldly I held my sword high and let loose the haymakers upon our foes," I said.

"Is this the part where everything moved in slow motion?"

"The missiles struck with a manifest vengeance, tearing to pieces numerous vessels. But there were simply too many of them, Sobrius. Though the Finale and its pilot had unmistakably proven their mettle in such a dire juncture, only so much could be done. My bold stroke elicited a nearly instantaneous and ferocious rebuttal from one of the battlecruisers. The Finale stoutly endured the vicious counterattack as best it could, but as every warning light and sound in the cockpit flashed and blared emphatically, it was clear that it could not bear any further hardship. The shields were holding, but only barely."

"What an unimaginably tenuous situation," quipped Sobrius. "And now the thrilling escape from the shores of the isle of total extinction, I'm sure." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sure," he repeated wearily in a lower voice.

"The onboard computer nearly with pleaded me to approve an immediate withdrawal from the combat zone, and I grudgingly obliged. The emergency boosters fired, and my back slammed against the seat as the Finale raced back to the hangar. During the return, I admit that the sense of rebirth that had germinated during battle had already shed away completely. Shaken by the undeniable preponderance of those who would rise up to claim my head, I felt my sense of purpose and resolve unravel once more." A horrid shiver cascaded along my spine. "I felt small... and shamed."

As I uttered those last five words, I finally allowed my eyes to really survey the room. With my recounting complete, all I could do was digest the madness that surrounded me. As the macabre festival of sounds and light continued, I started to wonder if I would have preferred to have had no warning at all.

Sobrius opened his eyes. "Did you know that once you're strapped in, the onboard computer is constantly monitoring your vital signs?" he asked with a sudden vigor. "Had you perished in battle, the craft – assuming it were still capable of doing so – would have known to automatically return to base. Ha, I'm picturing a scenario in which the pilot refused to approve a withdrawal, despite an utterly hopeless situation. Imagine then if the computer were to release a toxic gas into the cockpit, or send a fatal electrical surge coursing through the pilot seat, thus triggering the automatic withdrawal. My, wouldn't that be amusing?"

His comments all but forced me to smile, even if they weren't intended to do so.

"Oh incidentally, what color were the warning lights? The ones that flashed within the cockpit, I mean. Not the ones flashing so radiantly before us now," said Sobrius, abandoning subtlety altogether.

"I... honestly don't remember," I replied. My time in the Finale was an assault upon my senses, a ceaseless string of memorable moments. I presumed something as unimportant as the color of the warning lights simply got lost in the clamor.

"Mmm. How intriguing," said Sobrius with a slow nod. I was well aware he was implying that the entire incident never took place, though I couldn't bring myself to care.

"I suppose now... it's only a matter of time," I said with a level of composure that surprised even myself.

"It has always been only a matter of time. Ever since the day you apparently lost the ability to be engrossed by this entire endeavor," Sobrius said. "Was all of this really not good enough to prevent you from slipping into a state of perpetual disinterest? You really needed more?" Despite his caustic tone, his words seemed to lack honesty. It was like he was feigning outrage out of little more than habit. I wondered if that was the only thing he had to hold on to at that point.

"Not more. Less. Much less," I replied calmly. "This just wasn't the answer, that's all. But as you said, I've known that for quite a while now."

"Ridiculous. All of this. Just ridiculous," grumbled Sobrius.

Our senses doubtlessly dulled and our attentions turned toward the blast doors, neither of us even noticed that the elevator had been activated until its doors opened.

Sobrius slowly turned his head. "Oh good, it's the other one," he muttered derisively.

Vorago stepped out of the elevator, dressed in his full regalia. Perhaps it was just another whim, or maybe he realized it would be the last time he could ever wear it.

"I figured this is the place to be," Vorago said nonchalantly. "Didn't want to miss out."

"I'm glad, Vorago," I replied with sincerity.

An automated voice blared from all directions. "Landing Base Five is overrun. Invasion forces inbound. Arx Security Grid is collapsing. Second, fourth, and fifth fleets are unresponsive. Landing Base Five is overrun..."

"Well Sobrius, any regrets as we stand now on the precipice of ruin?" I asked.

"For too long I remained innocent of the unsustainable nature of a masterpiece crafted by the inconstant and capricious. Anchored upon the sharpness of my will, I could not fathom the fragility of my supposed peers, and so regarded it as unnecessary to embrace fully the role of concrete beneath the sand upon which our citadel was built. For this, it was assured that I would be constrained upon a singular path that led to this very point," he said.

I sighed with a smile. I really had to give Sobrius credit. He was not going to allow an opportunity for one more pompous soliloquy to pass him by. As I glanced over at Vorago and saw that he was smirking, I wondered if he was thinking something similar.

"Sobrius, do you remember all those times we took the long drive to Nina Falls? We'd order those excellent hot sandwiches from the waterfront vendors, then go on the prowl looking for beautiful women to chat up." Despite all the dire commotion, I could still taste the sweet gravy in my mouth and feel the warm sea breeze against my neck as I uttered those words.

"I do believe you have me confused with someone else," Sobrius replied flatly.

"No. No I don't," I said smiling. "I miss those times. I regret not appreciating them, not savoring them. Well no, that isn't true. I did savor them. Just... not nearly enough." I sighed. "And what about you, Vorago?" I asked, turning toward him.

A thoughtful look became etched upon his face as he looked downward at the floor.

"I wish I had had a son," he said. His voice conveyed a solemnness I had never heard from him before.

For a moment the three of us stood in silence. The ferocity of the chaos seemed to recede ever so slightly, as though pushed back by the force of Vorago's reply.

Finally Sobrius spoke again. "Those sandwiches... they were always quite good," he admitted. "This should not have been the conclusion. We're not supposed to be standing here like this."

The moment cried out for a tragic figure to make a final climactic admission. I did not hesitate.

"We shouldn't be in this place at all," I said. "Fate, for all its cruelty and fickleness, decided to grant me everything I could possibly need. But I was a fool... I spurned the kind offering. I wanted instead to seek out something greater. What I found was my ruination. Such is the price for ingratitude, I suppose. The price for being a fool."

The words may have fulfilled my role, but they left me with a woefully hollow feeling. There could be no therapeutic effect, no real relief. Not when admitting to something I had known and alluded to for so very long.

"Or this was always to be your fate, all of our fates. No matter the path chosen," said Vorago. He then lifted his head up again and looked toward me. "But you reject that, don't you? Think that it lets you off too easily, huh?"

I nodded.

"Arx Security Grid has completely collapsed," the automated voice proclaimed. "All fleets are unresponsive. Bunker breach imminent..."

The three of us stood facing the blast doors. The sounds on the other side had become nearly deafening, as it would only be seconds until the enemy tore down our last line of defense. I wanted to believe we each stood there with defiance and dignity – yet simultaneously humbled by the acceptance of folly and fallibility.

"You have both served as a connection to my distant past, and thus have served as constant conspicuous reminders of what I once was.. and once could have been," I said. "For that I am immensely thankful."

As I finished speaking, there was suddenly a horrendous, debilitating high-pitched screeching. All that I knew was around me – Sobrius, Vorago, the screens, the blast doors, everything – rapidly faded away until seemingly all that existed was that incapacitating noise. And so the dream of contentment through power, doomed from the moment it was conjured, finally drew to a close.

### ACT III

"We apologize for any inconvenience."

With a groan I opened my eyes.

"We were just testing the fire alarms."

I sat up and stretched my arms above my head.

"On the bright side, it seems you've finally awoken."

I took note of my surroundings. A small rectangular room made to seem slightly bigger by having so few things in it. The bed in which I was lying, a dresser, a desk with a terminal. A light attached to the ceiling.

"Productive morning to you. Everyone here at the Mental Refreshment and Renewal Center of Cynosure would like to offer you a hearty welcome and wish you good morning."

"How gracious," I muttered while fighting back a yawn.

Three walls covered only by a dark green wallpaper that was curling at its edges. A fourth wall, to my right, comprised almost entirely of a large mirror. A door on the opposite end of the room, with a small speaker just above it.

"Well we always seek to treat our guests with the utmost graciousness and respect."

My eyes widened slightly as I realized my words could be heard.

"Guests are those who intend on leaving," I whispered almost inaudibly.

"We understand it is of your own volition that you are visiting us. That is quite a rare situation indeed. No matter, though."

The lengthy mirror was already making me uncomfortable. I considered the possibility that I was being watched from the other side, but that wasn't really the source of my unease. Besides, I presumed it was more likely there was a hidden camera in or near the speaker. Rather it was the notion of being watched from the inside that was truly discomforting. I simply did not want to be constantly in the presence of my reflection.

"Since you elected to go to sleep immediately following your arrival last night, we had to postpone your initial session until this afternoon. At that time one of our highly-trained priers will begin the process of determining what type of refreshment, if any, best suits your particular circumstance."

Neither the sheet nor the blanket seemed large enough to be able to cover the entire mirror – and I certainly didn't want to have to use both. There was also the little matter of finding something to make them adhere to the wall.

"Goodbye for now, and once again, welcome."

Then there was silence. I decided to wait a few minutes before speaking again.

"I would like to veil the mirror, if I could," I said finally.

No response. I could only be heard when being spoken to, it seemed. I noticed also the walls were devoid of any buttons or switches, which I could only assume meant the light was controlled remotely. Having no inclination to stand on the bed and fiddle with the bulb, I decided to simply place my head back onto my pillow.

"Priers? That sounds just fantastic," I said.

The afternoon could not arrive slowly enough.

****

"Productive afternoon to you!" I was already beyond weary of that salutation. "As you undoubtedly already know, you are to partake in a series of sessions that will be ongoing for the duration of your time here. It will help us to get an understanding of what it is you need."

I liked that word, partake. The sessions were not to be administered or conducted, nor was I going to be subjected to them. No, I was to partake in them. And I didn't even need to buy a ticket.

"Wonderful," I said.

"Now before we begin I must ask you something crucial – and I realize this may be a very difficult question, so please take your time. Why are you here, at the Center?" asked my visitor, a plain-looking man dressed in a matching sky blue top and bottom.

"Oh that isn't a difficult question at all. I'm here because I don't belong out there. It is really that simple."

"Don't belong out there? Why not?"

"Because apparently I'm completely and utterly mad," I replied as though it were painfully obvious.

"You think so?"

"On this subject it matters not what I think. The machinery out there has deemed it so, and reacts accordingly. So rather than be crushed beneath some giant pinion, I'll just stay put in here. It's less distressing that way. Less... maddening, shall we say."

"I think you should let us determine just how mad you are." His voice contained not even a sprinkling of arrogance, which threw me a bit.

"Yes, after all what could I possibly know about it?" I laughed. "The wind cares not if you think it is blowing. The river, unconcerned if you deny it is flowing. The stars, untroubled if you question their glowing. For the world is not swayed by your lack of knowing."

"What is that now?"

"An old saying from back home. It's about the futility of denying reality."

"Home, you say? And where is that?"

"Where was that," I corrected him. "Or when, if you prefer. Before the missteps..."

"Has regret played a role in bringing you here? You must not live with regret."

"So true. I hear regret never buys its own groceries and plays loud music all night. Awful roommate," I stated dryly.

Not even a hint of a smile. I presumed he simply didn't get the joke, since he appeared to be listening.

"Do you hate yourself?" he asked.

"What?" Though insulted by his inquiry, I was more shocked by it than anything. Quickly however I realized he was likely required to pose the question to all new guests.

"A wise man once said that one must never reach the point of hating oneself," he said. "You can hate where you've been, where you are, and even where you may be going. You can hate your surroundings, and condemn the madness and injustice of the world in which you live. But one must never hate oneself. For if you do, you have lost. You are beaten."

"A wise man?" I scoffed. "You speak as if wise men were genuine, substantive players here. No. Only within the realm of ancient fiction do wise men impart priceless wisdom upon those who seek answers. Venerable masters, often with long beards, dwelling atop mountains or behind waterfalls. They are plentiful in legends, but notably absent in reality. Which is precisely why in times of desperation, one can rely only on oneself."

"It is interesting you say that," he said. "For it was you who uttered those wise words that I spoke. Do you not remember? It was long ago, to another seeking wisdom."

I did remember. "Very long ago..." I said, looking off to the side. For a split-second I wanted to ask him how he could have known such a thing, but then I realized I didn't really care.

"You may yearn to possess the means to alter some of the choices you have made. To correct what you consider to be wrongs, mistakes. But can you be so sure they were mistakes? Perhaps not. A different path taken may possibly have caused you to become someone unrecognizable to who you are now on this productive day," he said.

It was clear from his affable manner that he believed his words to be heartening. I found it intriguing that I was supposed to be perturbed by the notion of possibly being someone else. Or he may have simply wanted to gauge my reaction.

"Yes. I am the choices I have made," I said.

"All right," he said, then paused to brush a piece of lint off his sky blue shirt. "Your sessions will begin shortly. Until then, hopefully you can find a productive way of using your time."

"Oh don't worry. I will."

****

Seated around a large boardroom table was a score of plutocrats – heads of nation states, media and industrial magnates, as well as leaders of powerful networks and cults. They had assembled to wrap up waning wars and economic panics, and undoubtedly sow the seeds for the next ones just around the corner.

The deliberations were decidedly loud, tempestuous, and uncivil. It was behavior unbecoming of such affluent men and women, and seemed more like lunchtime in an elementary school cafeteria. All that was missing were the plastic trays with cardboard milk boxes and little fruit cups, I joked to myself silently. As a result, the only way I could discern anything was when one person managed to shout significantly louder than all the rest.

"It is imperative the populations of the southern continent remain convinced that migration is not in their best interests," proclaimed one.

"In the spirit of fair competition, mining activities on Elegy must be limited to those already established there," said another.

I did not possess nearly enough importance to be seated at the head of the table, or even anywhere on its sides. Thankfully I was deemed worthy enough just to witness the proceedings at all. I stood in the corner, my back leaning against the wall, just beside the front door of the boardroom. Not a single word had I yet uttered, as I knew my role at the moment was that of observer.

"I cannot support an Asteroid Rim disarmament treaty that calls for the removal of orbital siege weaponry from the Asteroid Rim," I could hear one shout.

"The effects of backlash against systematic demonization of cultural icons must be studied more closely," bellowed another voice.

Though my eyes darted all around the room, there was one plutocrat I found to be far more fascinating than all the others. It was an old man, seated near the middle of the table. He was intriguing not for what he said, but rather for what he didn't say – which was very much of anything. The others were always shouting, banging fists on the table, and leaning forward in their chairs as though preparing to leap out of them. But the old man sat slouched, arms folded, and spent much of the meeting either nodding his head, shaking his head, or sitting perfectly still. Every now and then I saw him mutter something, as though talking to himself, and I wondered if it would have been audible even had everyone else been silent. Floating in a sea of puerile madness, he seemed the lone representative of dignity.

More than tired or worn, he seemed downright bored. I could only imagine how many such meetings he had attended throughout the years. Maybe he hadn't always been so unassuming, so willing to blend into the background.

Finally I knew that it was my turn to speak, having surveyed in silence long enough. I removed a cigarette and lighter from my pants pocket.

"Um, hey everyone..." I said slowly in a kind of forced bashfulness. "Just a thought."

Though far from immediate reactions, everyone did eventually stop speaking and turn their eyes toward me. Their expressions were of palpable expectation. I lit the cigarette, took a long drag, then looked at the ceiling as I exhaled.

"The blockade of the port city of Jenser should be lifted," I stated firmly. "The situation is far more tense than need be. Just flood the border towns with cheap technology, say two generation-old stuff. Within six months the leadership will be completely abandoned. Jenser will be a ghost town."

I took another long drag then looked at everyone as I exhaled. Most wore stares of engrossment, while others were whispering amongst themselves while nodding with approval. I then looked over at the old man. The furrows around his eyes conveyed a bit of skepticism, and his arms remained folded as though he were still waiting to be impressed.

"Of course," I continued, "if you want to speed things along, you could always spread a rumor that the Blue Cataclysm is approaching, and it's bringing the Kyouken Crew along with it."

Those seated around the table who understood my obscure literary allusion, maybe a third of those in attendance, let out a good hearty laugh – most notable among them being the old man. Having successfully completed another mission, I tossed my cigarette into a receptacle beside the door.

At this, everyone began to stand up, shake hands, and exchange some pleasantries. The heads of nation states then walked single file out the front door of the room, each of them nodding to me as they passed by. The others exited quickly through the back door.

As the politicians posed and preened for the cameras that awaited them, I adeptly snuck off to the side unseen. I laughed to myself as I heard one of them boast that "prosperity for all eternity" was almost within reach.

Unsated, and propelled by a great eagerness to perform my next exploit, I hastily glided down a large staircase and through a grand lobby. In an instant I floated into a cozy little club, just the kind I wished to frequent whenever I had the chance. The lights were dimmed, and the smooth sound of a bass guitar filled every nook within the small room. Scents of perfume, alcohol, and intrigue came together to form a unique intoxicating odor.

As I passed by the bar, a tall glass came sliding down the countertop toward me. In one motion I snatched it, lifted it up, then nodded kindly at the bartender. A good ancient stout – just what I was in the mood to drink. I quickly sat down at the closest barstool.

Also seated at the bar was young woman in a green hooded cape. The cape was buttoned at the neck, with the hood resting unused on the back of her neck, revealing a head of shiny blond curls. It was a simple and modest cape – strange, considering she had a gold crown placed before her on the countertop. I noticed also a scepter leaning against her barstool, its finial a lustrous green orb that matched her cape.

There was an unmistakable somberness about her, though she did her best to conceal it. She was tapping a foot to the sound of the guitar, and smiled warmly at the bartender as he wiped down the counter. But there was something about the way she looked forlornly at the crown, how she slowly ran her fingers over its edges, that belied her smile. She was indeed the quintessential strong, yet brokenhearted beauty. With two barstools positioned between us we were just far away enough to remain strangers, yet still close enough to speak.

"Looks like you could use this more than me," I said, looking down into my glass.

She chuckled. "No thanks, I've already had enough... of many things," she replied, saying the second part in a quieter voice.

I imbibed nearly half my stout, then stared forward.

"He still loves you. Just as he always has. And he always will," I said.

"If that's true then he's forgotten it." She sighed.

"Yes he has," I said. "He's forgotten many things, most notably who he is. He's just very lost right now, that's all."

I looked over at her. She was about to run her fingers over the edges of the crown again, when she abruptly pulled her hand back and placed it in her lap.

"He's meandering in a muddle," I said with a hint of sadness.

"I can't wait for him to return. I deserve better," she asserted.

"Yes you do. You deserve one who is not wayward."

"Who isn't so easily diverted off the path to where he belongs," she said.

"One who would never allow that crown to fall from your head."

She nodded.

"That said..." I paused dramatically for a moment, then continued. "Do remember that he still loves you, and always will. But you will be absent when he finally reawakens to reality. You will already have gained a foothold in a warmer place. The better that you deserve."

"But... will he end up better off as well?" She asked gloomily, implying that she already knew the answer.

"No. No he will not," I replied. "But that is his encumbrance, not yours. He must drag that behind him. And drag it he will. But the onus is not on you to ensure a joyous conclusion for all. A shame, yes. But that is what must be."

She started to frown, but successfully held it back then nodded again. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "Very much."

"My pleasure, milady," I said with an assuaging smile. "It's the role for which I was made."

I downed the second half of my stout, then placed the glass onto the countertop. The bartender looked over and nodded farewell, and I responded in kind. With that I got up from my barstool.

Only a moment later I was seated at a table on the other side of the room, looking over a menu. The sound of the guitar ceased abruptly, though I thought nothing of it. As I pretended to myself that I recognized and understood all the dishes with foreign names, a drone in sky blue sat down across from me. I remained silent, unable to recall having invited anyone to join me. He held in his hands a plastic tray. On it was a cardboard milk box and what appeared to be overcooked hash browns, burned terribly around the edges. I could do nothing but roll my eyes as he placed the tray down onto the table.

"Productive evening to you." He looked down at his tray. "Yeah, they were out of the fruit cups," he said in a manner which seemed to assume that I not only cared, but would also sympathize with his plight.

Out of embarrassment, I reflexively looked around the room to see if anyone who seemed important was staring in our direction.

"So that is what you wanted to become? That is how you envisioned yourself ideally?" he asked, poking a plastic fork into his poor excuse for food.

"What I want is no longer relevant," I replied. "It hasn't been relevant for quite some time. All that matters is that I am here. This is where the paths I have chosen have led me." Despite the woeful nature of my words, I uttered them very casually as I continued to look over the menu.

"So, like a mysterious hero of legend, is that it?" he asked. The way in which he danced past my response made me wonder if I had actually said it aloud.

"Known by everyone, yet known by no one," I said. I glanced over at some of the other patrons at the club. "Many years ago I was a note climber," I reminisced almost entirely to myself.

"A what?"

"A note climber," I repeated. "I would be sent to various cities ravaged by war. Jonah, Cnyllan, the camps at Outside Zero. These massive supply planes would drop in musical notes, and it was my job to retrieve them."

"I see," he uttered slowly.

"The notes would hang in the air, and their descents were very slow and gradual," I said. "Since they were dropped one by one, they would create a kind of staircase. I would climb the staircase of floating notes, leaping from one to the next, until the highest one was within my grasp. I would pluck it out of the sky, then make my way back down, retrieving the next highest note with each step."

"Right."

"Eventually I would reach the ground with all the notes tucked beneath my arms. Then I would give them to my supervisor so they could be distributed amongst the denizens of the city." I smiled. "The sound of a note would ring out when I stepped on it. I can remember how they would echo across those gray and gloomy cityscapes, as though trying to sprinkle bits of encouragement. It was fun, it had its moments. I quit after two months though." I shrugged and went back to examining the menu.

"Why is that?"

"The commuting took a great deal out of me. And the pay wasn't too great either. Besides, I prefer what a role like this allows me to be anyway," I replied.

"A kind of sage, always in the right place to solve problems both great and meager, is that it?" he asked.

"Sure, whatever," I said dismissively, still avoiding eye contact. "Perhaps a nice steak," I muttered to myself. "I think these are steaks."

"Is it for the renown?"

I lowered the menu and glared at him contemptuously. "What? Why would such a purposefully mysterious figure care about such a trivial thing? Renown, fame – byproducts of a people bored to tears. I am not interested in being the object of anyone's mercurial fascinations."

Several moments went by without another word spoken. I had finally narrowed down my options to a chicken entree that sounded like it was spicy, and a pasta dish that I was certain was made with three kinds of cheese. At least I was almost certain. As I prepared to make my choice, I tried futilely to ignore the offensive sound of my unwanted guest slurping the last of his milk through a straw. I wished intensely for the return of the bass guitar, or any soothing instrument for that matter – anything to drown out the unpleasantness.

"So if renown is no longer something of interest," he spoke finally, "have you stopped dreaming that you are the Primoris?"

I spewed an exhausted sigh and slammed the menu onto the table in disgust. The pursuit of a quiet, satisfying meal would have to wait for another day.

"Have you stopped dreaming that you're a prier at a mental refreshment and renewal center?" I barked at him.

Suddenly his face contorted with such copious confusion as though I had flipped the club upside down and backward. "I don't... I don't understand," he said nearly breathless.

"Few do, few do," I said. "Few ever will."

I could see he was trying frantically to navigate the cold disorientation into which my question had plunged him. "You're not implying that too is... No. No, that can't be right at all," he said. I really wanted to laugh. It was unfortunate that I was too annoyed to garner any real enjoyment from his reaction.

"You're the one who sits at this table intent on making sense of what you find in here. That is a burden of your choosing," I stated without pity. "Besides..." I shrugged, then went on, "this... this allows me to strike the perfect harmony of privacy and influence. To be Primoris would mean to be accompanied always by torments and nuisances. No... some dreams aren't worth the time it took to concoct them."

My statement was a result of a sudden, inexplicable desire to give an real, coherent response. Immediately though I wished that I had kept it to myself, for I feared I left myself exposed to a brand new line of questions. Luckily, he remained set on his old course.

"The real question is though," he said, "how much sense do you make of it... of this?"

"Wow so finally you've reached the real question, huh?" I retorted. "How exciting."

"You describe a position steeped in intrigue," he continued unphased. "A ubiquitous adventurer, who by definition must always be in the thick of it." His eyes danced about the club. "And this is certainly the setting such a character would call a haven. But is he the one sitting across from me now? Or is he over there, or maybe over there?" He was pointing at seemingly random people sitting in the club. "Or perhaps... perhaps he has yet to arrive here at all. Still being kept busy by his latest escapade."

"What are you babbling about?" His words had managed to border on mildly interesting, but only because he started to seem wildly intoxicated.

He leaned forward, his eyes wide and his hair suddenly unkempt. "Standing over the edge of the pool of possibilities, diving without hesitation into the deep end. Without thought, without fear of what might lurk within its icy waters. A hero of legend," he said.

I was incredulous. I removed my hands from the table and leaned back in my chair, trying to replenish the distance between us. "Yeah, uh... you're sure that was milk, right?"

"And yet," he went on, "you willfully choose the antithesis. Yes. I have seen you... I have seen you scurrying into a hole. Uninspired, uninvolved... untenable."

"Unbelievable," I muttered. I was seriously considering picking up the menu again.

"How do you reconcile that? How do you explain such an incongruity?" His speech was frenetic, and I feared his face was about to break free from his head.

I rolled my eyes and grinned mockingly. "All right that's it. I'm done here." I stood up from the chair. "I do believe there's a professional athlete in the vicinity who needs some friendly advice for turning around his struggling game. The role for which I was made, and all that. Do feel free to not follow me."

As I began to turn away from the table, the drone in sky blue leaned back in his chair. Gone was the look of madness that had infected his face. He folded his hands together and looked down at the table.

"You've given up," he stated calmly.

I froze, and an old familiar pain surged through my fingertips. I took a deep breath and looked back at him. "What?" I said through clenched teeth.

"That's why you choose the antithesis. It's because you've given up, isn't it?" He lifted his head and looked at me. In his eyes I saw no ridicule, no contempt – though it would have been fine if I had. Instead what I saw was commiseration. And that was unacceptable.

"As I said, I'm done here," I replied coldly, then walked away.

****

The high-pitched beeping of the keypad – a signal that the arrival of company was imminent. The door opened, and a sky blue uniform stepped in. Not a listless, apathetic automaton unfortunately, but one carrying a look of attentiveness.

"Oh good. An altruist perhaps?"

He sported one of those disarming smiles that was supposed to help ingratiate himself to me. Such a thing may have been welcome when, as a child, the kindly school nurse sought to console as she applied a bandage to a fresh scrape. On him, however, the smile only made me want to punch him in the face.

He introduced himself while dragging my desk chair toward the bed and sitting in it. He then talked a bit about his role at the Center and why it was so imperative that he speak to me. I wasn't listening very intently. He then asked if he could call me by my name.

"No," I snapped. Then realizing that an overly confrontational tone might lead down the path of discussing my feelings, I decided to reiterate my response in a more pleasant manner. "I would really prefer if you didn't," I said.

"Why is that?" he prodded.

I rolled my eyes, unconcerned with the flagrance of my action. "Because it isn't necessary. There is no reason to pretend that this interaction has any depth whatsoever. I can't say I'm particularly thrilled with the fact that you even know my name at all."

"I see," he said. Then he turned his head a bit and gave the room a cursory glace. "How do you manage to get by in such a lonely place as this?" he asked.

Such a loaded question. I decided it was best to play his game, as presumably the sooner it was finished the sooner he would leave.

"I like it here. I have everything I need. Everyone I can trust is here with me," I said.

"And your family, most of them were killed in the last war?"

"No... that's not right at all," I said with tepid assurance.

"All right. Then why have we never seen them, or even heard about them?"

I laughed. "Yes, yes, very good."

The high-pitched beeping of the keypad. More company was on the way.

"Clearly you may be suffering from unwanted distress," said my new visitor. "But I wonder, do you not also savor your indignation? I think it is fair to say you enjoy taking that tone. What you think, honestly?"

"Honestly?" I repeated.

"Yes, please."

"Honestly..." I thought about the word and gave a chuckle, then looked down at the floor. "You know, it isn't really until I open my mouth and begin to speak that I know whether I am about to bare my true emotions," I tilted my head to the side, "or if I am merely going to utter just enough to make a person leave me be. Of course, in some situations, these can be one in the same."

Instantly my mind became saturated with memories of the alluring woman I had met at a party and spent a night with so long ago. "You had better not let them find out you're a fraud," her voice echoed within me. I chuckled again and shook my head. Soon I was vividly recalling her scent, her white buttoned shirt, and the sounds she let out as her passion peaked. I wondered, if only for a few seconds, if it had been a mistake to never contact her again. I also wondered if she ever had similar regrets.

"Hmm, I see," he said, intruding upon my remembrance. He was either unaware or unconcerned that I didn't actually answer his question. "Do you wish you could be more honest with others?"

I gave a bit of a plaintive sigh. "What I wish," I said while continuing to gaze at the floor, "is to be somebody else. To break the cycle. I spend half the day regretting how I wasted yesterday. I spend the other half worrying that I'll waste tomorrow."

"That's awful," he bemoaned. "Well that means you need to make some changes," he said, most likely believing he was providing truly profound counsel.

I shook my head as I let out a hearty laugh. "Do you think I truly meant that? It seems you may have mistaken me for a sympathetic character. Can you be so sure that I am? I think you take too seriously many of the things I say," I said, tapping my index finger on my chin.

The keypad again. Then again, and again. My mind had begun to keep track of when it wasn't beeping rather than when it was.

"Always here, always the same inane conversations," I muttered. "Always questions, questions."

Questions about my favorite kind of sandwich and my thoughts on the war. About the Kusers and their chances of making the playoffs in the coming season. About the recent cold spell that had apparently been going on outside. About the differences between living in Cynosure and in Arx. Questions about how concerned I was regarding my ICICLE score, and whether I was interested in purchasing a kit that would give me tips on how to increase it. Purchasing the kit would serve to instantly lower my score, of course.

"Just brimming with curiosity, aren't you?" I said. "Well you must be, if you've made it this far."

"Do you not think you can go even farther? Perhaps you are too accepting of living as you do. To your detriment."

"Living. A peculiar pastime, is it not?" I replied while resting my chin upon my fist. "Unlike most games, the object is not to be the winner when you reach the end. Rather, the object is to avoid the end altogether." I nodded, and took a minute to revel in my sagacity.

More beeping. More questions.

"So is there something you need right now?" I was asked. Far too saccharine for my tastes, it was as though I really had tripped and scraped my knee.

For some reason I thought of the alluring woman again, and then immediately of Aurora. There was probably a stack of new paintings she'd completed that I had never seen, and I wondered if I ever would.

"Distractions," I muttered. "What I need is to be someplace peaceful."

"Well, you aren't required to be here after all."

"Heh, of course," I said. "As if I can just leave. Just proceed to checkout then continue merrily on my way forward."

"Besides... didn't you say you liked it here?" The question was posed with a look of complete befuddlement. It was the look that enraged me far more than the question itself.

I placed a hand on my forehead, closed my eyes, and exhaled angrily out of my mouth – almost to the point of growling.

"Enough." My outward rancor had heightened considerably. "It isn't merely your delusions of grandeur, your insistence that my thoughts and deeds need be justified by you. If it were only that, then at least it would be somewhat pitifully adorable. But no, no, of course not." I rubbed my forehead and squeezed my eyes even more tightly shut. "You have to take it one step further. You actually assume that I will humor this notion. You expect me to blithely answer all your questions. To feed into your madness, your delusions, and willfully open myself up to your judgments. Now that is just downright insulting. Then you act appalled when I refuse to do any such thing. Vermin should not look to give lectures on cleanliness. Enough of this background noise, these distractions."

My pretentious outburst, my jaunt upon the trenchant currents, enlivened me greatly. I found myself wishing that I could always lay claim to such a disposition. There may have been something to be relished about ire after all, though I certainly wasn't going to admit that aloud.

I opened my eyes. There was no one in the room but me.

"Umm... hello?" I said. "So very wonderful..."

The intercom crackled to life. "All right, that should be enough for now. You seem to be making excellent progress." I couldn't be sure if the voice was one of the several that I had heard only moments earlier. "This concludes your preliminary session. Subsequent sessions will take place subsequently." There was the sound of feedback, followed by the intercom cutting out.

"I hate this place."

****

Our transport gently set down upon a hard sheet of snow. Belladonna Lily and I stepped out from the landing platform and greeted the frozen desolation before us. I looked up at the sky through my suit's visor and took in the splendor of the lightning bolts leaping from dark gray cloud to cloud. The snow was coming down steadily but without a great deal of force, and the wind was fairly calm as well. We certainly got lucky in that regard.

With some strain I lifted and removed a snow bike from the transport and placed it down onto the surface, and was briefly taken by how enormous the tires were. I closed the hatch to the transport and did a quick wave to the pilot as he prepared for ascent. After watching the craft disappear into the blanket of clouds above, I turned to Belladonna and, pointing to the side of my head, signaled for her to double-check her comm-link.

"Seems okay," she said in her usual soft, timid voice. She had been looking over her rifle, which she cared for as if she were its mother. She placed it back into her back strap, and I shook my head in amusement as I looked at her. Witnessing the juxtaposition of such a long weapon fastened to such a small, delicate frame always made me smile.

"So this is Rime, huh?" she said as she too was now gazing upwards at the storm clouds.

"Yeah, it's a real burgeoning vacation hotspot, this place," I replied. I pressed a button on my suit located on the side of my neck, bringing up a map and coordinate information on my visor. "All right, we're going to be heading over... there," I said, pointing to a large mass of white in the distance. The area was terribly lacking in any kind of useful landmarks.

"You know," I said as I sat myself in the driver's seat of the snow bike, "didn't the visor controls used to be located on the wrists of these suits?"

"Apparently someone had their right arm blown off, rendering their secondary visor functions useless," she said as she hopped onto the back seat of the bike. "So they changed the design and put them on the side of the neck."

"But... what if I get my neck blown off? Then how will I get updated coordinates?"

I glanced behind me and saw her smiling at my grotesque attempt at comedy. "I know we're already strapped in here, and these things run pretty smoothly given the conditions, but you should still probably hang on to me." I could see her hesitate for a just a moment, then she placed her arms around my waist. "All right, let's get goin'," I said, as I engaged the accelerator.

We streaked across the ice fields and headed for our destination. The snow bike made only a soft hum, a marvel of engineering technology I thought, and certainly a necessary element to a reconnaissance mission. Apparently there had been increased dissident activity throughout the zone, and command had given us the task of gathering intel on the situation. Get in, get the info, report, get out. Simple as that. From what some guys in my brigade had told me however, these types of missions had a tendency of going less than smoothly. Though part of me was hoping for at least a bit of action, as I was very curious to see Belladonna at work.

I took a quick glance down and looked at her hands around my waist. Ah, sweet Belladonna Lily. She and I had been in the same training class together, and I watched her rise through the ranks achieving top scores in all the firing accuracy tests. I remember all the flack she took from officers who were doubtful someone as physically delicate and mentally reserved as she could have what it takes to do this job. For some reason though, I wasn't worried, and had confidence in her abilities. Perhaps it was because I knew how many extra hours she put into her training, or how meticulously she looked after her weapon. Or maybe it was simply because the softness of her voice had such a warm, calming effect on me.

We arrived at our destination, a cliff overlooking a small valley. "Here we are," I said as I began to decelerate the snow bike. "Let's set up over there."

I parked the bike a few yards from the edge of the cliff, and we squatted down on the hard snow-covered surface. I switched my visor into telescopic mode and surveyed the valley below. What I saw appeared to be an outpost of sorts. There were some makeshift buildings created out of scrap, an antennae tower, and at least a dozen armed dissidents patrolling the area.

"All right, looks like we got ourselves an outpost," I said, and Belladonna nodded her head. "I'll patch into command and see if they want us to stick around for a bit longer, or if this will be enough."

At that moment the calm was shattered. A pair of snow bikes emerged from what must've been an ambush tunnel concealed beneath a snow bank roughly 100 yards away. There were two men upon each, and all of them were armed.

"Go go go," I yelled to Belladonna as we leapt back onto our bike. She unsheathed her weapon as I readied the accelerator. We had only been moving for maybe two seconds when I heard the familiar pzing of her rifle as she fired a shot into the distance. I glanced over my shoulder and saw one of the driver's fall to the ground. His passenger would quickly lean forward to take his place.

I headed in the direction opposite the outpost, in a path perpendicular to the one we had taken. We were nearing an area of jagged terrain and icy embankments, and I could see that the two motorbikes were attempting to flank us. I could hear the popping of small arms fire as they moved in on us.

"Hold on," I screamed to Belladonna, as I made a sharp swerve around a ridge of razor-sharp spikes of ice. Then came another pzing and another fallen enemy. She had taken out the lone rider on the first bike, and left us with only one bike to contend with now. "How are you doing that?" I yelled back at her, as I marveled at her ability to take out moving targets at such tremendous speeds, as we were swerving no less.

The remaining bike was running parallel to us, about fifty yards away. It disappeared behind a snow bank, then reappeared, then disappeared once more. I took a terribly sharp turn to avoid an ice pond that had seemingly materialized in front of me. At those speeds, in those conditions, just about everything seemed to materialize out of nowhere. The opposing motorbike became visible beside us again, this time no less than twenty-five yards away. They were still firing their small arms weapons, and I could see they were moving in to try and ram us. I took a sharp diagonal away from them and barely avoided another ridge of ice spikes. With her body completely turned around in her seat and facing behind me, Belladonna let off two more shots in quick succession. Both men were knocked down. A short moment later their motorbike, no longer with anyone at the controls, would smash front-first into an icy embankment.

With our pursuers neutralized, I let out a thrilled and relieved sigh. "That was unbelievable," I said to Belladonna. Smartly, she had not holstered her rifle, and was still peering down the scope and looking around at all sides in the event we got any more surprises. I brought up a map of the area on my visor and looked for someplace to recuperate. "There's an old abandoned mine about 10,000 yards from here. We can stay there and rest while we await transport," I said.

"Will this place have heat or lights?" she asked, still peering down her scope.

"I believe so," I said as I switched my visor back into normal mode. "The grids to these mines are offline, but not dismantled. So it should be as simple as flicking a switch." It would've been nice if something about the mission could be simple, I thought.

We rode to the coordinates provided by the map and dismounted from the bike. Belladonna pointed to a small marker protruding from the snow a few steps from us – a short metal pole with a red pennant affixed to it. We walked over to the marker, and I ran my gloves over the snow beside it. Sure enough, I found a metal hatch, and with a good deal of effort was able to pry it open. She and I made our way down a ladder and into the mine. Once we were below, Belladonna switched her visor to night vision, and located a large lever located on the wall. She pulled it, and the room began to brighten as a series of small lights on the ceiling came online. I walked a few steps to a vent on the floor and placed my hand above it, and could feel warm air coming out.

"Ahh, very good," I said. "I relayed these coordinates to command earlier, so now we can rest up while we await transport. We can also get out of these terribly uncomfortable suits now that we actually have some heat."

We removed our suits, and once again enjoyed the snug comfort of our uniforms that had been hidden beneath. I watched with a sense of awe as Belladonna's long, smooth black was revealed, and she ran her fingers through it. I already knew she was a sweet, strikingly beautiful woman, but now that I had seen her abilities in full display, I was even more fascinated by her. We sat down on the warm tiled floor, our back against the concrete wall.

"Well that was interesting, huh?" she said softly.

"Yes, interesting, that's a good way of putting it, sure." I let out a hearty laugh. "Interesting and incredible."

"Well, those were impressive driving skills you showed."

"Forget my driving skills," I replied. "You were extraordinary. To do what you did, in those conditions? You really are the best, Belladonna," I said with assurance.

She turned to look at me, and her lovely brown eyes seemed to widen. "What did you just say?" she asked as though shocked.

"Haha, didn't you hear me? I said that was extraordinary. You really are the best," and I smiled at her.

She turned her head, stared forward, and remained silent for a few moments. Then she uttered the words "Thank you," in barely a whisper. I slouched down a bit, stretched my arms, and closed my eyes. Transport wouldn't be here for at least a couple hours, so I figured there wouldn't be much harm in seeing if I could doze off for a bit. Anyone attempting to open the hatch above us would certainly have to make a great deal of noise doing so.

It had been about ten or fifteen minutes since I had closed my eyes when I could hear Belladonna moving around next to me. She leaned over toward me, and I felt her hand rest upon my knee. Then, ever so gently, she began to run her fingers along my legs. I didn't know why she was doing it, but the softness of her caress overwhelmed me, and at that moment I felt as if I would let her do anything she wanted. She leaned in closer, and I could feel her entire body pressed against me. Her hands began to move slowly up my thighs.

"Then what happened?" asked an excited voice.

My stream of consciousness had been poisoned, then summarily drained. I reached across the bed and grabbed my pillow, placing it in my lap.

"What?" I groaned, rubbing my forehead.

"You halted, then didn't finish," the voice on the intercom explained. "So what happened next?"

"Oh, right." I tried to recollect my thoughts. "She closed her eyes then fell asleep beside me. The end," I said brusquely.

"Oh," said the voice. "Well... that's anticlimactic." The tone was one of utter disappointment.

I tossed the pillow aside and stood up from the edge of the bed where I had been sitting. "Well maybe she kissed me on the forehead first, how about that," I said while rolling my eyes.

There was a pause, then another voice spoke up. "I don't know... that might work," it said. "Still not exactly what I was expecting though."

"I liked it actually," said a third voice. "Especially if she just fell asleep beside him. It's more sentimental that way." Though the three voices were slightly different, they were clearly all singing in the same band.

"Oh I'm so thankful," I exclaimed. "I had been awaiting your approval with bated breath."

"I suppose it did have everything one could want," the second voice chimed in. "Action, intrigue, and a bit of romance at the end. Everyone loves that."

"How nice for everyone then," I said, sighing with exhaustion. It seemed too early in the day to be dispensing so much sarcasm.

"Even if the ending isn't nearly as bawdy as I had hoped," added the first voice.

"I do hope the relationship blossoms in a future installment," the third voice said cheerfully. "Or perhaps something could get in the way of it. There seemed to be some kind of war going on?"

"Anyway," the second voice interjected, "we thank you very much for sharing this brief tale with us."

"Yeah great," I said as I stretched my back. "Of course, I didn't even know you were there."

There was another pause, this one lasting for well over a minute. I looked around the room, and started to wonder if there had been an intercom malfunction, or if they had simply decided to cut the conversation short. Either would have been too good to be true, I thought. Eventually I could hear frantic murmuring, and I was curious to know what I'd said that could have been so terribly provocative.

Finally they were prepared to speak again. "Do you mean to say you had no idea that we were listening?" the first voice asked with disbelief.

"That's pretty much exactly what I said, yeah," I replied, throwing my hands up for good measure.

"So you would have said all that even if we hadn't been?" asked the second voice with an even more palpable incredulity.

I started to fix and adjust the bed sheet and blanket. "I do that sort of thing regularly," I said. "Sometimes stories, sometimes songs."

"Jotun's moons!" the third voice exclaimed. "What ever for? What would be the point of such things, what meaning could they have, if no one would ever know of them?"

"And there it is," I stated calmly.

"There is what?" all three voices cried simultaneously, in an almost comical fashion.

"The arrogance. The misguided sense of importance. You honestly believe a tale needs you. That it is somehow lacking in value until you, or someone like you, chooses to bestow value upon it," I said.

My words were weighty, but delightfully devoid of acridity. A warm mellowness had snugly wrapped itself around me, freeing me from all tension and discord. I did not know why or how it had managed to find me, but I was grateful for its courtesy. The three voices could serve only to amuse me, and nothing more. I smiled, and wished for the strange composure enveloping me to never be lifted – and for a split-second, I even thought it possible.

"And you disagree?" asked the second voice.

"That story... that anecdote I told. It is made no more worthwhile by your critique, and would be no less worthwhile had the intercom been turned off. These things, they exist because they must. An audience is always welcome, but never essential," I said. With the bed sheet and blanket in their perfect positions, I climbed into my bed.

"Hmm..." mumbled the first voice.

"Interesting," said the third. "Highly bizarre, but interesting."

"Just add it to the file," said the second.

I chortled unabashedly, then closed my eyes. If they wanted to continue their fascinating repartee it was of no concern to me.

****

Much to my gleeful surprise, I had stumbled upon a dark green wooden toy box. For whatever reason, I imagined that it had been painted lovingly by a kind old woman. She surely must've taken great care of the beautiful chest – its luster and lack of blemishes were testaments to this.

Within the box was a veritable trove of treasures. Blocks, cars, tracks, trains. It was marvelous. I rummaged through the bounty for a bit, then extracted two handfuls of blocks along with an ample helping of exuberance. Seated upon the floor in the middle of the room, I began the work of forming a sturdy foundation for my project.

"Simple joy. It was a common phrase once, long ago," I pondered aloud. "When I first heard it, my initial reaction was to attempt a parsing of the phrase. I wondered, was it a joy borne of doing something simple? Or was it that the joy itself was of an uncomplicated, unpretentious nature?"

The base was complete. Strong and stalwart, I was certain it would be up to the task of supporting the lofty edifice that I was hoping to construct.

"Countless times I have been told how effortlessly one can acquire a bit of joy, simply by purchasing the latest Vital upgrade or by engaging in the newest entertainment service on the Muninn Access," I said. "By achieving another sexual conquest, eating sweetened foods, imbibing alcohol. Or lighting up a cigarette."

I paused, and considered how long it had been since I had engaged in such activities. The initial levels of the structure were finished, and I sprung up to obtain more materials from the box. There would be more than enough to complete my project.

"I know these words are not empty, these promises not false, because I have seen it," I continued. "I have witnessed the sheer bliss and satisfaction radiating from the eyes of those who occupy themselves in such simple activities. I know firsthand the delight that can be had from enjoying a good smoke on a clear, brisk autumn afternoon while watching beautiful ladies saunter to and fro along the sidewalk. I am aware how any doubts one may have had regarding the benefits of getting up in the morning can be assuaged immediately by a thick drink in a frost-covered mug and a perfectly grilled piece of meat."

Through swiftness of thoughts and deftness of hands, the great structure had risen rapidly. I paused briefly so that I could judge the progress I'd made so far. Though satisfied with its symmetry and simplicity, I thought my building could do with a bit more personality. I wished to add some uniqueness.

"Yet I also know how cruelly fleeting the gratification from such indulgences can be," I said. "A mind suffused with the spoils of a pleasant moment still cannot avoid being haunted by this reality. So even during a sublime peak, one must be keenly prepared to embark upon the next such moment with fervency. You strive to stack such moments, create a seamless and boundless chain, in hopes of eluding the stale and threadbare entirely. But it is a fool's errand. It cannot be done. The blight will always manage to return."

I added some arches and buttresses, and columns crowned with capitals. I fastened flagpoles and widened the main windows. Realizing it might be a bit too much, I stopped just short of placing a transom above the front door. Besides, I thought, who knows what someone might toss over it. With culture and style suitably supplied, I was able to focus upon the highest levels.

"Interestingly," I went on, "it seems there are those who insist it needn't be as such. To them, joy is not something attained by way of drips and drabs. Rather it pervades their very essences. I have seen such people, watched as they smiled so effortlessly. And I have asked them how it is that they found such a state of being. I was struck by how none of them could give a much of an answer. Perhaps they could not perceive the uniqueness of their own methods, as they came about so naturally. I suppose one does not really notice they are doing anything special until someone else points it out. That is true regarding many things, is it not?"

As I contemplated the question posed to myself, I finished constructing the top floors of the structure. At last it was time to adorn the crown.

"It really is the oddest thing, though," I laughed. "The two things – life and joy – seemingly becoming one in the same. These unique people they... they have managed to construct worlds in which life is not sustained by the acquisition of pleasure or joy. No... life is joy. I wonder, I wonder how they did it. What obscure paths did they travel, what extraordinary feats did they undertake? What is the source of the esoteric wisdom they have discovered? These are mysteries I may never solve. Perhaps there is nothing simple about joy after all."

I placed a magnificent spire atop the roof, then leaned backward while folding my arms. I nodded with approval.

"Very good," I said.

"So what is it?"

I turned my head and saw that a visitor was standing near the door. He was leaning forward to get a closer glimpse of my creation.

"Oh, I didn't even know you'd come in," I said with a smile. For my own amusement, I wanted my reply to cause him to look at me with surprise. Sadly his expression remained unchanged. He must have read my file, I thought. At least he had come prepared.

"Yes," he said. "So... what is it?"

"It's a tower, of course." Though his question was ridiculous, I was too excited to muster any snootiness for my response.

"Oh, I see," he said. "And why is so much of it comprised of copper red?"

"Well that's what most of my materials were," I said. "But as you can plainly see, there's quite a bit of grays and greens."

"I suppose," he said, unconvinced for whatever reason.

"It's going to be in the center of the city," I proclaimed.

"The... city?"

"Oh yes," I said, my eyes widening. "It will overlook several rings of residential communities I'll make with the rest of the gray blocks. A shopping district will line the beachfront to the south. There are some toys and games in there that I'm thinking can pass as amusement park rides... they'll be situated to the west. A rail line will connect all sectors of the city, and I'm pretty sure I have enough materials to elevate the tracks so they ring around the tower." As I spoke, I was pointing and gesturing all about, trying to describe the shimmering urban scene that I could already see quite clearly. "I suppose I should ensure there's still an empty path from the bed to the desk though," I said, tapping an index finger on my cheek.

"You'll be using everything in there, in the toy chest?" he asked.

"Absolutely. No wasted material. Every piece must count. Every little bit has a purpose, a meaning. No throwaway lines."

"Yes... I suppose," he uttered slowly. "So... you would still build all that even if no one ever showed up to check on you in here, right?"

I laughed. "What do you think?" I nearly told him to just add it to my file, but held it in.

"Right," he said. "Well... productive evening to you then." Without another word he turned around and exited the room.

For several moments I simply sat on the floor and stared at the completed tower. During that time I could feel my exuberance gradually fading away. With desperation I tried to reverse the trend, but found it impossible to do so. I considered going over to the box and checking to see if there was more exuberance inside to be had, but quickly thought better of it. If there was, I decided, I should ration it out rather than use it all up in one evening.

I stood up and carefully picked up the tower, then placed it gently inside the beautiful green box. I closed the lid, slid the box under my bed, then climbed into bed.

I let out a sigh as I pulled the sheet over me. "I'll come back to it eventually," I said.

****

I was awakened by a voice. Though that was hardly an uncommon occurrence, this voice was quite unlike those that normally interrupted my sleep.

"So this is where you've let it all lead you."

I recognized it immediately, as I had heard it before thousands of times. Ages prior, I could hear it ring out regularly, with sharpness and distinction. But then I would be unexpectedly and unjustly stripped of the means to do so any longer.

"I'm sorry. I never wanted you to see me here," I whispered.

"The best way to have avoided that would've been to never come here, Tangent."

Lacking the clarity it once had, the voice possessed only the quality of an echo. Muffled and distorted, it was as if it were ricocheting off a series of jagged rocks strewn about a cold, abandoned desert.

"I'm far from convinced you can really see me at all," I said. I wondered if the voice was truly there and current, or if I was merely responding to resonance.

"Yet you respond all the same. What have you done with all that I gave you?"

"I'm sorry," I replied. "So much of it was lost, slipped through the cracks that expanded as the years passed by. I wish it weren't so. But I still have a few things left. They are safe somewhere, locked away. I would never let anyone bring harm to them. I'm sorry."

"You know those aren't the types of things I mean."

"Do I?" I did, of course.

It occurred to me at that moment that I was surrounded in darkness. The ceiling light that was seemingly always on was, strangely enough, off. I even ran my fingers over my eyelids to be certain they were really open.

"You mourn for the trifles and trinkets that no longer collect dust in some far-off closet, as if their presence could do anything more than shackle you even more tightly to chapters long since finished. Yet the things of real value I imparted upon you in your youth... they are left to wither and wane, and through either despicable insolence or mere obtuseness you remain utterly unmoved."

"I'm sorry." It was all I could think to say.

"You claim to be concerned by how I would assess your exploits to this point, correct?"

"Yes," I said.

"But are you really? Would you be ensconced here if that were truly the case?"

"I know I have failed," I said. "I know you did not raise me to be this way. I am sorry."

"No, I didn't. Now if only you were as quick to remedy as you are to apology."

"What remedy? What could possibly be salvaged now?" In my mind the words were said vociferously. But from my mouth they were barely audible at all.

What scant intelligibility the voice had was deteriorating rapidly.

"Consider once more all I gave to you, Tangent, and remember that you cannot squander what you have never used. And know that the contriteness you wished to convey to me rings more hollow each successive moment you hide in here."

With that, whatever it was that had carried the voice to me ceased abruptly. The hums, the echoes, all traces of sound vanished in an instant. The light on the ceiling started to flicker, and within seconds it was back on, shining as brightly as usual. I closed my eyes to shield them.

"You would never really say these things to me. Could you?" I uttered solemnly. "Would you really consider me such a disgrace?" I sighed, then slowly opened my eyes as they adjusted to the light. "Wise men... notably absent in reality."

My mind fidgety and my thoughts restless, I jolted myself from my half-slumbering state and stood up. I ran my hand through my hair and down the back of my neck, then shuddered uncomfortably. Feeling downright disgusting, as though I had been submerged in squalidness, I took leave of my room and ventured into the hallway.

The hallway was narrow, awash in ceramic tiles, and quite poorly lit. Thankfully what little light there was came from the small rectangular directional signs hanging from the ceiling every seventy-five feet or so. Dance hall to the right, abattoir straight ahead. Wine cellar to the left, smeltery next right. I was not in need of the signs' assistance however, as I knew precisely the way to my intended destination.

The shower room was a marvel of immaculacy – an oasis, spotless and soaked in bleach. Three parallel rows of showers that seemed to stretch beyond the limits of my sight. There was likely no one else there, I figured, as the only sound was the low humming of the bright light bulbs fixed upon the wall above each stall. Even the humming sounded clean.

I walked past some lovely potted ferns and a strange neo-postresplendent sculpture and stood beside the closest stall. I turned the faucet. No water, nothing. Disappointed but undaunted, I tried my luck with the next shower in the row. Still nothing. With my heart rate increasing, I sought compassion from the shower directly across the way. Once again, nothing.

My shoulders slumped. I was imbued with a sense of rejection, as though the room itself had deemed me unworthy. As I stepped away, defeated and further sullied, there suddenly came from the far side of the room a most intoxicating sound. It was the voice of a woman singing a beautiful song. No lyrics, just melody. I could also faintly hear the sound of running water.

I began to wonder if I recognized the voice that wafted so gently toward me. What I was certain of however was that the voice was not that of a terraforming engineer or a transportation analyst. Nor was the source of the alluring siren song a university director or media relations scientist. For I knew unequivocally that someone of such rank would be incapable of venturing into the kind of vulgar place that I would dwell. To even consider that I could be in the mere vicinity of such loftiness, especially of the unclad variety, would be nothing more than sheer madness.

Nevertheless, I was completely enchanted by the melody. I moved discreetly toward the sounds of song and showering, then stopped just short of being in view of the occupied stall, leaning my back against the wall beside the adjacent stall. My mind then undertook the boorish task of imagining what was taking place behind the opaque glass door just a few yards away. I shut my eyes, and allowed the steam and her voice to fill me. I could envision the hot water drenching a head of sandy blond hair. Slender, feminine fingers reaching for a shampoo bottle. Water beading upon a pair of voluptuous, perfectly-shaped breasts – like rain droplets softly trickling down tulip bulbs. Soft lavender pink lips whose beauty was matched only by the voice that slipped out from between them. The voice that refused to unbind me from its hold.

I knew it wasn't so far into the past that I would be an active participant in such a scene, with no need for my imagination. Engaging in such exploits however did little to delay my need for refuge. Yet there I sat with my back to a wall, permitting the distractions to mingle about my mind as always. I wanted to be free, to able to simply walk by without further thought. Then, as my eyes followed the steam that drifted lazily about me, I started to wonder if I would still desire such freedom if I knew with certitude that the one just a few yards away was in fact a media relations scientist after all.

Further introspection was cut short as the sound of the running water suddenly ceased. My chest became tight as I heard the shower door sliding open. Like a coward, I immediately slunk unnoticed into the empty shower just to my right. It was not so much that I wished to avoid detection – I was far more concerned with assuring that I would not see her. I took a series of deep breaths and rested my body against the cold wall. As I did the alluring descant continued, slowly diminished, then finally vanished entirely.

I stood in that shower for several moments, staring at the trichromatic pattern on the wall. As my eyes glanced over the cyan, magenta, and yellow tiles, I found myself thinking about the visit I had had the previous night. At least, I assumed it'd been the previous night.

"What could possibly be salvaged now?" I said aloud, shaking my head.

Eventually I stepped forward and placed my right hand upon the faucet. Though I did my best to abandon hope and convince myself that the shower would be as anhydrous as the last, I nevertheless instinctively placed my body outside the stall before I turned the faucet. When no sound of rushing water resulted, I sighed long and audibly. Then, lacking sufficient will to become terribly enraged, I merely tapped my fist against the shower door so gently it barely made a sound.

"So now the sighs are louder than the fists," I said. "Lovely."

The scents of dainty soap and shampoo still lingered about noticeably, as finally I stepped toward the shower that the unseen siren had been using. The knowledge that I was standing where she had been bathing only moments earlier was fairly exciting, but it was also the same reason I had been reluctant to go near there. I decided though that I could not eschew the only shower that I could be sure was actually functioning.

As I began to reach out to touch the faucet, a raucous and jarring noise smashed its way into the room. Shaken, I immediately turned my head in the direction of the commotion and saw an enormous cloud of dust. As it dissipated, four muscle-bound and heavily-armed soldiers came into focus. While certainly startled by such unexpected guests, I was somewhat put at ease when I noticed that their suits bore the insignia of the MRRCC. I found it odd though that the dark blue bulwark suits they wore seemed quite primitive, as if from the time of the Third Final War. Immediately I presumed the Center lacked the budget necessary to equip their security forces with modern equipment.

I wasn't able to speculate about such things for very long, as all four soldiers suddenly looked directly at me.

"Hey," said one of them brusquely, causing my chest to tighten. He then beckoned me to step toward them by waving his arm at me like a crossing guard.

While quite apprehensive about the situation, I nonetheless did as I was instructed – though I still insisted on looking both ways before doing so.

As I approached, I found myself intimidated not by the sight of the weapons and gear, but rather by the imposing physicality of the men themselves. As I treaded lightly over a small pile of rubble and broken glass, the one who called me over had the manners to commence introductions.

"I am La Hire," he said, his voice somewhat muffled by the silver-tinted visor that concealed his face. He then began to point to each of his squadmates. "That is Ogier, Hector, and Lancelot."

"Their codenames are the four jacks? How incredibly obscure," I whispered to myself, simultaneously wondering why I possessed a piece of such useless knowledge. "It would have been much simpler to just go with the four suits."

With that my thoughts quickly turned back to their suits, and I remembered learning that many wars ago squad leaders would wear differently-colored suits to distinguish themselves from subordinates. This would change shortly after it became evident that the practice allowed opposing forces to target officers with relative ease. Hence La Hire stood clad in the same dark blue as the other three.

As always, my personal monologue was unabashedly disturbed by somebody's insistence on speaking to me. "Come on, they're loose again," said one of the other soldiers – possibly Hector. I hadn't really been paying attention while La Hire was pointing to each of them earlier. To my surprise, I was handed what appeared to be a kind of burst rifle.

I looked over the weapon perplexedly, glanced up at the soldiers, then looked down at the weapon again. I was hoping my expression would make them realize I had never touched such a weapon before, and so was unsure how to arm the burst mechanism – but I did not want to communicate such a thing in words. However they said nothing, and so I said nothing. Awkwardly I trailed behind them as they briskly headed through the hole they had blasted through the wall upon entering.

As we made our way through the poorly-lit hallways, there were several points where I was so far behind I had only the echoes of their boots striking the floor to guide me. As I chased after the soldiers, clutching the heavy rifle as best I could, I felt so terribly distressed. My hands trembled and my heart thumped violently as I considered the possible repercussions for falling behind and losing track of them entirely. I wondered, would I be ridiculed and chastised? Would I be punished in some way? As I ran through the corridors, my mind troubled and my legs aching, I wished so much that I possessed the courage to simply place the rifle on the floor and calmly walk back to the showers. It was at that moment I realized I had gone to the showers fully clothed – with no robe, towel, soap, or shampoo. I was in no position however to stop and contemplate why I had done that.

To my relief, I turned a corner and saw all four soldiers crouched beside a heavy steel wall. As I neared them, I wondered briefly if they had been waiting for me before taking their next action. My panting and wheezing were embarrassingly audible, and any attempts to conceal how out of breath I was were to no avail. As one of the soldiers was attaching what appeared to be an explosive device to the wall, I sat and rested on the floor several yards away.

"So," I uttered, unsure if I actually wanted to speak, "umm... so what exactly is loose again?"

Two of the soldiers immediately turned their heads toward me. While I could not see their facial expressions through their visors, it wasn't too difficult to guess what they were. Suddenly I felt as though I had just raised my hand and asked the professor a very stupid question – and the entire class had heard.

"Um... the avioculars?" said one of the soldiers in a rude and dismissive tone.

"The... what?" I prodded, figuring since I was already trapped in quicksand, I might as well hasten my descent.

Another soldier sighed. "You've got to be kidding," he said, noticeably annoyed. "Shouldn't you already know this?" I was uncertain as to why he assumed I would.

"Avioculars? Experimental creatures that resemble giant eyeballs?" said the first soldier. "Wings like bats, talons like birds of prey?" He could tell by my persistent look of confusion that no bells were ringing, so he continued on. "They were originally designed for desert campaigns. They have the ability to fly and see perfectly even in the worst sandstorms. They can emit a powerful anti-personnel beam similar to the ones fired by our rifles. Damn ferocious things."

"You really should already know this," said the other soldier, shaking his head.

"And these things are... loose... here?" I stammered while asking, almost in a state of shock.

"Yeah. But probably no more than a half-dozen of them," said the first soldier calmly.

"Oh. Well all right then," I mumbled.

"Breaching. Stand clear!" said the soldier who had been fiddling with the device on the wall. I immediately recognized the voice as that of La Hire.

We all turned away as a piercing, high-pitched noise began to emanate from the device. There then came a jarring blast similar to the one I heard while in the shower room.

"Breach successful. Go forward!" La Hire commanded as he slipped through the newly created aperture. The other three soldiers sprung up and followed, and I did as well.

As I entered the next room, I was immediately struck by its incredible enormity. It resembled the main waiting hall of an old transport station, with rows of tall Doric columns and a very high ceiling. The room had presumably seen better days, as the many of the columns were chipped and blemished, and there were vines blanketing large sections of the walls. This was in stark contrast to the nearly flawless condition of the shower room.

I could vaguely recall seeing a sign while running through the corridors that pointed the way to an entertainment hall, and surely that is where I found myself. The room was filled with rows of gaming cabinets, old-fashioned billiards tables, and other assorted sources of recreation. There were also several dozen men and women in the room playing games, chatting, or simply loitering about. Each of them were dressed in identical drab, gray outfits that resembled pajamas – a simple cotton shirt and pants. I speculated that it could've been a uniform dispensed to the residents by the MRRCC, and I wondered why – if that was the case – I had not been given one.

As the Jacks and I walked through the room, I noticed that nobody was paying a bit of attention to us. It seemed neither a hole blasted through the wall nor the sight of five guys with burst rifles was enough to distract anyone from their gaming activities.

As we moved forward, I kept turning my head left and right to see if I could recognize any of the games that were being played. Suddenly however I was startled by the sound of La Hire's voice.

"Three hostiles detected! Take cover behind that row of machines!" he said forcefully. Quickly the rest of us followed his command.

As I ducked and leaned against a gaming cabinet, the distress I had experienced earlier came rushing back. My fingers began to feel numb and their was a tightness in my chest. I closed my eyes and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths.

"Commence firing on hostiles!" cried out La Hire.

I could hear the rapid firing of a burst rifle – its high pitched sound similar to that of the breaching device. I heard several more burst rifles fire, some indecipherable chatter, then more burst rifles. I surmised that I was the only one who had not yet fired a shot and, though very much petrified, considered that to be quite unacceptable. In a sudden surge of courage, I opened my eyes and lifted myself up. As I peeked over the game cabinet, I readied my weapon and prepared to take aim at an aviocular. To my surprise and great disappointment however I was unable to do so – as I did not see one, let alone three.

I maintained that position for nearly a minute, looking all around with bewilderment. I saw nothing that looked like a target, and certainly nothing that resembled a giant eyeball with the wings of a griffin – or whatever it was the soldier had said. I could see and hear all the shots from the burst rifles, as well the Jacks' constant chattering about taking fire and needing to recharge. It was everything one would expect from a firefight, except that I saw nothing to fight.

Finally I sank back behind the cabinet, my mind spinning with confusion and flush with questions. Are these men mad? Am I doing something wrong? Should I look again? Just as I was preparing to carefully consider each question however, something else in the room seized my attention.

Standing amongst a throng of gray-clad gamers was a man in a plaid buttoned shirt. He was positioned behind what looked like a workbench. He was holding some kind of tool and appeared to be fixing or fiddling with something – though I was too far away to make out what exactly it was. What I did notice though was the diligence and devotion with which he worked, as he seemed completely unfazed by the crowd and commotion all around him. All that mattered to him, I presumed, was the completion of his task.

So engrossed, so moved was I by the vision of this venerable man, that I could barely hear anymore the sounds of the burst rifles and yelling soldiers just a few feet away. In fact, it also took me a few moments to realize that there was another unusual character nearby the man in plaid – a small man with a handlebar mustache and long tan trench coat. Immediately I was certain that I recognized him.

"The man from the airship," I whispered to myself.

He was pacing around the man in plaid, seemingly taking note of his every move. I couldn't be sure if he was interested in the work being done, or if he was simply trying to be bothersome. Several times he stopped and stood right beside the man in plaid and seemed to mumble something, then went back to circling the workbench. All the while the man in plaid steadfastly toiled on, never once even acknowledging his bothersome observer with even so much as a quick glance.

As I attempted to decipher what I was seeing, my concentration was wrecked by the sudden sound of the soldiers whooping and hollering. To my amusement, I realized I'd completely forgotten that there had supposedly been a battle going on behind me.

"All targets in the entertainment hall have been neutralized," said La Hire, as the other three Jacks cheered rowdily.

"Outstanding," exulted one of them. The four of them then turned their attentions to me.

"Very nice," said one genuinely.

"Excellent job," said another.

I was wholly dumbfounded by their apparent sincerity. It seemed they wished to include me in their revelry.

"Um, thanks," I replied, unsure of what else to say in such an embarrassing, awkward moment.

"All right celebration time is over. We've got at least three more of those things lurking around," said La Hire. "Let's get moving."

I rose quickly. "I am going to be parting ways with you fine gentlemen now," I said with a renewed tightness in my chest while holding out my rifle in my hands.

I spoke quickly to ensure that I spit out the entire sentence before I lost my nerve. I was worried they would feel disappointed and let down by my decision to bow out, or worse yet they would excoriate me and brand me a coward. To my surprise however they reacted in neither way, instead responding with total indifference.

"All right," said La Hire casually as he took my rifle. Without uttering another word to me, the four soldiers then briskly headed through the tall arched gate at the far end of the entertainment hall.

"Well all right," I muttered to myself. I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of ambivalence. While it was a relief that they did not react harshly, strangely enough I found myself almost wishing they had.

"Why would they invite me along on their mission if they didn't care whether or not I saw it through?" I questioned aloud. "And they must have known that I would be of little use to them. They must have. And yet..." I sighed, then quickly realized I was better off not dwelling upon such things.

I turned around and noticed that both the man in plaid and the man from the airship had apparently vanished. Curious, I decided to continue to the next room. Rather than head in the direction the soldiers had gone, I went through another arched gate located on the side wall.

My chosen path led me to a concourse swarming with people dressed in sky blue. It seemed I had stumbled upon a large indoor market, as there were countless aisles of shelves stocked with food and other goods. The place was awash in the sounds of chatter and footsteps, and briefly I was reminded of the times I would tag along with those who enjoyed venturing into Taupe during the holidays.

I ducked into a random aisle in hopes of avoiding the main crowd. As I took a closer look at the shelves, I was stunned by just how incredibly replete they were with items. I went from aisle to aisle, deftly eluding numerous sky blue obstacles while still managing to focus my gaze upon the contents of the shelves as I sped past. The twists and turns were made completely at random, as I hadn't any idea where I was going. The directionless nature of my jaunt through the market made my quest to avoid even the slightest physical contact all the more challenging – as sudden turns could lead to disastrous results.

After a short while I became wearied by the constant demonstration of my nimbleness. I stopped in a less crowded aisle and once again decided to look upon the items with more scrutiny. It was an impressive array of fine delectables – in all the flavors, shapes, and sizes one could possibly desire. Yet despite the vastness of the choices laid before me, there wasn't a single thing that piqued my interest in the least.

"Nothing. There's nothing here," I bemoaned to myself, fully aware of how bizarre such a statement was given the circumstances. Discouraged, I shook my head and turned around.

I was startled to see a young man dressed all in gray standing only a few feet in front of me. He was carrying a wooden crate of confectionaries, and had a smile that unsettled me.

"Hello sir," he said cheerfully. "Would you like a Gallant Swirl? They're now fortified with polymogrifants."

"Are they now?" I replied. I had no idea what a polymogrifant even was.

Quickly I turned my eyes back toward the shelf, which I knew had an entire stack of Gallant Swirls on it. Then I looked back at him. Presumably it hadn't occurred to him that if I had wanted any, I would have already taken some from the shelf.

"Um, sure. Sure, thank you," I said with as much politeness as I could muster. Then I grabbed the top package from his crate.

He smiled again and turned around. As I watched him slowly walk away, I reached over and placed the package on the shelf with its brethren. I rolled my eyes and shook my head again, then exited the aisle as I had entered it, empty-handed.

I stepped into a wide main aisle. There, just a short distance away from a bargain bin stuffed with Confidant-Crucial-Pluses at half price, was the man in plaid. Just like earlier, he was standing behind a workbench, toiling away at a task that was clearly of great importance to him. Also, much to my vexation, the man from the airship was once again standing just beside him.

Unlike the scene in the entertainment hall however, this time my proximity allowed for more acute observation. Looking at the man in plaid, my assumption was that he was middle-aged. Still though, there was a wornness in his face – especially beneath his eyes – that gave the impression that he was older than he actually was. Finally I could discern that the tool in his hand was a glue gun, and he was using it to piece together some kind of plastic toy plane or glider. I watched as he applied glue to the edge of a wing piece, then firmly attached it to the body of the toy.

While the actions of the man from the airship were certainly unsettling back in the entertainment hall, there was something particularly more baneful about him as he stood in the aisle. He was no longer pacing or fluttering about, nor was he mumbling or looking over the shoulder of the man in plaid. No, the man from the airship simply remained standing in one spot, and stared. It no longer seemed like he was interested in the work being done, as his stare was directly at the man in plaid himself. I noticed too that he was holding in his hand the hunter-case pocket watch I had seen him carry in the Forest of Fortuity. For a brief moment I saw him glance down at it, then return his cold gaze toward the man in plaid.

I wanted so much to run over to the man in plaid and barrage him with questions. I wished to learn about who he was and where he had come from. I wanted to ask him about his fears and goals, his struggles and his victories. I yearned to know if he had ever noticed the same things I did, ever wondered the same things I wondered. I wanted him to teach me all the truths he had discovered. And finally, I wanted to know why putting together that toy glider was so important to him.

But I would ask him nothing at all. I decided it would be best if I did not bother him. He deserved to remain undisturbed as he toiled dutifully, and didn't need me scurrying over to pester him with my questions. Instead I remained there, simply looking on with quiet reverence.

A few seconds later, something on a shelf just off to my right succeeded in diverting my attention. It was a box set containing the year's best Muninn Access contests, which I had noticed out of the corner of my eye. I removed it from the shelf and skimmed over the words on the back of the packaging. Then, my interest in it already having been depleted, I shrugged and placed the box back on the shelf. When I looked back toward the center of the main aisle however, I was shocked to see that the man in plaid had disappeared once more. But unlike what had transpired in the entertainment hall, this time the man from the airship still remained. As did the workbench, though it conspicuously no longer had anything on it.

Suddenly I became consumed with something I had not felt for quite some time – rage. A rage of the scathing and vengeful variety. I marched up to the small man in the trench coat and faced him directly.

"Where have you taken him?" I demanded to know. "More importantly, why? Why have you taken him, you abhorrent piece of dreck?" My voice was loud and forceful, but I was not screaming. "How wretched are you?"

He looked at me with a curious expression, seemingly only half-listening. It was if he was waiting for me to say something more interesting before bothering to respond. He glanced at his pocket watch, then back at me again – his countenance unchanged.

I took a deep breath, and immediately decided to channel my wrath into pompousness – certainly one of my finer talents.

"I wonder, is it arrogance or cowardice that keeps you so silent?" I asked, my voice now at a slightly lower volume. My question failed to move him in the least.

I gave a short derisive chuckle. "I know who you are," I said, haughtily brandishing my knowledge like it was a saber. "Don't think for a moment that I don't know who you are."

He checked his watch again, and I couldn't help but laugh as a result. "Yes, keep checking, go on," I said brazenly. "I do not fear you." I uttered the words with sincerity and confidence, but even as they were just beginning to waft into the air I could already feel frigid pinches of doubt along my spine.

Finally my boasting led to a change in his expression, if only slightly. He raised an eyebrow just a bit and stared at me with fascination. Though his mouth remained firmly shut, everything in his mannerisms seemed to be saying "Is that so?"

"That is not to say I eagerly await the day you arrive on my doorstep to commit your foul act of expropriation," I elaborated. "In fact, it is my intention to avoid that particular encounter with you entirely. Oh of course I am aware of the improbable odds. Such a feat would almost certainly be the first of its kind. Your reputation does precede you. But I wish to inform you that I readily accept the challenge."

"No one can deny your proficiency in what you do," I continued. "But I question the very necessity of it. I wonder if the role you play truly infuses significance into all of this. Given the seemingly random and arbitrary nature of your profession, I'm not so sure it does."

He remained stoic and silent.

"That old man. He was building something, or perhaps fixing it. A toy glider. Did you permit him to finish? I doubt it," I said. "And yet you believe you are contributing? Do you think you provide some kind of grim symmetry or balance to this game? No." I shook my head assuredly. "I will decide whether my turn shall conclude. I shall be the reaper of however many harvests I choose," I asserted boldly.

Finally he looked down at his watch once again, this time more intently than before. Then he slowly turned his face back toward me. In it I no longer saw fascination or even contempt. His gaze was now utterly devoid of emotion, and I was somewhat shaken by the spectacle of such callousness.

"Don't you think," he said quite coldly, "you should be spending your time a bit more wisely?"

He placed his pocket watch into his coat, turned around and walked away unhurriedly. He then simply disappeared into a sea of grays and sky blues.

I stood there, staring in the direction he had gone, frozen with an enmity even greater than what I had felt earlier. He had deprived me of a chance for answers, bested my hubris, and gotten the final word. Worst of all, I was convinced that he knew from the start that my defeat was assured, yet he allowed me to engage in my futile blustering anyway.

I felt sick, and the constant sound of chattering that surrounded me only served to make the bile in my throat more palpable. I knew that if I was going to have any chance at bearing the humiliation of such a grotesque indignity, I had to escape immediately to solitude. I needed to find someplace that could at least provide the illusion of serenity and peace. Nearly in a state of enraged panic, I spun around and spotted a small door nearby that looked like an emergency exit. I made a mad break toward the door, slammed my arm down on its metal bar, then leaned my shoulder into the heavy frame and forced it open.

The door led outside to what resembled the back yard of a house – not an apartment, but an actual house. There was a cozy patio area with the standard plastic chairs, circular table, and even a barbecue grill. Beyond the pavement of the patio was a lawn of impressive size. Its green grass was lush and well maintained, and appeared as though it was just recently cut. In the corner of the lawn was a large toolshed, and past that was a short wooden fence that ran along the furthest edge of the yard.

I took a few steps toward the patio chairs. They weren't the most pristine things in the world, but they were sanitary enough that I only hesitated for a split-second before sitting down in one of them. I leaned forward in my seat, clasped my hands together, and gazed around with a sense of wonder. It had been so long since I had been in such a place.

Still, I knew there was a principal component noticeably absent from the scene – people. There were no children frolicking about the lawn, pretending to be characters from their favorite animated show. There were no adults lounging in the chairs, exchanging gossip about former neighbors or bemoaning how the world just wasn't like it used to be. A proud, beaming chef was not stationed at the grill preparing to serve a pair of mouth-watering T-bone steaks. Nobody was bouncing a ball off the side of the shed, or removing a rake or hose from within the shed. While I had fled the market in hopes of finding seclusion, there was nonetheless something quite eerie and off-putting about being alone in that yard.

Suddenly there came a bit of cold rainfall. Though not heavy enough to make me go sprinting in search of cover, it still forced me to wipe away droplets from my forehead and cheek. I shot a glance upwards and strangely enough could not detect even one cloud in the clear late afternoon sky.

"Typical," I mumbled as I ran a hand through my dampened hair.

I watched and listened as the steady pouring of raindrops tapped rhythmically upon the tabletop and the grill. My thoughts began to sharpen, and an idea for a new piece of artwork started to germinate within my mind. It would embody the woeful futility of clutching and clinging to something that was no longer even there. Further cultivation of my brainstorm was immediately subverted however by the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

I shook my head and let out a loud, resentful exhalation. "Catastrophically typical," I muttered angrily.

I turned my head back slightly and caught a glimpse of a sky blue uniform. Then I rolled my eyes and looked out toward the yard again. I wasn't certain if I had seen that particular one before, though it hardly mattered. Obviously he had come to abet further corrosion of my faculties, as well as erosion of my time. I did my best to prepare myself to endure another lengthy and vacuous exchange that I was sure was to come.

"There are paths still uncharted that await your embrace. You need only make it so," he said. There was no rousing sense of urgency in his voice. Rather his tone was quite subdued, as if he presumed the words themselves were inspirational enough all on their own.

I sneered and looked upward into the rain once more. "Pretense is over, the charade is done. Holding back no more, the die can be cast," I said with a scoff.

"You act as though you are a prisoner here," he said, his temperament unchanged. "But you are free."

I took a deep breath and looked down at the soaked concrete around my feet. I waited for him to continue to ramble on incessantly or pose a series of inane questions. But to my amazement neither such thing happened. He said nothing more, and simply stood there silently, allowing me to focus entirely on the continuous sound of raindrops.

That sound became more prominent as the rain began to fall with greater intensity, and it caused my thoughts to wander off. I could hear jubilant laughter as two sweethearts, hand in hand, scurried across a tract of wet sand. Their hair drenched and smiles wide, the falling rain seemed only to enhance the mirth of the moment. The couple then tumbled onto the sand and amorously wrapped their bodies around one another.

I slowly shook my head. "I only saw what I didn't have. Never what I did have," I confessed aloud, briefly forgetting that I was not alone. "These fools, they tell me to press onward. Yet I've never been further from the starting line than I am now."

"Come," said the man in sky blue. "They are waiting for you." With that, the sound of footsteps assured me that he had exited the patio.

"Again," I muttered. "Again."

I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do less than get out of my chair. Though I knew it was not a viable option, I nonetheless seriously considering just staying there. I wanted so much to just lean my head back and close my eyes. To let my mind further immerse itself in the sounds and scents of less lonely scenes.

A few moments later, I finally forced my worn bones to rise up from the chair. I tried to convince myself that I was getting a bit soaked, and could no longer bear to be rained upon – but it simply was not true. Rather I just could not be persuaded to remain there and shun my obligations.

I walked past the door that lead back to the market and headed toward a row of shrubberies at the edge of the yard. The shrubberies were overgrown and thick, and towered over me by several feet. Taking slow, deliberate steps, I ran my hands along dozens of dark green leaves. After what was probably less than a minute, my hand brushed against something that felt not like a leaf, but like fabric. I had discovered, hanging amongst the bushy dark green leaves, a well-concealed piece of dark green cloth. It was dusty and somewhat foul-smelling, and resembled an old bulky rug or curtain. Without further thought, I pushed the piece of cloth aside with my hand and took a step into whatever was beyond it.

What was beyond it was quite familiar, but neither startling nor shocking. Far from it, actually.

"Excruciatingly typical," I muttered after my entire body had slipped past the curtain. "I should have known." It was but a few seconds later that I realized that I most likely had, in fact, known.

The small auditorium had changed very little since my last visit. The entire room was packed with what seemed to be hundreds of people. Unlike the scene in my memory however, everyone seated before me was dressed not in gray but in sky blue. Instinctively, I scanned the room for any empty chairs – specifically in the first row. I found it a bit odd that there was not a single unoccupied seat to be found. More unsettling though was the realization that not a mouth in the room was moving. Everyone was sitting static and silent, as hundreds of pairs of eyes fixed upon me expectantly.

Without further delay I stepped up to the podium. Casually I fiddled with the positioning of the microphone, then looked out upon my audience, catching many of their stares with my own. I opened my mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again when I discovered I could not utter a word. But it was not fright, nor sudden loss of poise or confidence that were to blame for my inability to speak. Instead it was the realization that I had absolutely nothing to actually say. Rather than allow the silence to persist in its awkwardness however, I decided it would be best to inform my audience about the situation.

I took a deep breath then exhaled. "I'm very sorry," I said firmly. "But I have nothing more to say to you."

As I turned my body away from the microphone, an older woman seated in the middle of the audience stood up.

"So did you ever return?" she asked.

I froze. It was unsettling enough that someone had decided to speak at all. But in addition to that, the words themselves tore right through me.

"What?" I said while clearing my throat.

"The muse with the copper red hair. You told her you were sure you'd come back eventually," she replied. "So did you ever return? And did you ever find your way to Naiad Manor?"

My mouth hung open, my heart was racing. Before I could even pretend to utter a response, another one – a young man near the front – stood up.

"The folding chairs are gone, as is the calliope. But the last time I went by there, the tree house was still up. It's empty though. No one there anymore," he stated calmly, as if I had inquired about any such things.

The older woman, who had been looking at the young man while he spoke, turned her eyes back toward me. "So are you ever going to go back?" she asked, her question noticeably altered.

"I can't go back," I said. I then cleared my throat again, trying desperately to regain the firmness in my tone. "What I mean is... I can't... What I mean is, I have no use for empty shells."

"You could always look around and reminisce. Recount old times," said the young man.

"With whom? With whom would I recount those old times? Myself?" I snapped back.

My audience remained silent.

"Exactly," I continued. "As I said, empty places... empty shells serve no purpose. You cannot return to something that is no longer there. Can you?" I took a deep breath in the hope of calming down a bit. "And speaking of things that serve no purpose, my being here certainly qualifies. So farewell to all of you."

With that, I stormed off – or at least it felt as if I did – and plowed through the nearest door. I was determined to withdraw to my room without another bothersome interruption.

I found myself back at the market, though it was a drastically different scene than before. The once bountiful shelves were completely empty, and there was no one around at all. The only sound was the echo of the door shutting behind me. My eyes shifted slowly left and right, and I was almost amused by the oddness of the situation.

"Whatever," I said aloud with a shrug. "Must be past closing time."

I picked an aisle at random and started to walk. Unsure of where I could find a door back to the living quarters, I presumed it was best to just continue moving straight ahead. Shelf after dust-laden shelf – it seemed as though I passed by hundreds of them. My strides lengthened as my impatience grew.

"Just so boring," I muttered, continuing to pick up my pace. "I just want to get to bed. So tired of this."

Moments later – perhaps a few, perhaps a few thousand – I felt my feet being pulled out from underneath me. I did not know if I had tripped over something unseen, or if my legs had merely refused to support me any longer. As I dropped pitifully to the floor, I was overcome not by fear but by embarrassment. For I could only think of how I'd skillfully navigated those aisles when obstacles abounded, yet managed to take a tumble when not a thing blocked my way.

When I opened my eyes again, I was sprawled out on the floor on my hands and knees. I gave the order to move but my body refused to comply. Suddenly I was struggling to shake off an onslaught of fear. I was about to cry out, when I noticed four figures standing nearby with their backs turned toward me.

They were leaning against what looked to be a counter or table. On it were numerous bottles and flasks of varying shapes and sizes. Some were fancy and ornate like perfume containers, while others looked as plain as ordinary laboratory beakers. From my vantage point, I could see some of the bottles contained all sorts of strange looking liquids – from sparkling reds to bubbling, foam-covered blues.

"I just want to get up," I said. "Please help me... help me return my room. I just want to retire to bed." I was quite mindful of the panic in my voice – it was almost trembling. In my ignominy, I took a deep breath and told myself to sound calmer.

As I exerted great effort to compose myself, I took a closer look at the four figures. One blond male of imposing height. Three females – a ponytail of black hair, a curly redhead, and a brunette. With my thoughts focused slightly less on my predicament, I was able to realize that I did indeed recognize them.

"Wait... I know all of you," I said. "I know who you are. I was flying, and you were there to greet me when I landed." Real or not, I remembered. "I know all of your names."

"Oh so we have names to you now," said the one with the ponytail of black hair. "I suppose we should feel honored," she scoffed.

"Well... names are of secondary importance to what a person is," I said. I noticed there was a bit of abashment in my tone, as if I was trying to give excuses for a bad habit. I found it quite odd, as it was not my intention to come off that way.

"Our names, as well as what we are, have changed since our paths last crossed." She turned around to face me. "I am Bittersweet Ginger," she said.

"Yes. Half your name is different than what I remember. Though which half, I'm not so sure."

"I am surprised you remember anything at all," she said with equal parts shock and derision.

"I remember more than I care to. Besides, I doubt you can recall my name," I said.

"Why should we? You are so hesitant to reveal it."

As pleasant a conversation as it was, it could not help me ignore my situation forever.

"Please... can you help me?" I asked, trying so desperately to not sound desperate in their presence. "I just want to get back to my room."

"I'm sorry, but no," Bittersweet Ginger replied.

"Why? Why must you be so cruel?" I shouted out pitifully.

"Cruelty has nothing to do with it," she said. "Do you think I receive some kind of perverted pleasure from watching you languish there? Well I do not. You are simply undeserving, that is all."

I took another slow breath. "I just want return to my room and retreat to bed."

"Precisely," said Bittersweet Ginger. "That isn't particularly important, is it? Hardly worthy of consideration. Your choices have made you."

I wondered for a split-second if she had meant to say the reverse, then realized that she meant exactly what she had said. That was likely why she uttered the words so coldly. No attempt to hearten this time, I thought.

She spun back around before I could think of anything else to say to her. As she did, the tall man beside her simultaneously turned around to face me. He was holding a flask containing an unknown purple liquid. It was half empty, and I didn't know if he had been drinking it or merely examining it.

"I need to return my room," I said to him, even though he surely already knew of my plight given how many times I'd repeated it. "Can you help me, young man?"

"My name is Spire. And no. What you need is to get up and shut up. The order in which you do that is up to you. But no more whining, no more pleading. Lift yourself up."

I sighed wearily. "I've already said I cannot."

"Don't bother peddling that nonsense to me. I know what you're capable of doing."

"Once capable of doing," I corrected him.

Spire held up the flask to his face and stared at it closely, then slowly tilted it back and forth like a pendulum. I watched as the liquid swirled about and started to foam.

"All the stands you have made, all the sums you have paid," he said. "The battles you've waged, and the shows you have staged. The wonders you've eyed, and the reasons applied. Bells you rang. Belles to whom you sang. Galas graced, courses raced, quizzes aced, dangers faced. Steps..." He paused, turning his eyes away from the flask and back toward me. "Steps retraced. Your will now misplaced."

"I'm sorry, am I supposed to be rapidly snapping my fingers together now?" I asked, unable to keep my sarcasm completely checked. "If you aren't going to help me find my room, I wouldn't mind at least having some of that," I said, referring to the contents of his flask.

"Though you showed the fortitude needed to make it this far, you've become a supine shell of what you are surely are. All that... for this."

"You're not going to give me any of that, are you." My irritation was obvious, as was my exhaustion.

"Why should he?"

Spire turned around, and as he did the redhead beside him turned to face me. Given its precision, I wondered if that aspect of their performance had been rehearsed.

"You," I said as I looked into the deep blue eyes of the redheaded young woman. She held a container filled to the brim with a glistening red liquid.

"I am Tibia," she declared. "And I repeat, why should he? Why should he bother? Give you either one, and you'll wish you had the other. Give you both, and you'll prefer if you had neither."

"That one. Just give me that one." Irritated impatience leaked from words, and I feared she would detect it with ease. "Please," I added quickly, hoping to prevent her from turning her back on me.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

I nodded and gestured with my hand for her to come closer. She took a step forward then placed the container on the floor beside me. It was far too much to expect her to actually hand it to me, I thought. I snatched the container and took a sip of its contents.

"So what do you think?" Tibia asked politely.

"Not bad, I suppose," I replied upon swallowing. "A little salty, but still. Not bad at all."

Suddenly Tibia was holding a large tray of freshly baked cookies. In my hand was cookie with a single bite taken out of it. We were standing off to the side of the familiar entranceway to a majestic copper red skyscraper.

"They were made by Cassowary from the leisure department," she explained." He's quite the culinary master. Or maybe it was Mel from music and fashion... I'm not really sure. Hey, have you talked to either of them lately?"

She was wearing a white headband, as well as jogging pants and a blue sporty top that perfectly amplified the color in her eyes. I had a vivid memory of being present at the time she purchased those clothes.

"Not for quite some time, actually," I said with regret.

Before I could speak any further, and perhaps concoct a good excuse for not having seen Cassowary or Mel for so long, I felt a kindly slap on my back. A gregarious middle-aged man in an olive fedora was standing beside me.

"My boy, wonderful to see you," he said, adjusting a button on his lustrous beige trench coat. "Just wanted to let you know the piece you submitted about the fog over Cnyllan is good to go. Great stuff, by the way, those weather stories. Research shows it's the new big thing these days. People just eat it up."

"Yes sir, I presumed that is why I was asked to do it," I said, looking up at him.

"Without a doubt. Could have used a bit more titillation though. Thankfully the folks at editing added an epic showdown with the fog. Great stuff. Keep up the good work my boy, and in a few years you'll really start to rise through the ranks of Safmurge Media," he said.

He took a few steps backward then folded his arms.

"Well I have to be getting to work," Tibia said with a smile. "And so do you." She leaned forward and kissed me gently on the cheek.

"Actually... I'm quitting," I said.

She was clearly stunned. "What?"

"It just never really interested me," I replied. "And for all the headaches, I receive so little in return. I know I haven't been here very long, but I want to do something more tranquil... like maybe work in a museum. Something like that." I began to pace back and forth. "Or maybe work from home so I can be afforded more free time for creative pursuits. Or perhaps something that allows me to travel the globe and beyond."

"Sounds like you have a pretty good grasp of what it is you want," said the man in the fedora, his jovial disposition strangely unchanged.

I ceased pacing then looked at Tibia. She was shaking her head with her mouth half open. She said nothing, and simply turned around and quietly headed toward the entrance of the building. I held out my arm and attempted in vain to think of something to say, anything to make her turn around. I wanted another opportunity to explain my decision, to make her understand. Before I could even try to speak, I was startled by the realization that the man in the fedora was suddenly standing right behind me.

He then spoke in a muted, ominous tone that was very unlike his usual manner. "Forget about the setting or the roles," he said, "altering them will do nothing." Like heavy ashes, his words fell upon me and stained me. I looked at the cookie in my hand.

"Go on, finish it," he goaded. I complied.

"Welcome back. Was it everything you could have hoped for?"

In my hand was an empty container. My body remained sprawled on the floor.

"Not really," I replied to Tibia. "Just a rehash of the same old game. Apparently the game cannot be changed, so I've been told."

"Apparently," she said with mock surprise. "But I wonder... what can be?"

I scraped my fingernails along the cold tile floor. "I'm so weary of the digressions, the side paths. They save me no time, and always seem to lead me right back to the main road."

"I wonder whose fault that is?" said the fourth one, the small brunette, as she turned around.

I shot her a vindictive grin. "Do you? Do you wonder? I am tired of wondering. That's why I just want to go to bed." I was nearly shouting. Expecting nothing from her, I no longer found it necessary to maintain any semblance of pleasantness.

She returned the grin, though hers was far sweeter than mine.

"I am Acacia," she said with verve. "And this metaphor."

"Oh, only this?" I asked. "You could have fooled me."

"I mean this, silly," she said holding up a beaker. "That is what this one is called."

The beaker contained a gray murky liquid. It seemed like it had been procured from the depths of a cold, uncharted sea on some barren moon.

"Oh of course. I see now," I said.

"It will allow you to return, as you asked."

My eyebrows perked up. Though they weren't indicative of me changing my sullen demeanor, they showed my sudden willingness to at least consider doing so.

"Thank you," I said as she knelt down and handed me the beaker. "At least somebody is kind enough to help me." Hastily I consumed the foul-looking liquid.

Acacia then let out a terribly unsettling laugh. "Is that what you think I am doing?" she asked with an insidious smile.

Before I could respond to her, I found myself in a familiar hallway. The pattern on the carpeting, the cracks on the wall tiles, even the particular sign hanging from the ceiling – it was all as it should have been. My room was supposed to be right there, or at least very nearby. However, there was an integral component to the scene that was flagrantly absent – the door. There was no door.

I took several long strides forward, peered down the hall, then spun around and looked in the opposite direction. To my horror, there were no doors to be seen anywhere. Only endless tiles on the walls.

"What is this?" I said. "What is going on?"

I had recollections of running up and down flights of stairs and frantically pressing unresponsive elevator buttons. I was not sure though whether those things had actually happened. With my thoughts in tatters and my heart racing, I couldn't even find a brief moment to be relieved that at the very least I was on my feet again.

Like a madman, I raced down the hallway running my fingers along the wall to my side. Perhaps I was clinging to the infinitesimal possibility that the tiles were an illusion, or that I would stumble upon a hidden entrance or something. Or I considered running down the hall, bellowing as I went, to be my only means of shedding my copious frustration.

Unfortunately my frustration outweighed my energy, and I was forced to take a moment to catch my breath.

"Where is it? I can't find it!" I roared, my hand clutching my chest.

Suddenly the memory of every bad decision, every wrong turn, every poor choice I had ever made came surging to the foreground of my thoughts. Without warning, I felt as though I was covered completely in bugs. They multiplied rapidly, crawling and swarming. All over. I collapsed onto my knees – or at least it felt as though I did. I couldn't be totally certain about that either.

In my agony I looked up and saw a sky blue figure approaching.

"Where is my room? Where is the place that I belong?" I begged to know.

"It is not here," the figure replied calmly.

"No," I snarled. "It must be. It must be here. It must be here."

The bugs enveloped me. They had become too ferocious and too great in number. I could not bear their malice for much longer.

"I'm afraid not. For you see, you have been discharged."

My breathing had become strained and audible, and I was noticeably shaking. "What? Why??" I groaned with disbelief.

"It's quite simple, really. You have been found to be perfectly sane. There is nothing wrong with you that can be cured here."

"Absolutely not!" I said through grated teeth. "Me? Sane? Absolutely not."

The bugs would not come off. They refused to come off. I was utterly at their mercy, and mercy they did not possess.

"No wonder you insist that I am sane. You... you are all as mad as I am!" I said. My voice was hoarse, as even speaking had become a strain. Though my words were blurted in a fit of rage, I started to consider just how truthful they may really have been.

"Now now, cheer up," said the one in sky blue. "It seems you have a visitor."

"A visitor? You mean an actual visitor?" I said in shock. "Who would possibly..."

I lifted my head. Standing just a few yards away, just beyond the prier, was Aurora. She smiled tenderly and waved at me. Slowly I raised my hand and waved back. The bugs disintegrated without a hint of resistance. It seemed so improper for a creature of so much radiance to grace such an abhorrent place with her presence. But I was so thrilled that she did.

"Go on, go speak to your friend," said the one in sky blue. "Not for too long though. Your transportation home is waiting for you at Helipad B, by the side exit. Oh, and your payment for services rendered has already been deducted from your account, so no need to fret about that."

Barely listening, I scrambled past him to greet Aurora.

"Productive life to you," I heard him say as he walked off.

"Hi there you," Aurora said as we put our arms around one another affectionately.

"Hey there magical," I said. "It's so wonderful to talk to you again."

We released our embrace.

"Aurora, I need to you ask you something. Do you have the other segment?"

"The what?"

"The other piece to the flawless universe," I explained, trying but failing to not sound as if I were in a panic. "Do you have it?"

"You already know that I don't," she replied.

"How could I possibly know such a thing? Are you saying that we were once together... or will be?"

"Don't you see? That shouldn't matter." She was struggling to hold back a frown.

"I'm so tired, Aurora. Tired of everyone's cryptic responses, of this place. Of everything. I just want some answers," I said. I did not want to tell her that I had been frantically attempting to just crawl into bed.

"You have both segments," she said. "You always have. It's always been you, Tangent. Nothing else. Not these distractions. It's all up to you."

I sighed and shook my head.

"I've given you an answer," said Aurora. "I thought you would understand this time. I hoped you would..."

I thought I could see tears welling up in her eyes, though I may have simply been projecting my own eyes onto hers.

"No, Aurora, it's okay," I said. "I think I finally get it. Really. I can't rely on other things to make me happy. It isn't the distractions that are going to do it. Like you said... it's me. Don't worry... I'll do better." I wanted so much to believe it.

She beamed at me and nodded. I could tell she wanted so much to believe it as well.

"So do you need a ride?" she asked.

"No, it's fine," I said. "Apparently they've already arranged for transportation to take me home." Home. I hadn't given any thought to what the one in sky blue meant by home.

"Okay," she smiled. "I guess you better get going then."

"Yeah," I said. We hugged once more.

"Hey, Tangent," she said as her arms let go of me. "Don't be a stranger, all right?" It was a request I could faintly recall being asked of me before by someone else.

"Don't worry. I'll see you around, Aurora."

Moments later I went through the side exit of the Center on my way to Helipad B. Awaiting me there, as the prier had said, was my ride home – a small transport rotorcraft. I stepped into the warm hazy night and approached the machine. The side door lifted up automatically, and I quickly ducked inside.

Though no word came from the front cabin, the doors locked and the craft began its ascent. As I leaned back in my seat, I tried to hold on to the bits of hope I'd received from Aurora only a short while earlier. But my mind could only keep shifting to more troubling thoughts. Thoughts of my foolishness, thoughts of my failures. Feeling dispirited, I decided to focus on the soothing sound of the rotor blades as they tore through the sky...

###

Thank you so much for reading my book! Unlike Tangent, you needn't return to the beginning once again – unless you want to, of course.

Thanks to Rhiannan for the cover image, as well as all those who helped to inspire the creation of this work. You know who you are.
