He stepped out of the car with a suppressed sigh. His dress shoes, black and leather, clacked against the wooden sidewalk with a hollow voice; that hollowness flowing through him and snuffing what little hope he had fostered that morning. Scuffs dirtied the polished material devoid of color. He had forgotten to polish them. Or had he? He couldn’t quite recall. They didn’t look very nice. But then again, hopefully, people wouldn’t be judging him by his shoes.

But who was he kidding? People did things like that.

“Hey Andy,” a voice pulled his eyes away from the shoes and toward the old, croony, gray-haired woman in the front seat of the Chevy; both car and driver falling apart at the seams more every day. She offered a wry grin, “Break a leg.”

He just offered a half smile in return followed by a small nod, “Thanks for driving me.”

“Ya owe me gas money and a donut, youngling,” she replied, turning her eyes to the road. Gripping the gear stick she wrestled it into submission, the transmission complaining with throaty clunks and screeching whines. Andy quickly stepped back and slammed the door shut before she ran his foot over. Not a moment after the door connected with the frame and lodged itself there, the wheels squealed, the engine screamed in protest, and she shot down the road.

He watched her go, imagining people diving from the sidewalks to get out of the crazy granny’s way. It wasn’t happening. But it could happen. With her driving, at least.

A sun sneered in the infinite blue. San Fran’s salty winds swept over the city, bringing the undeniable stench of civilization with it. Piss. Exhaust. Mixed with fresh tar and smoking ribs. Deliciously stirred to instill a sickening churn in Andy’s already tipsy stomach; he could swear that he had accidentally swallowed mouthfuls of butterflies or something. They were dancing relentlessly. Almost to a painful degree. Every blood vessel felt pinched, forcing his heart to work all the harder just to squeeze the bare amount needed to continue breathing.

Horrible. He hated this feeling. The kind of sickening anticipation that preluded the jump-scares in horror films. Or the types of events that caused one’s life to become a horror film.

Turning toward the building did nothing to rest his rising anxiety. Phalanx Core matched its name well, with a campus of buildings all centered around the giant Spartan logo in the center, each building favoring modern Greekish flair and marble materials. Business-suited employees walked to and fro. Each looking official. Slick. Wearing feisty testaments to their success that cost small fortunes to simply upkeep, let alone buy.

It only made Andy’s own suite, a rental, seem heavier and more drab.

Of course, if he could land the job, that could change. It was a long shot… but still a possibility, at least.

‘Yeah, I just gotta try… no harm in that,’ he thought to himself. ‘Now, which building was it?’ He looked between them all and shrugged, not knowing or remembering. His eyes turned to the suitcase in his left hand… only to see nothing there. ‘Oh, that’s right… I forgot to grab my suitcase… darn.’ But not unexpected. He was getting used to making stupid mistakes.

Age? Depression? Malnourished brain, perhaps? He had no idea why he was losing himself. Becoming such a husk. A shell.

With another sigh, he just walked forward. One foot in front of the other.

Now, he had no documents. No resume on hand. He doubted they would even let him into the interview, but at least he could try and get an absolute denial instead of pulling a no-show and be left wondering what could have been. Yeah, that made sense to him. Just get it over with. What was gonna happen was gonna happen. No sense in running from the inevitable.

These thoughts continued whirring as he stepped into the building holding the main lobby; if they were going to hold an interview, he bet it would be in that kind of building. Stepping through the double glass doors resulted in a refreshing hiss. Blasts of pure, filtered, cool area pulled him into its bosom while the noisy stink vanished. His shoes now clacked on a shimmering marble floor reflecting the skylights high above.

More an auditorium than a lobby, he headed up to the receptionist’s desk huddled beneath three moving paintings explaining Phalanx Core’s accomplishments… supplying top-grade military technology to the government and private contractors. As he stepped up, the bouncy Blondie looked up and gave him a million dollar smile laced with a rosy makeup.

“Welcome to Phalanx Core, sir. How may I help you today?” she asked with emotion and perfection betraying just how many times she had said it before. Likely thousands. Smiling on the flip of the switch, Andy knew.

He offered a half-hearted smile with, “For an interview. Andy Jameson.”

“Of course, Mister Jameson!” She chirped back; lacy lavender perfume spun from her movements like the energy she exuded. Pulling out a tablet she tapped his name in and a moment later the information popped up. “I’ll inform Mister Mattlow of your arrival immediately, Mister Jameson. If you’d take a seat, I’ll call you up the moment he arrives.”

“Thanks.” He turned and headed over to the closest seat and flopped down into it. The coffee seemed to be wearing off. Or the stress gained, perhaps? Either way, his blood become more metallic. Heavy. Everything took conscious effort to move. Beats of his heart mixed with the bellows of his lungs, filling, bump bump, exhale, another bump.

‘He’s going to ask for my resume… probably will send me away since I don’t have it. But they already have it… but then again, it’s etiquette. Not having it is considered rude and lazy…’ His hands gripped each other, turning white, wringing and ringing both. He longingly looked to the door. He could just walk out. Go back home. Crack a cold beer and laze the day away… just like always. That would make everything feel better. Cloud his stormy mind and give him rest.

An internal war waged as he waited there. One side pushed for him to just leave. Flee. The other fought for him to stay. Held to the traces of hope hidden somewhere deep within him.

One side won. Leave.

“The moment he stood to go, however, a sharp, husky man’s voice froze him in place. “Mister Jameson?”

Like a deer in headlights, Andy glanced back toward the receptionist’s area where a tall, athletically built man stood. Waiting. His green eyes locked onto Andy. A falcon’s eyes staring into those of a rabbit. Dressed in a blue suit, fitted with a silver tie, and looking like a playboy from Fifty Shades of Grey or whatever it was.

Andy quickly faced him. Steeling what little resolve he could muster, trying to stand against the confidence and authority the other man wore like a crown.

“Mister Mattlow?” Andy replied, his voice threatening to crack. The more he stood before the evaluating, steely gaze, the more Andy wanted to just leave. Sounds drowned away, replaced by the war beats of his heart’s call to retreat.

The words, “Come with me,” left the man. He turned. Walked. And Andy obediently followed without an ounce of resistance. As he passed the receptionist he noticed a slightly encouraging, yet pitying smile from her.

———————————————————————————

The office resembled the Oval Office to a disturbing degree. The desk. The curvature of the walls. The smartly angled furniture accented with different paintings, statue busts, and even a few governmental artifacts. Windows overlooking the city sat right behind the desk, allowing the sun to sheer into visitor’s eyes while accenting Mattlow’s chiseled features with darkened shadows. The slightly wooden stillness matched the overpowering Ea De Toilette that drew seemingly every sense to the man.

Impressive, if one were to be the observer. Terrifying to the one facing it.

Andy sat there. Silent as death. Trying his best to avoid sweating or looking nervous. Patiently waiting for Mattlow to finish a phone call and write down a note or two.

It was rude. Extremely rude to force Andy to wait… but Andy knew of the game’s purpose. To show who the alpha was. Who was in control. The independent variable controlling the dependent. And so he waited for nearly half an hour in silent torment before Mattlow addressed him.

“Why haven’t you worked for the last four years, Jameson?” he inquired with so much drilling focus an interrogator would be proud.

Andy admittedly jumped a little, but squeezed out an answer. “To… recover.” Mattlow didn’t even bother to use ‘Mister’ that time, Andy noticed.

Without missing a beat he asked the next, “From your wife’s death?”

He winced at that, “Yes.” Just the thought poured salt on the still open wound. His heart burned, tossed, turned, and wailed in anguish as memories from that horrid night resurfaced. Headlights. Crunching of steel. Then… crimson.

“Four years to recover is a bit slow, isn’t is Jameson?”

“It is…” Andy admitted, his eyes glancing down in shame.

“If you can’t hold your eyes up, might as well chop off your head and use it for a ball.” The snappiness and grotesque nature surprised Andy quite a bit. He looked up. Into those domineering eyes filled with disgust, pride, and power. “Drink a lot, Jameson?”

“M-more than I should…”

“Thought so. Savings running out, Jameson?”

With with such an intrusive question, Andy couldn’t muster the defenses to deny the answer. “Yes…”

“And so you apply to my company, thinking you can get a second chance?” Mattlow asked, acting as though he owned the company. Which he didn’t. But Andy doubted anyone actually mustered the guts to tell the man. “You didn’t even bring your Resume, did you, Jameson? Unless you’ve got it stuffed up your ass just like your worth.”

Andy winced more at that, “I forgot…”

“Yeah, just like you forgot your place. Get back to your drinking.” He pointed toward the door, “If I ever see you again, Jameson, it’ll be century too soon. You’re a destitute and worthless bum who belongs in a trailer park where white trash like you were meant to be. In a word… an exceptional example of a plebeian. Now get lost.” With a satisfied sneer he looked down toward his papers and began working again, acting as if Jameson didn’t exist. At all.

Andy sat there for a minute. Thinking. The stun holding his mind in endless loops. Slowly, he stood.

“Thanks for your time…” he muttered as he turned away.

He wasn’t surprised. Couldn’t really refute anything. He would just leave… he walked toward the door. Head hung.

Suddenly, a solid ‘Thump!’ caught his attention. It arose from behind him. He looked back to see Mattlow slumped in the chair with his head lying on the desk, his mouth slightly open in a dopey, deep-sleep kind of way.

“Mister… Mattlow?” No response. Andy slowly walked closer, “Mister Mattlow?”

The man’s nostrils flared slightly and then eased. A tepid snore moved through his mouth. Andy moved closer and reached out, wondering if something had gone wrong.

His hand nearly brushed the man’s hair, “Mister Mattlow?”

“I have returned!” A loud shout came from behind Andy, causing him to jump out of his skin. Nearly, at least.

Spinning around, he found a short, thin, and overall petite woman grinning at him from under hair befitting Cruella De Vil. Maybe more the result of some colorblind hair stylist who happened to have dyed the young woman’s right side completely white, and the other charcoal black, leaving a glaring dichotomy of strands hanging off her head. They fell to her shoulders and beyond, cascading around her blouse and skirt affectionately. Early twenties at most, attractive, definitely fitting of a playboy’s secretary. Assuming she was his secretary.

With a stupid grin she bounced over toward Mattlow, “I’m the second VIP here, like Mattlow’s shadow type of thing. And I see that Mattlow’s having another episode,” she stopped next to the man and checked his wrist for a pulse. Confirming he wasn’t dead, she nodded to herself.

Andy immediately asked, “Is… is he okay?”

“Sure thing!” With a struggling grunt she pulled the man back into his seat before digging her fingers into his mouth’s corners and pulling up, forcing the unconscious man to smile. She leaned beside him as if posing for a photo, offering a beaming smile too. “See? He couldn’t be better.” She released his smile, looped her arms under his, and proceeded to pull him off the chair. He flopped limply to the ground with a wince-worthy thud. Without a moment’s hesitation or worry, she began dragging him out of the way, his prestigious suit picking up the lint on the carpet quite nicely.

Andy watched, dumbfounded. Not sure how to respond to the utterly bizarre scene.

“…he’s got real bad… oof…” she tugged on him again, somehow managing to continue yanking him toward the door. She paused, taking a deep breath, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow before resuming. “…real bad blood pressure… and sugar issues… type fifty diabetes… ya know? Spontaneous sleeping among other… bad stuff…” She paused again for another quick break to say, “Just let me get him out of the way and I’ll take over the interview. Be a dear and sit and wait a bit, please?”

For a moment, Andy focused his mind solely on trying to feebly implement some semblance of logic to the situation. Was this woman really who she claimed? Why was she dragging him? Was Mattlow really okay? Did he really care?

No. The bitterness was still there and Andy couldn’t muster enough compassion or worry to question the woman’s claims… or methods. Instead of fight doubts, he just sat down and waited. If she had made it so far into the building then obviously she was someone who worked there. As for the dragging… well, with her tiny frame, it made sense, he supposed.

Minutes passed in silence as the dragging continued, fading, till it vanished entirely. Footsteps approached. The door closed.

Her boisterous voice danced through the air, “Wooooooweeee! For being buff, he sure feels like a brick of lard.” She pranced over to Mattlow’s seat and hopped into it, hands raising as the momentum caused her to spin. Grinning, she waved as if on some ride, “Wheeeee!” The next second, her hands slapped against the desk, stopping her, eyes locked with Andy.

“Mister Andy Jameson, right? You can call me Cao Cao. My nickname in this pro-world,” she said. Her hand shot out toward his, waiting for a handshake. “Thanks for coming.”

“My… pleasure.” The words dangled between a response and a question. He took the hand. Surprisingly, the tiny woman’s strength contrasted her lithe, compact frame. And the softness of her skin pulled his attention there, though her voice drew him back.

She jackhammered Andy’s hand happily. “Gee, hope my boss wasn’t too much of a jerkwad to ya. He suffers from episodic narcissism too. Comes and goes. When it shows up, we usually just dose him up with coffee. Works great. Aaaah, such a great drug, caffeine…” she said wistfully, finally releasing Andy’s hostage hand. A throbbing exhaustion emanated from his palm and wrist, but he hid the discomfort behind a meager smile.

“But!” She hopped up and then plopped back down into her seat. Eyes sparkling, a notepad and pen appeared from one of the drawers and she positioned them, slipped on a pair of frames without actual lenses, and then took on a more instructor’s stance. “The interview begins. What would you say is your greatest strength, Mister Jameson…?”

—————————————————————————————————————

Half an hour of questions later, Cao Cao set the pen down and folded her hands on her lap after a quick adjustment to her frames. “I think you’ll do well in the position, Mister Jameson. You’ve got the job.” She stated it concretely. Honestly. Andy blinked. Stunned. He felt a disbelieving, cautious joy beginning to bubble up within him.

Terrified of the answer, he asked, “I… do?”

Cao Cao winked and gave him a thumb’s up, “Yeppers. I look forward to working with ya, Mister… Andy. Is it okay if I call ya Andy?” She didn’t wait for a reply. Clapping her hands together, she leaned over to clasp his hands in a friendly handshake. “Awesome! Andy it is. So then, Andy, I’ll be in contact and we’ll get you in with your new role ASAP. Sound goodie goodie?”

“Yes… it sounds very good,” he replied. The smile on his face was now fully genuine. He had gotten the job. Somehow. It was all really bizarre, but, he got the job. A hope beyond hope.

“Congrats! Though, one last thing,” releasing his hand she sat back down and pulled out several pictures and laid them on the desk; five in all, an airplane, boat, train, whale, and a meteorite. She tapped each. “Really, really random, morbid psychology question coming up. If you were to be crushed by any of these, what would you want it to be? Like, would you want ‘Crushed by a whale’ or something?”

‘What kind of question is that?’ he wondered, but shrugged it off as just a psychology question. They had some strange things in psychology. Something to judge his subconscious… which meant he wanted to answer well. All of the possibilities were rather common, save for the latter two. The whale was especially unique. He would go with that.

“That whale… sounds more memorable.”

“Excellent choice!” She nodded and picked up the picture, “If you’re going out, make those headlines on the nationals, man! Good choice, Andy, good choice. Now then, you can head on home and I’ll be in contact real soon, like within the hour soon, kay?”

He politely stood and nodded enthusiastically, excitement growing. “Yes. Thank you… I look forward to working with you.”

“As do I, Andy,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “As do I.”

——————————————————————————

Walking toward the bus stop involved a lighthearted skip with every step. He nearly began humming to himself, even, his heart soaring with the gulls high above. A well-paying job in such a promising career. Second shot at life?

“Check,” he said to himself, nodding. “Cao Cao… she seems like a pretty honest and nice woman.” He slowed to a halt at the bus stop, taking the bench, waiting alone at the spot. With no one to hear him, he spoke aloud to himself as if felt more friendly. Like he actually had good friends again… like the old days. “Quite attractive too. A nice energy. Kind. Funny…” Chuckles bubbled in his throat at the memory of her childish antics. Odd, surely, but not unpleasant.

“Not unpleasant at all…” He waited. A plane’s shadow passed over him, momentarily blocking out the sun. The street around him grew quieter, oddly, as traffic deadened on the lane. It offered a pleasant stillness with the sounds of the city as solely a backdrop instead of the orchestra. “Today is going to be a good day.”

He noticed something. The plane’s shadow hadn’t moved from him. It was also widening, thickening, spreading out into a more bulbous and rounded shape.

Cocking an eyebrow he watched the darkened edges slide over the asphalt and sidewalk. Advancing. Moving outward as if the shadow’s caster was drawing closer. He looked up.

His breath left in an unbelieving gasp.

The blazing belly of a humpback whale stared down at him. Falling like a bomb right toward him. Moments away.

“What the fu-” he lurched forward to dive out of its path. Its trajectory followed.

Within a rush of salty air and the sounds of a crashing behemoth, Andy Jameson became no more.

———————————————————————————

His mouth erupted with a hurling cough shaking his body. Burning his throat. His eyes burst open. Splotches of color swathed across his vision, distantly below, malformed shapes incomplete thanks to frothy dollops of clouds gliding across the landscape. Blue. With grays, greens, reds, and golds jutting out from a massive ocean surrounding them.

His mind struggled to make sense of it all. He was high. Wickedly so and staring down at… water and bodies of land. The largest continent dominating his vision reminded him of a fetus or unborn child wrapped in on itself, with the negative space between its limbs filled by water. Or a sloppy circular spiral that the artist failed to finish. Whatever it was… he didn’t recognize it.

At all.

Blood began churning and heart racing, he spun around, looking in all directions. Was he falling? Where was he? Had he died? What happened? Boggling questions careened inside the mind with reckless abandon.

Blue gale horizons. Oceans. Lands. Clouds in all directions. A vicious, dark storm forming to his left. Cold wind caressed his skin, but came from the sides. Naturally moving instead of the result of falling.

He wasn’t falling?!

“What the…” this only panicked him all the more. But, a voice stopped him cold.

“Told ya we’d be in contact within the hour,” she said with sheer delight hanging on every word. “Welcome to your new job, Andy Jameson.”