Prologue 3

The building was black. The windows were tinted black. The sides of the building themselves were close to obsidian. And, of course, the shadow it cast upon the city was black to. It had a look about it as if it were bored with you before you even entered it. It may sound strange, but the building itself had a condescending air to it. It was almost as if the building alone was more intelligent than I was.

I immediately hated it.

The doors didn't swing open for me, and even gave me a bit of trouble when I tried to push them out of the way. The furnishings of the front office were exactly the opposite from what I expected. Forest-green furniture with spotless white carpet and a receptionists desk that looked like something from out of the movies; it had screens on the surface of the desk itself and an automated system to keep up with the workers and clients that the attendants didn't have time for.

Everything changed when I stepped inside that building. I could see through the windows without any obstruction, and I could practically taste success just by walking in. It was actually quite cozy to, yet still just as calculating, with its vaulted ceilings and its shallow staircases. It was quite wonderful just to stand there and look around.

This lasted for about two minutes in total. After that time I was noticed by some random worker-bee. Or at least, I thought it was one of the wandering drones. He hit off the conversation with "Hi, are you a new employee here, or are you just here to visit with one of the staff?" At this juncture I started to wonder if everyone who worked here were as socially awkward as the person I was looking for.

As it turns out, this was who I was looking for. This realization took me approximately 2 minutes in total. Since I was drunk upon first meeting; I didn't really remember his face. It was the silver eyes that tipped me off. The light from the tinted windows gave them a faint shine that I recognized. I must have made some sort of triumphant face when I figured out this bit of information, because as soon as I turn around the poor fool is laughing at me. Laughing at me with all his might as if I had somehow had just provided the most amusing thing that he had ever seen. Between less-than-stifled laughter he managed to get out "Well..." (laugh) "It took you..." (laugh) "long enough" (final fit of laughter.)

This really pissed me off. So I rewarded him with a well-deserved "Shut up."

This made him laugh more.

After 5 more minutes of laughter he managed to apologize. I accepted his apology (not really) and then proceeded to make small-talk. He's terrible at small-talk. His attention span would fall short of even that of a fly. Every time I asked a question, I would then have to remind him to answer it. This gave him enough time to lead me to his office. We walked in.

When I entered the room, my eyes immediately felt like they had been sucker-punched. The room was every shade of lime green that you could possibly come up with. It looked like a painting where the artist ran out of every color besides green and yellow.

If anyone was prone to seizures and walked into the room; they would need instantaneous medical assistance. It looked a bit like the room was laughing at me to. Yes, that's right, this new expression caught him up in another fit of laughter. I think it was between me rubbing my eyes that I finally asked the question: "What the bloody hell is this color?!" His reply was odd: "Its every color ranging from yellow to green, but falls short of either by a factor of 0.00000001% of a shade." "I think I chose this color on a Monday... I do hate a good Monday, so I decided to re-decorate and see if it improved my attitude toward Mondays." To which I replied: "Well it better have worked! Or else this would be some kind of treacherous act against humanity, and their sense of vision." He duly replied: "Oh, it most certainly worked, now I'm so busy re-adjusting my eyes and complaining about the color, that I have completely forgotten about Mondays!"

This was what a lunatic looked like. This was a certified, sanatorium patient, mentally ill, mean spirited, OCD, lunatic, who also happened to be a genius.

My eyes were having a rough fight with the wall-paper, and they were loosing badly. This was taken into account by him and he handed me a pair of sunglasses to wear until my eyes adjusted. I ended up keeping the glasses on the entire time. Now that the horrible distraction was more subtly painful; I could now attempt a decent conversation. But in all honesty I was on the verge of giving up completely. I think he also figured this out and knew that if he laughed one more time; that I would jump across the desk and strangle him, so he refrained after some apparent struggle.

I think he understood the situation and took this as a sign to start the conversation that I had waited for, since he seemed to have had enough fun for the time being.

"How are you today sir?"
"Good, can't really complain; except maybe about your color choices."
"That's understandable."
"Excuse me, but I still do not know your name."
"My name?"
"Yes."
"My name... What is my name?"
"You don't know your own name?"
"No; do you know yours?"
"Yes... Its Amon."
"Amon, eh? Hm, what an interesting name."

You can pretty-much tell which direction this conversation was headed. The sly b*****d avoided telling me his name (and everything else) every time I asked. And this man found out, basically, everything about me with the exception of my social security number. By the end of our little chat I was dazed and confused, and he was still sitting smugly behind his desk with absolute satisfaction of my disorientation. Neither of us spoke of the bar. Neither of us spoke of the napkin, and neither of us spoke of anything of importance.

The only valuable piece of information I had learned about him came after my visit. On my way out of his office. His, private, secretary managed to run directly into me. She dropped the following: a stapler, a box of paperclips, a nameplate without any given name, and 2,000 pages worth of random complex equations. The equations were probably his. And the name plate, which was probably his also, read three letters. C.E.O. (of Finite Works co.)

This drew the turtle out of his shell. Because it takes a crowd to pick up 2-3 thousand papers, which all were floating in opposite directions. The papers I procured for, and by, him made his drunk scribbles look like a child's self-portrait. The papers I picked up were a form of high-art. This is what drove me to ask his secretary out for coffee, after he had given up on helping pick up the papers, although I probably would have asked her regardless of the circumstances. I figured that after the hell I had been through; that I deserved coffee with a pretty girl. The second thing I figured was "Anyone would be better to talk to than him, at the moment, at least."

So this is how I got acquainted to the brunette girl.