Level 2 is employee reception, but level 1 (the ground floor) is general reception, for anyone that doesn’t work at the company. For reference, the monorail stops at level 2, and I work around floors 5 to 8 depending on whatever needs doing. Recreation and living facilities are throughout the rest of the building. My boss, the big guy upstairs… he’s on floor 108.

General reception is meant to look welcoming, but not so much that people feel like they can stay for longer than necessary. The receptionist's desk is usually empty, since nobody ever visits (thus the lack of needing someone to man the battle stations). There's a bowl of mint candies that sits on the desk, on the visitor side of the lucite pane that separates whoever's supposed to be there (the receptionist) from whoever isn't (the visitor). Some dust has settled on the mints, covering their transparent wrappers in a thin blanket of debris.

Lysander and I take our seats on one of the couches around the room. The upholstery is fine for now, but I can imagine it'd get much more uncomfortable the longer you spent sitting on it.

"So, what must we do now?" he asks. "I can't imagine thy superior will find us worthy enough to grant us an audience simply by our sitting and waiting."

"Yeah, you're right. I forgot something." I get up to grab a numbered card from a machine on the reception desk. Three people in the queue before us right now — about three hundred less than usual. Must be my lucky day.

Lysander's eyes light up. "Is this another piece of thine miraculous technologies? I dare not guess what its function could possibly be. Perhaps a teleportation device, or a summoning spell? Do tell me."

"It's just a card with a number on it. All it does is tell my boss we're in the queue to see him."

"Oh." Lysander's good mood deflates in an instant, back to the baseline. "I suppose… that must be a miracle in its own way…"

I sit back down next to him. “Guess so.”

I close my eyes and lean back. Now’s as good a time as any to take a nap.

“How shall we know when the time comes?” Lysander mutters.

My eyes open, as if that’ll help me understand what he’s saying. “Hmm? Say that again?”

“When the time comes… how will your superior inform us?”

“Uh, usually they ring a bell and that’s the signal.”

“I see.”

“If that’s all you wanna know, I’ll get back to napping.”

I close my eyes again and try to fall asleep. Lysander becomes deathly silent.

The bell rings. No point in napping, it’s time to move. I get off the couch and saunter over to the four elevators, pressing the down arrow button.

“More waiting?” Lysander says.

I swallow my saliva. “Yeah, hopefully not for long.”

Ding. The elevator display lights up with a soft chime. Floor number 1. 

“Ope, the lift’s here.”

As soon as I say that, Lysander clams up. Funny how such a talkative guy can get silenced in a few seconds.

“You first.” I gesture him into the open doors of the lift. Stone-faced, he moves no muscles. “Oh, no, you nervous? Me first then.”

I get into the elevator. Lysander steps gingerly into the lift after me, movements stiff and staggering like a toy soldier. I consider pushing him forward just to hurry him up, but that wouldn’t help anything.

“Come on, man.”

“Yes, yes…”

Once his whole body is through, I press the button to shut the doors. I scan my retinae to get access to the upper floors, then I type “108” into the keypad. The lift begins to rise, and I feel the weight of inertia pooling around my lower body. Soft, relaxing music is piped in over the speakers.

“This… contraption… that thou callest a ‘lift’ seems rather unsafe to me.”

“Yeah, uh, a stuffy metal box isn’t really the most confidence-instilling thing, is it? Don’t worry, we’ve improved the tech quite a bit. They used to stop and stutter a lot, back in the day, but they’re a lot safer now that…” I notice how pale his face has abruptly gotten. “Hey, Lysander, you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I am in excellent condition. Thou needest not worry about me… it is simply an issue of, how should I phrase this… nervousness.” The guy sure seems nervous. He’s fidgeting with his gauntlets, pulling on his fingers like he wants to tear them off. “The mere thought of being in such a powerful deity’s presence is rather nerve-wracking…”

This weird, quiet nervousness isn’t like him at all. I mean, I barely know the guy, but I can tell that this is a significant difference. He was so cool in front of all the townspeople, so cool during the life-and-death situation… what’s gotten into him? I swear, that “Dr. von Pasadrille” or whatever her name was must’ve put something in the milk. Actually, where’d the milk carton go? He was holding it just before we entered the building. There’s too many weird things going on.

Lysander’s still shifting around, looking super shady in his sunglasses. If he knew there were cameras on all four upper corners of the lift, I just know he’d throw a fit. Is he waiting for something? Is he trying to tell me something? I don’t know. If he was going to say something, wouldn’t he have said it already? That’s the sensible option. 

I won’t pry, despite how much I want to know just what the hell is going on. Instead, I’ll try to cheer him up and take his mind off whatever’s going on.

"So, uh, Lysander, what was your childhood like?"

He looks at me like I've just grown another head. "Huh…?"

Damn it! Abort mission! Too deep a topic, too soon! All I wanted to do was lighten the mood a bit, so why is the depressing atmosphere getting even worse now? I just hope he doesn't get any weird ideas about this. "Sorry, was that too much?"

"Nay, simply a curious question to ask." He looks away. "Not many people concern themselves with this sort of thing, once thou becomest nothing more than their savior. The former life of a figurehead means little."

"Surely some people would want to know."

"Only those who would dare exploit my past would care. Thou art not one of those, art thee?"

"No, course not. I'll even go first." I lean back against the mirror-finish wall of the elevator. "See, it all started when I was born… uh…" I trail off, realizing Lysander won’t get the joke. "Okay, really, it wasn't that interesting. I just liked math and science a lot, then I got some higher education to try and land myself a good job… now I'm here, I guess. No friends or nothing, just you and some other people I kinda know."

Lysander chuckles. "Thou art truly… a beacon of normalcy."

"Hey, it's your turn now."

"I, well…" Lysander's voice becomes hollow and distant, a lower-pitched shell of the one I'm used to hearing him use. "I was once like thee. Alone, bereft of companions, unable to care about anything but mine own solitary self. It was as if I was surrounded by a miserable gray haze. I contemplated dying often… but I was too much of a coward to stay in either the world of the living or that of the dead, having one foot in each. Looking back upon those days, I wish I could congratulate my past self for having the courage to stay alive, instead of berating him one way or the other. I know now I was far too harsh upon myself back then."

"What gave you the strength to keep living?"

Lysander smiles. "It was the Goddess. She approached me in my dreams one night, and showed me the wonders that the world could hold. She showed me a vision of the future — a beautiful dream trapped within crystal glass. The Goddess told me this: 'Guillemagne, this future could be yours. All you have to do is reach out for it.' She gave me the strength to break the glass and free my dream from the crystal, to make it come true… I began to befriend those who were like me, those kindred spirits of the lost and forgotten, those lurking in the corners waiting for someone else to see their potential. I began to love humanity, and by extension, to love myself, since I was… no, I am human. And through this boundless love, I found my purpose, Sir Chaikovsky. I would be the light that drove the darkness in their hearts away."

I wipe a tear from my eye. "That's really—"

The elevator chimes as happily as an inanimate object can be. “Floor 108.”

“Nevermind, we’re here.” I nudge Lysander between the ribs. He glares at me with fear in his dark eyes. “Don’t look so nervous, man. It’ll be over before you even know it.”