"I'm sorry I was angry at you earlier," she said, lingering under the doorway.
"No worries, I apologize for being rude."
"You weren't being rude: you were right. It needed to be changed. My version was unattractive."
Yes, I know, he thought to himself but society demands that it is said.
"I'm just trying to compliment you," she continued.
Surprised, he mentally reeled back for a moment.
"Thanks," he muttered uncomfortably.
Society is for shit.
She left, and he swiveled back around in his chair. Fingers fell, crashing madly onto plastic keys. The clock ticked erratically; the sound of it echoed around him, and in a hypnotic trance propelled him through a tunnel of pixelated lights. He swept a hand across his brow, wiping the stress and sweat away from him, ever negligent of his surroundings. Negligent of their transformation. Time was waylaid, and his future was locked.
He glanced up as he finished the last letter of his report, and found that he was alone, and the hallways beyond his walls were dark. Something moved around, jumping in and out of his sight, deep in the shadowy corners of the office.
Perhaps its just fatigue, he told himself. His hair prickled up, and a small burst of fear struck him.
Shaking it off, he turned back to his computer only to find that his work was replaced by an infuriating blue screen. It flickered slightly.
With a gulp and a sigh, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.
"Fuck the policies."
(to be continued - bedtime)