projectnex

[projectnex]

It was a technical error. Yet, whenever the news flashed his face all over the place, he couldn't help but clench his fist in frustration.

"It happens," his boss said as he took a sip of his tea. "Frankly, I've had this conversation almost every day and I tire." Zap. He shut off the tv.

"Isn't there anything we can do to prevent it?" the man said, gritting through his teeth.

"You won't last long if you care about every case as much," he said, looking over the files. His tea had colored a rusty red, and his stomach turned.

"But this is wrong! This is not what we're about," the man yelled, slamming his gloved hands down.

"Your frustrations are a valid emotion, but it will be easier if you accept this. Everything went according to law," he said.

"I-"

"You should maintain your professionality. Everything went according to law."

Everything went according to law. Everything went according to law. He must've imagined the metallic taste in his tea.

[projectnex]

"Whew boss, this is sowme grade A liquor. Good! Verrrry good!"

The man, intoxicated, threw the cocktails back, fishing the paper umbrella from his throat. He had underestimated the bright pink liquid, transforming from a sweet sugar to a fierce flame as it traveled down his stomach.

"I'm glad you enjoy it," the sober man said, opening another packet of pills, dropping them in his own. He stirred his own drink with a steady hand, preferring a frigid steel parfait spoon to crush the ice.

"Are you gowna, drug me boss?" the drunk slurred, throwing his arms backwards in disbelief and leaning on the couch.

The sober man smiled and put the pills in a screw-cap bottle back to the cabinet. The kitchen dimmed as he moved out, part of an automatic system and sat next to the drunk who was spilling his drink on the tapestries. "Now don't make a mess here."

"Sowwy," he cried, curling up and patting the sober man's chest. "Don't be mad baws," he cried.

"There, there," he said as he ruffled his junior's hair. "You had a hard week didn't you? I won't get mad about something this trivial."

The drunk man let out a soft sob and planted his face in the other's lap, who shifted uncomfortably. "I-I… I didn't…"

"Sh," he soothed him, "Relax," he said, stroking his shoulder while bringing the clear liquid to his mouth. Bitter.

[projectnex]

Papers covered the charts, charts the papers, and this multiplied by tens. The man shuffled between the stacks, noting the crisscross of the trends, margins and benchmarks attached to the walls. The desk left everything to the imagination.

"Boss," he said, eyes unwavering. The typing sound stopped with a sharp enter.

"Be quick."

"I brought your coffee. Colombian."

The typing continued. He took it as an invitation, and squeezed his way behind, leaving the cup in a small window, carved through the paper.

"It was an expensive import boss," he added.

A pale hand took the cup, and the clear sound of stirring overcame the printer’s noise. A slight sip before the cup gently settled back in its saucer.

"You're dismissed."

That guy is stuffy as always. He sighed, adding the brand to the shopping list. 2000 packets would suffice.

[projectnex]

"Are you nervous?"

I took a deep breath. "I’m not."

"That doesn’t sound believable to me," the man said. He fixed my collar, zipping it up and bereaving me of the cool air. "We can’t have you fumbling around on your first day, now can we?"

His eyes weren’t seeking a confirmation, nor were they focused on mine. They tracked my movement as if he was inspecting me for bugs.

"I’m fine," I assured, pushing his hands away. The gent patted my clothes and rubbed them down, removing folds and dusts from the pure white in silence. He accompanied me throughout my trip, but ignored the question pertaining to his identity when I brought it up earlier. His fingers fumbled with my bangs, annoying me but he was older than me, and I had a hunch there was more to him than I could inspect now.

"You should trim it," he said, gazing over my strands. His intentions were unreadable from his voice. I had expected interesting and brilliant men, bizarre, but geniuses. But he excelled in averageness.

Sharp dressed, handsome, but nothing defining. 

The cubicle grew tighter, and I heard a crowd through the walls. My hands clenched my sides, wiping away the excess sweat as my composure was wavering.

"Have you ever been in an airport, Nex?" he asked, redirecting his attention to the door. "I haven’t."

"Feast your eyes."

Buzzing filled my ears as the door dropped and placed me in the front of a bustling room. Men in coats, uniforms, all sorts of fancy brisked past me, assistants tailing them. The sun shone brightly and illuminated the place, the reflections of the polished hub stunning me. The dome rotated, no, seemed to rotate as the projections changed. My companion stepped forward and shook me out the daze.

"It was nice talking with you. Go register at the desk," he gestured. "Unfortunately I'm a busy man so please excuse me now. See you later," and he pushed me from the platform.

"W-wait, where do I-" I started, but as I turned my back, the lift and the man had disappeared. Vanished with the wind. I wonder who that was.

By no means was I shy, but the consistent marching, serious faces and short replies intimidated me. My breath fell short as I was confronted with the most humans I had ever seen in one place. I might have felt less inclined to stare if it wasn't for my bangs, but I couldn't help observe the figures running about. A ruckus at one queue was especially intriguing.

"Let me pass! I'm a faculty head!" a spright young man demanded. The bright parakeet on his shoulder caught my eye, and he seemed out of place between the men in white coats.

"We are under direct command of boss. Please respect his decision to have his faculty members hold his spot." one of the white coats repeated multiple times.

"Holding a spot in a communal used queue is not acceptable. Do I have to remind you of your position?" the man fumed. He was dressed casually, and looked a little young, but his posture screamed confidence as his hair twitched in bursts.

The white coats mumbled amongst themselves, leaving twitch hair stampeding his feet.

"We can't disobey boss. He'd dismember us."

"Dissect us."

"Decimate us."

The man radiated his displeasure and took out his phone, scrolling and swiping with force, glaring big trouble at his obstruction with the phone pressed against his ear.

"Excusez-moi!"

Someone bumped my back, and I stumbled forward. "Merde," he cursed, dropping his phone. He stared me down, and I felt strangely obligated to apologize so I crouched, but before I could even reach out he snatched the phone and walked away. "Fucking tourists."

Feeling self-conscious, I got a move on and went to the checkpoint which was sparsely populated. A man in immaculately shiny glasses looked down upon me.

"Pass."

"Huh?"

"Pass."

"Identification papers. You are a new discipline, correct?" he forcibly smiled.

I blanked out. Aside from the clothes and that,  I possessed no such papers.

"The ones you received upon your acceptance?" he asked, procuring a mock copy from behind the curtain. Deftly flipping them, he sighed and put them away when he saw (or did he sense) my confusion.

"Do understand I can't let you pass. Please stay in this zone and consult our trouble desk for lost documentation," he continued, and pointed to the rickety shack a few meters past. Seemingly unmanned. One ring of the bell. Two rings. I gave up after the third and leaned over the counter, but no officials in the vicinity to grab their attention.

"Now don’t go trespassing there kid," a voice called out. A boy, maybe a man, strode up, lacking the formal attire or fancies, but with a significant poise that piqued my curiosity. He sported the same kind of glasses the desk worker had, but seemed less uptight with his striped socks beneath his oversized pants.

In hindsight, he was helpful.

"I have trouble with my documentation sir," I replied, "currently awaiting service."

"Newbie?" he asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "You’re not a mortal I hope?" he said, hands on hips, leaning forward. He wasn't scrawny,  not a huge guy either- there was something about his slender body that was flowing but frail.

"I don’t think so," I said. He observed me, circling much like the other sir, assessing my qualities while hunching over. He had a peculiar smell, a certain richness to him, that accompanied his looks, a vague, chocolate odor. "Are you perhaps a new computer language," he guessed.

"Yes. I'm called Nex, and finished development 5 years ago, qualifying for a class at a prestigious college a month back."

The man paused and his eyes widened up so big that I could see my reflection. "Are you only 5 years old Nex?"

I stepped back, intimidated by his sudden closeness.

"That is amazing!" he squealed, before closing the gap to rub my hair. I chewed my lip, but by all means, he was still my senior.

"Nice to meet you kid! Lately we've been receiving many of your digital kind, but you’re still a little mayflower. Tell me a bit about your founder, will you?"

He got a device out and pushed it in my face, startling me when it flashed my face. "F-founder? My founder was an intelligent person. As most should be." I answered with dignity.

"Wow, wow," the man exclaimed, waving his hands in the air. "Aren't you jumping ahead of yourself, kid? Geniuses, yes, but also madmen, are who enabled us to exist.

Well, she was a special case, but to call her mad was an over exaggeration.

"By the way, aren'tcha wondering who I am?" the man prodded, moving the recorder obnoxiously at random, almost hitting my face. "You're really curious, right?"

"I can't deny that," I admitted. "Connections are important," is what my founder always said, when she forced herself in tight suits to garner even the slightest of respect from her peers.

"My name is the almighty Anthropology," he bowed. "Humans call me Anton."

"Greetings sir Almighty Anthropology. Which faculty do you belong to?"

Beat. He stared, then smirked and patted my head. Did I say something strange?

"I'm a faculty head kid."

"Oh," I answered. That sounded impressive (although I didn’t quite realize the implications until later) and important to build my connections.

"You're quite airheaded for a computer language, aren't you?" Anthropology sighed, grabbing my shoulder. "Do you even know what I am or what I do around here?"

"I don't sir."

"Kid. Strap up and prepare for the ride of your life," he said, motioning for me to follow him through the gate.

I’m Nex.