“I don’t know Mr. Stone,” said the Humanoid. His wide deep black eyes were fixated on Agent Andrew Stone. “I don’t understand how I ended up to be here or anywhere at all. I just know that I wished for it.”
Chapter 1 - Starting again?
Chapter one: The Distance We Go
We'd been walking for awhile through the histricity streets--felt like about six HUnits--when we encountered an unusual sight: a lighted storefront. The lights were blindingly bright and colorful. They were twisted and curved into unusual shapes, a kind of text I hadn't encountered before.
She comes home to an empty house. The furniture has been shipped someplace. His two drawers of khakis and shirts and ties are emptied, packed into the extra-large suitcase they bought for beach vacations he’s taken with him. The bedding is stripped; the laundry machine turns. Like a teenager, he has folded a note into an envelope and left it on the nightstand. He does not know how to write. Does not know how to express himself.
"Beautiful view, isn't it?"
Lola sat upon a ripped up old booth seat, in the 24 hour railway diner, at the edge of some station in London. It was around 2am, she was the only person there. She sat jittering, eyes wide with fear, sipping on a coffee. Her hand shook as she picked it up, causing her to put it down and grab her wrist to try calm it down.
The bell attached to the glass entryway door rang as an old man with heavy eyes inched his way into the dimly lit diner. He could barely pick his feet up off the ground as he moved to a nearby open table. He sat in a corner booth with torn vinyl upholstery that had an indiscriminate white fuzz peaking through. As the old man waited with a subdued composure that only comes with age he fiddled with the flaking wood veneer table top that easily matched him in years. There were only a handful or so of other customers at that time of night, and still the waitress took her time as she made her way over to the old man. His face, in a constant state of drooping grumpiness, showed an unexpressed and deeply buried impatience. His eyes longed to control time itself, to take things back and to make things right, yet his body sat still in acquiescence.
Right now, the second worst person you can be in this city is me.
Felix Alfonse watched the severely underweight, pasty white guy with a briefcase that screamed, ‘ROB ME,’ walk through the sea of coffee swilling and steak and eggs eating rough necks. It was practically comical. The only reason he hadn’t been robbed was because Felix was in residence.