(…continued from part one and part two)
Chapter 8
"So… Daemon. How've you been?" Hanin asked the crumpled mess on the floor.
The crumpled mess moaned pathetically.
"Really? How fascinating. I've been thinking that I really need to branch out more too. Maybe revisit my fear of ambition. I mean, I just stay in this nice warm home, with people I care about, eating and drinking and trying my best to make the world a better place. But I get it. At the end of the day, what do I have? A sense of purpose, true. A feeling of belonging, correct. The backing of a generous benefactor, ding. Yet it's all so… what’s the word…? Suffocating? Speaking of, how's the breathing going there good buddy?" Hanin kneeled down over Daemon, surveying his injuries in detail.
She took Mishka to one side of the lobby. Remnants of the old interior remained, the glass partition to their side was cracked and finished in grime, but the odd lapse in opacity was present, revealing the dim silhouette of a desk, filing cabinet and various piles of clothing. Beneath their feet lay a faded red carpet, one which once shone with a pattern of black diamonds and stars, now they were all-but lost beneath the boot-stains, beneath the dust, and amid the frequent torn holes. Hanin looked towards the small wooden staircase behind her, it was the one part which still looked new, mostly because they had to repair it a few years back when it started claiming a few too many legs through its five steps. She hit her Cynet and broadcast to the room where she'd left the newcomers.
"Fawkes, Loomis. First of all I'd like to take this opportunity to whole-heartedly welcome you to the team. The CSS is committed to offering employees a once-in-a-lifetime experience which not only rewards, but also builds within you the traits and skills needed to achieve greater things. Between us, the future will be bright. Secondly, could one of you bring a first aid kit up to the ground floor lobby, and maybe a mop?"
