There was a reason that I picked the profession that I did. As a kid, I suppose I was different from most my age. There was always this sense of detachment that I felt... like everything was unreal. A very odd but strong feeling that something did not fit right. However, thanks to the many strides made by mankind, I can very accurately explain those feelings now. The best word to describe it would be to call it a lag. Know how there is always a delay when you move and your avatar in a game moves? Always... constant. I would always feel capable of doing things that were impossible. It felt like everything moved with a second of delay while my thoughts flowed free and in the moment, always just that fraction ahead of everything else.
It was a feeling I, over time, got used to—ever present, just no longer at the front of my head. Thought for a while it might be abandonment issues, but if I recall hard enough, that sense has persisted for far longer. Actually, more than anything, I just wanted to understand myself better... my parents better.
Odd bunch they were, even though I turned out quite peculiar myself. Still gives me migraines. Of all the many papers I wrote and all the many heads I cracked open, what a bizarre bunch they were.
Of the many professions a person can choose in their life, I had chosen a rather honorable one. A close friend of mine says that there is no profession more noble and wrought with self-sacrifice, pain, suffering, and misery than the one I picked. He'd say he would rather join an army and serve a despot rather than do what I do. He picked his path, used his knowledge to serve conglomerates, and made money. While I am here... using the same to try and help people. An endeavor that has time and again barely borne any fruit.
I just wanted to know. Wanted to know so badly and still do. The more I dig, the more impossible it gets. The more you know, the more you realize you don't. How did life come to be, anyway? What is consciousness? How do people work... timeless questions, I'm sure. We'll sooner enslave aliens and colonize planets before we ever know.
*Knock* *knock* *knock*
"Come in—" I responded, though my dearest friend had already made it halfway through the door. The door that would not open completely due to stacks of books and the inconveniently placed chair. Not to mention all the sheets lying across the floor, getting caught under the door as it made its movement.
"Ah... as expected," he spoke, tone a bit breathy with disappointment.
"Been a while. Reason for your visit?" I asked.
"Ah, yes, it has, hasn't it?" he replied thoughtlessly, his efforts employed attempting to close the door back up, given that the stack of papers swept and stacked underneath locked it in place.
"Ah yes," he turned, having been successful in his efforts. His eyes scanning the small, humble office.
Rather simple to describe, rectangular-ish shape. Door at one end, my desk at the other. Small elevated platform to my sitting left—two and a half steps. Protective railing. Just another desk and chair covered with shelves and books on all three sides. And in front of that little section, another little cut—half a circle or so—walls of which also covered with shelves filled with books.
"... love what you have done to this place," he spoke sarcastically. "Yeah, sorry, I'm just going to disrespect these," he continued, walking all over the papers lying around disorganized on the floor.
To little fault of his, however, the floor was practically covered in it. Impossible to move around unless one could levitate.
Context. He is him. Yeah, the guy who sold his soul to money and power. The fiend I mentioned earlier. Fast forward—he is the despot he would have rather served. A quarter of the world already at his beck and call.
Egomaniacal asshole. I don't know why we are friends.
"And I don't know how you have a family," said he, swiftly making his way up the elevated platform.
Sick telepathic bastard.
"Not to mention you have somehow kept it together. Although intact is not what I would call it," he continued, nabbing my Nobel Prize off the shelf to fidget with.
Pisses me off. Had to have a more comfortable chair and a desk in the room. And just had to have the interiors designed to have an elevation.
"Ah, so much more comfortable here, why would you sit down there?" he spoke again, having made himself comfortable up there. Chair reclined, feet on desk, and a trophy in hand.
"Careful with that" (It's my Nobel Prize, you asshole, not yours), I commented.
"How dare you! I gave you it," came the dramatic crackdown.
Lying bastard! It's true, but only technically! All you did was hand it off to me on the stage! Fuck off!
"I'll be honest, it is pretty bad—what if the patient is like... you know?"
"I am not taking any at the moment; I am busy compiling my research," I spoke, as if not already obvious by the looks of things.
"Good, good, work hard for me," he spoke with narcissistic nonchalance.
"Ugh, come on, why are you here? Small talk? Catch up? Get to the point," frustration evident in my tone.
"Ah, you hurt me so, my friend," the despot is dramatic. He has a flair for overacting like he is some kind of stage performer.
Ah... here it comes...unfortunately, expecting is not necessarily the same as preparing.
"Your words pain me so. Not to mention the pain inflicted upon my heart seeing you in such dire straits and misery. All work and no play has made you so dull, my friend. You are so busy I barely see you, and I can only imagine the kind of suffering you inflict upon your family by behaving as such. Curiosity killed the cat, my brother, and it will kill you. The large wealth of knowledge has intoxicated you! It's poison! It's killing you! But worry not, my sworn brother, I shall save you! Rescue you from this fate of loneliness! I SHALL—"
"Shut the fuck up! I have tons of work to finish! I am on medication, and I have not been home in days. Could you just leave me be!" Not that yelling at him ever solved any of my gripes with him.
"One of your family members was recently hospitalized," he spoke. His words were like a silent arrow that just blew past me.
"Oh God," I gasped, sinking back into the chair, all the excitement leaving me.
"Actually, wait a minute!" I spoke as a burst of energy hit me. My hands rummaged through the papers and drawers till I found my phone.
No new notifications. No missed calls.
"Wow, they've stopped bothering, have they?" he turned, finally facing me after having sat facing the door the entire while, up till now, playing with the trophy.
His words were brutal, but what else could they mean?
"Wait, how'd you know?" i ask.
"Who do you think was rung instead?"
Wow, spoken like it's obvious... EXCEPT IT'S NOT!
"What the hell?" I responded with confusion and a pained expression.
"I know, guess what? They think you work for me. The look of hate I get from your children—they think I keep you here. And your wife thinks I'm trying something. I mean, I wouldn't trust me either, but bruh, I don't do that shit, you know me, man... too fucking risky."
"The choice of words... 'too fucking risky.' Not a line you won't cross, not something immoral, just pure bad odds. Excellent." Not that my scolding ever solved any gripes I had with him.
"Oh, come on, not a single thank you? I go out of my fucking way to make sure you and your family are doing alright. It does nothing for me to answer calls and run hospital bills on your behalf. I have a billion-fucking-dollar corporation. I would've raised enough power and connections to raise a private army by now if not for this shit."
"I know you better than that...but thanks... It's just"
"Yeah, yeah, that feeling you can't explain. The lag and compulsion, whatever. Just keep pumping out more of these, yeah." He replied, scanning through some of the papers that were lying about.
"Is that why you are really here? Corrupt more of my work and findings to suit your 'organizational growth'?"
"Science is science; I'll use it however the fuck I see fit. I mean, it's public anyway. They could've done something with it themselves, but no, rather point fingers and ask me to be better. The gall, the audacity of every single one of those fucks. We will never see eye to eye on this. It was supposed to be used to help and uplift? Fuck off. Humans do this shit—time they look in the mirror."
"Someday you will realize it's not about them. It's about you. And what do you see when you look inside a mirror?"
"My splendid, chiseled look," said he, clearly not taking the question seriously.
"Hah, you know what that tells me? You can't look past the splendid chiseled lines on your body. Bet you'd get suicidal if it's taken away from you. It's all you have. Nice outfit with cool sci-fi shit attached. Because either you wish to not look inside, afraid of what you'll find... or there's nothing to see. Realize it's about you. Because I'll tell you what I see. I see you are hopeless—and literally so. You live in a world where there is none. You ignore all those distant glimmers because..."
"What kind of pathetic person clings to those? Besides, it's like rolling a gacha—might come to something, might not. I, having been blessed with the worst of it, would like to not rely on unknown variables," he completed the sentence.
"Afraid of compromising yourself, let's face it. If I were to put it artistically, like you like it—you are like ambitions without aspirations, Objectives without Goals. You want to be powerful just so that you aren't weak. You have reasons to do things that lack purpose. I hope you are aware of that." Not that any amount of advice will ever help him.
"Ah, I wouldn't have known had you not told me. I never realized that I was a coward by nature," abundant sarcasm ripped through his tongue. "You don't need to tell me how big a coward I am, and I didn't come here for a therapy session. I am here to relieve you of your duties. I just paid a bunch of guys off."
"You what?"
"F-Y-I, all the work has put so much stress on you, and you are in a sensitive mental state, and therefore need rest. Good time to plan a vacation—*ahem*—sabbatical, which you will take, I will take care of expenses. So go travel around with your family or whatever—go Dubai or some shit, I don't know."
"They were crying at my feet. What was I supposed to do? 'Pwease give daddy back.' Fucking hell. It was cute, though."
"No shit, genius, of course they think I work for you! Here you are, pulling nonsense like this. Besides, I can always count on you to make a media appearance about how 'Great' I am and how much you value our 'friendship', Oh my god, it just occurred to me now...be honest, how much of my career was orchestrated by you, huh?"
"Let's just say we are conveniently collaborating?" he spoke with the 'aren't I smart' look on his face.
"Conveniently collaborating," I gasped. "Stay the fuck away from my children, you deranged psycho! Gahhh... I really hope that there is someone on this fucking planet who matches your specifications. Twenty-three billion people on this planet, and for its sake, I hope you find the one."
Fuck it, I'm off. Won't tolerate this guy any longer. Since he has taken the pains to remove me from my work, I'll take his suggestion and go have some family time. Burn a hole through his wallet while I am at it!
"Yeah, unlikely. At this point, I am getting accustomed to my environment and fate. Whatever wove the sisters of fate at this point. I'm gonna just die alone," he continued as I left my workstation and made my way toward the door.
"God, you just might... take the rest of the planet with you too," said I, never realizing that I might never speak to him again.
"Goodbye, enjoy the family time!" he wished. One that I took for granted. "I am just going to loiter around for a bit." It was the last of him I heard as I failed to slam the door behind me as I left.