going out on the town

Sloan, NV, United States.

3:35 PM...

Circles at the bottom, one whose never experience falling- a continuous floatation. Rigid and tapered, a black vehicle soars through the road.

"Hello, this is the NDDC. How can I help you?" spoke a masculine voice, one whose accent doesn't fit well with his geological placement. 

Silence would occur.

"Sorry for the inconvenience. Both our headquarters and posts have been under Time-Related Discrepancies." nodded the man, followed by more silence.

"Understood, we'll arrive there post haste. Please make sure to fulfill the safety instructions of your respective company guidelines. Thank you." swiping the finger up north, he would ramp up the gearstick and whizz by other flying vehicles.

Shining blue, red- and purple- lights on and off, the machine would pass by other transports and carriages guided by supermetals stretching miles over miles, seeming to bundle across the afternoon.

At a distance, scrapers that touch the soaring clouds would finally be visible, structures flipped pointed towards the ground, and lights- so many neon lights. Displays of many products were shown, ones labeled like:

Buy Now! ZLT Skincare with an 80& discount!

New Banner Release, "Ashes of the Flaming Lady". Log in for 10x free pulls!

Faster. Stronger. "Proud Sun". Coming Soon.

Most would just be misplaced logos on top of one another, probably due to the mass amounts of billboards plastered over the massive building, making up for a total ratio of 70:30 in terms of just pure occupancy of architectural structures.

Eyes on the left and right, stopping by slowly at traffic and having the man looking behind.

"Our goal remains the same, got it?" not waiting for a nod, he placed his gaze back on the floating road. "Some of you are afraid. Some are horrified by the event..." 

...

A speeding truck would break this short break of a motivational epiphany in the middle of a mission, somewhat awkward and very much cheesy in that department. 

"Errr...." asked a feminine voice, scratching her head. "Hmmm..." not wanting to say something rude or just catching a word that was right on the fingertips, just unable to put it on her ring.

"Anything else... you want to say, Colonel Quernt?" she asked this time.

"None. That's all." Quernt, the driver, looked back. "Just a reminder for us all of what happened, and what will." making his eyes go from below the seat up to meet the faces of four people seated as his passengers.

Slowly, the red would turn green, and have him move the lever back up again. Circles would rotate and increase the inches of height the car would be to levitate, before shifting behind to make motion. Work and force would correlate, which results in the pushing of the back motors.

Frontside would do the opposite and cause a pull, similar to those cartoons wherein a steak attached to a pole would be situated at a dog- in this case, a car- having it go chase the imaginary food they never know to reach. Of course, this doesn't make the car able to sit or jump or "play dead".

Logic is sometimes dumber when explained with analogies.

-----

The room was just like an office, now as if being barged by invisible monsters having an all-night party, flogging all the A4, short, and solo bond papers with some unfortunate to meet the jaws of the laser shredder or just caught within the hinges of many cabinets opened like a garden infested with venus flytraps.

Quite the hassle was the best way to describe it, but not something that wasn't out of the ordinary- not that it would compare to that.

"Great." sighed Molly, rummaging through the remaining papers left for his remaining CI work, ruined by both being an uninvited "voluntary" guest to Miss Celery's Yap Session and The Scream by Edvard Munch.

More papers that are stamped would indicate it is done and over, some uploaded online for an easy clean delete through the bin, rather than the usual lasering. But less doesn't equate to having a workload be that much lighter than it is to be endearingly heavy.

"Just great..." muttered, filing up some of the papers with an auto-puncher, clipping it and inserting a metal-popsicle stick-esque thing from two sides and zipping it into one. Best used for archives or for a record history stating he had "done" it, rather than throwing it away as an excuse to the boss.

Lo and behold, that was just one step into the many. Filing, then clipping, then shredding, rinse and repeat. Very mundane.

Not much, but... it's manageable.

"..." staring at his hands becoming the auto-pilot, he would trace his fingers and move towards the left, the countertop now filled with more clipped papers. 

Walking to the side, one-upping a leg on the other- tipsy daisy onto a box that he'd grip with four fingers, two thumbs to hold the sides, and carry them carefully over to an unused chair for a temporary stool for storing the documents.

From underneath, he'd slip them lower down for a foundation to hold and not crease any of the Credit Investigations and the like. "Probably should've asked Meyline to shred this earlier. Best I'd" slight grunt upon putting them on the box, his fingers momentarily stuck on the side panels, but slightly slipping their way out and carefully tucking in any imperfections that can cause some problems.

Molly sighed, pausing for a moment. "Just when can it not get any weirder?" asked himself. For a time, there wasn't a surefire way to put a nail on where the coffin should be. "These past days have been... hectic..." scratching his head in slight estrangement and entanglement with quizzing himself.

Recent wasn't exactly the word he'd like to put it, but it's not like a thing in the past worth noting. Though the word of "present" would surely be what he can describe this feeling.

A present for having found what could've been her....

"It could just be stress, but..." 

And a present for the days when the weirdmageddon may seem right at everyone's doorstep.

"...but why does something feel off?"