The Worlds’ Finest

The secretary opened the door and revealed a lavishly furnished office that spoke volumes about the success and prestige of the firm. As I stepped inside, the gentleman seated behind an executive desk rose to his feet with an air of authority and keen interest, scanning me with a sharp gaze. Our initial meeting was marked by a firm handshake, signaling the start of a potentially significant professional relationship.

"Vance, I take it?" he inquired, his expression earnest and probing, as if trying to read more than just my appearance.

"Yes, Mister Pembrose. It's a pleasure to meet you," I replied, my voice steady and confident.

"Tell me, in your own words, what makes you an ideal candidate for this position?" he asked, genuinely interested in my personal perspective rather than just my credentials.

"Well, I hold my license and each accreditation required by the Board," I began, my response underpinned by a sense of pride in my qualifications. I reached into my briefcase and carefully pulled out several documents, handing them to Mister Pembrose.

"My portfolio includes three years as lead counsel, complemented by five prior years of dedicated clerical work within the field," I continued, laying a solid foundation of my professional experience.

"Let me stop you there, son. I want to know about the person, not just the record," he interjected, making a gesture towards my chest, emphasizing his interest in my character and individuality.

Taking his cue, I elaborated, "All of my previous employers have been quick to recommend my talent to adapt to new situations, with three of them having written letters detailing such adaptability. I thrive on challenging myself, whether it's by learning new skills, experimenting with gym routines, tasting exotic foods, or delving into classic literature." I paused, then added, "I rarely fall ill, was undefeated in high school track, and my favorite meal is carbonara."

"Go on," he encouraged, his interest piqued.

"I often seek new job opportunities to challenge myself by changing my environment, and I believe that working here at Pembrose & Lafayette will present the greatest challenge yet," I stated confidently, my enthusiasm for this new potential role clear.

"Very well, your challenge begins Monday at 8 a.m.," he declared, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth, acknowledging my readiness to embrace the new role.

"Thank you, sir!" I expressed my gratitude, feeling a surge of excitement for the opportunity.

We both rose and concluded our meeting with a final, affirming handshake. He handed me his business card, which I carefully slid into my wallet, a symbol of the start of a new chapter. I then opened the door and passed by the secretary, a broad smile on my face. I got the job!

On my way back home, while waiting for the metro, an unusual tremor rippled through the ground, subtle yet noticeable. The station lights flickered momentarily, and a fine dust drifted down from the ceiling. Surveying the crowd, it seemed only a few had noticed the disturbance.

Suddenly, the P.A. system blared to life, announcing, "YELLOW LEVEL THREAT! I REPEAT, YELLOW LEVEL THREAT! PLEASE PROCEED TO YOUR NEAREST S-SHELTER IN AN ORDERLY FASHION!"

Panic ensued as people began to scatter frantically, seeking safety. Most headed towards the station entrance, while others cowered under benches in fear.

Amidst the chaos, a high-pitched shrieking echoed from down the tunnel, growing louder as it was accompanied by the bright glare of headlights. The ground's trembling intensified into a palpable tremor, causing cans to tumble from a nearby vending machine and posters to fall from the walls. Several overhead light bulbs burst, casting the station in an eerie, dim light.

As the metro shrieked past the platform, I caught a brief glimpse of two figures entwinned in a violent struggle inside the control room of the train. One of the combatants was sent flying through multiple cars, his body ragdolling at a horrifying speed, finally landing on the tracks.

The other figure leapt from the train and pounced on the fallen man, delivering a furious barrage of strikes as if trying to reverse serve a volleyball straight into the devil's bedroom. Each impact reverberated through the station, shattering the concrete below with each devastating blow.

Struggling, the victim managed to free a hand, reaching toward his hip to retrieve a small device. As his face was mercilessly beaten, he flipped open a cap and pressed down with his thumb, managing to gasp out a strained ultimatum between the brutal strikes.

"I… Am... Sorry."

Suddenly, the world around us turned blindingly white.