|| -------- -- -----  A E R I E   O B L I V I A N A . singular book of text wandertainment by Frank Edward Nora ------------------- ----------- OFFICE COMPLEX--CUP 12--"PRINCE FERRAJALT" <-------  ||  Severe Repair  ||  Office Complex  ||  -------> (Cup SRoc012, Created v2 (6/7/99), Copyright 1999) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Ledrant Hate and Prince Ferrajalt stood motionless outside the Noyage Parlour, surveying the unbelievable scene. "This is big." Ferrajalt said. "Yeah. So Injure was right after all. God damn." Hate said, taking a drag on his cigarette. It was the streetlights that really got them. That, and the strange sort of cold. And of course, the lack of people. But the streetlights, they were a real pisser. Huge. Too huge. Fifty stories high they looked, some of them, casting their cold light on the cold scene. "So is this it?" Ferrajalt wondered. "Are we screwed? Is this the end of everything?" "I don't know. I wish we could get a hold of Injure. Why don't you try the payphone again?" "I told you man, I don't like the shit I'm hearing on the phone. Weird shit, it doesn't make any sense." "Theoretically Prince," Hate began, taking another long drag of his cigarette and looking up the abandoned street, "we could be stuck on this crashed Earth for the rest of eternity. Who knows if death even works anymore? The collapse of all reality--and Injure saw it coming." "Yeah--and what the hell was he saying this morning--we all thought he was nuts--about how that guy Daptin Gone was involved in it, like it was his fault or something?" "I have no idea. You know I met Daptin Gone on the day I was recruited. He gave Zillionthi a pretty good scouting report, unlike three months ago. He seems like a good person." "Yeah." "But you know, Injure was right about this happening, so who knows what the hell else he was right about." Suddenly, the payphone rang. A chill ran up Ferrajalt's spine. He looked at Hate. "Hey man, why don't you get that?" "Why--scared?" "Fuck yeah I'm scared--you didn't hear that shit like I did." "Fine." Hate said, walking over to the phone, deliberately calm, and answering it. "Hate here." The voice was that of a feisty old woman. "Hey sonny, get your life in order, get rid of that Office Complex of Gumhanshire. Operator 6, 114-Demise." With that, the line went silent, save for a distant buzzing. Hate looked at the handset with a puzzled expression, then hung it up. "What was it?" Ferrajalt asked. Hate turned around. "It was some woman. She said I should get my life in order and get rid of Office Complex at Gumhanshire. Then she said something about an operator." "Huh?" "Exactly. Is that the sort of stuff you heard?" "No." Then the two were startled by voices they heard from within the Noyage Parlour, approaching the door. "People!" the Prince exclaimed. "Let's hope so." -------> ------------------- ----------- -------- -- -----