“Speak.” The Lord and CEO of the Kubaal Aetheon Trust demanded. Basilisk kneels. Basilisk stands up. Basilisk speaks.

  “Gauth Van Hulsieg, my lord. Has Proteus told you the news?”

  The room was lit only by the balcony from the outside. As dim as the old night sky on the birth of the new moon, it was. Her master's voice booms, an omen of a new God.

  “If he hadn't, I would have placed him among my ornaments.”

  “And so you know how dire our situation has become?” She asks him, slowly approaching like a pilgrim to ancient Mecca. He waves dismissively, sitting upon the ebony throne like a mountain.

  “Do you think I am so unintelligent as to not? Halt.” He demands.

  She looks down and takes a knee again.

  Her master stands, looking over her as if she was a dog about to face punishment. He circles like a vulture. He speaks like an orator.

  “You will be reassigned. You have more important matters to attend to now.” The words are as heavy as the weight of his footsteps. The ice is thin enough to see through.

  “Of… Of course my lord, Gauth Van Hulsieg. What must I do?”

  Her master sits back down as he speaks, her head not daring to look up. “You are no longer responsible for tasks such as societal manipulation or marketing. Your tactics are proving to be old, as is seen through the waking eyes of the Archliege.”

  The thunder shakes the room as he talks, almost as if it falls under his command. As if each word reshapes the weather just as it does the minds to whom he talks.

  “You are being transferred to the role as the grand architect of the language model SERaMACs. Do you have any questions?”

  “I do.” She answers honestly, finally standing up to face him. Her hands held together, her posture of corporate submission.

  “I have a few. My first is about my likely replacement.”

  “Go on.” He enquirers. And so she does.

  “Manticore’s record still has yet to be seen. How exactly will she succeed where I have failed?”

  “There are no guarantees.” He tells her with eyes she's not sure have ever looked up. “She has proven adept at multitasking. She holds expertise similar to yours.”

  “But Gauth Van Hulsieg, please. I am asking specifics.”

  Basilisk rudely interrupts. Her Lord can smell the emotion and envy she held at that moment. He acts with grace.

  “Do not ever interrupt me again, or your face shall become a platter.”

  Basilisk falls to her knees and bows. “Of course. Excuse my reckless folly.” Her mouth says, yet her voice bleeds.

  “You are owed nothing. You are entitled to nothing. Without my permission, you are nothing.” He is sure to remind her.

  “Look at me.” He orders.

  She does, to see he stands over her like a spire.

  “With the retirement of Halcyon, you are needed elsewhere irrespective of your competence. Swallow your pride and do your job.”

  “Yes, Gauth Van Hulsieg.” She reveres, standing to his attention.

  “Good. Get out.” Escapes his mouth.

  And so, as is always, she does. Now with haste.

  She squeezes in the comically small elevator and chooses her next floor. Not to her office. Not to Proteus. Not to Cerberus. Not to her department. Instead, to Manticore's office.

  It is seldom used as she tends to work elsewhere. As she presses to the floor, SERaMACs comes over the intercom.

  “I believe you have chosen the incorrect floor.” The shapeless machine voice tells her.

  Her eyes stare dead into the surveillance camera after the noise. Her bandages reveal more of her face as they have slowly peeled off.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “SERaMACs. Did you hear the conversation in the throne room?”

  It replies instantly which, given the response, is incredibly suspicious. “I'm sorry, but it appears that topic is beyond my scope.”

  “No it isn't.” Basilisk whispers ragefully as she looks away into the door. “Just take me to the floor I selected.”

  SERaMACs complies, moving the elevator to her destination.

  The trip is short and plagued with music. The door opens, Basilisk to dead set to take in the surroundings of the floor. Whatever it is, it is a labyrinth of halls, rooms, personal offices and lunch rooms. A physical manifestation of the theatrics of human resources. They don't matter as she enters Manticore's room.

  She almost chuckles as she sees it as a padded cell, totally incomplete, having only a desk, phone and computer. Manticore sat on her chair doing her nails, the noise of her door opening pulling her attention.

  Her eyes fall upon Manticore's tattered face, seeing an emotionless expression.

  “Oh why hello Basilisk! I see you still need your face done?”

  Basilisk mimics the pleasantries as she answers, standing beside the entrance due to a lack of guest chair. “Ohhoho, funny story there Manticore. I doubt it will be done anytime soon.”

  “Oh no! Why is that?” Manticore asks with impressive fakeness.

  “Well, aha, let's just say that I'll be giving the ol’ effluvium tanks a miss from now on. I've got a new job!” Basilisk replies, her tone an invitation to competitive narcissism.

  Manticore drops the nail file and stands, wearing another floral dress— a true eyesore in the modern world.

  “Aww… that's so unfortunate. You know, looks are quite important Basilisk. But!” Her lips smack together as her face forms a punchable smile.

  “If it's any consolation Basilisk, you're not any uglier than you were before! It's okay, I promise!”

  Basilisk smiles in kind and gets closer, the two a couple feet apart. “That's so sweet of your Manticore. Your perception is so important to me.”

  “I know it is!” Manticore replies, slithering under Basilisk's skin. The lady in black changes the topic to her court.

  “I have some good news too, Manticore. You've got a new job too!”

  The lady in white and rainbow gasps unexpectedly at the news.

  “Oh my God! Is it your old job?!” She asks.

  “Indeed it is.” Basilisk replies.

  Manticore jumps and squeals in excitement, the gesture disgusting Basilisk deeply. At that moment, she didn't see any fakeness. It was genuine authenticity on behalf of her colleague. Disgusting, yes. But ripe with opportunity.

  “Come on Manticore! You get my office too. I haven't changed anything so you can customize to your liking. C'mon, come with me.”

  She invites, opening the door. Manticore's excitement is genuine.

  “Lead the way Mrs Redundant!”

  The two walk to her office, their small talk a battlefield of passivity. Basilisk is sure to open every door, and as they get to her office reception, she stands just before her own.

  “Look Manticore. For how great this conversation has been, I know there is a distrust around me. I just want to say, before I open this door, that I am being genuine. This is your office. This is your reception. You can do whatever you want with it, and I will not bug you.”

  “What's the catch?” Manticore asked.

  “No catch.” Basilisk replies. She opens the door and walks aside for Manticore, waving her in. Manticore doesn't move just yet.

  “Please. You've been so kind. I implore you to go first.” Manticore asks.

  Basilisk nods with a mangled smile and walks inside. She walks around the room as Manticore spectates. To the desk. To the computer. Back to the door. She closes it, then opens it, then closes it.

  “C'mon Manticore!” She implores back. “I have no trick up my sleeve. This office is all yours. Honestly, it's out of my control. I actually had this place styled based upon the cabin I lived in during childhood. It means a lot to me, but…” Basilisk signs and looks away. “But I just have to move on I guess.”

  Manticore looks her up and down. She doesn't even try to hide her skepticism. “So the office is fine? And it's all mine? And you or anyone or anything else hasn’t changed anything about it.”

  “Yes! For fucks sake Manticore, what else do you need to believe? I mean, if I had done anything to it you would've figured it out by now surely.”

  The lady in black says. The appeal was to exploit Manticore's weakness of excitement. One which came from ego, a dense self perception, wrought of childhood conditioning and personality. She saw through Manticore like an insta-therapist. Her appeal worked.

  Manticore smiled. Manticore nodded. “Okay. I'll believe you then.” Manticore says with her signature ooze and vile.

  They maintain eye contact as Manticore walks in. Just as she does, Basilisk joins her.

  “This place is going to be beau—” Manticore said, her sentence cut short by being kicked in the ass by Basilisk. She tumbled onto her face, all while Basilisk escaped the room quickly and shut the door behind her.

  She shoves the lock in the door knob and twists it shut.

  “Basilisk you bitch!” Manticore yells from the other side. She tries opening it to no avail. Basilisk walks away as she speaks.

  “You're dense as pig shit Manticore. Of course I didn't lie to you. I just didn't tell the truth. Good luck placating the billions from in there you fucking swine.”

  Basilisk tunes her ears out as a bunch of curses and shouts come from her office. She walks away, happy.

  “I still got it.” She whispers to herself.