Why can't I move my legs? Where did my arms go? I can feel nothing. Am I alive? --1.7 Seconds Post-Integration

  'Executive Lounge? Was I supposed to be here?' Clark worried. 'The tube brought me here. The voice told me to go -- of course I am supposed to be here! Look at it all! So, fancy!'

  Ahead of him were two glorious multi-storied water fountains. People in rich suits filled the atrium and went on their business without a moment's regard for Clark. When the elevator doors opened, a red-carpeted path laid out for him. A golden chain-link fence flanked either side of the carpet. As he made his way through the well-dressed masses which swarmed the atrium no matter which way he turned his head, Clark felt inadequate by comparison. His clothing was rags -- literally.

  I stand out like a dirt farmer waiting in line at the moneylender's office, Clark thought.

  Clark followed the path outlined for him through the atrium. The carpet and chain were a courtesy barrier -- nothing more complicated than a path for his convenance as the new guy. If he wanted, he could easily duck under the swaying golden chains and explore the massive atrium. He didn't, of course; young though he be, he was wise-enough to gleam he shouldn't get fired before he even clocked in for the first time!

  His trip through the atrium was unlike anything he had ever experienced -- scents, colorful sights, monuments larger than a whole home from his hometown. He traveled through the shadows of a couple of massive water fountains. Each fountain had running water spritzing in complex patterns throughout its multi-tiered heft. To his right, a fountain's zenith had been crowned with an anatomically correct heart. To his left, a similar sight, except this fountain had a cross adorned at its tip. He traveled further along his path and saw another couple of massive water fountains in the distance. These statues flanked a massive statue of the store's founder, Sire Augustford.

  Will the wonders of this place ever cease?

  Following the trail through the larger-than-life fountains, Clark slowed his roll. His attention was brought to the central most statue of Sire Augustford. He was drawn to the fountain. Why is that... like that? He wasn't eloquent in his self-speech. Yet his attraction to the material was total to the point his gaze blocked out the rest of the world. His senses attenuated to the material--

  Reality zipped away from sensation. Only for a moment. Though, to him, it was as though that moment persisted long after it should've faded.

  The statue, that massive one of the Founder, turned to face him, its stone skin contrary to everything Clark had learned about physics, which was just about nothing, but still! It turned to face him. He didn't need to be a scientist to be aware of the age-old fact that stone statues should not be able to move!

  But the statue only moved to look at him, it did not move, as he feared it would, from its pedestal. Thanks be to the Holy Ones! He repeated under his breath and in his mind repeatedly. Now, hopefully, it does not pick me up and eat me!

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  All around Clark, black ichor presided, blocking the slow-moving shapes of the fancily dressed atrium folk. He looked to the statue's face. It was not of stone, but of flesh.

  The statue's face was much like his own -- young and male. This face, though, was unlike his own dark skin by showing a depth of suffering he had only heard from the grieving anguished.

  One word was all it uttered before shattering the terrifying curse which blocked out the world.

  "Help..."

  People talked. Phones rang. The world was back -- as was the statue, to normal.

  Clark stood staring at the statue for what felt like a long time. He eventually forced his feet to move, if only to make sure he was not on caught dumbly doing nothing while his handlers, whoever such people were, came down on him with force. He would like to avoid all moments of corporally punishment if he could. Ideally speaking.

  Moving again while the gentle norm of reality blazed in his ears, the bizarre encounter seemed far away, as if it had not happened. Had it not been for the tremors still swimming in his muscles, he would have been tempted to chalk-up the oddity to his stressed-out mind. His journey from his hometown to Augustford Central had been a long one; that and the journey itself had been more protracted and death-defying than he thought... Plus, the night before, he hardly got any sleep, so anxious he was to report for his first day.

  All that was beside the point now.

  As Clark walked down the rest of the royal path laid out to him which would bring him to his orientation space -- just as his research and 'employment guides' had spoken of -- he couldn't help but glance at the statue several times. Will you talk, buddy?

  Of course, the statue talked to him no more. It remained as a statue might be expected. Unmoving, ostentatious, and a sign of power.

  Moving into a gently sloping part of the atrium which descended into a closed off, cave-like space, tiny red lights blinked to his left and right as a calming aroma filled the air. The ceiling was low and looked smooth to his eyes. He kept to the path and came before a much calmer part of the atrium than the bustle which occupied the outside. He followed the path until it brought him to a door whose perimeter was lined by the gentle red lights.

  On the door was a plaque which read 'Lifer Training Room 16.'

  The door slid open at his approach.

  It revealed a large space, most of which was draped in shadows, except for a sole position perhaps a dozen meters or more doused in light.

  In the center of this light was a sturdy table. Clark approached the table. It was made from a luxurious, solid oak. I'm sure this table cost more than my family was ever worth, Clark lamented.

  Sitting atop the table was a blocky, military-looking suitcase. "Looks sleek, right?" Clark asked himself: Who am I talking to? Clark liked to talk to himself; his family, unfortunately, had not seen it his way, as a social aid, and forced him instead to keep his thoughts purely internal. I am gone from them. I can do what I want, here...

  On top of the suitcase was an index card with small, typed print: "For Clark."

  He opened the suitcase. His heart stuttered.

  A System Link.

  His very own System Link.

  He thought about the research he had done before signing the employment contract. He remembered the odd stories people talked. About a 'System' and its miracles. It was partly how people talked about the store which made him want to get a job with them in the first place; former workers, the media, as much as one existed, talked about the 'Augustford experience,' as though it was a world unto itself. From what he saw, it was all true.

  Every Lifer got their very own Link. Every worker was, in fact, highly valued. It wasn't just corporate propaganda.

  A voice from the ceiling, that 'PA system,' he later learned, spoke to him. It was the same voice from earlier and sounded plainer than gravel.

  "Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life," the voice said. "Before System Link System Installation can begin, please strip naked."

  me to strip naked. Run Clark, run! They be weirdos!

  Weirdos?