Upon the summit of Mount Viscera was a tainted argent facility. Pure metal; a silhouette outlined by the purple haze emanating from the chemical wastes that lay further beyond, between the mountainsides.

  The journey here was uneventful to a fault. The interstate superhighways lay in a state of disrepair on less traveled paths, and the roads themselves were almost deserted.

  Excluding mass haulers, there might’ve been one other passenger vehicle every minute. And the lands between the cities? Uniform. Desolate. Damp.

  He parked beside what looked to be a front gate, a hyperrailer metro track injecting into the facility far far to his left. The weather was the exact same as in North Platte, maybe less windy. The tar was thin here too; gray rock of the mountain side peek out from below in many places.

  Proteus approaches the massive gate into this side of the facility.

  “Identify yourself.” A low, wheezy voice asked from a speaker box. Proteus lights a cigarette and adjusts his hat. “My name is Justin Strogganov. I am here on behalf of the Kubaal Aetheon Trust.”

  The voice is quiet for a moment as it forms a reply. “Do you have a query? Or an appointment?” It asks.

  “No, I am here to perform an audit on staff performance.” He replies, taking a puff of the embering woody paper.

  “Upon whose authority?!” The voice argues. A thud of thunder echoes into the mic as Proteus replies. “The Kubaal Aetheon Trust owns a majority share in Imbondeiro Shipping Solutions. It is upon the authority of the Kubaal Aetheon board of directors.”

  “That high?” He hears the voice say, clearly standing away from the mic trying not to be heard. It comes back.

  “Provide evidence. This is a restricted facility. There has not been an appointment arranged on record.”

  The stench of the rotting dead enters Proteus's nose upon hearing the reply. He tells them. “May you contact the facility manager for a moment? I can only provide such evidence to them.”

  The mic is silent for a moment before another voice is patched in. “Hello? This is Kaitlyn Hulshult you are speaking to.”

  “Do you have video access to the security camera I stand at?” Proteus asks, flicking out some ash. “Excuse me? Yes? Who is this?” The female voice replies.

  Proteus looks up at the camera, piercing its lens with his deep golden eyes. “I am from the Kubaal Aetheon Trust. Do you recognize these eyes?”

  “Oh God…” He hears her utter. The huge gates open soon after, revealing a large yard area filled with crates, lights, disabled machines and some corpses. As he walks through he hears her voice again.

  “Please, if there is anything you need assistance with just let us know at your earliest convenience.”

  Proteus looks back at the gate as he continues walking. “Your cooperation is greatly appreciated. Collect me from the overhang so you may give me a tour.”

  Proteus leans against a wall, under a corrugated overhang while he awaits an escort. As he finishes the cigarette, Kaitlyn seems to emerge from one of the doors, accompanied by two security androids. He turns to her and they exchange a firm handshake.

  “It is refreshing to see competent management.” Proteus comments. “I do not require a full tour. I am only here to inquire with one of your staff.”

  Kaitlyn points to the door, her tight white uniform complimenting her albino complexion. “Of course, and thank you Mr Proteus. Would you like to discuss it in my office?”

  Proteus takes a quick glance at the rotten yard. “Sure.” And so, he follows her to her office. On the way, he gets to witness the spectacle of policy in action. These workers would have easily been replaced with more efficient SERaMACs operated machinery.

  However, policy mandates that certain sectors maintain a certain percentage of their workforce human. Not for any benevolent, economic or moral incentive of course. Only for the purposes of deception, red herrings and control.

  It was loud, moody and filthy. It was what he fought to establish in times since past.

  They reach her office, the place lit like a sterile science lab and decorated like a greenhouse. “Plants?” Proteus asks. “That can't have been cheap.”

  Kaitlyn beckons him to sit in the visitor seat, sitting on her own behind her desk as she replies. “I spare no expense when it comes to modesty.”

  “Of course.” Proteus says, disaffected by the comment. “So, the order of business. I am here to investigate a lead I have been following with regards to a man called John. Are you familiar with that name?”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Yes sir.” Kaitlyn answers, turning off her screen to give full attention. “We have about seven people called John who are under our employment. Do you have anything that can help identify which one?”

  Proteus folds his legs and takes off his hat, putting it on his lap.

  “He has a partner, or acquaintance called Amy who is what I'm truly after. Does that ring any bells?”

  “No sir.” Answers Kaitlyn, extremely keen to solve Proteus's problem and perhaps impress him. “How about I show you a few images of their faces? Do you know what he looks like?”

  “I do.” Says Proteus, nodding his head commandingly. “That is an excellent idea, Kaitlyn. Show me some.”

  Kaitlyn turns her computer back on and searches through the database, a true veteran of clicking on mouses and making spreadsheets.

  She opens up the portraits of all the Johns there, showing them to him one-by-one. She turns her screen around, and the first one is a man of Spaniard complexion. Blonde hair and a massive scar.

  “Not that one.” Says Proteus, and so she shows another slide. This one is a middle-aged man, puffy face and a look of eternal grimace. “Not this one.” Proteus says.

  The next one is a younger man with a short beard, angular head and blue eyes. But his height says he's six foot five. “Not him.” Proteus says.

  The next one is of a man who looked similar, brown hair and only short stubble. Young, lacking youth but clearly young. His height said five foot eleven. “That's the one.” Proteus says.

  Kaitlyn turns the monitor around and looks at him. She looks a little surprised. “Oh yeah, him. Yeah he's been working too hard around here. One of my staff got him to cut it out, thankfully.”

  “Interesting.” Says Proteus, understanding the bureaucracy behind it all. “Do you know when his next shift is?”

  Kaitlyn checks the timetable speedily. “He's… he's supposed to be here in around two and a half hours but he hasn't signed in on the company hyperrailer? That is weird.”

  Proteus folds over his other leg, crossing his arms and leaning back. “He doesn't strike you as the type of person to skip work, does he?”

  Kaitlyn looks up from her screen briefly before answering.

  “I've never met him sir. But if his problematic work ethic is anything to show, I'd assume not.” Proteus gets up and inspects one of the plants, one with both vines and leaves. It makes Kaitlyn a little uneasy. “Do you accept any other means of transport to get here?”

  “Some people drive.” Kaitlyn says, now looking at Proteus. “A lot of the staff live here. But most people coming from abroad take the hyperrailer.”

  Proteus touches the plant. It feels too elastic. He realizes it's probably fake. “Well, I can wait a couple hours to see if he arrives. In the meantime, I think I will become more acquainted with this place— have a little walk around what you do here.”

  He turns away from the plant and approaches her, reaching out his hand. “Your complicitness is greatly appreciated.”

  She shakes his in return, rising from her seat. “Of course sir. And if you don't mind—” She takes out her digiphone. “—I would be greatly interested in doing business with you in the future. I can imagine you've been busy in your public absence?”

  Proteus lets go of her hand and humors her.

  “Sure.” He says, going to his contact lists in his digiphone.

  “I find myself occupied with more… manual tasks rather than administrative tasks these days. But if I can find some good work for you I will be in touch.”

  “Of course sir!” She says, adding his contact details to her list. “Anything at all, I'll be happy to hear from you. And good luck with this John ordeal.”

  Proteus turns to the door slightly, but feels compelled to ask one more question, turning back. “Are you not at all curious as to the details towards my interests in John?”

  She sits back down with a corporate smile. Not there to mislead, but to demonstrate her understanding. “Of course not sir. That is beyond my scope given you accolades.”

  Proteus smiles in response, leaving the room. “I'll be sure to keep in touch. And… May joy approach you.”

  She chuckles slightly with a knowing smile at the comment. “Approach me? I’m more inclined to get it myself. Heheh, may joy approach you too… Proteus.”

  He leaves the room and roams the facility for around an hour, becoming more acquainted with the way things have changed with each passing second. In observance of the staff, he sees exactly what he'd hoped.

  In the management, he sees complicitness. In the workers, he sees media dependence. People's slaving at their jobs as long as they have to, only to take a bite out of their carrot on a stick in the form of shows, politics, celebrates; escapism.

  There was so much noise, yet few words were spoken. Proteus takes a liking to the MeKSUTs present, seeing that they're still operational and in use from when he was out under. They were brand new back then.

  He goes through to one of the MeKSUT bays. He knows that John is a pilot of one, and besides, they're a sight to beyond. They remind him of his piloting days, even if they’re slow and cumbersome. And bound to the shitty ground, and not the soaring skies.

  Many dock, swap pilots and depart as he stands in observation. No one pays him attention as no one cares to truly observe their surroundings.

  All except… one. Who is coming to pilot a MeKSUT which has freshly docked.

  As the man gets closer, Proteus watches him intently, leaning against a rail as he does so.

  And as the man approaches his suit, he becomes the first to notice Proteus, and a look of dread subtly engulfs his face. His confident posture, turned tense.

  “Hello, John.” Proteus says.