"How long has he been this way?" a voice asked.

  A small crowd had formed over a cubicle, interrupting the usual work day to a sudden pause.

  "It's been ten minutes since I noticed…" Ford answered to the company responder. Who was shining a small flashlight on Stellan's pupils, still hoping for a reaction. "He was just fine earlier. We were just talking about… paperwork," he added.

  "Uh-huh," the responder replied. Who softly grabbed Stellan's sleeve, laying it gently on the desk before rolling the cloth up. He then proceeded to press two fingers to the pulse point to check his heartbeat. A few seconds later and the results came.

  "His pulse's fine," the responder stated, raising a brow from the confusion.

  "When's the last time he'd been like this?" he asked the crowd.

  The gathered crowd murmured among themselves. Most of them were acquaintances but it all ended there, something they only maintained in a professional setting. After a few more hushed discussions, Ford stepped up again to answer.

  "I've never seen him like this, so no… this might be the first time," Ford stated, scratching his forehead while crossing his arms.

  "Does he do any… medication?" the responder asked.

  "Not that I know of?"

  "Anything recreational?" he pressed.

  "You mean weed?"

  "Yes," stated the responder, whose eyes were still affixed on Stellan.

  "I mean, he told me he uses mushrooms sometimes?" Ford replied, approaching the responder closer. Whispering in his ear with a bit of hesitation in his voice. But decided that the answer was more important.

  "Gas station shrooms?" asked the responder quietly.

  "Nah… he's too picky for those," Ford said.

  "And, you saw him take these… recreational mushrooms today?" the responder probed.

  "No, the kid's too uptight to take one during work… so I don't think so," Ford answered.

  "I see," the responder concluded. Who flashed Stellan's pupils once more with the light.

  A necessary procedure to check if someone was still conscious, taught in earnest in medical school. One sear of the light to one's pupil will force it to dilate, showing their current state, whether they knew what was currently transpiring but could not react accordingly due to some underlying issue.

  But this case was different. The responder could not put a finger on what was happening to Stellan. He was frozen, like a statue. His pupils did not even react when he flashed them with light. But everything from his breathing, body heat and pulse were normal for a healthy man in his twenties. With all these clues tied together, he could only deduce that it must have been some sort of brain or heart difficulty that was yet to take its full effect.

  He then reached for his handheld radio to call an ambulance, when suddenly,

  Stellan gasped for air violently as if he'd been drowning. Cold sweat rushed to his face while he frantically scanned the room, only to see a small crowd forming where he'd awoken. He could see the look of worry most of them had. And the aged corporate responder who was kneeling in front of his office chair was also surprised by his sudden awakening.

  "Welcome back to Earth!" Ford shouted, making humor in the situation. "How was your trip?" he stated, garnering nervous chuckles from the onlookers.

  Stellan could only show a puzzled reaction, an understandable one, seeing as he'd been the closest he'd ever been with death just seconds earlier. He then realized what his memory entailed. He frantically rushed to pat his left knee with trembling hands, the same one that he believed would be in an irreparable state. Frantically scanning the pants where there should be a hole from a gunshot, only to see that there was none.

  This in turn made the crowd curious about his sudden frantic dabbling. But the responder proceeded to continue to do his job.

  "How are you feeling son?" the responder asked gently.

  "I…" Stellan replied with a stutter, still struggling to find an answer for how it came to be.

  "It's alright, no need to rush… are you good? Does your head feel heavy?" the responder asked.

  "No I… I'm fine," Stellan answered. Unconvinced by the response, the responder continued his probing.

  "Good. How many numbers are you seeing?" the responder continued, raising his fingers in front of Stellan's face. Stellan anxiously traced them in kind.

  "Two…"

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  "Four…"

  "Two again," Stellan answered. The responder stood from his kneeling position and grunted.

  He then turned his neck and looked at the crowd. He flicked his hand as a gesture for them to return back to their work. Which they hurriedly understood, returning to their stations while containing their burning curiosity which could be used for gossip in the after-hours.

  Everyone dispersed except Ford, who was still unmoving from his spot, and another middle-aged man who had a semblance of seniority.

  The responder then returned his attention to Stellan, whose eyes were still affixed to his knee. Appearing like he was still searching for something that wasn't there. Before proceeding with his check-up.

  "You remember your name?" the responder asked, making Stellan's cold sweat-ridden face look up.

  "Yes sir… Castellan Moss, 27, male, date of birth, June–"

  "Okay, your brain's intact at least," the responder interrupted. He then proceeded to look at Ford pointedly, who caught on and refused to meet his gaze. "Your friend told me you like to feel lighter," he said.

  "Excuse me?" Stellan asked, genuinely confused by the implication.

  "Based on what your friend's description… you tend to consume… herbal medication," the responder explained.

  Stellan then looked at Ford with utter disbelief, who shrugged his shoulders as if he didn't know what the responder was referring to. Before he could snarl at him, he saw the man who'd remained alongside Ford, nodding to him in a sort of professional courtesy. Which returned Stellan back to the conversation.

  "I do… but… it's just shrooms," Stellan responded with a guilty verdict. Still confused from the scenario.

  "Good mushrooms perhaps?" the responder asked.

  "Yeah, I grow them myself… I have a garden in my apartment…" Stellan added. Realizing that he'd admitted too much, he rushed to steer the topic. "But it's all for personal use! I don't sell… I'm not a seller, I just… like using them," he insisted.

  The responder appeared amused by the answer. Chuckling at Stellan's flustered statement followed with a light tap to his shoulder. "I'm not a cop kid. I just wanted to know if you took one this afternoon," the responder said. Prompting Stellan to glance at the clock. It was two hours after lunchtime, several minutes before his dedicated break. And when his computer had gone haywire, the very same computer with rows of tables and columns that were still half-filled.

  "Did you, son?" the responder stated, interrupting Stellan's pondering.

  "No… I don't take any during working hours. It affects productivity," Stellan answered. Seeing as one of the two onlookers was still assessing him.

  "And the real answer?" the responder pressed.

  "I tend to be talkative whenever I'm high… A bit too much to my liking…" Stellan responded with a rather bashful tone.

  Another chuckle came from the responder before he turned his back. And approached the man who was alongside Ford, who'd remained patient in the background.

  "A couple of days of rest will do… I suggest a brain scan if this happens again…" the responder said, instructing the floor manager. Which Ford and Stellan answered to for most parts of their careers.

  "Is it life-threatening?" the floor manager asked with a tint of worry.

  "No, but I’m not a doctor so it might be just a case of overwork… But just to be sure, give him time to rest," the responder advised.

  "Understood. Can you fix a medical signature in the meantime? Part of the paperwork," the manager requested.

  "Sure, I'll have it delivered to you in a jiffy," the responder answered, nodding to Stellan. Who in kind gesture nodded back. Before proceeding to the elevator with a rushed pace, since he also had to deal with other issues a few floors above and below.

  The conversation was then finished. Seeing as Ford had no other reason to be there, he awkwardly glanced to Stellan who had barely fixed his bearing. Before awkwardly strutting back to his cubicle, hoping that his boss wouldn't notice him leaving.

  "Mr. Linden…" the manager called. Making Ford pause in his footsteps.

  "Would you mind taking over Mr. Moss's work? We have much to discuss," he said.

  Ford regretted the fact that he'd remained but did not answer back. Only clicking his tongue in annoyance before saying 'yes' to the newly assigned task at hand. Stellan was still out of sorts, but was briefly returned to the present when a familiar scent of cologne managed to waft underneath his nose. Craning his neck up, he saw a familiar sight which he'd seen for years.

  The manager was around his fifties, a thin straight-faced man wearing the suit his wife had prepared him for decades whenever it was a Tuesday. He had a closet dedicated to the days he was at work. A caring husband, a loving father, a senior with no controversies regarding his profession, and a well-respectable figure. Castellan had seen him more than his own parents ironically, due to them both being dedicated to their work. They'd grown to form a silent respect with one another over the years. Making Stellan unsure what kind of judgment he would form due to this sudden discovery of his hobbies.

  "Mr. Moss, are you capable of walking?" the manager asked with a stern approach.

  "Yes sir… I can manage," Stellan answered, who was still questioning his state of mind.

  "Please meet me at my office at a later time," the manager conceded, tapping Stellan's shoulder with a rather gentle courtesy. Before turning and walking back to his office that was divided by a door and several glass panels.

  Stellan traced his boss's back until he'd closed the door behind him. He was still hesitant to dismiss what he'd seen and experienced. He then subconsciously craned his head toward a spot in the room. Only to see Ford looking back at him with a sheepish grin. Raising a thumbs up as if to tell him that everything was okay. As if he wasn't the reason why there'd been a sudden revelation just moments earlier.

  Despite this, Stellan did not feel any malice toward him. He was willing to believe that all he'd seen was a hallucination, stemming from a shroom that he'd consumed a couple of nights before. But reality has always been blatant. Making his disillusionment irrelevant when he felt a weight on his right hand.

  The hand that had held a revolver. The one that had accidentally claimed a life. The very same finger that had pulled the trigger that tore a hole through the heart of his coworker.

  The very same hand, where a silver ring now sat on his palm. With a faint hue of blue pulsing gently, making him think a word in his mind involuntarily.

  Inventory.

  Candidate_Dandy628

  Gray 1-Star ★

  Inventory:

  → Lesser Mana pill 3x

  → Newbie handbook 1x

  → Lesser Health pill 2x

  → Poor man's rations 2x

  Token: 3488