A Threat

For once Dane could've claimed to have slept well, had it not been for his bed growing legs during the night. He grabbed what looked like nicotine patches with broken hearts on them from the coffee table and stuck one on the bedframe in a smooth movement. It began to convulse and a few seconds later regained its legless form. He sighed and jumped out of bed.

A loud whistle tore through the morning silence. Dane waved vaguely in the direction of a tea kettle causing it to respond with a series of whistles incomprehensible to Dane though he could tell they meant something along the lines of "Good morning". "Morning Chip" was all he could respond with. The kettle in question shared the likeness of a dog, its four stout legs and the glint of intelligence in its glass eyes making it easy to confuse it for one. It began to boil as it saw its master's groggy expression, coffee was what he needed this morning. Dane made a mental note to thank the kettle later.

His memories slowly returned as his mind set in his awakened state. He recalled the interview he had later that day and a wave of anxiety replaced his earlier exhaustion. Anxiety and excitement fought hard for dominance in his mind—the thought of working at the C.I.R.S. was an exciting one though no one really knew what it was they actually did. It was an organization shrouded in both infamy and mystery. 

Dane left the shower having looked at the problem through a few different angles, it paid well and couldn't be that hard so what the heck, he might as well.

Dressed in a tuxedo and dress pants he found Chip waiting for him with a cup of coffee. He drank it in silence absentmindedly petting the dog like tea kettle. The effect of the coffee was minimal, his sense having already been sharpened by his anxiety. He sighed, if he could handle walking beds and sentient tea kettles then a few questions should be nothing.

Dane laughed self-deprecatingly, he had the strange feeling of having jinxed himself.

* * * * * *

Once he stepped out his anxiety dimmed at the sight before him; it was his neighbor Jared wrestling his squirming couch. "Truly, this isn't a world to be taken seriously" he laughed, allowing this small interaction to color the rest of his day.

He walked to the C.I.R.S. building with a bit more confidence, a small smile glued to his face. Before he knew it he had arrived.

Any thoughts were cut short as he dazed at the colossal cube of glass and marble passing for an office building, had it not been for the surrounding buildings he would've thought himself shot into the future. What stood before him was a glass cube with marble lines every 10-12 meters to signify floors, the building had a total of five. Even the air seemed fresher once he entered the premises, though this might have been due to the greenery by the gates.

"What kind of job requires such a building?" he thought.

That was far from his only surprise as when he entered the building he found himself in a tight corridor. To his left were two refrigerators playing chess, how they moved the pieces alluded him. To his right was a small army of sock goblins. They were both held in glass enclosures, both walls were lined with such enclosures. At the corridor's end was a hall that cut it horizontally, at each end of the hall were staircases that when both ways.

Dr. Vega stood in front of the second door to the left, she was the one who had recommended this job to him. Her sleek orange ponytail and piercing green eyes gave her an air of seriousness. She smiled faintly.

"You came," she said, her voice calm but her gaze sharper than he remembered.

Dane nodded, fumbling for words. "I—uh—yes, I thought—"

"Do you want to die?" she interrupted.