The frigid winds cackled throughout the darkness as a car's headlights crested over the horizon. With a pained screech from the tyres, it caked itself in mud, and turned the ground beneath it to slush. A flurry of misty breath and bedhead burst out of the machine with a briefcase in hand, and slammed the door shut before stashing his keys haphazardly in his pocket. Holding the briefcase over his head for a vain attempt at protection from the elements, the man splashed across the saturated ground towards the front door. It was a large house, by even generous standards, and a fancy, if a bit haughty sounding doorbell that he pedalled at impatiently. "Open up, dammit…"

With the winds howling at his expense, he wondered what he was even doing out here, dragged from his warm bed at three in the AM at the boss' orders. Even in this limited light, he could tell that the building had been neglected, with the weeds beginning to take over the garden, and what looked like a fresh crack in the window. Has he fired ANOTHER maid, the man thought, groaning internally. Every time a maid was 'fired' i.e. she had walked out after he'd gotten a little too 'handsy', hiring a new one only got harder. After all, this was a small town. Word spread quickly.

After what seemed like an eon, the buzzer on the door blared, its high pitched squawk not unlike that of a startled magpie. Wasting little time, the man bundled himself in and banged the mahogany door shut, locking the horrible weather behind him. He straightened his business suit in an attempt to iron out the creases and squinted at his phone;

3:24.

And buried his face in his palm.

"Oh man, he's gonna kill me…" The employee groaned, smoothing his hair down and ascending a spiral set of stairs lit only by the bare glow of outside. With every echoing footstep, the young man's bewilderment grew. What in the world was so important that it couldn't wait until morning?

Shaking dust from surfaces with each step he took, the sheer level of neglect astonished him. Up another flight of stairs and down a murky hallway, he became keenly aware the place was so dusty that not even the paintings of his boss' ancestors on the walls could watch him. Thankfully only one set of eyes fell on another door - this one oak - he gave the firmest knock his quivering hands could offer, shifted awkwardly, and waited. Why did it have to be the room at the end of the hallway and up all the stairs...?

"Come in, Johnson."

The dutiful employee gulped down his anxiety. He twisted the door handle open and was immediately met with a blast of warmth. The air, now thick with heat and blended in with the pungent stench of decay, caused his senses to clog unpleasantly.

"You… you wanted to see me, sir?"

The door clicked shut. Johnson stood at the room's periphery, turning a blind eye to the state of this… lair his boss had entombed himself in.

"Yes, Johnson. I certainly do," came the old man's haggard voice once again. Johnson shuffled at the edge of the room.

"Come closer, boy!" His boss snarled, provoking a flinch. Clawing at a glass of red wine, he said, "Would it not seem imprudent? To converse with someone so far away?"

"I… guess." Johnson murmured, and inched closer to the tall armchair at the other end of the room. Illuminated by only the glow of a computer screen, even the enormous, imposing shadow of the chair alone was enough to leave Johnson wishing he could just stay where he was.

The boss was a difficult man at the best of times, with his questionable behaviours and antiquated morals. Were the pay not handsome, Johnson would have looked elsewhere for employment years ago. And yet, as he tiptoed his way around food packets, broken bottles, discarded crockery and abandoned takeout, [User4] he surprised himself with the strength of his worry. The old man may have him terrified, but he at least cared about the geriatric's health. He had to. Without the 'creepy, spindly bastard' as his former wife used to call him, there'd be no paycheck.

"So uhh, I brought the briefcase, boss." Johnson mumbled, now within mere feet of his faceless employer. The computer still glared down, like he was standing under the gaze of a spotlight. "You had something important to discuss?"

"Important? What are you talking about, Johnson? I summoned you because you were already an hour late, boy!"

"But sir… it's three in the morning?"

"...is that a fact?"

Johnson's concerns just spiked up a notch. Had his boss been so wrapped up in… whatever he was doing, that he had lost track of time?

"I-irrespective of the time, sir…" Johnson searched for somewhere to place his briefcase, "I have the documents you were after. What do you want me to-"

"Burn them."

And Johnson was stopped cold. Of all the things that had surprised him tonight, this was by far the biggest shock. Running a hand through his hair, he took a moment to process the enormity of the old man's request;

Burn his life's endeavours?

But he had only just noticed the heaped trashcan, stuffed - with some level of aggression, he noted - with a lot more paperwork. Some balled up, some just crushed into the receptacle, the cover sheet on the top of the pile seemed purposefully placed, as if it were a reminder to the boss himself;

'Perceived stigma of multicultural amalgamation - a study'

"Yes, burn all of that, too. Good work, Johnson."

"Err… may I ask why, boss?"

Grasping at a photo frame on the desk - about the only thing in the room not caked in dust - and running his long, slender fingers across the edge, he muttered, "...they mocked me, Johnson. My life's work, ridiculed…"

"I, umm…" Johnson stammered, beyond knowing what to say, "That's uh… I'm really sorry to hear that, boss. I-I…"

"Don't, Johnson. I didn't summon you here to pity me."

"I know, sir. But I-I should at least express my sympathies. After all, that work is your life. If someone were to take something like that from me, I-I don't know what I'd-"

"Spare me your frivolities, Johnson. I'll not hear about your broken family right now…"

Johnson's flinch went pointedly ignored, and the boss continued stroking the photo in his hands as if it were made of the finest crystal.

"After all, I have a little… request for you."

"Oh?" Johnson balked at his employer's wording, but kept a strong resolve, "anything, sir. What's troubling you?"

"Nothing, Johnson. I just have a little… wager I'd like to settle."

"Wager? Have you been gambling again, sir? You know that stuff will get you addic-"

"Pay attention, Johnson. I am about to show you something important."

"...sorry, sir. Please continue."

"My experiment, Johnson. It was disallowed. 'Inhumane', they called it."

"It was a bit… incongruous, sir." Johnson chose his words carefully. "I mean, how on earth would you even go about-"

"Putting it all together? Why, that was the easy part, Johnson; I've already done it."

As he tilted the screen with his skeletal hand, Johnson caught a hint of an expression he couldn't quite identify cross the old man's face. Some glimpse of a dark, twisted side even he had only heard about in rumours around the office. Daring to glance upon the screen, Johnson's fear quickly turned to bemusement, when he saw only jumbled letters, symbols, and numbers.

"Is it… some kinda code, sir?"

"Correct. It is my own world, Johnson. One where the silly rules of this world cannot reach.

"And what do you plan on doing with it, sir?" Johnson asked, flipping open his phone to check the time, "…Four o'clock already?"

"Why, carry out the experiment, of course."

Johnson could hear his employer's crafty smile from behind the gnarled armchair. "Tell me, Johnson…" the chair swivelled around, "what are the kids into, nowadays? I presume it's not still the little blue hedgehog?"

"Well err, I'm not entirely sure, sir. I'm not a kid."

"What do I pay you for, if not research, Johnson?" His employer growled, pinching the bridge of his long, crooked nose.

"Umm, to manage your finances, sir."

"Oh, enough with the-" The boss sighed, glaring at his employee. "...wait, what is that?"

"What is… what?" Johnson asked, before his phone was snatched out of his hands.

"This little creature."

The boss' face once again showed a difficult expression as he flicked the little phone charm around with one finger. Dark eyes studied the trinket closely, "Do kids today like this, Johnson?"

"Well err, I suppose so, boss?" Johnson resisted the urge to shrug, because shrugging was apparently rude. "My daughter gave it to me, so it could match up with hers, and-"

"Oh, so there are more of them?"

"Lots, sir? Hundreds, I believe."

"How interesting…" the boss muttered. A silhouette of his face glowing by the light of his computer screen, he grinned silently to himself,

"Johnson, do you suppose I could use these creatures to carry out our little experiment?"

"Our, sir?"

"Yes, our. You are helping me with this, aren't you?

"Well I, um…"

"Just make it happen, Johnson. Whatever these little creature are, I want them. Oh, and one more thing."

"...yes, sir?"

To Johnson's surprise, the photo frame was pushed into his hands. "Make sure this one gets in, okay?"