Dreams of Another Tomorrow

Note: The images may be busted because of CHYOA... I don't know how to fix that and I'm not sure that I can, honestly. Good luck, godspeed, and enjoy the read

Clear blue skies above and soft clouds made for a great place to watch the battle. Relaxing on a pillow of white with formations marching below, Mark watched formations move, engage, clash, and part on repeat. The cycles of organized battle amused him from his vantage point on high. A bowl of fruit rest at his side, being slowly eaten away at whenever it suited his fancy.

As the battle raged on the ground far below, a figure of lavender and icy blue approached. It had two sets of arms and wings that looked fuzzy. With a small bow at the waist, the figure spoke in a smooth tone that was as light as their figure was lithe "Apologies for my late arrival, your majesty."

"Ah, the emissary of Winged Night, glad to see you. Come, rest, enjoy yourself. There is a battle going on below, we've not seen one in too long." Mark beckoned the figure over with a smile.

The winged figure sat beside Mark's relaxed form, watching the battle below with interest. "The battle seems fierce. Who fights, if I may ask?"

"A battle to reconcile. What was is no longer, and something new must be forged from the pieces. The battle is between those that seek the old comforts and those who would embrace new challenges."

"From up here, it looks like they're fairly even. The battle might take quite a long time."

"It's does seem that way, at first. Look closer, at the terrain. Those who embrace the new have the advantage. All they need is one well placed push." As if on queue, the lines on the ground surged, one side pressing in strong. It was decisive, the path forward decided. In all this, the emissary simply watched.

While the battle finished, a sound began blaring, incessant and loud and rhythmic. It grew from a distant, far off annoyance to something that couldn't be ignored.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

Mark's too small bed was surprisingly warm for early December, the morning's alarm blaring on his nightstand. A quick movement removed the noise from the room with the bed empty shortly after. The shower would be good to sort out his thoughts.

Gloriously hot water rolled down Mark's back and he relaxed in the warm embrace and he worked to sort through things. First was that dream. It was the first one in a long time, for one thing, and he remembered it more clearly than other dreams by a considerable margin. Until he had more information, he couldn't really put that one to bed, but it felt significant. The next thing was the quest.

It felt like a logical next step, if a bit of a big one. Supposedly, these three were influential people. It felt a little rude to simply pop in and say hello. For one of them, he had the excuse of figuring out what the Horn of H. item was. Every time he thought about it, something in his brain seemed to itch. For the other that he had a reason to visit, Imara would Introduce him.

Mark's face went red, thinking about the girl. Her caramel colored skin, her green hair, the sometimes nervous flirtation. It was an odd whole, like someone trying too hard but almost succeeding. It was a whole he liked and wanted to see more of. Then again, she'd shown plenty to him last night at the diner. Mark hadn't even realized he was into piercings before that. The achievement he'd gotten hadn't made things much better.

Gaia's teasing not withstanding, yesterday had been incredibly eventful. He'd barely had his powers for a full day and he'd been beaten up by a hot girl, fought giant bugs, learned about an entire secret world, had an emotional moment with said girl who beat him up, then got to see her tits. If every day was this eventful, his head might explode. Work would be a welcome reprieve of mundanity.

It doesn't take very long for him to get to the building, having left early so he could run and enjoy it while also gaining some skill XP. The day was cool and overcast, perfect to enjoy by Mark's standards. With how early he'd left and how slow his typical commute was, he was a fair bit early today, compared to yesterday. So much so, Tara was just walking into the building ahead of him.

She noticed him coming and held the door for him, calling out, "early today to make up for yesterday?"

He came to the door, catching his breath. Whatever his HP healed, his stamina must have been a minor part of it because he recovered quickly. Maybe that's why his back had stopped hurting yesterday. "Just felt like going for a run. Faster than the bus some days."

Tara eyed him as he came in closer, taking stock of him, seemingly. "You look... better. Less run down."

"Oh, I, uhh... I had a good birthday yesterday. Raised my spirits, I guess." He scratched at the back of his head.

Hearing that, Tara's eyes got a little wide. "Your mom, did she...? I heard she was in a coma."

There was a bittersweet look on Mark's face at the mention of his mom. "No, not quite that good. Spent the afternoon with a friend, it was... it was good." He offered a small smile and headed in after Tara.

She nodded along as they walked into the building. "Good, good. Haven't seen you smile much since you started, it looks more natural on you."

Mark thought for a moment about his next move before asking, "is there any way I could get to talk with mister Wrasse some time soon? There were some questions I had that I was hoping to ask him personally."

Yet another thing that seemed to catch the redhead off guard, her expression puzzled. "I can see if he'll speak with you, but I'm not sure what will come of it. He's a busy man, you could simply speak to me instead."

Mark shook his head as she finished. "I'd prefer if it was him, no offense. It's important and something I'd rather keep confidential, if possible."

Again, she nodded slowly. "I'll see what I can do then. Go ahead and get to work once you can clock in." With that, they separated, leaving Mark with his work, his thoughts, and an odd feeling from Tara being a reasonable seeming person today.

Lunchtime had come and gone in a somewhat mindless blur as Mark went about his job. Coming back from break, Mark noticed a note on his desk, the script of it a loose cursive. Mark couldn't read cursive worth a damn but this was done in a way as to make it easier to read if one couldn't read cursive. The note read, "Mister Wrasse has agreed to speak with you. Go to his office at 3:30 PM and be prompt."

With clear instructions, Mark opted to be a little early to the door of his boss's boss, mildly intimidated as he was. When the clock struck 3:30, he knocked politely on the door and was greeted by a voice from within saying, "come in, the door is unlocked."

Mark did so and stood nervously in front of a fairly good looking man. The shirt he wore covered his build so it was difficult to tell, but Mark was left with the impression he was fit to one degree or another. His hair and eyes were brown, fingers knitted together and resting on his desk, lips curving into a gentle smile. "Mister Mason, Tara said you had some things you wished to discuss with me. Please, sit down."

Mark did so, feeling a little less nervous at the smile. "Thank you for seeing me so quickly mister Wrasse, I appreciate you finding the time in your schedule."

"I was a little surprised, but you've been rather quiet in your time here. Only thing I hear about you is that you took to the work quickly and you don't seem interested in chatting with others very much. I figure if there's something you'd like to say, you believe it to be important. So please, go ahead."

Mark was surprised by the explanation and seeming genuine concern over his thoughts, as well as knowing enough about Mark's life at work to view this as important. The horror stories Mark had heard about managers was that they were mostly power hungry assholes on an ego trip. That description might fit Tara on some days but not mister Wrasse. Another thing that didn't fit, and shocked him even more, was a simple fact about mister David Wrasse, sitting across the desk from Mark in his nice business suit.

Above his head, there was no nametag.

Mark felt his heart beat faster and harder at the realization, his earlier apprehension returning. "It, uhh... it is important, sir... at least, it is to me. This... is a little difficult to put into words properly but..." He trailed off for a moment, adding a pause to things before finishing with, "are... you a fish...?"

Mister Wrasse raised an eyebrow at that as he ashed, "perhaps I misheard you, could you repeat that?"

Mark did exactly as before and there was a shift, subtle but noticeable. Mister Wrasse's eyes had hardened and there was an audible click of metal from under the desk. Mark gulped as David Wrasse pulled a revolver slowly out from the underside of the desk, cocked and presumably loaded, pointed right at Mark's chest. Mister Wrasse sighed and shook his head. "I tried to give you an out... I suppose we need to have a talk now."

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