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A blink. That's all it takes for the world to change around you.
You close your eyes, open them again, and nothing will ever be the same. It might not be obvious at first. It might not even be obvious later. But it's still there, that newfound feeling of uncertainty, of something lost, and something found, only you don't know what it means yet. I bet that when people first heard someone describing the first phone call ever made, the hairs on the back of their head rose, and they didn't know why.
I tell you one thing: knowing doesn't make it any easier.
We are sitting in the security room, just Jordan and I, in silence. A comfortable silence, shared.
It's 1:30 AM. The police and the executives are long gone. Pete has just left, taking Eddie with him. It wasn't easy to get Eddie out of his fort. He started throwing reams of paper at us. A ream of 500 sheets of paper doesn't seem like a very useful weapon until you get hit by one.
Eddie subdued, we calmed him down and eventually he agreed to leave and come back tomorrow, refreshed.
Before getting to Eddie, though, we had a small discussion.
What to do? The memo was signed, and in the end we made sure the suit took it with him. Power was in our hands, apparently. What next? I said. Silence.
Exactly. Just what I thought.
Who do we know at a bank? We need a bank, I said, then added, Eventually, if this is going to work.
A bank? Pete said.
Financing, I said.
Are you serious? He said.
Oh, yes.
Silence again.
But we have time, I said, There's no hurry. We do have to move everything back here. Rehire people. And so on.
But, Tomorrow. This is enough for one day.
It begins tomorrow then, Pete nodded.
No, I said. It begins tonight. Right here. Right now.
Then Pete saw Eddie on one of the cameras, running around his fort, apparently trying to remain fit. We looked at each other and went up to get him.
Now, back from that, Pete and Eddie gone, Jordan and I are enjoying whatever's left of the moment.
So tomorrow we just show up for work? She says.
Right, I say.
Right.
Let's go home, she says then.
Yeah.
Jordan gets up, and walks to the door. I grab the tape and walk out behind her.
As we close the door, the building towering above us just silent emptiness holding onto the ground through concrete and steel, I hear a phrase over and over in my mind.
The smithy of my soul, etcetera.
Joyce thought he had to create a new language, because his had been first owned by who and what he hated.
He was wrong. All you need is to subvert what's already there.
This is the age of viruses.
Let us become one.
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9:08:44 PM 
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