Darkness. I cannot see myself. Where am I? What did I do to deserve this? -- 1.2 Seconds Post-Integration.

  "Next in line, sugar!" the woman blared, far louder than the otherwise silent room demanded.

  Okay -- showtime! Clark intoned to himself as he got from his seat and approached the clerk's window. The point of no return...

  He traveled across the room taking note of the features. Which were entirely absent save some white paint and a single portrait of Sire Augustford Dragoon himself; what a man! Clark noted how the superstore's founder was dressed in a regal business suit worthy of a king. One day, he wanted to be like that...

  "Here you go, ma'am," Clark said to the woman manning the window.

  Sliding her his final piece of paperwork he smiled and took his best neutral stance as he waited for direction.

  The clerk looked at his paper before touching it. "Prick your finger and affix your blood signature," she told him.

  Ah! The blood signature! How could he forget!?

  Using the clean tack provided, he nipped his finger slightly and smeared his lifeblood across his printed mark, his other signature.

  "Thank you, young sir," the woman said as she took his paper.

  Clark tried to make out what was on her nametag, but it was obscured no matter the angle she turned or how her garments twisted. She hummed to herself as she placed the thick piece of parchment in a strange machine Clark had never before seen. Not that it was too surprising. Everything in this place -- this gargantuan tower popular the world over -- was strange. Heck, walking into the tower, even the doors were unusual, or 'possessed' as he briefly thought when a door automatically slid open at his approach.

  The device made curious sounds. Light beamed up from its boxy shape, piercing the piece of parchment on top. Several times illumination came from the machine, each time coming with a rumble. Then, with a bird-like chirp, the device's noises ceased.

  The clerk's attention drifted to a glowing screen called a 'television,' a device he only recently learned about, where the clerk stood staring for a few moments.

  "Thank you for your patience. I only needed to confirm you have not already had a career with us," she said. A moment later, she added under her breath, "Of some variety." She sounded bored. Clark wondered what she could mean by 'of some variety,' but decided against asking. Here, in Augustford Central, he would encounter all manner of unknowable practices and entities. Until he was accustomed to all of it, there would be no point in overthinking any one aspect of his new life, much less all of it.

  Another pinging sound. Like the clatter of a pleasant alarm bell.

  The machine was done. The clerk's smile faded as she looked carefully at whatever displayed on the screen. She looked to him then at the screen. She did this several times as if she was double-checking

  More to herself than him, she muttered, "A Lifer? And so young..."

  Perhaps realizing she was talking to herself, the woman turned to address Clark: "Your final application is approved. Please enter through the door to your left and proceed down the corridor."

  She pressed a button, and a buzzer sounded. A tiny light next to the door flashed green, signaling he could grab the door handle anytime.

  Before he went through, he took one last look back. Only two other people were sitting in the waiting room's chairs waiting for their turn. One was a large, broad-shouldered lady while the other was a blond-haired boy close to his own age.

  He turned back to the door. The clerk said to him in a whisper, "You can still leave. The contract is not final until you walk into the training room. You can just turn around and that is that..."

  Clark smiled at the clerk. He did not shift in his stance any despite his typically anxious demeanor when people attempted to convince him to their logic. "Thank you for your concern, ma'am. I really need this job, though."

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Did she sigh? Clark couldn't tell. She nodded her head, returned a smile, and told him, "Welcome to the Augustford Family."

  Clark sealed his fate -- he walked through the door and welcomed the rest of his life.

  The door closed behind him. He would have to get used to possessed doors, here, he guessed... no, not 'possessed.' That was a bumpkin notion.

  Bumpkin notions aside, he was here for the check. Not to look like he was the most enlightened bog drain this side of the Grandest Canyon.

  With retreat both impossible and unwanted, he advanced forward. He was in a plain tile-floored hallway lacking anything in the way of ornaments or even doors. He followed the weirdly long passage until it let out another ordinary-looking room; some chairs occupied lonely corners with a disconcerting layer of dust upon their seat.

  In this new room, a voice from the walls blared. Clark would later learn the sound came not from the walls but machines and wires inside the walls called a 'PA system.'

  "Continue to the central pillar, Lifer," the voice said.

  The central pillar? He thought. Why? The pillar looked like a normal marble support beam. Yet as he approached, the pillar glowed radiantly. A number of sparkly glyphs blossomed into being and spread like a pond's wave over the surface of the pillar.

  As if by magic -- perhaps it was magic? -- a door appeared in the structure of the marble pillar. Like all doors here, it seemed, the door slid open without asking his input. Rude. He entered the small cylinder-shaped room; before he could react, the door closed behind him. He righted himself and tried pawing at the door to see if it would open, but it would not. Clark didn't like small spaces. He wasn't full-on claustrophobic, but he was apprehensive of confined places. Always had been, too, ever since he was a boy and nearly got himself killed in a cave-in incident.

  His fear dissipated quickly. This was not a cave, he reminded himself. And even if it was, I would still be here all the same. That check won't earn itself. Inside the chamber, the tube seemed large enough for several more people. Its walls were a muted silver. The only part of the tube which lacked this color scheme was directly in front of him: a single black square exactly at eye-level.

  Clark sensed motion. What was happening? Was he traveling somewhere inside the tube? A pillar is also a form of transportation. How? Although later co-workers would explain to him the concept of an 'elevator,' for now, he was stumped. Feeling the motion in the tube tickled his belly and before long, he was laughing.

  Ding... a noise sounded.

  Within the black square was a video. He learned recently it was a 'video recording,' a piece of technology far more advanced than anything he had back in his village. Advanced or not, Clark was aware when he signed up about how much of a challenge it would be for him to acclimate to the corporate Augustford universe.

  The video screen depicted an old man dressed in a royal black business suit. Mister Augustford himself...

  Augustford was sitting in a leather chair looking directly at the camera. Augustford eyes looked hard and not dissimilar to Clark's father when he had to butcher a sickly farm animal during those moments when a beast found itself beyond recovery. Although a mere recording, likely shot, dozens of years prior, the video commanded presence: "There's nothing in you worth saving," the video started. After a pause, Augustford said, "Welcome to my company. Obviously, I need no introductions. You know who I am. Because you're watching this, you're a quality person. But you're a person who hasn't lived up to their potential. Right now, you are nothing. Only the best come work for me. Which means, I have high expectations for you. Someone in my holy empire has deemed you worthy of donning my mantle. If you want to be like me, then obey my words and work hard. Follow my edicts. If you do, it could be enough to cultivate a career. With these words in your mind, you now have no excuses to fail. Not yourself, nor my profits. Invest in me and earn yourself or face poverty's wrath."

  The recording ended. Clark was left in awed stupor.

  He had never been talked to like that before.

  On one hand, he should feel insulted. The recording has flat-out told him his entire life until this moment had been for naught.

  On the other hand, he did not feel insulted. For the video was true.

  Had not his entire life until now been lived in superstition? Had he not always been drawn to Augustford? He had.

  Ever since he was a child, he had wild psychological 'impressions' whenever the store was mentioned. In his mind flared images, sometimes even sounds, if someone close to him was talking about the store.

  My life is here. My life has always been here, he told himself. Now, I just have to figure out how and why that is... not that I am here for a self-discovery journey. I already understand who I am, after all.

  His journey inside the elevator-mystery-tube lasted a good while. He didn't understand how long exactly but figured it had to be over thirty minutes before the tube stopped its motions and came to a halt. He did not mind the waiting. It gave him time to calm himself and his beating heart. Clark had socializing and anxiety problems his whole life. Were they crippling? No, but such mental aberrations were bad enough to make his life more difficult than it ought to have been.

  The doors once more slid open.

  "You've arrived at your destination," said the smooth, but plain voice from the ceiling.

  This time, what the doors revealed was not a blase, minimalistic space but a wide, beautiful, atrium choked full of people wearing their best.

  "Follow the markers to your training area," the voice continued. "And please, mind your manners."

  Manners? I always follow my better side. His heart gave a start though when he read the destination readout in the former televisual playback square. It read, "Executive Lounge: Floor 10,000."

  How Do You Work?