Time Flop

Chapter 21

Wade lived in constant terror. Understandably, it was an occupational hazard. Being the most powerful-being-in-the-universe's secretary meant as much. Wade had built up a tendency to flinch and shudder whenever a humanoid being passed by him.

Wade's desk job was what most people before the Fall would call "boring". Wade considered himself lucky. His parents had always told him that he would never make it. Computer skills and being able to quiver in fear would never let him succeed in life. Fortunately for him, the Fall had brought new opportunities for work. For survival.

Most days, Wade just sat his desk, hoping and praying that he wouldn't be called into the master's office. And everyday so far, all he ever got were calls on his desk phone. The people who called him only ever sent money and offerings of service to the master: which of course, Wade knew, the master would accept. Wade didn't mind asking the donators some questions of reliability anyway.

Just as long as that little red light stayed dead in it's box.

Years had passed since Wade had gotten his job. Twenty-eight years, to be exact. In fact, today was his twenty-eighth anniversary of being the master's personal receptionist. Wade knew that he should feel happy about his accomplishment, proud even.

Yet, still, there lay a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. This feeling seemed to whisper to him at times...

Trust no one with this information... It would often say.

I am very fortunate to have this job, and for such a long time at that! I wouldn't want somebody getting ideas of having me sacked, no sir! He would reply. Wade had grown to quite like this small, curious voice. It was soothing, in an ominous sort of tone.

Wade's anniversary passed like this. He woke up at dawn, as always, and ate breakfast. A special breakfast today, a four egg omelet with cheddar cheese and chopped tomatoes and herbs. A note was attached.

For your years of service.

~Your Lord and Master

Same as every year. The note and breakfast came three times a year. His anniversary, his birthday, and every year at Crunch, when the master would sacrifice another victim to gain power.

All three holidays happened to land in just this order, coincidentally exactly in a row. Wade considered himself very lucky. The whole three-day celebration was a sort of holiday of his own. A special omelet every day for three days, along with a note which supposedly was written by the master's very hand! And, as always, once the omelet was eaten, and the note read, the note would burst into blue flame, then be nothing but ash, which the master's drones would come to clean after Wade had gone to work.

Wade would then ride the train to work, where he would quiver at every call, and shudder each time he glanced at that foreboding, dim, red light for nine hours. Then, back home for a not-so-special dinner of milk, one ration of a random bit of meat, and bread (which was Wade's regular meal, breakfast and dinner). Then, to bed, and to start the day over again.

Today, however, was to be no routine.

Wade had been in the middle of another charity call. A weeping mother offering her starving son as a servant to the master in exchange for a promise of safety. Apparently, her previous home has just been disintegrated. Wade was only half listening when the light came to life in his little black box.