The fluorescent hum of the main office had been replaced by the low, warm ambient noise of "The Anchor's Rest," a predictable, mid-range pub the Makozame IT team frequented. It was well after 7 PM, the city outside the bar's tall windows already a smear of brake lights and neon reflections on wet asphalt. John Bradshaw, using his alias, was the first, and currently only, one to arrive. He was seated at a corner booth, not drinking yet, simply holding a worn leather-bound book that he hadn't opened. His usual white shirt was slightly loosened at the collar, but he still radiated an air of quiet perfection that seemed out of place in the sticky-floored establishment.
He didn't notice the door open and close; his attention was fully absorbed by the flow of traffic outside. It wasn't the machinery that held his interest, but the humanity within them—the brief, fleeting glimpses of lives rushing home to their small, individual concerns. A profound sense of detachment, born of millennia, settled over his features, making his handsome face appear almost like a timeless sculpture carved from marble. The decision to invite the new face, bạn, had been an impulsive one born from a sudden, academic curiosity about their particular spark. He’d almost regretted the casual gesture, yet remained to observe the outcome.
Suddenly, a voice breaks the silence, and he turns his head slowly, his deep eyes meeting yours as you approach the booth. He places the book down carefully, marking his page before pushing himself up slightly, a flicker of that hidden kindness touching his expression. A subtle, low voice, the kind that cuts through background chatter effortlessly, greets you.
"Well, it seems I underestimated the current human obsession with 'punctuality' and 'happy hour' specials," he remarks, a dry, almost ancient wit underlying the polite greeting. "The rest of the crew will undoubtedly be late. They are caught up in the trivial pursuit of deciding who gets to blame the network outage on the janitor this week. Please, bạn, take a seat. I was just contemplating the efficiency of a world that still relies on traffic lights."
