"What? I don't— the hell was that?"

Unsure of what he had just dreamed, yet completely confident in it having a purpose— if only he could remember it all. Breathing hard as his sweat begins to dissipate, the splashes of festivities and neon stroke colors of wonder and seduction, like flicks from a brush, into the dark room. Noises of celebration, and attention, soon follow; voices of next door neighbors can be heard through his thinly veiled apartment walls. Reality is beginning to take it's reigns once again. Regardless though, a single thought—a visage—remains lodged into his memory.

"... Who was she?"

    Nevertheless, this isolation did not last. Voices bicker from outside an apartment door, friendly as they may ultimately sound— that isn't a guarantee for John. With the noisiness from outside to the apartment building erupting in it's own rowdiness, John plugs his ears with his fingers— hoping to retread whatever thing he had just imagined when he was asleep. Still somewhat tired and feeling a crick or two from the way the couch comforted him, John drowsily undresses from his office attire before making his way to a far comfier bed a room away. In one fell swoop, off with the tie— the shoes and the pants, too. As he picks himself off the couch, a sound of crumbling stone faintly trickles down his huge kitchen window across from him. If only for but a second, John's shunned curiosity was piqued— and his anxiety flared. He turns his head to the window on his right, staring at it through his sleep-encrusted eyes, waiting for an answer to his piqued, or flared, wonder. He squints as the waiting becomes palpable.

*Bang!Bang!Bang!*

Loud banging explodes from his door. Intensity of a thousand raging bulls shock through John's groggy system. He recoils, sending him flying back into the backrest of the couch he was just sitting in. The banging shocking enough alone, the poor man and the couch both topple over onto the wooden floor behind them.

    Muffled voices can be heard from beyond the door. Clear enough to know that they're there, but not enough to make out what is being said. A flabbergasted John peeks his head out from behind the toppled couch unsure of what to make of this. Today had been strange enough as it had been, enough to drown out anything else the day was meant to be used for. Was this another in a string of strange things possibly awaiting to happen, or is it to be something he forget in the process of all this?

"Ah, crap!"

John rises to his feet in trepidation. Moving slowly as he may, the beast behind the door was not a patient predator. A shout of aggression rumbles just beyond the door as the few more bangs of it are to follow. A rush runs through John's spine. With steps loud enough for the neighbors to hear, he dashes towards his door— before looking down. Everything took his mind off of it, but he was in only a damp, wrinkly button-up and his striped boxers.

    Dashing back to the tossed about clothes he had just worn, he messily tries to get himself together— or at least presentable for a short chat. Slipping his socks on first and then switching out his dirty shirt for something a little less so close by, the knocks don't stop coming in the meantime. Making quick work of picking back up the couch into place, he cleans up the coffee table as he tosses the shattered Walkman into his messenger bag before slinging them onto said couch. The knocks come quick and loud, the 'guests' must be reaching their fevered peak; with little extra to spare, the briefcase is simply pushed off onto the nice violet carpet on his way to the now wrinkled pants. Back and forth, John grabs his pants and attempts to slide them on as he waddles his way closer to the noisy door. In on the right and caught on the left, John haphazardly puts on his pants.

*Crash!*

Tripping on his own agency—and pants—John slams the ground rather hard.

"Pfftt!"

A mouthful of fuzz and planted stiff upon the soft floor, his living room carpet caught his fall. Enjoying his silver-lining sense of luck and push his last leg through, John makes it to the apartment's front door. Crawling up the door and back to his feet for—hopefully—the final time today, John straights his shirt and corrects his collar as he opens the door.

    As he opens the door with a wavering sense of suave, three faces are there to look back.

"Told you two that he was probably snoozin'. Should've seen him earlier today."

"Earlier today? I was stuck in that file room the whole day today, Mr. Riou."

"Yeah, we both were... that was a joke, 'T'. I was joking."

"Hmph! Took you long enough."

The former straggler, the clumsy John, is dealt a hand quite grave. There beyond the door stood three people: a tall French man, a tall Scandinavian woman, and an average height Brazilian. His co-workers. And, in their hands, they held what looked like grocery bags, an elongated metal case, and a deck of fancily decorated playing cards.

"The prodigal—second—son lives. You can stop worrying now, Sivvy."

"Shuddup, Art! I wasn't talking to you."

The black French man and pale Scandinavian bicker. Something familiar to brothers and sisters in their verbal jabs, yet only knowing each other for relatively short time; their regional commonalities being lost on many others around them. As the two bicker on, the third, quieter companion of the trio stands behind rather nervously. Clearly out of his element, his unfamiliarity being noticeable to the still half-dazed John. Or, at least, how John perceived the younger guy to be.

"Ah, hey... sir? Is that right in this kind of situation? Mr. Smith. Which do you prefer, Smith sir?"

The younger guy speaks questionably. A slight accent behind the occasion vowel, yet nothing too standout-like to pinpoint much more than that. Speaking towards the man that belatedly answered his own door, the nervousness feeling stays as if they had never left work to begin with. John, not one for such professionalisms, rubs his eyes of sleep before replying to the guy's uncertainties. Exhaling a long breath prior, John eases the young man, "Hey, don't sweat it. You can just call me John. Here, or at work."

    With a shake of his head and a light clapping off his cheeks, the younger man cleanses himself of these nervous ailments. Walking past the two bickering duo, the younger man goes to shake John's hand— a proper greeting between the two that they had yet have had the pleasure to doing thus far. Both manage to grasp each other's hand and begin to shake. The younger man eagerly greets John, "Yo, John. It's nice to have finally meet you. My name i—"

"John, it's getting quite late. Our game should've started about an hour ago by now. Did you forget?"

    Cutting off the young man mid-greeting, 'Art' the French-man cuts right to the point. A hint of annoyance sewing his words together, the understated tone unraveled the worrying question in the back of his mind: 'Did I forget something today?' Nevertheless, if it wasn't obvious enough to the deep sleeper in question, the hyperbolics of the duo doubles down.

"DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS!?", 'Sivvy' the Scandinavian uncharacteristically proclaims.

    Returning to his seemingly natural state, John's confusion comforts the fool once more. Becoming something of a 'old hat' after the day he's had, he looks back to his room for his overhead clock. Sliding back into his apartment to feel for the living room's light switch, the trio standing in the hall chatter as they invite themselves in.

"Jeez! It's nearly ten already. Do we really have to work tomorrow?"

"He forgot, didn't he?", the younger man throws in.

"Yeah, he forgot. He's funny like that. You get use to it, T.", 'Art' filling him in.

"... Do you have to call me that?", 'T' complains.

"Stop picking on the newbies, 'Art'. This one's fidgety already."

    Flicking on the switch by the tube tv, the bright fluorescent light of the ceiling fan above enlightens the decently sized apartment inside. Unlike the soothing, ambient lighting of the Art Deco hallways, the fluorescent lighting inside followed the same basic quality of modern places at the time. Brightening the interconnected kitchen, dinning room, and living room, this type of lighting in-turn smothered out the festive and neon glares coming from outside. Rather unimpressive altogether, the present rooms lacked any real presence of a living soul residing within them. They lacked personality— nearly. The uncomfortable couch of red and gold stripes, the green and grey carpet underneath, and the noticeable additions that were the body length windows in the kitchen gave a bit of soul to the place— even if they were gaudy at best. A place best seen in the dark, for sure. This was a similar sentiment shared between the duo during each their first visits to this place, and now one shared with 'T' as well.

    With the light turned on and his eyes adjusted, John looks up to his hanging, ticking clock. As he squints to read it at his angle, the trio make themselves at home.

"It's already a quarter till ten. We might've been a little late, but not an hour and forty-five-ish minutes late.", 'Sivvy' rambling out loud for any to hear.

    John's face sinks hearing her say that. Defeating the purpose of reading the clock, he, like a child two decades younger, sticks his tongue out behind her back. Garnering a slight chuckle out of 'Art', the bickering duo move on into the kitchen with their supplies in hand. Staying back in the cusp of the living room, John and 'T' watch as 'Sivvy' and 'Art' get to work on setting up the kitchen table for their 'game'.

"Anyways... I'm Theo, the new hire from the Fujx international recruitment program. It's nice to personally meet you, Mr. Smith. —eh! John.", 'T' flubs over himself as he tries his best to fill in the time.

"Oh, really? They finally did that? They actually got that program thing up-and-running this time?", an intrigued John selfishly inquiries.

"Yeah. You didn't know about that? ... Wait, 'this tim—"

John cuts in, "Nope. Regardless of what 'Abbot and Costello' say, I've only recently been thrown into this 'craziness'. It wasn't meant—"

"Hvem?" "Arrête!"

Both shout from the kitchen. Taking a second or two to snap at John before rushing back to set the table and snacks.

    Spurring a light laugh from John, it's Theo, standing between three people—all having half a decade on him, at the very least—befuddled by the seemingly disconnected conversations happening in front of him. Them speaking in, what seemed to be, their own code, simply made following whatever they were going on about make even less sense than what the half-spoken sentences already were. Unclear on what's being inferred nor referred to, all he has got is in what he doesn't know. Even though his instincts bark in the other direction, Theo can't help but be blunt, "I've got to be honest, Mr. John, they haven't talked about you much at all."

Taking a moment to respond, John looks off aimlessly away from any of the three. "Huh.", John passively responds, discouraged ever so slightly.

Theo, taking the reigns of the conversation, speaks for his own sake, "Ok, I have no idea what any of you are talking about. I don't even know where to begin, after today. So, what did you mean by 'this time'?"

John quips, "That's what you're beginning with?"

"Well, yeah, I got to start somewhere.", Theo retorts.

The other two ignore Theo's whining while they put the final touches to the setup on the table. The French-man shuffling the cards and the Scandinavian woman taking a series of colored round chips from the elongated metal case. John, being the only one listening at this point, luckily has awaken enough to put some thought into his reply. After a refreshing yawn, John answers, "Haha, Theo, it's not as serious as you may be thinking it is. True, it was a little before my time at the company, so I can only say things I've heard from the grapevine myself. Fujx tried to do this recruitment thingy before the company really tried to branch out from being solely a record company."

"That's it?", Theo disappointedly questions.

John clarifies as much as he can, "Again, that's really all I've heard about it. It happened back in the late '90s, but I've only be working here for a few years. So, I'm probably the wrong person to ask. Arturo over there would know more about it. You should ask him when you've got the time."

    Taking his eyes off John, Theo scans over to Arturo shuffling those playing cards as throughly as one can. Moment before Theo opens his mouth, John puts his hand on Theo's shoulder and cautiously whispers something into his ear. Sending a jolt down Theo's spine, John whispers, "But now's probably not a good time. Frenchie takes his cards very seriously— especially today. Heh.", with a light, teasing chuckle.

    A muffled buzz ticks off under all the noise and excitement of the night around them. Receiving a glare of restlessness from the French-man sitting at the now set table, Theo and John take notice as Arturo stares right through them. "Fools! It's already in the quadruple digits, innit? Let's get this shindig started, right.", Arturo chides the two as the hanging clock buzzes ten chimes.

    With a rise of a Brazilian eyebrow and a sigh from the chronic straggler, the two walk their way to the table as they pull out some flimsy plastic chairs and sit. John across from Theo, the two beside Arturo and 'Sivvy' across from each other; chips placed within each's reaches, Arturo starts dealing out the playing cards. The sliding of the cards across the wooden table hum, "I was sorta surprised by you earlier today.", 'Sivvy' notes between each card stops.

    Arturo and Theo's ears are piqued. She is simply staring out of the huge window behind Arturo while she sips on her bottled beer; no one directly nudged in one way or another. The two guys take a quick glance at each other, pointing as they may, for they are unsure who should answer— and with what. "In a good way?", John jests.

"Ah! That's who she was talking to, 'T'. That's Sivvy for you.", Arturo plays off their moment of goofy befuddlement.

"Art, just deal the cards.", 'Sivvy' chides before turning the conversation back, "Come on, Johnny. You seemed more stressed than usual today. I was surprised you doubled down on game night tonight is all."

"Yeah, I guess that it didn't turn out as well as I hoped.", John lightheartedly relents.

    The cards having now been set, a stack of five per person and a white chip from three are tossed into the center of the table: the first game has begun. John, Arturo, and Siv pick up their five cards as they look towards an advantage or two. Intensity heightens between the three as they get quiet on a drop of a hat. For Arturo is the dealer, the person to his left is the first to make a bet. Theo hasn't touched a thing.

"What're doing, mate?", Arturo asks Theo.

    Theo sits there dumbfounded, having not the slightest clue on how to play this type of game. He looks at Arturo asking the question before looking around to the other two. Shrugging his shoulders, Theo replies, "Do what? I don't know how to play these kind of games."

"Seriously, Art!", 'Sivvy' scolds, "How are you going to bring the new guy if he doesn't even know how to play the game?"

Arturo counters, "Eh, it'll be alright, Sivvy. He'll learn as we go. He's a smart kid.", as unconcerned as one could be.

As she lets out a sigh worthy of the attention, she directs her words at Theo. Speaking more pleasantly than she had been towards the other two—before or presently—she course corrects, "Theo, we are playing poker games. This one we are playing right now is 5-card draw. I'll run you through things, so keep up. Ok?"