The deafening blare erupts from the freshly-powered cathode ray tube television. It's controller in one hand and a thumbs-up from another, Theo and Siv's search had bore fruit of some kind. As fuzz cluttered the screen, each person couldn't help but to acknowledge the tv as Theo fumbled with the controls' volume settings. Thus, ultimately, evacuating any and all loose talks within the entertainment's scattered vacuum.

As Theo flips through the channels for something that is visible, the volume mellowing with every channeled passed. Arturo abandons his topic in a belated sigh before strolling over to the pathetic antenna sprouting from the tv's top. Just as the people that enjoyed the celebrations in the streets, the four coworkers move onto other pastures— be it greener or greyer. From the dysfunctional advice from the sidelines or the lack of input from the aging device's owner, Arturo finagles his way through the rapidly rudimentary method of antenna bending towards the meekly offerings it seems to bring. The cackling static dissipates line by line to those sitting in the untethered other side; the confident and warm speech burns away at the fluctuating fuzz gurgling once so prominently minutes before. The station Theo had landed on clears to a rerun from a newscast program shown far earlier into the night. The CRT tv enlightening those with it's blurry glow, the evening news being the antidote to it's summer cold.

There sits the city's well-known anchors sitting comfortably in their chairs. Elevated behind the iconic broadcaster's news desk on the television screen, they can be heard finishing a report through the festive racket breaking in. "—and, fortunately, no one was hurt in the rear-end collision.", the brunette female anchor reads out from the teleprompter off camera.

"Except for, maybe, their cars. And, wallets.", the white-haired, male anchor sat beside uppishly quips. 

Flashing a hollow, professional smile his way, the female anchor continues, "You got that right, Dan. But, for everyone else out there facing this crazy traffic, we have been told that they have been towed and cleared off 4th. So, keep an eye out and start this night off right."

Both picking up their papers off the news desk as they stack them neat and tightly, the program draws near to its' conclusion with some final thoughts. All the updates and reports necessary for this thirty-minute evening news showing have all wrapped up and conveyed adequately as always, yet there still remains five minutes left before the evening dramas begin. As for any show, dead air is bad showbiz— and this, even more so, for anchors of this caliber. Bringing the program to a finer end, Dan effortlessly fills in the unintended gap, "Sounds like the fun is starting to break on through into the studio. With low 80's and no rain, they all have more than one thing to cheer for this weekend. Can't believe it has already been two years since. Well, Marilyn, how do you plan on enjoying this Anniversary?"

Being put on the spot, Marilyn fills the air with understood facts as her mind puts together something engaging to say in the meantime. "A... as you know, Dan, this is the first anniversary of the cure for that mysterious disease three years ago.", flustered on the fritz as she pulls herself together well enough to sound professional in the meantime, "Although, ultimately, understood as a new bacteria species, it would affect those at random— without any symptoms being the same as another."

"You are correct there, Marilyn.", Dan following Marilyn's review over the past as the perfect filler for their leftover time, "While it might have been a small percentage— of two percent of the world's population in the end—it's affects were wide reaching, and horrifying. As our viewers would know all too well. Still, the indomitable human spirit persevered. Thanks to the efforts of Dr. Topal and many others, some of the smartest out there buckled down and solved this problem."

"Solved it well enough they did, Dan.", Marilyn concluding the history lesson, "Nevertheless, not every solution is ironclad. So, Dan, I'm going to be spending this weekend festivals with a few, fun house parties instead this year. I'll be leaving the partying to you."

"Ah, yes! That is so you, Marilyn.", Dan snidely remarks in a friendly, professional tone, "And, there you have in folks. This concludes your loving Thursday night evening news. This was Dan."

"And, Marilyn."

Finishing simultaneously in harmony, "Goodnight, and sweet dreams!"

And, with that, the evening news ties up at the splash screen of the city's scenic ocean image as the station's logo plasters the middle, focal point. "And, this concludes the evening news. From our family at channel 5, we thank you all for tuning in and have a great weekend.", the overlaid announcer's voice enthusiastically promotes, "Stay tuned for the hit-new procedural, 'STF Vegas', later. Up next, a brand new episode of 'King of Jacks'."

Theo, control in hand, dismisses something of what the anchors had mentioned. Scuffing, "Solution...", before switching through the stations again.

"Wow. 'King of Jacks' is still on the air?", indifferently stunning Siv, "I stopped after it stopped being funny in season 4. Weird."

In the midst of coming up with a reply to Theo, Arturo pauses at the oft-putting sentence that climbed out of Siv's vocal cords. A reaction of genuine bewilderment, Siv's last statement broke whatever concentration he had with Theo. "What? What?! 'King of Jacks' funny? It's a drama. How in the infernal hell is it funny?", Arturo invigoratingly breaks.

"Eh", Siv lukewarmly tosses out,"It insisted a bit much."

"It insisted?"

"Yea."

"Are you having a go at me?"

Staying tight lipped, Siv smoothly moves her left hand over her lips. She motions her fingers across her lips like a zipper, with a delectably devious smile underneath to boot— infuriating Arturo to no end.

Her walking off from the couch drew this back-and-forth to a close. Obviously a bit tipsy from the drinks prior, Siv casually strolls over to the table John now rests his head. She pulls herself on the table as carefully, and haphazardly, as an intoxicated individual could. Yet, the slumbering John does not wake. Sitting on top of the table itself, she pokes and prods John's face with whatever utensils lying close by. Nevertheless, those brown eyes remain closed.

Back to where the other two sit, the couch is filled of it's sitting space. Between Arturo, the messenger bag, and Theo, nothing else could reach within this limited space— unless the television felt the need to screech fuzz once again. The minimal pause of quiet felt quite different from the rest of the night, if not day. Enough to lull one into a deep slumber, of which seems to have worked rapidly for some. While Siv had her own pestering vices to entertain, the same could not be said for Arturo. The quiet gets to work swiftly on him. His eyelids droop. First, the left. Then, the right. His golfer's hat resembled a fluffy softness of his children's pillows the longer the lull's vice grip tightened. Suddenly, something scares it off. In one ignorant gust, a voice requested, "Why do you let it work you up that much? It's obvious she does that to get under your skin."

"Wa—huh?", Arturo murmurs, "What did you say, Barry?" Awakened as soon as he began drifting off, the sandman's whiplash is quite the formative foe of the salaryman. Affecting Theo much in the same way as Arturo in the discourse prior, the new hire's emotionless, contemptible face said more than enough. With those seemingly comforting words now mute, Arturo is able to circle back around to what Theo had scuffed minutes earlier. Arturo turns his head towards Theo and delves in, "Hey, Barry, what did you mean by 'solutions'?"

Quietness reclaims it's throne between the two. Theo continues to stare at the tv as the channels switch through the static and empty stations ad nauseam. The same blank, contempt expression masquerading as Theo's young face as irrelevant seconds turn into dozens. Noticeably, as the time passes, Arturo inches his inquisitive head ever closer to Theo's contradictory one. Closer and closer, their expressions do not change. Yet, their distance becoming more absurd as the seconds toll. After a half minute passes, the two appear little closer than a handful of minute marks upon the clock on the wall behind them. The absurdity was too much. One cannot hold their tongue any longer. Speaking uncomfortably, "Stop calling me Barry Allen."

"Fine. I'll stop.", Arturo reneges, "tonight."

"What?", Theo cracks his neck towards him, "What was that?"

"I'll stop, new guy. So, tell me, what did you mean by that thing before?"

Leaning his bushy head onto his left hand, Theo sighs slightly before speaking a word about it. Evidently, something his rolling eyes seem to indicate to Arturo being a sore subject of sorts to the young man. "It's that concerning to you?", Arturo subsequently inquires.

*Bzzzt!*

A light buzzing whispers faintly between the two. Both pause, startled by the sudden act— not by the noise, per se, but the soft vibrations from it that melted into the couch itself. Arturo peers down as Theo raises his head just enough to search for the source himself. As soon as the buzz came, it went. It mattered neither here nor there to them as they both simply shrugged it off. Yet, it was just the thing necessary to raise his head and change his attitude— if even by something as insignificant as a unknown tone such as this. "Yeah.", Theo gradually replies, "My younger brother had it. He got better...until he got stranger."

Theo, raising his body back to a more standard sitting position, taking a moment to hear Arturo's response. A level of anxiousness—unusual to him— infiltrates his heart for he knew topics like this either led to vitriol arguments or go off-topic rather immediately. And, he is right. With Arturo breaking off, "They were going to come anyway. All this 'solution' seems to have done is emphasize those side-effects. If there were going to be side-effects, this has got to be some of the coolest out there, if I'm being honest.", as his crescent smile rests easy upon his relaxed cheeks.

"While I have no idea what your brother got, I'm sure he'll find a way through it all.", Arturo rambles on, "Now, one massive problem has definitely come from this. And, I don't like it one bit. " Fortunately the later, it nevertheless avoided the point Theo's ire has been focused in on for quite awhile now. Regardless, there was always a time and place for this kind of stuff and, especially with a drunk, this was not it.

Theo let's go of his personal grievances for the night as it snuggles in for a cozy calm. With the shoes on the other foot, Theo humors Arturo, "Comic books?"

"Comic books!", Arturo confidentiality concurs. A claim loud enough to rudely awaken the poor John for the umpteenth time this day. The two men continue on with their irrelevant ramblings of collectible things as attention turns back to the sleepless straggler.

Being met with polished nails to the cheek, John arises from the table where his head laid. Now sitting upright in his chair, yet the poking does not stop. "Yes, Siv?", John asks.

Understated in his tone, this teasing seems to be of a common occurrence— or, at least, had been. "Hey~,", Siv toyingly rambles in her tipsy stumper, "Are you sure you're awake?"

"Honestly", John exhales, "I'm not even sure anymore."

A light, innocuous chuckle sneaks past the hand passively covering her lips as she sinks down from the table and into a chair. "It always takes me by surprise", John mentions, "but, you know, I used to think Swedes were good at handling their drinks."

Although hampered by the handful of beers throughout the night, Siv's intrigues remain in the forefront of her mind. Still, she has her ways—her techniques—for each individual she deals with— and John is not an exception. "Hmm, I seeee what chu're doing, Jonny.", Siv says slurring her speech, "My berusning isn't fair. Alcohol and I never have agreed, you know thiss."

"Yeah, yeah.", John eases off, "Now we're even, I suppose."

*Bzzzt!*

While this could have been a natural end, Siv makes her unbalanced play. "Sooo, tell me what's up.", she questions John as she leans back into the chair that she now finds herself supported by, "I know the big cheese is a hard 'arse', but this 'you' is too out of it for it to just be upper-management training. I'm serious, John, what happened today?"

Leaning back into a chair himself, John looks up to the apartment's ceiling as the day swirls around inside his crapped-out mind. From oddity to absurdity, more re-emerges through the foggy auxiliaries clogging up the four corners of his brain. As it all swirls and submerges within itself, one thing comes out clearly; John, raising his hand to point at the shiny case on his carpet, struggling to formulate, "Not only that briefcase, but nearly everything this year has seemed to be... off."

"And today was just the cherry on top of this crap!", John continues, "From strangers somehow knowing my name to the increasingly personal questions coming out of Rayst...". John takes a pause as he lets out a stressed exhale of pent-up annoyances, a sigh with strings attached. "I think I need a vacation.", he culminates.

The way Siv looks back at John while he speaks transitions from act to legitimacy. A face filled with worry, containing the kernel of truth that will not be said. The knowledge of what lies at the straggler's foundation to his strain and stress— the knowledge of who. Speaking clearly and soberly enough, Siv pokes his cheek again. Snatching his attention away from those mental depths, Siv nudges, "This is still about Roy, right? It wasn't your fault."

"How do you know?", John beckons, "You've only ever heard my side of things. I should've helped him then."

"John", Siv answers coldly, "He made his choices. Like any other grown man, he was responsible for his own actions— whatever they might've been."

"But—"

"You still don't even know the whole story.", Siv cuts in, "Make peace with it. It'll be ok."

Instead of taking the weight off, this had the opposite affect. Feeling the doubling of this emotional baggage over-cumbering him, John's breath becomes shallower than the average. Depicted across his face, the rare wrinkle crops between his worried, stressed forehead. The straggler grabs for his chest, wrinkling his white button-up to match his face. Sweat begins to trickle from his clamming palms and his throat clogs with the submerged thoughts from up above. This is enough to alert a sobering Siv. She reaches for him, feeling the sweat collecting at his palm's centers. Siv slips out a quivering, uncertain word, "John?"

"Yeah...", John hesitantly replies, "I'm good. I'm ok." Removing his hand from hers, he reaches it from his chest to his throat. As he extends his neck, he makes the noises of clearing out his trapped haunts from out of his throat. As fast as John slipped into hysteria, he fell back into normalcy twice as so. Siv, while apprehensive to believe even this, takes John's words at face value. She backs off and changes topics— for him, and for her.

"Hmm, ok then.", Siv reluctantly pads out,"After those crazy power surges today, I kind of forgot you borrowed that thingy during our break. So, can I have my lighter back? It's my last one, apparently."

That red lighter. The image of that thing flashes through John's frontal cortex. The moment Siv speaks about also being his last physical memory of it; the elusive two-dollar cigarette lighter having gone into the wind since. Left with only the answer being the assumption made in the elevator before, he's caught between a rock and a hard place most undesirable. "Uh, yeah. About that.", John prepares himself, "It was stolen."

"Stolen?", Siv skeptically asks, "Who would steal something as pointless as a cheap, gas-station lighter? What is this? Are you 'pulling my leg', John?"

"It was weirdo with red hair.", John replies teary and absentmindedly, "I'm pretty sure she's a klepto... my Walkman..."

"Oh, so, red hair is weird now. Uh?", Siv feigning spite, "Maybe I shouldn't have lent you that lighter then."

Coming back from his distracting loss, John notices what he has said. He back-steps, "Oh, uh, wait a minute. That was coincidental, ok. This chick had a fire-like ponytail and was like a giant. Tried to steal like three things from me in a a span of a handful of minutes, or just about. It was weird, she was definitely weird."

"Sounds like you meet a Amazonian, in a way.", Siv sums up.

"Yeah? Yep! That's the perfect way to describe her. It was just on the tip of my tongue in the cab earlier."

Only swelling the skepticism, "An amazonian. Here. In this second-rate city? Skitsnack!", Siv calls out.

*Bzzzt!*

"Well, yeah, if you put it like that.", John somewhat concurs,"But, it's true— except, maybe, the lighter thingy. It's why your dyed hair—"

The straggler is cut short once more. By, not one but, two others call attention to the questionable consistency that continues to interrupt their own conversation. In the tipsy words of the Frenchman, "Oi, Johnny! I think your phone'sss going off over 'ere in this bag of yours. Get off your sleepy bum and get it already!"

The words tickle his eardrums, awakening him to his feet. Feeling up his pockets—front and back—John realizes his natural assumption was wrong. With so many peculiar occurrences and oft-kilter conversations filling up his off time today, the location of his phone was the last thing to cross that sleep-deprived brain. In a stretch and a lazy handful of steps, John makes his way to the couch and casually launches his hand into the bag. Wading through the junk and paperwork, John's fingers tag each item that they happen to cross.

"Agghh! Son of a—"

Snagging his finger on something sharp, he carefully removes it from his bag. The shambled thing that resembles his familiar Walkman re-emerges from the bag's depths as John places it back onto the table. Although still tipsy, Arturo isn't the only one to starkly react to the mechanical death trap emerging.

"Que diabos?", exclaims Theo as Arturo ups the ante, "Oh bon Dieu! What the hell happened to your Walkman?!"

Sadly reminded more and more of that strange kleptomaniac, John can only muster his disdain. Curtly noting, "It's a long story."

Sinking his hand back in, John digs deeper into the bag's depths until he hits the bottom. Moving his hand around once more, his fingers can feel the strengthening vibrations as the buzzing consistently rattles off. Following those periodical hints well, the fingers find their prey. Grabbing it firmly, John yanks the phone like a fish out from his marshy, cluttered bag.

In his hand sits a flip-phone, his oft-silver coated personal phone. Unclamping from the firm grip on it, he turns the front around to face him to see whom it might be. Looking at the tiny screen window change with the concurrent buzz, so does his expression change with it. The name being one he hasn't seen in nearly a year, he rushes the phone to flip open. There sat a text received just over an hour prior, yet its contents felt appropriately on time. A familiar conundrum from this source; contents, typically lacking to most that view it, says exactly what it needs to say to one that needs to read it. What was written on the text message is, '47.095310, -122.790874'. 'Coordinates. Again. Uhm.', John's eyes glaze over as he thinks this midst those numbers.

Stuffing his phone into his wrinkly black pants' pocket, he goes for his spare apartment keys by the fridge and heads out his white door.

"Woah! Hey, hold up.", Arturo standing up confused, "What's happening? Where are you going? John!" Between the keys and the door, John doesn't waste a second on an explanation or two. Words—more-or-less—taken straight out of Theo's own mouth, the confusing static in the air heightens with John's every receding step.

Unbothered, an increasingly drowsy Siv nonchalantly waves to the confused guys to calm themselves down. "Eh, you two worry too much.", Siv assumes, "It was probably Roy texting him something. Chill out, ok." This may have been enough to quell Arturo and Theo's legitimate concerns, the three were still left alone in a co-worker's apartment unprompted.

Walking through the threshold of his temporary estate, John walks determined down the red-and-gold hallway towards the elevator. Accompanied by the surrounding Art Deco-centric artistry, there's but one thing on his mind— as solemn as it makes him. Nevertheless, this eventful straggler is rarely ever left to his own. As Siv shouts pleasantly from the apartment and down the hallway, "Don't forget to pick up some Chinese on your way back! If you don't mind, ok?", while the alcoholic slumber overtakes her bit by bit.

A click of the elevator button downward and taps of a supposedly patient man, all John can do is sigh as his long night is far from over.