Richard checked into his hotel. It was getting rather late. He was hoping to grab a bite to eat, but it seemed the area was barren of any commercial activity. Especially past 9. He looked at his watch. It was 9:43. He would have to settle for the hotel bar. He took the elevator down to the ground floor. He was just going to have one drink, and a bite to eat. That was it.
The elevator chimed as it reached its destination. Richard stepped off. As he was stepping off, he bumped shoulders with a stranger. He must have been growing tired. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.
“No worries,” said the woman. “It’s late; people are tired; no harm done.”
“I do feel my eyes growing heavy,” he chuckled. He bid the woman farewell and headed for the bar.
The short walk from the elevator to the bar seemed to take forever. Was the hotel always this big? He could feel the fatigue grow on him with each passing second. Like moss growing on a tree, there was a stubble about his chin. With each passing moment, he became less and less presentable. By the time he had reached the bar, he was all but ready to call it a night. He wasn’t in the mood for food anymore. He just wanted a quick drink and hit the hay.
“I’ll take a Grey Goose,” he ordered.
“Certainly,” the bartender acknowledged. “Would you like that on the rocks, sir?”
“No, just straight will be fine.”
The bartender laid a shot glass in front of Richard, and poured it straight to the brim. Richard laid down a tenner on the table and took the shot. The alcohol hit him like a brick to the head. He slammed his shot glass to the table and left the bar. He headed back to his room. He didn’t bother to get into the sheets. He didn’t bother to turn off the lights. He fell, face first, into his bed. He was out like a log.
He woke up the next day. He knew he had dreamt the night before, but he couldn’t remember its contents. All he knew was that it gave him a strange sensation as he awoke. And that he didn’t want this feeling ever again. It was an ominous feeling. The sort of feeling you get when birds start falling from the skies. The sort of feeling you get when you watch the newest attempt by Hollywood at your consciousness manifest itself onto the big screen in Human Centipede. The sort of feeling you get…
There was a sudden knock at his door. Who could it be? There was no way anyone knew he would be here. Especially not from this area. He walked to the door and took a look through the peephole. There was no one. Strange. He could have sworn there was a knock by the door.
He opened the door with caution. He saw something on the floor. A note. He opened it. It was an invitation to something. A networking event. How typical Silicon Valley, he thought. He inspected it closer. He saw a personalized message — to him.
Hope to see you there