I stand to attention in the Architect’s office, an exercise in controlled stillness. The room embodies the perfect fusion of luxury and technology. Holographic displays hover in the air while priceless artworks adorn the walls. Before me sits the man who has been my employer for more years than I care to count.
The Architect occupies his chair behind the desk, half his face cast in shadows from the floating screens. The filtered light reveals a man in his forties with severe, angular features. His eyes, such a deep brown they appear almost black, fix upon me with unnerving intensity. His meticulously styled brown hair shows traces of grey at the temples, lending him a distinguished air that contrasts sharply with the hardness in his gaze.
His black suit is immaculate, his dark tie perfectly knotted against a pristine white shirt. His posture remains rigid, almost military, reinforcing the aura of authority that emanates from him. Despite his polished appearance, I detect an underlying tension, as if he’s perpetually braced for conflict.
“So this is really your last day, Alva?” His voice maintains a practiced calm, feigning disinterest, but his eyes never leave mine.
“Yes, sir. My decision is final.”
He nods, a smile touching his lips without reaching his eyes. “I understand. Actually, your recent psychological evaluations suggested you needed an extended break. Perhaps this… early retirement is for the best.”
I frown. “Psychological evaluations? I never…”
“Oh, Alva,” the Architect interrupts, “surely by now you realize we have methods of monitoring our agents’ mental health. It’s all for your own protection, of course.”
A weighted silence fills the space between us. Finally, I incline my head slightly, matching his smile. “I suppose this is goodbye, then.”
“Indeed,” he replies, his attention already shifting back to his screens. “Good fortune to you, Mr. Stéphane Alvarez, known as Alva.”