I followed Kush into the portal and instantly knew I was inside the Under-reality; once more, the under-reality wasn’t any different, per se, than normal reality, but it had a different energy to it. Like when I saw my grandma— who, once upon a time, baked me cookies as a child— in full army fatigues fighting in some revolution decades back. Elements of both the old and the new, young and the old, were balanced in a strange harmony. And so, the under-reality was the same way: the reality that I knew was here, but also something more once you open your eyes to it.

“And here is our base,” Kush said, again widely waving his arms as if he were gesturing to the world’s largest something.

I looked at what he was pointing out and was unimpressed.

“It is a run-down house,” I said.

And it was a run down house. Well, maybe not “run down” in the sense of damaged pieces of wall and rebar sticking out or some shit like that you would see on TV, but it definitely wasn’t increasing its market value with faded paint and an overgrown, weedy lawn filled with junk. “Like a supernatural redneck,” I muttered to myself; I did not mean for Kush to hear me, but I heard him chuckle and mutter something under his breath was to the effect of “yep, the neckiest of red.”

Still following Kush, we approached the door. I was expecting some kind of elaborate lock and key system to enter the building. Like, a dance or something. Or at the very least a strangely engraved old-fashioned style key that had a bunch of strangely etched teeth to it.

But no. Lock, dance, key. Nada.

Kush walked up to the door and gently pushed the door aside. It hadn’t even been locked.

Security is not a big concern in the under-reality, Felix said, speaking up for the first time in a while. Thieves and criminals do not exist in our ranks.

I would have asked Felix how and why, but now was not the time. He was moving inside and I, as part of the frequency trigger, had to follow; though, the more time that did crawl by with no resolution in sight made me feel as if I was watching a long-winded cutscene in a JRPG.

Following Kush as he led Felix and myself up a series of staircases in ill-repair, it was surprisingly late before I realized that for the number of steps we were going up and for the amount of different rooms and passageways we passed through, it did not make sense that this tiny two-story building was large enough to contain all of it. Up and up, down and down. Lengthy sideways beats across many hallways and through many doors and odd passageways. Physics be damned, I guess.

“Almost there,” Kush said about fifteen minutes into a non-stop voyage into what I assumed was the heart of this building. “Our destination used to be closer, but it got in a mood and dived deeper into itself. Freaking computers. Alas, better days.”

More jargon. That is what that all was to me. As Kush spoke it meant nothing. But I listened anyway since I knew that this currently useless verbiage would one day be my own language, so I best pay attention. And still, I was intrigued by a computer that could go where it wanted to go, especially a computer that existed in the under-reality.

“Here we are!” Kush almost yelled, though maybe it was the echo of the building amplifying his words and not his own excitement.

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Entering the first finished room that I had seen this embarking on this little building journey, I liked what I saw— it was cozy.

Plenty of warm lighting hung from lamps strewn around the ceiling and wide-angled, spacious desks coiled around the room, making each cubicle space appear as though it were an executive office in a big corporation. But, with there only being four desk spaces, it was hardly an office suite the likes of which one would see in a movie. Before me, was less big corporate and more stay-at-home business. Stepping foot into the room, my feet made contact with carpet. Another unexpected luxury but welcome all the same.

Leading me over to an empty desk— in fact, straining myself to take a look, all of the desks, with the exception of a single desk, were empty. Kush said, “and here will be your space. Please place a personal token of some kind to claim this area.”

“A token?” I asked.

“Yeah. Can be anything. Don’t overthink it.”

I mused. If it could be anything, I reasoned that it should be a useless trinket.

From my pocket-wallet, I took out my Augustford employee savings card. I dropped it on the table unceremoniously; it was a useless trinket by definition since the company eliminated employee discounts years ago as part of some restructuring nonsense.

And like magic, once the card hit the desk, an aura of sparkly dust washed over the desk before vanishing without a trace. A moment later, I saw the word “Marcus” gently glow into existence on the desk before going dark.

“And you now have your own desk. Congrats!”

“For claiming a desk?” I asked.

“Yeah, sometimes the process kills,” Kush said as if it were the most normal thing to ever say.

“Good to know,” I replied laconically.

“It is good, isn’t it?” Kush said with complete honesty.

With the desk claiming done, I asked what the next step was for me.

“The next step?” Kush took time to ponder. Was he not the person responsible for training me? “Oh, yes . . . sorry, memory. You learn about what we do. So sit down, take notes, and be prepared for a test!”

I grabbed the backside of the wheeled office chair— an elegant chair made from some kind of fancy wood with foamy padded leather— and sat down.

“Always look in your drawers for supplies. There will always be supplies in your drawer compartments,” Kush said, staring intently at the drawers on the desk.

I opened the compartments and found paper and writing tools. I placed both on the desk, swiveled my chair, and listened with pen in hand.

Kush began to talk but he did not sit down. He said, “today, your regiment will be light. Basic knowledge. As an organization, Full Time exists to maintain, sustain, and where appropriate, cull, the supernatural world known as the under-reality. We call this labor ‘curation.’ Firstly, our work as Curators takes us in many different directions on a day-to-day basis; some days, we might have to act like police and resolve a potentially violent dispute between super-normies or to take corrective action; other days, we might have to act as social workers and help a super-normie who is having a hard time with an aspect of their work or (post)-life; other times yet, we could be simple engineers or pencil-pushers— heaven knows that there is a heck of a lot of paperwork! I will not get into the details right now as there will be time for that later, but right now, it is important to note that we do not do any one set job day to day. Do not come into this experience, then, expecting stability.”

I wrote down the specifics of what he said, of my durable role and instability in labor. But jotting down such simple information did not take long. I looked at Kush expectedly.

“Ummmm . . . yeah, that is it for today, I think. Wait. No one has gone over magic with you, right?”

“No,” I replied to Kush. “You are the first member of Full Time I have met— outside of that night in the graveyard, of course.”

“Uh, weird. I had just figured that the others would have wanted to be more proactive in getting you up to speed. They must be busy, I guess. Oh well.”

“Welp, unless you want to give a demonstration, should I just go home?” I asked. hoping I could return to my crappy apartment so I could clean. And sleep. Eat. All that good human stuff when my labor isn’t being exploited at work.

“Oh, no. You won’t be returning home, Marcus, you will be staying here, tonight.”

I looked at Kush a tad dumbfounded, but saw he was serious. I felt a lump in my stomach grow and tossed my pencil down to my desk. In a manner reminiscent of a famous chef who often became angry, I muttered under my breath, “oh, fuck me!”