White light temporarily blinds Roxas as the impossible man directs him into a cramped room with white walls and towers of white boxes with black script, shoved into something akin to a circle. Eleven or so employees perch on the stacks in various states of complete and utter disinterest.
The impossible man—impossibly thin, impossibly tall, skin impossibly flawless, hair impossibly red, spiked, gravity defiant—salutes the man on the tallest tower of boxes. The man, his long pastel blue hair pulled back into a ponytail—Saïx, if Roxas is remembering right, waves him off with a smirk.
Winking at the rest of the group, the impossible man makes his exit, leaving Roxas blinking in the literal and metaphorical limelight as the group gapes at him openly. Each onlooker wears predominately black, highlights of silver on their ears or at their throats. Their hairstyles and colors look like they were selected by a child with a brand new box of crayons.
"I'd like you all to meet the newest member of our organization," Saïx announces, beckoning Roxas forward with long bronze fingers hung with silver rings, "lucky number thirteen."
Clapping, snapping, cheering, and one long whoop from a guy with a mohawk, greet Roxas as he takes another step forward and tries to smile at the colorful crew assembled.
Saïx holds out a black lanyard with a nametag. "Welcome to Hot Topic, Roxas."
Roxas nods his thanks and takes the lanyard, slipping it around his neck and holding the glossy card up to the light. "Uh, this says 'Cloud' on it."
"Yeah," Saïx clasps his hands overtop the clipboard across his lap, smile neat, "we haven't printed yours yet."