1.2
Overworld

Greg pulled on his jacket as he got ready for the day. It was identical to the one that Daniel wore, as the other boy had recommended it when Greg had mentioned that he needed a new one. He slipped his clipboard and a sheaf of paper into a small backpack, just in case they had any ideas that he could work on while they were there. Then, he was off. He got into the car, his mom already adjusting the mirrors. As they drove, he thought of the game, as he often did. The latest TinkerToy game had come out a week and half prior, but he hadn't really paid it any mind. No, the game that he was thinking of was none other than their own. Perhaps they could add some sort of Boss Gel monster? It could shed smaller ones as it went. But how to ensure that a player couldn't just hang somewhere high and shoot it freely...

When they reached Daniel's house, he was already waiting on the front step. He stood up as they approached, and he dashed down the driveway to the car, nearly tripping as he did. Over one shoulder, he had his bag, like he always did. Among other things, it contained his laptop and some design notebooks. Stepping into the back seat next to Greg, he greeted Greg's mom. "Thanks for the ride, Mrs. Veder!"

Mrs. Veder simply laughed. "It's no problem at all Daniel. I'm all too happy to help out. Now, just to double check, Graham's house is..." Daniel guided Mrs. Veder through the streets until they reached the Clive residence. Unlike Daniel, Graham wasn't waiting for them as they arrived, so the duo decided to go up to the door. Just as they knocked on the door, however, it swung open and Graham stepped out.

He was breathing heavily, which the other two took to mean that he'd gotten up late again. It wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. "Sorry about that, alright, let's go! Shotgun!" He very nearly yelled the last word. A few steps from the car, however, he started patting his pockets. "Snap, I forgot my medicine..."

Greg very nearly groaned. They should get going already! "You can take it when you get back, come on, let's go!" To emphasize his point, he slid into the back seat, and after a brief hesitation, Graham shrugged his shoulders and stepped into the passenger seat. Once the three were secured, Mrs. Veder began the drive towards downtown.

OoOoO

As they stepped out of the car, they listened to Greg's mom's parting words. "Alright, stay safe kids! I'll be back to pick you up at around noon, alright? That give you boys enough time?" After rolling his eyes at being called a 'kid', Greg and the others assured her that yes, that would be plenty of time. Greg looked up in fascination at the PRT building down the street while Daniel led the way up to the doors. After pulling out a lanyard with a key on it, Daniel let the trio into the building. After a few minutes of searching for the right lab, they found it in the basement of the firm. Greg and Graham waited off to the side while Daniel booted up one of the computers.

Once it was up and running, Greg clapped his hands together. "Alright, time to test. Who's going first?" Graham began to raise his hand when Daniel spoke.

"How about you go first Greg? I can tell you're just dying to." He said with a wry smile.

Greg rubbed his neck sheepishly. "You sure? What about you, Graham?" The largest of the three didn't look completely satisfied with the arrangement, but he nodded. Greg eagerly sat in the chair and pulled up the file on the flash drive that Daniel had plugged into the computer. Starting up the game, he leaned forward in anticipation.

OoOoO

For each of the boys in the building, there was a man of particular note that had to do with the state of it. In 2003, November 6th, Paulson Construction had been working on the foundation of a building. Reggie Paulson, onsite manager and foreman, had been having a pretty good day. The work had been going well, his wife had called to tell him that there was a Salmon Meuniere calling his name, and if he wasn't mistaken, they'd actually be finishing ahead of schedule today. All that they had left to do was place the steel supports that would connect the basement to the main floor, and lay a bare framework for said floor. Wouldn't take hardly any time at all, really.

Reggie opened the second to last crate of materials, and looked in. Yep, those were the supports, all forty-two... There were only thirty in here. His mind went blank for a moment, and then he consulted the blueprints. A few minutes of baffled examination later, he glanced back at the crate. Whoever had these drawn up ought to be fired. Thirty supports wasn't regulation, it might be structurally sound, but for how long? Then again...

If he called this in, in all likelihood, the whole crew would have to wait around for a new crate to arrive from the supply yard. That could take hours... He chewed on his lip, something his wife had tried to get him to stop doing, but when he was torn between two decisions, he couldn't help himself.

Well, he could hardly be blamed for following the blueprints, could he? I mean, that was his job. Besides, the regulatory amount was overkill, everyone knew that. The numbers were so high because some bureaucrat at the Zoning and Planning office didn't want any lawsuits crossing his desk for the slightest thing. The building would be fine, for a good decade at least. By then, it would probably have been torn down, honestly.

One of the senior workers walked up. "Boss? Something wrong?"

Still, he hesitated for another few seconds...

He smiled, though it didn't reach all the way to his eyes. "Nothing's wrong Sean, let's get to work."

Later that day, when he bit into his Salmon Meuniere, it tasted a bit like ash.

OoOoO

2007, August 30th
If there was one thing that Mark Wallace knew, it was that he didn't get paid enough for this. Of course he had to waste his weekend on this. Some idiot intern had forgotten to shut one of the basement windows, so of course that evening it had to have one of the heaviest rainfalls in years. After all, why not? So much equipment, ruined. On top of that, they had to hire a crew to clean up the place, keep the carpets from molding, all that jazz. Mark let out a sigh. If he could just figure out which intern it was... He should probably let all of them go, just to be sure. One of the crew members came up to him, and he did his best to give the man the appearance of attention. "Yes?" He said tiredly.

The man spoke in a slightly slurred tone, forcing Mark to suppress a curling his lip."Jet Rammell, sir. We've cleaned the carpets and applied a sealant to the floor underneath 'em and to the walls. Still, I'd recommend you get the foundation checked sir. The water could have caused some damage there." Mark grimaced. Another expense? Was there no end to them? All the same, he thanked the man and signed the paperwork. Oh how he didn't want to be the one to tell the higher ups about all of this. The equipment, the floors, the walls, and now the foundation? That sounded like it could match the price of all the others combined. Mark didn't want to lose his job over this...

He paused, and looked around. The place looked fine. What had that cleaner been talking about? Mark stood there for a while, letting the gears turn in his brain.

That bastard, he probably had an in with some of the inspection workers! If he paid for an inspection, he was probably just playing right into the man's hands! Collusions, backdoor dealings... well, he, Mark Wallace, wasn't going to fall for that!

If it was just the price of the cleaning and some new equipment, it probably wouldn't look that bad to the higher ups. Just to be sure, though, out of the goodness of his heart, he'd pay for a little of the cost out of his own pocket. After all, if it saved him his job, it would be worth it.

It didn't.

OoOoO

Randy stumbled out to the car with his friends, Quinn and Peter. "Alright guys, get in." He did his best to control the slight slur in his voice, and he was pretty sure it worked.

Quinn narrowed his eyes. "Dude, are, are you drunk? I thought you were the desiccated... desnigated driver?" His serious tone was ruined by the fact that he appeared to be looking over Randy's shoulder.

"Not hardly! Just had a glass, you know, to keep me awake." It might have been two glasses. Maybe. Anyways, Randy was a great driver, drunk or not. He'd had plenty of practice, not that he'd ever admit it. "Pete, you okay buddy?" The third member of their group began to snore. "I'll take that as a yes. Alright, Quinn, want me to drop you off at your apartment?"

His friend spluttered. "Are you nuts? If I tried to go back to campus like this, I'd get kicked out of the U. Nah man, you mind if I shower at your place? Don't want to smell like this when I go back." Randy just nodded. He was a nice guy like that.

He looked back down at his other friend. "You know where Pete wanted to get dropped off?" Quinn considered this question carefully, before shaking his head. "Alright, I'll just bring him back to my place. Makes things simpler, I only have to go home!" Quinn joined him in laughing for a moment. "Alright, let's go. You strap Pete in." Quinn grumbled a little at this, but he did as he was told. Or at least, he tried. He wasn't sure if he had slipped the buckle into the clasp, or into Pete's pants, and he didn't really want to know. Standing back up, he closed Pete's door with a whisper of a click, and stumbled his way over to the passenger seat.

Randy started up his car, and pulled out of the side street he'd parked on, a little unsteadily, but pretty much straight. As far as he could tell at least. He might have stretched the truth a little. In reality, he had probably had more like three... or four... or six glasses. Roundabout there anyways. But it was fine! He had a huge tolerance for alcohol. Ran in his family. Well, actually, his grandpa had died from drinking too much, but really, didn't that just prove his case? He was so in control of himself while drinking that he couldn't tell how drunk he was, and just kept going! That was probably how it went anyways.

The road in front of him seemed to waver, but Randy was good at this. He didn't let his hands drift one inch. His grip was like a steel trap, and nothing in the world could shake his it. It was a little disconcerting how the street in front of him seemed to drift back and forth though. That's it, he was definitely going to keep it at one or two glasses next time, this was freaky as shit.

"Wow, man, I must be more drunk than I thought. It looks like we're heading straight for that building." Quinn mumbled. Wait, what? For a brief moment, the world seemed to snap into focus. Time seemed to slow to a drip, and he could see that the car was aiming straight for a blue building. His brain seemed to want to etch this scene into his mind, probably just in case it was the last thing he saw. 'Showman Advertising' proclaimed a sign on the front. It was one story high, but it looked like it had a basement too. He could see his speedometer. 55 miles per hour. Wasn't this a 20 mile per hour zone? Yep, there was actually a sign right in front of the building he was aiming at. That's ironic. Or is it? He could never remember if he was using that word right. I mean, he probably could have paid more attention in English-

OoOoO

Author Note: I hope that I'm not boring people with these snippets of other people's perspectives? I dunno how relevant they are, I mean, who knows? It's probably some other advertising firm anyways.