A/N: Thanks to those of you who have been sticking with me so far! I really appreciate the reviews. I've been procrastinating like hell to get these next few chapters written. I've been on a roll, which has been nice. I couldn't think of a title, so I went rummaging through iTunes and eventually picked a Metallica song. Sorry for my lack of creativity.

Again, things will really start to pick up from here on out. Lots of unanswered questions! I hope I have the answers....

- Mr. Samsa

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Chapter 3 - Carpe Diem Baby

Brian gurgled himself back into actuality. Everything moved about with a fuzzy outline and he had trouble recalling what had happened the previous night. The haze of alcohol was still thick around him, causing the light of morning to burn his eyes. He lifted a hand to block the light, finding a trend in his awakenings thus far. After sitting for a few moments becoming adjusted to the reality of being awake, he attempted to move. Standing proved difficult, as he stumbled off the stoop and into a couple walking past. He mumbled his apologies as they briskly walked away in disgust.

Stumbling his way down the sidewalk, he groggily decided that today he should try to contact the family, if he could even find them. Still hissing and squinting his eyes in attempts to spite the sun, Brian leaned up against the side of a nearby building, digging in his pocket for his wallet once again. He had been lucky so far; maybe it had something else of use for him. After a sufficient amount of rummaging, all he managed to come across were two movie tickets, a membership card for a bookstore, a business card from some place with a weird name, a coupon for free coffee on the house, and two condoms.

"Wonderful." Brian thought. "This is the perfect wallet to have on a date." He exhaled, twiddling with the business card. Except for this thing. He read the company's name once again. GIWDR.

"Giwedr?" Brian said out loud. "What the hell does Giwedr mean?" he asked, flipping the card around, only to find his answer: Griffin Industries for Weapons Development and Research. Brian's hopes soared for an instant until his logic gave him a stern kick in the gut. There are countless amounts of Griffins out there, not to mention that he was in New York, New York, which was at least a good hundred miles away from Rhode Island. Sighing and gingerly turning the card around in his hand a few times he came to the conclusion of "what the hell?"

There was an address and a phone number given, but no name. Damn it. Brian cursed internally, gathering his courage as he marched on in pursuit of his only possible hope of familiar contact. His mind was a buzz with questions. Which one of the Griffins could it be? Of course, one definite answer came to mind, but he tried not to get his hopes up. For all he knew, Meg could have turned out to be an absolute genius in weaponry. Suppressing a scoff, Brian rounded a corner to see a frightening edifice rising up at the street's end before him. The unmistakable logo of GIWDR seemed to beckon him towards it. His throat became dry and he checked his reflection in a nearby window, smoothing his hair back and attempting to straighten out his jacket. God, he looked like a bum.

Once inside the main lobby, Brian couldn't help but gawk at the high ceilings and marble pillars shaded deep golds and ebonies. Everything seemed to echo. Once in the center of the room, he almost broke his neck attempting to take in the sight above him. The ceiling opened up going straight to the top of the building in the shape of a cylinder, office windows facing the inside of the lobby, proving a horrible death for anyone who would be unfortunate enough to crash through one. It reminded Brian of a wormhole.

"May I help you sir." A voice echoed from across the lobby. Brian snapped out of his trance catching the gaze of a man eyeing him suspiciously from behind a counter. Feeling slightly flustered, Brian walked briskly over to the counter, attempting to smile warmly at the man.

"Hey there, how you doing?" he asked. No answer. "I was just wondering if you could give me the name of… uh… the guy, or girl…" he added hastily "that's in charge of this whole big operation." He ended with a smile. The man was not amused.

"Stuart G. Griffin. Do you need any further information?" he spouted mundanely, his voice dripping with annoyance and cynicism. Brian could barley contain himself, feeling a terrible need to laugh uncontrollably.

"Yes, actually." He coughed out. "I'm an old friend of the family and I was just trying to make sure I was in the right place. Could you tell him that Brian Griffin would like permission to see him." he finished, beaming happily.

"I'll have to check and make sure Mr. Griffin is in today. If you'll have a seat, I'll call up and see what we can do for you… uh… Mr. Griffin." The man sneered.

Brian's hopes dropped significantly. He didn't think he could wait another day in this sick twisted form of solitary confinement. He drifted over to a nearby chair, plopping down despondently. His eyes shifted around nervously as men and women in suits passed him, gazing down with disapproving eyes. He felt smaller than he ever did as a dog.

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"Mr. Griffin, there is a man down here who claims he knows you. Says he's a friend of the family." Came the scratchy voice over the intercom. Stewie groaned, slamming his pen down on his desk. One would be surprised at how many times people would come in claiming some distant relation to Stewie. Anything to get at some of the riches.

"Did he give you a name?" Stewie asked irritably.

A pause.

"A Mr. Brian Griffin." Came the reply. Stewie's eye twitched. Whoever this son-of-a-bitch was, he had some nerve taking that particular name. After a long pause, the scratchy voice piped up asking if Stewie was still there.

"Send him up." He replied curtly, smoothing back his tawny brown hair.

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Ah, and another chapter comes to an end. More up soon! Hopefully I'll be able to get some art up as well. :)

Also, thanks to Haylias for the constant positive feedback! Much appreciated.

- Mr. Samsa