No reason why.

It was late, and consequently dark. And cold, outside at least, but thankfully not in here. A man is standing at a bar, a stack of empty glasses beside him. A casual observer might wonder if he's trying to drown his sorrows, and perhaps in another world some enigmatic character would come up to him and start a conversation along these lines, but there are no casual, enigmatic observers.

No one notices him.

He is watching the news, on the small portable t.v. that the bartender has put on the counter, with an odd fascination, akin to the look of one who has just seen a suspicious person leave a large and heavy bag behind in a tube station, and is now almost certain that he can hear a ticking sound.

That's why he needs to drink so much, of course.

To drown out the quiet tick-tocking of oblivion that fills his head as he watches. But he can't take his eyes off the screen.

Take a moment out to look at him. Smart but semi-casual. A suit, light tan and co-ordinated with a red-ish tie. Suit jacket on the counter, next to the empty glasses. The tie's been loosened, the top buttons on the shirt undone. He must have come straight from work. A briefcase is next to him on the floor, and it all looks very smart.

Tick.

There's a name on a tag stuck to his shirt. Steven.

Steven is drunk.

And someone is watching him.

Not casually, mind you. And he definitely couldn't be described as enigmatic.

Tick.

So, not enigmatic then. And not casual, although he seems to be trying. He is sitting in front of a newspaper, the paper spread to hide his face.

He watches almost cautiously, occasionally glancing elsewhere. The windows, doors, and the telephone too for some reason all appear to be highly suspicious.

Of course, so is he.

Like our friend Steve, he is wearing a suit. It's a not-very-attractive dark grey, with a black tie. Unlike Steve, he doesn't look like he just came off work.

He looks like he's still at work.

He is.

Tick.

Steven doesn't appear to notice him, but then, Steven appears to be at the stage where he is unable to notice anything much. He's still watching the t.v., though.

The news flashes up a list of headlines, and Steven shakes his head and signals for the bartender to get him another drink. The bartender shakes his head.

"Come on, now, you can barely stand as it is. I think you've had enough." Steve blinks at him, very slowly, and shakes his head. When he answers it's as if every word requires immense concentration.

"Gimme one for the road, then." The barman is staring at him oddly now; this obviously isn't normal behaviour. He shakes his head sadly.

"You better get on, Steve. It's clouding up again. Gonna rain soon."

Tick.

Across the room, the man in the suit carefully folds the paper into a neat rectangle, and gets up to leave.

Steve shrugs, then a sudden look of panic spreads across his face like oil over water.

"Clouds?" Now this is strange, so much dread and feeling into such an innocent word.

The barman seems shocked by Steve's sudden terror, and puts a calming hand on his arm.

"It's just rain, Steve. Nothing to worry about." Steve doesn't seem reassured as he gets up to go.

"...they cover the sky." Steve seems badly out of it now, not drunk but ... odd.

Tick.

The man in the suit is stood next to Steve now, having walked across the room. His face, no longer hidden behind the newspaper is vaguely familiar.

Steve seems to blink and come to a little. "We're all doomed." He shrugs and makes to stagger away, but the man in a suit stops him.

"Why?"

Tick.

The barman sighs and goes away to serve some else, leaving Steve to stare blankly at this new intrusion.

"Don't you watch the news?" Man a suit nods, just a little, encouraging Steve to go on.

"It's the Artificial Intelligence. There they are, backslapping and cheering and shit. Huh. They don't know what's going on. They don't know shit."

Man in a suit appears to disapprove of this statement a little, and he says as much.

"And you do?" At this Steve appears to become confused. He shrugs, looks away and at the floor. He doesn't want to say whatever it is, but he may have to.

Tick.

Finally, he gives up the unwilling struggle.

"Of course I do. I was the main wossit. Thingy, you know, with numbers and stuff." Man in a suit looks blank. He's good at that. "You know. Like, ideas guy? Concept programmer!" He waits, blinking wearily, for a reply. Man in a suit appears surprised at this.

"You?" His voice is faintly disgusted, contemptuous.

"Yeah, me. I've doomed humanity." Steven laughs as if at a hilarious joke, pounding his fist on the table. Man in a suit looks unamused.

"How do you know?" Now man in a suit is being careful, like walking on eggshells or thin ice, each word picked with painful precision.

Now Steven appears very faintly worried. He knows he's done something wrong, though he doesn't yet know how.

Tick.

"I don't know." Trying to get out of it, escape the intense scrutiny. But man in a suit isn't going to accept a blank refusal, he wants details.

"I think it was more my friends, really." Man in a suit shrugs. This isn't what hew wants to hear, and he makes to move off when something happens.

Tick.

Call it unexpected, if you want. Certainly Steven didn't know it was going to happen, but then, he doesn't seem too bothered by it yet. Man in a suit is clearly upset by it, but appears to have been waiting for it to happen.

Tick.

The door opens, and a man walks in.

With him he brings a whistling wind and driving rain, which try to whisk the door out of his grasp as he enters, but the odd thing is that he isn't wet.

His clothes are black, from head to toe, matching his hair and sunglasses.

Normally people might find it odd that he wears sunglasses late at night in the rain, but for some reason no-one has noticed, or at least no-one comments.

Of course, this could be due to the trenchcoat. After all, there could be anything under there.

Tick.

He walks over to man in a suit, takes off his glasses and coat and lays them on the bar.

Tick.

Man in a suit gives him a blank stare and reaches into his pocket with a well-practised motion. He puts on a pair of plain black sunglasses and turns t leave.

Tick.

Steve isn't bothered by the man's hurried departure, but the man with the trenchcoat seems a little put out. He shrugs and turned to Steve.

Tick.

"Hello Steve."

Steve doesn't appear bothered by this either; he isn't interested in pointless arguments. SO he nods, just slightly, to indicate that he wasn't being rude, he's just too drunk to be bothered saying hello to people he doesn't even know.

Tick.

"You've got to listen to me Steve. It's important that you understand." Now Steve is interested despite himself. He turns to look suspiciously at the man with a trenchcoat.

Tick.

"Understand what?" He manages through lips that don't seem to want to work.

Tick.

"The project must be stopped. I'm sorry." He adds this on almost as an after though, but he does seem genuinely regretful about something.

Tick.

And that's when Steve starts to worry.

Tick.

The man with a trenchcoat is upset, regretful looking. But why? He hasn't done anything that Steve can see to warrant it. And why should he be after stopping the project? It was already finished. He was far, far too late.

Tick.

Man with a trenchcoat looks around at the other people in the bar. They're playing cards, arguing, reading, giggling and drinking, all of them, it seems, having a better time than Steve. He sighs, and man with a trenchcoat sighs. Mournfully, almost.

Tick.

Steve is worried now. He tries to make some sense of the situation.

"Uh, hey-" But man with a trenchcoat is having non of it.

Tick.

He just shakes his head.

Tick.

"I really am sorry about this."

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

tick.

tick.

tick

tick

tick

tick

...

...

..

.

************

Boom.

The noise is of that special white-hot searing qualitly, the sort that blinds and deafens you all at once, and it is the sound of the bar exploding.

To be continued.....

Maybe, perhaps and only if I get some sort of feedback. No, really. I mean it.