I shiver as the shower door slides open, and I'm hit with the freezing air that fills the rest of the bathroom. Reluctantly, I step out of my comfortably humid world of steam and on to the heated tiles of my bathroom floor. I shuffle over to the mirror, taking a moment to appreciate the weird, sad mop my hair has become, plastered to my skull by water. Then I brace myself a little as I reach for one of the small silver buttons at the side of the mirror. Warm air blasts me for all sides and after a few seconds, my sad mop of hair has turned into a crazy dark brown bush. I run my hand through it a few times, calming it slightly. Most days that would be enough, but today I grab a comb and some hair gel. After a minute, I drop the comb back into its tray and it slides back into the wall. It's not perfect, but it's probably the best I'm ever going to manage.

My feet sink into the fluffy carpet as I walk out of the bathroom. There's a freshly pressed three-piece suit laid out on my bed. The material feels stiff. I really don't envy the people who dress like this every day. It's perfectly fitted though, and once I have it on it feels much more comfortable than I expected. When I catch a glance of myself in the mirror, I look surprisingly professional. I could be a fancy CEO for a Fortune 500 company. God, that would be horrible. I smooth out my shirt and stroll down the steps into the kitchen.

When I get to the table the usual breakfast assortments are strangely overwhelming. I just feel too high off anticipation to want to eat. As I grab a plate of eggs and a blueberry muffin, I'm relieved to see everything else disappear. I force down a few bites. Today is too important to face it on an empty stomach.

I leave my mostly full plate on the table and grab my bag from beside the door as it swings open. I'm almost caught off guard by the brand-new car, parked neatly in the drive. It was a pre-promotion gift from my parents. I told them they were getting a little ahead of themselves but apparently, they're just so confident in my "unmatched brilliance" that there was no way I wouldn't get the job. I'm pretty sure that's just their way of telling me their bosses put in a good word. The doors slide open when I'm halfway to the car. It's sleek and clean, the newest model, not officially released until next week.

I climb into the front seat, the engine hums to life and it pulls out of my driveway.

I watch the building blur together as the car speeds up. This is a longer trip than I'd usually take, my office is barely 5 minutes away during rush hour, but this drive is at least 20 minutes. It's a good thing too, I need all the extra time I can get, I'm still trying to get everything through my head. If everything goes smoothly my entire life is going to completely change.

I applied for a promotion a few months ago, and the first serious position opened up last week. I guess I've been preparing for something like this for years, but actually having it all in front of me, about it happen. It's just so much more overwhelming.

If I don't screw this up, I'll be the second person I know in a position this important. My closest friend, Sam, studied political sciences and spent his free time "working" as a very minor political commentator. He caught all of us off guard when he was swooped up for his little podcast for an extremely prestigious government job. Sam was never the most subtle person and was affectionately known, among friends, as our revolutionary. He's actually always been extremely opposed to all violence, but he was definitely always a bit radical. None of us know what he does now, but we all know it's important. We aren't even allowed to really contract him anymore; we have to write him letters if we want to tell him anything, and everything he writes back is insanely regulated to protect him and everything he's working on.

There is a chance that, if I get this job, I'll get to see him again. Everything would probably still have to be weird and overly regulated. We'd definitely never be allowed to talk about work again, but this job is regulated and funded by our cities government, and I would be moved to a government protected, and much nicer, apartment so we could actually end up being neighbors. I don't really know how all that stuff is organized, but it's not out of the question. Maybe there's even a chance we'll end up working on some projects together.

A recent spot opened up in the city's largest and best-funded lab, MKU (Maxwell Keene United). It used to be called the Maxwell Keene Institute of United Sciences, but MKIUS is just too much of a mouthful. It's a programmer and technical engineer's dream. Most of their requests were around the less essential uses. The lab's primary purpose is centered around fixing and improving the government-administered personal safety chips, which regulate person health, wellbeing, whereabouts, and finances as well as other more day to day uses. The obvious ones like instant messages and scheduling as well as much more recreational applications. The job that I'm going for is the lead chip designer, putting me in charge of all updates and patches. I can't actually decide the details of the updates, but I will be able to make proposals. After my friends found out about that specific aspect of the job, almost ever took it upon themselves to write a list of "essential" updates that apparently have to implement. It was basically just a bunch of different versions of the same thing. I told them I wasn't their own personal genie, but privately I'll admit that an update like that would make the entire lab, and everyone involved, pretty damn popular.

The car suddenly slows to a stop, and the doors open. My district's career center towers over me. As the biggest district in the city, it has to accommodate an unusually large number of people. It's a massive building made mostly out of black glass, giving it an odd, almost sinister glint in the morning sun. Personally, I think the architects got a little carried away with all the melodrama.

It's my second time here since I graduated. When I was still in school, we came here a few times, I think to stop us from getting completely overwhelmed at our actual interviews by whatever crazy reverse acid-trip this person was clearly going through.

After that, I came here to apply for my first job, when I was 15.

Both my parents were mathematicians and engineers, so I got to be around all the latest computers and techie gadgets as soon as they came out. I instantly needed to learn how it worked so I learned programming alongside reading and writing. Understanding it make me feel like I could read every machines mind and writing let me create my own.

It feels so odd to be back here again 6 years later. I feel 15 again, almost bursting with nerves and anticipation. I walk up the polished black stone steps to the giant front door, hyper-aware of their uncomfortably slippery surface. The door slides open automatically when I reach the top step. I take a deep breath, slowing my racing heartbeat and stilling my shaking hands, and walk into the building.

It's just like I remember it. The floor is lined with perfectly shined, black and white marble tiles. A woman in a clean-cut navy-blue dress sits behind a tall, polished, mahogany desk. She looks about my age, with long brown hair pulled into a tight bun, and the light coat of makeup almost hiding the crow's feet beginning to form, which may have made her seem worn if her eyes weren't so incessantly optimistic.

"Good morning. How may I help you?" She says in a cheery voice, flashing me a bright smile.

"I'm here from an interview, my name's Oliver Turing," I say smiling back. I watch her type in my name, reading scanning through my file as it pops up. I allow myself a small moment of pride and satisfaction at her poorly masked change in expression.

"Chip designer at MKU?" She says eyebrows raised, they look like they've just been plucked, "You can't be much older than me." I chuckle awkwardly, almost embarrassed as her appreciation becomes more direct.

"Yeah, I've gotten pretty lucky."

"It takes a lot more than luck to get a job like that this young. I'll barely be qualified before I'm thirty, never mind actually getting the job." She says with pure admiration.

"How old are you now?" I ask

"I turned twenty last week," she says a perfect, simple smiling greeter.

"I doubt it'll be as long as you think, I've been told all the good years like to go by way too fast. What job are you working for?"

"I'm hoping to work here, doing the interviews"

"Well at least your starting in the right building," she gives me a playful scolding look,

"I very much doubt I need to explain to you how completely unhelpful that is going to be for me. Odds are if I get a job it'll be on the other side of the city."

"Despite how true that is, why not pretend it gives you an edge anyway," I say with a grin, "it's always way more fun to be unrealistic."

"You may have a point," she says, smiling back, "I've just started imagining my penthouse apartment, and I got to say the view is definitely a lot better than my place right now."

"Oh yeah, mine is almost all glass windows, and it's the tallest building in the area, right by the coast."

"What coast?" she says with a teasing smirk,

"Any coast, whatever one has the best view. Or just whatever one I make up in my head to get the absolute best view."

"Well that beats mine, I'm going to have to visit sometime." Suddenly her eyes focus on the wall behind me.

"Oh, you probably need to go or you're going to be late." I glance down at my wrist. She's right. I'm supposed to be at my interview in 10 minutes and I want to be early.

"Shoot yeah, good luck with getting that job, it was really nice meeting you."

"Thanks, you too," she says as she hands me my key card and we share one last smile.

I walk out of the room and through the halls to the elevators. I scan my card and one of the doors open. As I step inside, I'm suddenly reminded of my least favorite thing about this place. The elevator is at the very edge of the building and is made completely out of glass. The person who designed this building really must just enjoy other peoples suffering. I can see out onto the street and into some of the nearby offices.

The elevator suddenly starts raising, and I fight to stop my legs from shaking. I'm starting to feel sick, the world around me is spinning, and I think I might pass out. As I reach towards the wall for balance I'm hit with an almost equally staggering level of instant calm.

I've got the unfortunate gift of mildly imbalanced hormones; thank god my panic can't last more than a few seconds before everything gets back on track.

I take everything in again, and I almost laugh at my insane reaction

The glass is at least 2 inches thick, probably strong enough to support my weight ten times over. Besides, this building has been around too long to have anything with even the slightest risk.

Without the irrational anxiety messing with my perception I take a moment to actually appreciate the view. I must be at least 10 stories up already. The people look like ants and all the cars and the trees look like toys. You can see half of the city. It's as almost as good as the view from my imaginary penthouse.

The elevator stops, and I step out into the hall. It's a dark, long hallway. I can barely tell where it ends. The walls are painted a dark red that looks brown in the dim light coming from the glowing signs above the doors. The doors are thick black wood and are about five feet apart. It's insanely different than the rest of the building and nothing like the place I went for my first interview. This floor is dedicated to the most important senior interviewers. It's supposed to feel cozy since many of them also have their apartments up here, just off of their offices. I think it's kind of creepy.

Each door has a metal plate with the name of the interviewer on it and above that the glowing name of the interviewee. Yellow lights for occupied rooms, green for later appointments, and even a handful of red for people who are late. It looks like there are about 50 doors in this hallway, each one almost identical except for the names.

I start down the hall, and before long I spot my door, name still bright green. Carefully I walk up to it. I close my eyes for a second, feeling a little nervous. I take a deep breath and feel my nerves float away. I'm ready. I open my eyes and slip the key card into the slot next to the door and it slides open.