We exited the plane onto a mountaintop, and I sucked in a breath. 

A frozen sea stretched out to the right, refracting the sunlight like crystal. To our left, there was an endless expanse of tundra, spotted with icebergs like freckles on flawless alabaster skin. Directly in front of us soared a tower of ice, a glacier coming straight out of the mountaintop,so clean that it almost looked like glass. Nothing in nature formed like that of its own accord, so far as I knew.

"What the hell?" I murmured softly, and Oliver laughed. "Come on," he shouted over the roar of the plane's engine, and I followed him to the glacier.

I'm not going to lie. I've seen some crazy stuff, but what happened next definitely topped the list, even after all this time.

Oliver pressed his hand to the ice, staring directly at it, and then said, "Oliver Willifred."

A beep- an honest to God beep- emitted from the ice, and it parted, revealing a set of mahogany doors about ten feet tall, the kind you would expect to find in a castle.

What kind of drug did he give me?

Oliver put his shoulder against the door and pushed, though I expected this was more for dramatic effect than anything, as they seemed to slide open almost on their own. Oliver and I stepped through the doors together, and it was in that moment that I realized just how utterly outclassed I was. 

The entrance hall was enormous, soaring so high that I couldn't see the ceiling. It was bright, with dozens of glass staircases zigging and zagging every which way, some intersecting, some continuing so high that they, like the ceiling, disappeared from sight. The walls were painted a bright white, like something you'd see in a movie centered around a fancy corporation.

There were huge windows, too, but they must have been false, as they were inside a block of ice, and every one portrayed a different environment: some were deserts, others jungles, there was even one depicting a battlefield, which had attracted a throng of observers who were watching gravely.

But what struck me about the place more than anything were the people. Hundreds, just that I could see, of every type. Dozens of hues and shapes, both in the clothes and in the people themselves. As I stood, taking everything in, a group of four or five twentysomethings raced my, the one leading them clutching a smoldering rock in a pair of tongs, while the others chased him, screaming, "Go, Tommy, go! It's about to blow, let's go, you freaking screwup!" One of them paused to give Oliver a brief slap on the shoulder.

Oliver grinned. "They found the Heart of Brazil, evidently," he said, obviously amused. He turned to me. "Come on," he said, and led me to the nearest flight of stairs. We weaved through the masses of people, some carrying manilla folders and looking rushed, others  bearing small animals, even one guy with a...

"Holy shit, is he carrying a sword?" I hissed to Oliver, who looked around at the guy.

"Oh, yeah, that's just Dave, he must be on call today," Oliver said, as if this was an everyday occurrence. (And maybe it was; Obviously these people are a little screwed up in the head.)

We spiraled up a few more crystal flights. At one point, I made the colossal mistake of looking down, revealing the distorted image of the bodies below. Without thinking, I gripped Oliver's arm. He snorted. "What?" I snapped, releasing his arm like one would a hot poker.

He smiled that stupid smile. "It's just... You live on various rooftops, and yet you're afraid of heights?"

"Roofs are different. They have a certain sense of control, or- Wait, how the hell do you know I live on roofs?"

He smiled wider and turned away, trotting up the stairs a few at a time, leaving me to run after him in a very undignified manner.

Bastard was taking the power seat leaving me to scramble after him like that.

Screw him, but damn was I curious.