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Copyright ©2016 by Nathaniel Patterson

All Rights Reserved

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or sued in any manner without the express written permission of the author and the publisher except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Second Look Scripts


Jacob Edwards

Cover art:

Mindless Reality No. 1 by Arthur Braud

Cover Design by Second Look Scripts


By Nathaniel Patterson

For Bailey

The lift doors slid open silently, revealing floor eighty nine of Selkirk Tower. Three individuals exited as one: Dr. Nanda Patel and her two assistants Ali and Frank.

Dr. Patel’s heels clacked down the marble hallway, the red, trueleather soles splashing color across the muted tones of the passageway. The echoes banged back and forth against the lavish walls. The woman moved with a purpose, the two men, her two assistants, wearing matching bespoke, pinstripe suits, struggled to keep up. Nanda wore her finest suit and skirt, with her dark long hair up in a professional bun, with a pair of polished bamboo chopsticks crisscrossed, holding it all together. Nanda smiled to herself, as the two men jogged in an attempt to match her walking pace.

The massive hallway stretching out pin straight; with doors every five meters. The final double door loomed ahead of the trio. A thumping, big, double door held two arcane iron knockers. The doors stood like a castle gatehouse and may as well been full of archers, murder holes and boiling oil. Behind these doors, with all their splendor and luxury, lay death. Dr. Patel grabbed hold of the knocker, and lifted the heavy iron ring. The ring itself was anachronistic: 15th Century Korean, from the Joseon Kingdom. Heavy knockers fell out of fashion with horses and muskets, yet here at the end of Alister Selkirk’s grand hallway, at the top of his gleaming, crystal tower, he had an iron ring in place of a thumb pad or optical scanner.

The knocker fell once, with a rolling thud. Booming out down the long opulent hallway and into the final room, the echo rolled through the great building, rattling doors for hundreds of meters.

“Come!” Commanded a flinty voice from beyond the gateway.

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