"Me too, Red," I said, my voice sounding flat and hollow against the transparent walls of the skyscrapers towering above us. "Me too."
I stood there for a long moment, my hand still white-knuckled around the hilt of the "Edge of Reality." It felt heavier than it had a few seconds ago, as if the very air of this floor was trying to weigh me down with the sheer boredom of my previous existence. I looked at Mr. Henderson. He was exactly as I remembered: the same charcoal-grey suit with a slight shine on the elbows, the same smell of expensive cologne masking stale sweat, and that same habit of tapping his gold watch with a manicured fingernail.
