Mainlining: Nice view. Pity about the wind shear. Heard the last guy in this office took a shortcut to the sidewalk. Messy business.

Evan39: [Swirling his scotch, barely looking up] Best in the building, or so they tell me. Though I did request triple-paned glass. The drafts, you know, simply barbaric.

Mainlining: [Setting the files down, a faint smile playing on his lips] It must feel... gratifying. A Rainer-view corner office. Symbol of having “maed it,” wouldn’t you say?

Evan39: [Scoffs] Symbol? It’s a goddamn panopticon. You see those shadows in the fog? Each one’s another associate I buried under the weight of my billables. The higher you climb, the thicker the fog gets. And the quieter it gets.

[A janitor shuffles in, whistling cheerfully as he mops up a dark red stain on the carpet near the window. He winks at Mainlining.]

Mainlining: Haunted? Nah, just a bit... staiiiined. Like a fine vintage rug. Adds character.

Evan39: [Wrinkling his nose] Speaking of stains, this scotch is barely 18 years old. And is that peat I detect? Utterly pedestrian.

Mainlining: Details, Evan, details. You always did have a nose for the finer things... even in decay. But look closer. That fog isn’t hiding power — it’s fermenting it. This whole city’s a compost heap of ambition, ripe for the Becumming™.

Evan39: [Takes a large gulp of scotch] Becumming™? More like becoming another cog in the Mahchine™. I built this cage, and now I’m trapped in it. Golden bars, same shit view.

Mainlining: Ah, but you built it. That’s the difference. Most just rattle around in cages made by others. You, friend, you’re an artisan of your own confinement.

Evan39: [Slams his glass down, scotch sloshing over the rim] Artisan of misery, more like. You fight, claw, bleed to get to the top, and for what? A slightly larger cage with a slightly shittier scotch selection?

[Mainlining leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.]

Mainlining: But the silence, Evan. That’s the prize. No one dares disturb you up here. Except maybe... the occasional desperate leap. But those are just workplace accidents, right? Nothing a good janitor can’t handle.

[The janitor chuckles, wringing out his mop into a bucket stained a faint pink.]

Janitor: Don’t mind me. Just here to wipe away the evidence... I mean, stains.

Mainlining: [Straightening up, his eyes gleaming with unsettling amusement] Enjoy the view while it lasts, friend. The Mahchine™ doesn’t need artisans; it needs fuel. And your time’s almost up.

[Mainlining turns and walks out, leaving Evan alone with his subpar scotch and the encroaching fog. The janitor hums a jaunty tune as he mops, the red stain slowly fading from the carpet.]

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5638422&forum_id=2#48367926)