Deleting a spam message he had just received on his phone, Sullivan watched the approaching city line with faint anticipation. The skyscraper the guild was located in was in the heart of Phoenix; quite the drive away from Sullivan's little suburb. In what felt like no time at all, because Sullivan was having such a grand time, the Limousine stopped in front of the Smithson&Company guild building and Sullivan alighted.

  But before Sullivan and Dartford could climb the stairs to the entrance, they were flanked by a reporter who usually staked out the place hoping to get any scoop she could for her tabloid magazine.

  "Mr. Guthrie, how does it feel to be this city's new cynosure? Are you planning on joining the Smithson guild? Do you see Marty Savage as a potential rival? Whom do you consider to be the most attractive female member of the—"

  "Alright lady, give the kid a break. He's only been famous one day. Shesh, hurry up kid. Let's get inside already." Dartford said, leading the way.

  The proceeding tour was a window into a world Sullivan had never dreamt of—chiefly because becoming a professional awakener was not his dream.

  The first place Sullivan visited was the guild's gym, a temple devoted to the cultivation of inhuman strength; tenanted with massive weights no ordinary mortal would, in their wildest ambitions, dare to lift, and high-tech, high-stress workout and training machines that could push an awakener to their limit.

  Following the gym was the library with its promiscuous collection of literature on awakeners, dimensional rifts and anything else potentially helpful to the profession. As Sullivan took a gander at this impressive panoply of information that was exclusively accessible only to guild members and what any low-ranking awakener would sell an arm, a leg, and their first-born child to obtain, Sullivan suppressed a yawn, knowing he would never again visit it.

  Next Sullivan toured the many relaxation and recreational areas like the sauna, pool, whirlpool spa, and message rooms.

  It was a little ahead of schedule, but Sullivan and Dartford ended up luncheoning in the cafeteria where profession chefs grilled and arranged their scrumptious meals. Yet, however experienced and skillful a chef could be, Sullivan was still perplexed by how delicious he found the food and how energized he felt after eating it. Perceiving the bemusement on his face, Dartford attempted an explanation.

  "Not only do we employ first-class chefs here, but our ingredients are second to none in quality, straight from the dimensional rift. If you were to feed a baby with these ingredients until it grew to awakening age, its natural aptitude would be massively upgraded. It has more impressive nourishing effects on actual awakeners too, although it cannot raise their aptitudes once they are no longer growing."

  Sullivan nodded at this and then took his ringing phone from his pocket. It was a call from the same spam number that texted him that morning. Sullivan chose the prudent option of blocking the number.

  Satisfied with his meal, Sullivan and Dartford made their way to the apartments where Sullivan would be shown the room he would be offered if he signed a contract with the guild. As the two crossed the halls, a pair of women rounded a corner at the end of the hall, a lengthy distance away, and within a split second one of those women had spontaneously appeared face to face with Sullivan, eyeing him in a mysterious and unsettling way.

  If it had been any other unawakened human, newly awakened, or even some lower ranking awakeners, they would have flinched and panicked, but Sullivan was a special case. Sullivan, ever contemptuous of fools, and ever vigilant of the possibility of befoolment, had trained himself to have an unnaturally slow reaction time so no one could ever get a rise out of him with fast sudden actions; thus, before Sullivan could register what had happened, and construct an appropriate response, a reflex of mannerly habit instead surface.

  "Ah, I'm sorry, I did not see you there. Pardon me." Sullivan said while taking an exceedingly large stride to the left.

  It was only after that woman's face was no longer the center of his attention that he began to feel some unease from the face she made at him. It was a mien exuding predacious curiosity, like how a cat might scrutinize a mouse paralyzed with fear.

  In his place, Dartford expressed all of the panic Sullivan should have exhibited.

  "Hailey, what are you doing?!? This is an important guest. Are you trying to get me fired?" Dartford spat out in exasperation.

  A cheeky grin stole over Hailey's face as she turned to look at Sullivan. "An interesting greenhorn you've brought here."

  Hailey lingered a moment longer, and when Dartford opened his mouth to continue scolding her, she fled like lightning.

  With a simper on his face, Dartford apologized to Sullivan for Hailey's rude and eccentric behavior.