Markov strode across the room, filling the space between us with a hand that demanded to be shook. I stood, and felt oddly compelled to oblige him.

“Pleasure's all mine, sir.” The words came out unbidden, as if a spell had come over me.

Markov motioned for me to sit as he rounded the desk and plopped down in his own chair. Even as he relaxed, he maintained perfect posture. One could imagine the lack of back problems he was suffering from in his advanced age.

“How was your trip?”

The blinding light. Must have been a teleportation spell. “Well,” I began, “to be completely honest I'm not sure. I had my home invaded by one of your... associates, I suppose. Then, he proceeds to tell me that your... organization or whatever knows who I am and everything about me, before ripping me through a portal and dropping me off here. I should be angry. I should be absolutely livid. I should be holding him by the sides of his head, squeezing him until his skull caves in as acid dissolves his flesh into bubbling puddles of luminescent goo on your nice carpets. But I'm not. I'm not mad, and I'm not committing a company-wide killing spree. And that's what frightens me.”

Markov nodded. “That would be the outburst suppression field we had installed about two-thousand years ago. Keeps emotions in check so we don't have any unnecessary incidents. Here at Pantheon Solutions, Ltd. we employ a number of individuals who could be considered a little too powerful for their native worlds. The last thing we need is a hurricane raging through the break room because someone's lunch was stolen from the fridge.”

The old man laughed at his little joke. I thought it would get me out of here quicker if I smiled along, so I did.

Markov adjusted his collar a bit before continuing, “So, I can imagine that you have a lot of questions. I'm going to answer every one of them right now. My assistant Dalton, he's a good lad, but he's not very good at filling our applicants in with the details they need to know. Before we begin, would you like anything to drink?”

Go with the flow, Madison. Just go with the flow. “Whiskey, please.”

His brow furrowed a bit. “Never would've thought a plant to prefer fire water to the real stuff, but there you go.” Markov reached over and pressed a button on a box next to a speaker. “Janice, two whiskeys, if you could.”

Markov folded his hands on the desk before him. “Now, let's see. What did Dalton tell you about our organization?”

I took a deep breath. That you're a bunch of shady fucks with a penchant for buzzwords and possibly a cult, and that I want nothing to do with you and just want to go back to my little castle in the woods and try to blow up the remaining shreds of confidence that I have in myself before wasting away under a pile of books and cats.

I exhaled. “That you are are an organization dedicated to the continuation of the betterment of human- and humanoid-kind through synergistic, faith-based methods.”

He nodded. “Good boy, sticking with the company byline. However, marketing terminology looks good for the shareholders, but isn't very informative once you look past the fluff.”

“So what does it mean, then?”

Markov sat up straighter than he already had been, somehow. “Miss Freebird, to put it bluntly, we are gods.”

Oh.