"What do you mean you don't know?" the man asked.

  "Files usually appear," the clerk said. "Your file does not."

  "What?" The man said, "How? Do they appear on your screen."

  "Screen?"

  "Your computer.”

  "I guess," The clerk said. "They just appear."

  The man leaned back and looked up at ceiling tiles. White and grey. Uninspiring and generic. He took a deep breath in and out, then returned his attention to the clerk.

  "Are you still with me?" The clerk asked.

  "I'm here," The man said. "So you've lost my file..."

  "I did not lose it," The clerk said.

  "Well someone did. And you don't know where it is. What does that mean?"

  "We cannot process you for reincarnation.”

  “Why?”

  We require your file to process you.”

  "But why?"

  "It is protocol.”

  "You can still send me through though right?"

  "No," the clerk said.

  "Theoretically you could," the man said.

  "But the protocol dictates..."

  "I don't care about protocol,” the man said. “Let's forget the protocol for a moment. Could you send me back, no rules?"

  "Yes," the clerk said.

  "Then do it," the man said.

  "I cannot," the clerk said, "The protocol prevents me from doing it."

  The man slid down his chair. Defeated. More than defeated, annoyed. The clerk stared at him with wide eyes. He waited for the next interaction. The next conversation to start. And the man was already exhausted with him.

  "All right," the man straightened up, "is there anything we can do?"

  "We can try the archive," the clerk said.

  "Cool," the man said, "I'm going to take a guess and say that's where all the files are kept?"

  "Yes," The clerk said.

  "You could've lead with that," the man said.

  "I was waiting for you to ask," the clerk said.

  "Why?" The man said.

  "This is new to you," The clerk said, "I typically find it is better to ease your sorts into this on your own terms."

  "My sorts?"

  "I shall let you make the decisions," The clerk said.

  "But you're the clerk here," the man said.

  "The what?" the clerk said.

  "The employee," the man said. "The person that runs this stuff and knows about it."

  "I guess," the clerk said.

  The clerk looked into the man with his wide, empty eyes. A dead smile pstered on his face. More robotic than human. Not a muscle twitched as he remained perfectly upright in a posture that must get more exhausting with every second that passes.

  "So," the man said, "are we going to go somewhere?"

  "I am letting you make the decisions," the clerk said.

  The man sighed, "can we go to the archive?”

  "Absolutely," the clerk said, "follow me."

  The clerk stood upright and walked out from his desk and down an aisle. The man, confused by the abrupt change of pace, got up and followed after. The clerk led him to an elevator and hit the button.

  "You have no chill, do you?" the man said.

  "What do you mean?" the clerk said.

  "Do you ever take things slow?" the man said.

  "Not really," the clerk said. "After a while of being here, you get used to doing things efficiently."

  The elevator dinged as the doors opened. The clerk stepped in and the man followed. Its doors closed and started to descend. Deeper.

  So you're not going to get in trouble for this right?

  No.

  That's good. I wouldn't want you to suffer because of me.

  If I suffer, it is not because of you.

  So how exactly does the system work? You said you just get my file on the screen?

  Yes.

  That's it? How does it identify me then?

  I am not sure.

  And you're not curious?

  No.

  Huh. You're a strange egg.

  Thank you.

  The elevator stopped. It opened to a small lobby area with a woman manning the desk. Other than her, the room was empty. Nothing on the desk or adorning the walls. A brutalist design made of concrete.

  "Librarian," the clerk said, "I need to access this client's file. There's been an error in the transfer and I can't process him."

  The woman nodded.

  "She doesn't say much," the man said.

  The man looked back to find the woman had disappeared. The desk too. The same concrete walls surrounded him however the little that occupied the room had been repced with a series of servers. The woman appeared before him again, typing into a computer on the other side.

  "Holy shit," the man said, keeling over. "Holy shit."

  He fell to his knees. Whatever filled his stomach started to crawl its way up his throat. The world shifted beneath his feet. Before he knew it, the bile forced its way from his mouth and onto the concrete floors.

  "May we take it slow?" The clerk asked the librarian. "This one is new to it."

  The librarian grunted.

  "Are you okay?" the clerk said.

  "What the fuck was that?" the man said, "We just teleported?"

  "No," the clerk said, "but do not concern yourself with it. Are you okay?"

  "Just give me a minute," the man said.

  The man shuffled into a sitting position. He looked around the room, trying to get his bearings. The librarian continued typing into the machine. Simir to the reception area the pce had little personality or life. Concrete after concrete. At least the bck servers with their blinking lights provided some variation. After searching through the aisles for a while, it became apparent to the man that the room cked a door.

  "There's no door," the man said. "How do we get out?"

  "Do not worry," the clerk said.

  "We're not gonna teleport again are we? Why aren't you concerned about this!"

  "There are no doors here or anywhere," the clerk said. "None of this is a physical space. It does not exist in the form you currently perceive."

  "Then what am I seeing?" the man said.

  "What you want to see," the clerk said.

  "Trust me," the man said, "I wouldn't want to see this anywhere."

  "Then it is what you expect to see," the clerk said.

  The librarian grunted.

  "Anything?" The clerk asked.

  The librarian shook her head.

  "Nothing.”