The God Complex: The Book Of Alan, Destroyer Of Worlds

Chapter Fifty-One

Alan shuffled through his notes in frustration. 'What does that even say?' he exclaimed to no one. He then attempted the age old trick of turning the page at various angles to see if that sparked anything. 'Fabulous Aubergine? What's a fabulous Aubergine?'

His detailed report of two thousand years of his time on Earth was nearly complete, but he would be damned if he could remember what he was doing in August of 86.

A whisper of light followed by a gust of air sealed Alan's frustration.

'Get lost, Hermes. I'm trying to concentrate.'

'Well concentrate on this,' smiled Hermes: 'Brahma wants you in his office, now.'

'Brahma! But he's Chief Worship Output Officer, and he's all the way up in the Valhalla Corporate Plaza. What does he want to see me for?'

Hermes grinned broadly then vanished in a hiss of air, sending Alan's notes scattering clean across his desk. He watched them flutter onto the floor and sighed the sombre sigh of the weary before picking himself up and leaving the office.

Visiting Valhalla was like going to hospital to get test results: there was a clinical sterility to the place that tightened the sphincter and you rarely came away with good news.

This was where the truly transcendent deities ended up and you could smell it. It was a purpose built dimension with no expense spared. It was as old as time yet smelt brand new - Gods like Alan could only visit, they could never stay.

Alan was stopped by a Cerberus security guard who checked his credentials and led him across the perfectly manicured courtyard, passing the over-staffed Starbucks and into a waiting room bigger than the department he worked in. There he was left waiting, suspended in space and time.

They always did this, it was just another of their unnecessary power trips. What was it about the celestial C Suite that brought out the redundant megalomania? He never understood it. They'd spent their entire careers obsessing over the control of every creature in the universe, so you'd think they'd give it a rest when it came to one of their own.

He looked about his divine surroundings - they had redecorated since the last time he was there and there was a definite upgrade in relativity - it was nice, really brightened the place up.

He picked up a marketing orb and scrolled through a brochure of different historical events of commercial success that changed Worship forever: the collapse of the Gorgon empire in year -235; the cataclysmic explosion of Nebulous six that took out half the universe the Wednesday after pancake day, and his personal favourite: the cold February morning in 1926 when John Logie Baird took a football to the groin sparking the idea of Television. Alan had actually been lucky enough to see this event first hand and it went down as one of the few occasions those creatures actually made him laugh.

In all honesty, he couldn't wait to be done with them - they'd caused him nothing but embarrassment and humiliation.

Finally, Alan was summoned and he stepped into the realm of Brahma. Everything about the place was designed to deliberately undermine. The realm was set to a ratio ten times greater than that which enters, so no matter how big Alan made himself, he was always looked down upon.

Brahma was reclined in his chair with his bare feet on the desk when Alan floated in. His three heads, preoccupied by three different monitors were each wearing golden beanies that illuminated the endless office space in a glorious golden sunlight. His four hands were simultaneously typing, scrolling, stirring his frappuccino and holding a single lotus flower that hovered peacefully above his open palm.

Alan rolled his eyes. He was one of those 'creative types' who felt that just because they didn't wear shoes and did yoga, they weren't a corporate tool. Alan looked him up and down with contempt - he was wearing rolled up dungarees, a lumberjack shirt and had a waxed moustache over a long white beard. Corporate or not, Brahma was a massive tool.