Standing before the old man, with my hands placed against the surface off his desk, I took off my old ID - pushing it over to him. Grabbing the ID from me, he placed it against an old runestone carved against the surface of the desk. It turned orange, that faint resonating light voicing the stone's dissatisfaction with the pass, just as it had upstairs. 

"This ID is tainted," he said.

"Of course it's tainted, that's why I'm here," I said. "I need a new one."

He turned his head from me as he looked toward his computer screen. As the computer keyboard clacked with the man's keystrokes, I could feel each one of them ring out through the silent reception, the clamour of those shallow clicks seeming to pierce the oppressive silence like a knife - the only noise that was permitted in this place. After a moment, he stared up toward me.

"I'm afraid we can't confirm your identity without a proper pass," he replied. "I can order a replacement ID for you, and deliver it to be picked up from your direct superior, but I cannot offer one to you directly."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because without a pass, I cannot be sure that you are who you say you are," the old man said. "I cannot be sure that you are Malarie."

I stood there, disgruntled, annoyed, dejected. On the administrative floor, human identities took a backseat to inhumane IDs, our souls reduced to mere numbers on a screen. Just like it did with my clients

Without a pass, I was nameless to them.

I restlessly stared around the room. Clean floors and warm carpets masked the true nature of this whited sepulchre, an avant-garde tomb in which humanity went to die. I was trapped beneath the thumb of this place. So, too, were they - who sat behind the desks, the taxing travail of this place too much for the soul to bear. The elderly man wore a wearied expression, as did all the others, yet he stared back up at me - with what little of a smile he could still manage. He was a good man beneath all this, I could see it in his eyes.

"I'm sorry about all this," the old man said, with a warm expression and a reassuring voice. "I can see that you're a good person, but you know what the rules of this place can be like. This is as much as I can do."

"I understand," I said in a mellow tone.

Entering the information into that keyboard of his, the elderly man stared at screen intently, entering some details into the display which I was not made privy to. He was lethargic in his movements, deathly slow, and all the while I stood there - tensely waiting for his response. I couldn't help thinking about the fact that one could lose their identity so easily in this place. In a matter of moments, my name, my clients and their futures could've all been uprooted by this place - and with the flick of a pen, Derrick could have been doomed to suffer at the whims of bureaucracy, left alone in the limbo as I struggled in desperation to prove myself - to save him from the clutches of this place.

Waiting there, I was beginning to grow nervous. I had people I needed to help. Out there, in the void, an incalculable number of people were trapped in this limbo. They relied on me. I needed to out there, clearing as many cases as possible, so they might stand even a lottery's chance of having a good life outside of this godforsaken hell. After a minute or so, the old man handed me back my tainted ID, and I put the lanyard around my neck.  

"I've put in the request for a new ID," the man said. "You will be able to collect it from your direct superior at two o'clock today." 

I sighed with relief, I'd barely escaped the limbo of the administrative floor. I had heard stories of people who, caught within that labyrinthine web of red-tape, had lost everything as they fell through the cracks. I had nearly fallen headlong into that abyss. I nodded to the old man, as I smiled.

"Thank you sir," I said. "I really appreciate it."

"Not a problem," he replied. "Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes?" I asked.

As I stood there, clutching my case folder, I stared back at the old man - his haggard face still gleaming with the soft light of positivity, even in spite of this place.

"Make sure you don't lose that ID again," he said. "I've seen people who lose them before, the ones that can't get them back. Janitors and chefs, with no direct superiors, no person to turn to. I've had to deal with them too. In the fight for their names, most of them end up losing themselves. I hate seeing them torn apart by this place, but... it happens all the time."

Staring across toward the other workers, he leaned back in his chair, as he fidgeted with a pen against his desk. 

"Don't let it take you, Miss," he said softly. "Nothing's worse than watching a soul die." 

"I won't," I replied with a teary smile. I'd seen souls die, and I had to agree - I didn't want to go that way. I turned away from him, careful to ensure that he didn't see the droplets welling in the corners of my eyes. 

"Have a good day," the man said from behind the desk.

Wandering across the carpet, I clutched my folder tightly in my arms as I wandered away from the old man and the administrative world, leaving this absurd place as I wandered back toward the banality of the elevator - returning to help Derrick and the others. As I went to leave, I turned my head sideways, smiling as I looked toward him. Gratitude welled inside me, as tears and appreciation mingling upon the surface of my face.

"You too," I replied.