Kyoto-san was a humble government worker. Everyday he shuffled from his house to the embassy, bearing documents to be signed by great public officials promising big promises between his native land (so far away) and "the Red Land" (where all government officials learn their trade). He did not meet the eyes of those that signed or sent him with orders to get signed. His eyes remained low, bowed, respectful, and Kyoto-san only ever saw the folded hands, the desks, and the feet of those men in power above him.

In this way, Kyoto-san lived.

Now this matter of the bowed heads did not apply between the couriers, and so Kyoto-san greeted his fellows as equals. He was pleasant, but not overbearing, comfortable, but never crude. It was in this way that a group among them noticed his unnoticeable manner, the way he slipped between offices of the men in power without them ever noting his garish native accent or his red, blue and white American tie.

"Kyoto-san! Greetings!" one worker hailed him one day. This was Bob-san, who used to do as Kyoto-san did. He once made the mistake of commenting on government policy when his only job was to carry the papers the policy was written on and now his only courier duty was to carry laundry lists and deliver meals.

It was all one to Bob. After all, he was a spy.

"Good morning, Bob-san." Kyoto-san was polite, but distant. He knew Bob-san's reputation and so he was friendly, but reserved. It would never do to turn cold to a fellow worker. "How is your day?"

"It is well, it is well. And yours?"

"I still exist."

"Ha! That much is so! And today, I notice your existence!"

"I thank you for that, Bob-san."

There was a pause, then.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Kyoto-san asked.

"Ah, the matter. Yes. Yes there is, Kyoto-san. If you would but indulge me more moments of your time? "

"My work is all," Kyoto-san said, "I do not know when such will happen. Is it a matter of great importance? Or personal interest?" He separated the two so much in his head that he had asked the question before realizing the rudeness.

Bob-san started. "I am sorry, Kyoto-san. I realize that you work hard. I should have known that such matters would not be of great importance to you. I bid you good day."

As Bob-san walked away, Kyoto-san bowed his head to consider. He had delivered 33 signatures that morning, he had not used a single minute of personal time nor had gotten sick, and he had not so much as spent a minute of his outside time with Bob-san. Kyoto-san had kept distant from Bob-san because of political reasons, but he had never given Bob-san the benefit of any doubt.

"Wait."

"Hmm?" Bob-san paused.

"Later we will meet. I have personal time that will not, as they say, use itself. Perhaps in the hour after dinner when all the statesmen have gone?"

Bob-san smiled as he straightened his back. "Indeed! After dinner and after, as you say, the statesmen! I thank you, Kyoto-san! I hope you will not regret it.

Nor I, Kyoto-san thought, but did not speak aloud.

Later, when the statesmen had left, Bob-san lead him out of the offices in the Embassy. But they did not leave the compound.

Instead, they stood before a door that, Kyoto-san realized, he had not marked until Bob-san had pointed it out to him.

He wondered how that could be. In his duties, kyoto-san's work reached every corner of the building, from the statesmen's rooms, to the official's offices, and even to the secret recesses of his native land's spy monitors. With his eyes down, he had been given access to everything.

Except the brown door before him.

"Tell me, Kyoto-san, how can such a door exist?" Bob-san asked, as if reading his thoughts.

"I... do not know what you mean." He was suddenly afraid.

"I mean, how can it be? You must be wondering why it never existed to you before, and indeed, it never did."

It never did? What nonsense was this? He had not seen any workers on the compound, nor was the door or whatever lay beyond on any floorplans he had access to.

"And...why might that be, Bob-san?" He was suddenly afraid of the nosy diplomat's power.

"The door never existed to you, because you were never asked to enter it. You are the perfect government worker. You do not see that which no one wants you to see. And up until now, you did not see this door.

"At least, you did not, until I invited you to."

"And what exists beyond that door?"

"All the things that the statesmen wished they had. Come."

So Kyoto-san went.

The door opened to a stairway that lead to a tunnel. The stairway was dim, but not dark, and the tunnel was lit, but not bright. At the long end of the tunnel the single-file hallway broadened into a room where existed yet another, brown door that Kyoto-san immediately saw.

It had a rectangle hole in it.

"Business," a mouth spoke from the hole.

"Affairs of state," Bob said.

"Identity?"

"Bob-san and introducing Kyoto-san."

The hole slid shut, and the door opened to reveal another of Kyoto-san's co-workers, Kevin.

"Welcome to our den of despair!" the loud mouthed worker exhaled. "You've finally joined the only party of note in this miserable place."

"There are many parties above," Kyoto-san replied. He had attended to more than a few.

"Indeed there are, indeed there are, but none such as this! You have served the leaders of the world, no doubt, and that is impressive for even among our den-brothers and sisters, there are few of us so trusted."

And in the dark, Kyoto-san saw that there were many of his co-workers talking about tables. But their stances obscured the work on those tables from view.

"But now that you are here, we can begin the real work, if you so choose to join us. Please, approach the table with Bob-san."

As he passed the first table, Kyoto-san stopped in shock. The artistry on the table was amazing. Whoever had worked on this table had replicated the landscape of the country's sacred mountains! He recognized the paths and the trees, and even the local flora that was exacted down to a scale where the moutains reached to the middle of his gut.

"What is this?"

"Keep going," Kevin called, "you'll see your table in back."

So Kyoto-san kept going. He carried his feet to the far table and felt like he was heading home. For in the distance, the contents on the table resembled the skyline of his home town.

"The city!" he cried. "How is this possible?"

"Wait," Bob-san, "The table has yet to reveal its true secrets to you." He placed some objects on the table.

Kyoto-san bent low over the table to see what Bob-san had hidden behind the various buildings. They were miniature footsoldiers, every one. He recognized the colored jackets of the local militiamen. They were well supplied, and had graysuits capped off with metal helmets and black vision googles extruding from their faces. Their suits were covered on the chest with reactive padded armor vests, various explosives and an ammunitions belt. In their arms they all carried the high- powered anti-personnel guns that Kyoto-san hated so much.

"Those are mine. These," Bob-san indicated to his hands, "are yours."

When Kyoto-san saw the small civilian clad figures armed with home-made bombs and guns that would not have rated in the most backwater country on the planet, he understood. This was a simulated conflict between the citizen-soldiers and the citizens they claimed to protect. Neither side bore any insignia for the conflict permitted none. Both saluted the same flag under the sun, but they could not co-exist in this city, or on this land.

"I will go first, then you. I think you'll pick up the rules along the way."

Kyoto-san was pleased to see that though his men were unarmored and undergunned, he could direct them about the detailed map much more quickly than Bob-san could maneuver his militiamen. And in terms of numbers, where Bob-san had five figures, Kyoto-san commanded fifteen.

Of course, any one of the militiamen could gun down the entire lot of them, but Kyoto-san did not think on that.

The sound of his own thoughts was foreign to him, as foreign as his homelands had become. When he was young, he had played these games, but he had joined the diplomatic service in the hopes of escaping the violence at home.

With this table, he thought, I can at least pretend to do something about it.

"I thank you for this, Bob-san," he said. Then he proceeded to completely dismantle the militiamen's force of murderous bastards.

It was morning. Kyoto-san awoke from one of the couches in the den. They had spent all night in various scenarios. Though he was always fighting at a disadvantage, Kyoto-san managed to take over a water purification plant, sabotage the militia's hydroponics plant, and eliminate the security forces around their torture centers.

It was very fulfilling.

The next day, Kyoto-san would learn, there would be news from the Homelands, and from the City. The citizens were in revolt against the militia and had scored major victories against the militia, the details of which would be surpressed out of fear of reprisals.

Kyoto-san would vow to find the door again. He would play another game.