Grayson Lee sat cross-legged in his simple black swivel chair in his simple white office. Grayson had tried it out numerous times, and found that the swiveling ability of the chair was not to be questioned. It was one of those things that did exactly what it was supposed to, nothing more, nothing less. Grayson had a smug appreciation for these types of things. They had achieved a state of perfection.
Humans, however, had not. Time and time again, he witnessed them doing more than they needed to, less than they were supposed to, or something in-between. It was such a farce. They seemed to believe that they were above the rules somehow, in their own little worlds where they could do as they please. They all needed such extensive correcting.
Patrick Sherman was a prime example. Patrick work
