Calvo Conglomerate

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The whole picture is drawn the way an old terminal would draw it. Every surface is made of glowing text characters, mostly cold cyan on black. It is the top floor of a corporate headquarters at night, and the headquarters has a staff of one.

Floor-to-ceiling windows look out over a city of dense towers with lit windows and rooftop beacons. An elevated highway carries streams of amber traffic toward the horizon, a tram crosses on a viaduct, and flying cars drift between the buildings.

On the left, a projector on a pedestal casts a hologram of the Earth: a globe of light points with the continents picked out densely, turning slowly inside a wireframe of latitude and longitude lines. The words CALVO CONGLOMERATE and a copyright sign orbit it. Three cables with glowing rings snake across the floor from the projector to the desk.

On the right, at a curved desk under a row of floating screens, sits the staff: a faceless, low-poly figure in solid red, the one solid red thing in the room. The screens show a stock chart for the ticker CCG, a scrolling system log that ends in ALL NOMINAL, and banks of bar graphs. The figure types at a floating, lit keyboard. Every so often a screen flashes NEW VISITOR! in red. The figure flinches, swivels to read it, and taps it away. Then it picks up a remote, rolls the chair back, swings its boots up onto the desk one after the other, crosses its ankles, and reclines, pointing the remote out at the visitor, before sitting back up and returning to work.

Above the city hang three glowing plates, like a building directory: About, Services, and Work. They are the site's menu. The three links after this description are those plates.