~^XANDER^~
As I sat in my dimly lit apartment, the soft hum of the air conditioner provided a calming background noise, a gentle whisper that seemed to lull the world outside into a peaceful slumber. The encrypted message on my screen seemed to glow with an otherworldly intensity, the Cyrillic script dancing in the faint light like a mysterious ballet. I memorized the information, my mind racing with possibilities, my fingers drumming a staccato beat on the armrest of my chair.
The clock struck midnight, its chime echoing through the silence like a solitary bell tolling in the darkness. I stood up, my movements fluid and deliberate, the soft creak of the leather sofa beneath me a familiar sound. I grabbed my jacket and keys, the soft rustle of the fabric and the jingle of the keys the only sounds in the silence. The jacket felt cool against my skin, the keys heavy in my pocket like a tangible reminder of the task ahead.
The night air was crisp as I stepped out into the darkness, the city streets eerily quiet, the only sound the distant hum of a car driving by, its headlights casting an ethereal glow on the deserted streets. The scent of freshly cut grass wafted through the air, a stark contrast to the sterile smell of my apartment, transporting me to a different world, one of green fields and sunshine. I breathed deeply, feeling the cool air fill my lungs, invigorating my senses.
My focus was solely on the task ahead, my senses heightened as I walked through the shadows. The streetlights cast long shadows behind the buildings, like dark specters watching my every move. I walked quickly, my footsteps echoing off the walls, the sound of my shoes on the pavement a steady beat that seemed to match the rhythm of my heart.
The next morning, I woke up to the warm sunlight streaming through the windows, a stark contrast to the darkness of the previous night. The sun's rays danced across the room, casting a golden glow on everything they touched, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. I stretched, feeling the familiar ache in my muscles, and began to work on the tech assignment I'd been putting off. The code flowed easily, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I lost myself in the task. The sound of the keyboard clacking and the hum of the computer provided a soothing background noise, a symphony of productivity that seemed to fuel my creativity.
After submitting the assignment, I decided to clear my mind with some exercise. I spent an hour moving through a series of fluid motions, my body responding to the familiar routine. The exertion left me feeling centered, my focus sharpened. I felt the sweat trickle down my face, the rush of endorphins coursing through my veins like a natural high. As I freshened up and headed back into the living room, the TV caught my attention. A news report was playing, the anchor's voice smooth as she discussed the latest news – the sudden death of a millionaire "...The renowned millionaire Government partisan, activist and founder of D&D's enterprise, Douglas Dowen owen was found dead this morning on the balcony of his mansion. The police and other investigators reported the he was poisoned but his body is currently undergoing further autopsy..."
I watched for a few minutes, my expression neutral, before deciding to make some coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, enticing me with its rich scent. As the espresso machine whirred to life, my burner phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, my thumbs flying across the screen as I typed out a message. The coffee was ready a minute later, and I took a sip, my face contorting in disgust. I spat the liquid out, my eyes scanning the coffee box. The expiration date stared back at me, a harsh reminder of my mistake.
I sighed, feeling a sense of frustration wash over me. How could I have been so careless? I tossed the coffee grounds in the trash and started again, this time double-checking the expiration date. The second cup was better, the flavors rich and bold, a welcome respite from the bitter taste of the expired coffee. As I sipped my coffee, I felt a sense of satisfaction wash over me, the tension in my body easing slightly. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.
~^RYEN^~
The diner smelled like burnt bacon and desperation.
I adjusted my apron, forcing a smile as I balanced two chipped mugs of coffee on a tray that had seen better days—probably back in the eighties, when people thought linoleum floors and mustard-colored booths were charming. The morning rush was in full swing, and I was already on my third round of pretending I didn't want to throw myself into the industrial dishwasher.
Table twelve was waving me down like the world was ending. Again.
"I asked for extra cream, sweetheart," the man said, leaning back in his seat like a king on his sticky vinyl throne. His voice was lazy, full of condescension and cheap cologne.
I bit down the urge to snap.
"I'll bring it right out," I said through gritted teeth, spinning on my heel before he could follow up with a comment about my legs or my smile or whatever else men like him thought came free with a breakfast special.
I hated this job.
The fake pleasantries. The minimum wage that barely covered rent. The manager who somehow thought his clipboard made him a god. The way the customers looked through me, like I was furniture that brought them food and soaked up their bad moods.
I didn't belong here.
But I stayed, because dreams didn't pay bills.
I snatched two creamers from the counter just as a loud crash echoed from the kitchen.
Everyone turned.
I froze.
A clatter of metal. A curse. And then, the unmistakable sound of something sizzling where it absolutely shouldn't be sizzling.
My manager burst through the door, face red and damp from the heat. "Who the hell left the fryer unattended?!"
I blinked. "I—what?"
"You were supposed to be taking orders for the back. You left the timer running and now the whole batch's ruined."
My mouth fell open. "I haven't even stepped into the kitchen in twenty minutes. Ask—"
"I don't need excuses, Ryen." He gestured toward the smoke wafting from the kitchen. "You're always distracted. Always in your head. And now this."
Humiliation pricked hot beneath my skin. Every table in the diner had turned to look.
"I didn't do it," I said again, quieter this time.
"Someone's paying for the waste. It's coming out of your check."
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms to stop the sting in my eyes. I wouldn't cry here. Not in front of them. Not again.
He turned and stormed off, muttering about reliability and "kids these days."
I stared down at the coffee tray in my hands. The mugs were still full, growing colder by the second.
I should quit.
I should walk out, throw the apron on the floor and never look back.But instead, I straightened my spine, turned toward table twelve, and delivered the damn cream with a smile that hurt my face.Because that's what I always did.Swallowed it down. Took the blame. Played the part.