The rest of that night and the following morning at work, I was full of resentment.

During lunch break, I told Darcy about what happened as we sat in the building’s employee courtyard. I figured a native to this world would know what to do.

Having heard the whole story, Darcy said, “Can’t you report it to police? There is probably CCTV to support your case and help them find the culprit. I swear, my bro has never had a customer come back with complaints. The ID is good.”

I frowned and shook my head. “Even so, I don’t want to risk getting the law involved. What if they want to charge me for cat theft instead of settling?” Seeing as I had no good defense, the thought was terrifying.

“What you need is a third party to intervene.” Darcy let out an exasperated sigh, then gnawed at their sandwich. “I know some people who can track down Sweetie’s owner if you’ve got the description. Do you still have their number?”

I reminded Darcy that the person had blocked me the second I said who I was.

“I’m not saying call them again. I’m saying the number can help us track them down.”

I informed Darcy I’d deleted it from my call log because just seeing it triggered the memory and my distress.

“Oh, well if you have the flyer still—“

I told Darcy I didn’t but left out that I’d used it to scrub down Sweetie’s litter box.

“Maybe it’s still up around town. My friends can check.”

Occasionally, I still fight my curiosity to ask Darcy about their past and connections to all these underground “friends.” Instead of replying, I wiped the mustard off Darcy’s face with a napkin. It helped relieve some anxiety. I wondered if it was worth the effort and heartache. If the person told me I could never see Sweetie again...

I asked, “Will you take a trip to the department store with me? You wanted a new record player, right? And I can buy another PlushFriend.”

Darcy wrinkled their brow. “Your place is full of stuffed animals; is there even room for more?”

“There’s always room.”

“Why don’t you just go to the animal adoption center and get yourself a cat?”

“It’s not organic.”

“Huh?”

“I want to meet someone organically.”

As their eyes darted around with a frown, it seemed like Darcy wanted to say something but decided against it.

“I won’t be here for long and no one has tested the safety of sending animals through the portal, right? I don’t want to get attached.” I slurped my iced chocolate, a wave of sadness washing over again. “Sweetie was a slip-up. Maybe it’s better that she’s gone.”

“She’s not gone,” Darcy said with an impatient vocal fry. “She’s just with her owner.” They clapped my shoulder. “Shoving animal companionship to the side, so do you wanna find Sweetie’s owner for settlement or not?”

“Let me think about it.”

We finished the remainder of our lunch break chatting about other things before the speakers posted into the flower beds played the chime signifying lunch’s end.

We cleaned up, then went back to our respective departments, agreeing to meet in the lobby immediately when the workday ended.

When I returned to my desk, my coworker Forest waved to get my attention.

“I saw AM Young in the hallway on my way back,” she told me. “He said he wants you to go to his office.”

I clicked my tongue, causing Forest to laugh. “Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Sorry,” she covered her smile with a fist. “I just think it’s a little quirky how open a subordinate and boss are about hating each other.”

“What’s that?” I replied with a frown, taking the opportunity to stall my visit. “We don’t hate each other. We’re just comfortable, like family.”

Forest nodded. “Sure, like a father and son who can’t agree on anything.”

I thought the description was apt as AM Young threw down an electronic file folder whilst glaring at me sideways from a relaxed position in his chair.

“Did you not understand what I was communicating when I stopped in front of the break room the other day?” The old man’s bushy greying brows were positioned in a V as matching hairs peeked out of his flared nostrils.

I picked up the thin device and fanned through the digital pages inside as I asked with an expressionless face, “You mean that creep—unsettling smile?” Inside the file were my last completed data logs.

He sneered. “What did I tell you about submitting your work early?!” His finger jabbed towards the high stack of e-files on his desk, their yellow indicator lights letting me know they were freshly delivered reports from other departments.

At this point, I couldn’t help but return a bit of his expression.

“Look,” he began, nostrils relaxing, “I really don’t like my team getting more tasks than necessary, and I hate having to attend division dinners. I had to pour so many drinks for Supervisor Kean last time that I thought my wrists would fall off! And her wife gave me a nasty look when I escorted her home as if I didn’t have my own wife waiting at home, huh?! What did I do to deserve such silent accusations?”

“I can’t be sure,” I interrupted, deadpan. “I wasn’t there to see what weird behaviors you might have displayed.”

Young stretched out his hand towards me and then slowly made a fist, certainly envisioning my neck in his palm. However, I didn’t feel an ounce of threat from his gesture.

He huffed a loud sigh, then said through his teeth, “Before you came, it was peaceful. Everyone knew my Team 4 was one of the slowest and least dependable so they sent their sh—files to other teams. I’m warning you, Loren. Cut it out and stop overperforming, huh?”

Having no aspirations and being half-assed is fine, but it takes a most pathetic type of shamelessness to sit with that attitude in a managerial position, especially in such an essential organization. Oh, but I hope the reader doesn’t misunderstand—even though I have no respect for the old man’s ways, we have a great relationship.

I smiled at him and suggested, “Manager Young, if it really is so unbearably difficult for you, you could always request a transfer.”

He snorted. “You’ve got some nerve.”

I thought nerve would actually be suggesting we switch positions. Regardless, I just nodded once. “It’s well-established. But I promise that my ambitions won’t get in the way of your lack of ambition.”

“Ha! Damn brat.” He waved me away, snapping, “Get out of my sight.”

Face falling, I reached for the stack of files on his desk, ready to further carry the team, but he swatted at my hand then threw his arms atop the files, eyes wide like I was a bird of prey after his eggs.

“I’m not letting you touch these, over my dead body! They’re going to someone else!”

I rolled my eyes and then made my way to the door, feeling like this short meeting had been pointless and we both knew it. With that in mind, I turned around for one last comment. “Manager Young.”

He turned his frown from the stack of files to me.

“If we scratch each other’s backs, we can both reach our goals.”

Young raised an eyebrow, arms crossing. “When have you ever scratched my back? More like kicked it.” His bottom lip jutted out as he continued to grumble. “I’m so pissed that I can’t even write you up ‘cause on record you’re so damn perfect.”

I flashed another grin. “Thank you for nothing, as always.”

Manager Young snatched up a folder and chucked it towards my face but I easily dodged it with a side step, bowed, then left the office.

I wasn’t concerned about Young’s last action and hope the reader isn’t either. The folders are only an ounce in weight and undeniably harmless—as is Manager Young, with whom I promise I have a great relationship. The thinner his patience wears, surely the closer I am to a promotion.

On my way back to my cubicle, I opened my work communicator and checked my inboxes for any new to-do items or messages from other teams. There was a direct message from the leader of Team 2.

I. Bradley, Records2: Where are you?

I. Bradley, Records2: I’m stumped about this file and wanted to ask your opinion but you weren’t at your desk. Forest said you went to see the manager so I thought I’d meet you on the way back but

I. Bradley, Records2: I’ve been up and down the hallways but don’t see you. Did you go somewhere else?

I. Bradley, Records2: Maybe this is a sign I should quit.

I pressed the call button at the top of the interface and Bradley picked up after the first ring.

“Loren! Where are you?” his boyish voice carried a bit of a whine.

I looked along the wall to find the closest directional placard. “Wing B.” My eyes swept across the office to my left where, through the glass walls, I could see employees working quietly at their cubicles.

“I thought you went to see the manager!”

“Assistant manager,” I replied, glancing at the placard as I passed the door. “Passing Team 6.”

“Ugh, damn Forest,” he groaned before pitching his voice back up. “Don’t move, okay?! I’m coming right away!”

I was going to tell him to calm down and remind him that nothing we took care of was ever that urgent, but he hung up before I could. So, I decided to remain where I was lest he panic more.

I awkwardly stood in front of the windows facing the courtyard, hoping the Team 6 employees wouldn’t be too curious or distracted by my presence, and opened my work communicator again. Looking back at the chat log, with Bradley’s notification flags cleared, I was able to notice an odd series of flags filling my inbox. Each was from an assistant personnel in the Records Department sent to the others en masse. And every single one said the same thing:

CEO.