“When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in.”

Haruki Murakami, Japanese Writer (1949 – )

Milly waited anxiously in the lobby, staring at the clock above the elevator. Exhausted from staying late the previous day, she’d slept through her alarm and had to dart out of her apartment without a shower or her depression medication. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her skin felt greasy.

The bus driver—the mean one—had sped away just as she burst through the door, ignoring Milly’s desperately flailing arms. It was another thirty minutes before the next bus showed up.

Mr. Fredrickson is going to throw a fit. He’ll make me stay late again, unless he decides to finally fire me.

She clutched her backpack protectively as her mind began a downward spiral of worst-case scenarios. She felt the darkness closing in and desperately wished she’d remembered to take her medication.

“Gods, Mil-dead. You look like you got hit by a truck,” came a voice from behind her.

She flinched, fixing her gaze on a crack in the tile.

No. Not her. Anyone but her.

Pink purse slung over her shoulder and carrying a tray full of coffees, Calista Gale was dressed in a tight black skirt and deep V-necked white flutter-sleeved blouse, as if she were headed out for a night on the town rather than a Wednesday in the office. Her tendency to overdress had been a regular topic of watercooler gossip ever since she transferred to the tenth floor, though no one was brave enough to mention it to her face.

Calista gave Milly an exasperated glare. “The hoodie again? Do you even wash that thing? It’s starting to smell, and there are potato stains on the bottom.”

Milly scuffed her foot on the grey tile, trying to appear small and insignificant. Her only response was a tiny squeak as her words failed her.

It doesn’t smell that bad. Why can’t she just leave me alone?

Calista sniffed and crinkled her nose. With a hefty sigh, she set the tray on the floor and opened her purse, fishing around inside.

She sniffed her hoodie when Calista wasn’t looking.

Okay, maybe it could use a wash. But that’s no excuse for her to be so mean.

“You know, we have an actual coffeehouse in the building now,” Calista growled, nodding towards Rain On My Parade and the lonely barista inside. “These managers could get their own damn coffee. But no, they just have to send me to the generic corporate monstrosity two blocks away. The one past that construction site on the corner, where all the men have filthy mouths. I swear, one more catcall, and I’m going to shove my foot straight up their…Ah, here it is.”

Calista pulled her hand out of her purse and thrust it towards Milly. She flinched and shut her eyes as if she were about to be slapped.

“Look, I get that personal hygiene isn’t something you goth girls embrace, Mil-dead, but you really don’t want to go up there without this.”

She eased open her eyes. Calista had a stick of deodorant in hand and held it out for her.

She just stared at it, dumbfounded.

Wh-what?

Calista sighed and thrust it into her hands. “Also, you should really splurge on some outfits that wouldn’t be at home in a fat man’s wardrobe. You might look half-way presentable if you did. Perhaps even cute, in a gothic sort of way.”

Cute? She’s making fun of me again, isn’t she?

“Where’s the asshole?” Calista asked, looking around for Xavier. “You’re like his damn shadow. How the hell do you put up with that man?”

“He’s…my friend,” she whispered, almost imperceptibly quiet. “My only friend.”

“Trust me on this, Mil-dead,” Calista advised her. “You’re better off alone.”

A sharp ding signaled the arrival of the elevator, and Calista picked up the coffee tray. “Well, put your game face on, Mid-dead,” she said sarcastically, stretching her mouth into an exaggerated smile. “We’re in for another wonderful day at Acicentre.”

Milly froze in place like a deer in the headlights, clutching the deodorant and unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Is this part of her game, or is she being genuine? I can’t tell. She insulted me, but also gave me this deodorant. And yesterday she tried to make Xavier do his share of the paperwork. I don’t understand her.

Calista held the elevator door for Milly. “Are you coming?”

And now she’s holding the elevator for me?

“Y-yes,” she stammered as she stepped into the elevator, clutching her backpack and the deodorant as tightly as she could. “But I’m late. Mr. Fredrickson is going to…”

“Frank?” Calista scoffed, pressing the button for the tenth floor. “Here’s a secret—that guy is a wimp. Just tell him to go to hell if he gives you any trouble. He’ll back down like a scolded puppy. Works every time.”

She glanced at the tray of coffees in Calista’s hand.

Then why are you still getting him coffee?

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the lobby, and thunder rattled the glass ceiling. A thick fog began to roll in, obscuring the street beyond.

“A storm?” Calista said, a quiver in her voice. “There wasn’t a cloud in the sky a few minutes ago.”

Milly swallowed hard, her heart in her throat, as the doors closed and the first crack of thunder rattled the Castle of Glass.

***

By the time they arrived on the tenth floor, the storm had grown exponentially fiercer. Lightning cascaded endlessly beyond a thick fog, illuminating the call center with frightening flashes of raw power. Rain buffeted the windowpanes, leaking through failed seals and soaking the carpet below. With every passing moment, their view of the city grew more obscured, until all they could see was the fog and flashes of light.

It felt like the storm was right on top of them—the Castle of Glass at the center of Mother Nature’s rage.

The last time I saw a storm like this was four years ago, on the night my foster father ruined my life. It masked my cries for help, and I’ve been scared of storms ever since.

They dashed for their cubicles at opposite ends of the floor as the frightened cries of their coworkers began to build. Hurricane-force winds rattled the tower, and Milly staggered as the floor shook beneath her feet.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit. Please no. Not this. Anything but this…

Another lightning bolt crackled outside, tracing along the fog like electricity through a circuit. She squeaked and ducked behind the false protection of her cubicle walls as the chorus of screams built across the office

“You’re late,” Xavier playfully scolded. He leaned back in his chair, playing a video game on his cell phone. His eyes flickered towards the windows with each lightning flash, and she could sense the anxiety he was desperately trying to hide.

“Yeah, but, on the plus side, I don’t think Mr. Fredrickson noticed me come in late,” she replied, trying to mask her own fear. Her knuckles turned white as she clung to her chair with a death grip. “I-I don’t think we’re getting much work done today.”

“Everyone stay calm,” Mr. Fredrickson shouted at the top of his lungs across the cubicles. “I’m sure this storm will pass us by. Remain on the floor. You are safe here.”

His words of comfort were challenged by the storm. An avalanche of lightning lit up the building, and the accompanying booms knocked pictures off walls and books off shelves. The fog grew so dense that the light of the morning sun couldn’t get through. The entire building rattled, and Milly’s monitor crashed to the floor, its screen cracked.

“Boy, it’s a good thing we don’t work in a run-down, piece-of-shit glass tower,” Xavier said sarcastically as the building shook beneath their feet. “Or we’d really be in trouble.”

Calista’s shrill scream cut through the storm, triggering a wave of panic that spread like wildfire amongst their coworkers.

“Typical,” he snarled as he heard Calista’s cry. “Leave it to Calista Fucking Gale to make things worse for everyone. As always.”

“She…might not be all bad,” she tentatively whispered back. “She has her moments.”

Xavier stared at her as if she were stranger than the storm. “Are you fucking serious…”

Boom!

The office was plunged into darkness as a massive bolt cut through the clouds—the building’s power finally giving out. The only light that remained was the endless lightning that lit up the fog that encompassed the Castle of Glass.

Milly put her head between her knees and rocked back and forth as memories of her foster father’s assault returned in full force. She remembered how her screams had been drowned out by the storm, and her bravery instantly collapsed as her endless nightmare and her reality collided.

“Please, I don’t want to die. Please,” she begged, giving into her fear. They were the same words she’d cried out as her foster father’s hands had held her down.

“Knock it off, Milly,” Xavier demanded harshly, his own fear emerging as anger. He stashed his cell phone in his pocket, its signal gone. “You’re not helping. Fuck, what the hell is happening out there?”

He ran out of their cubicle and headed towards the window.

“Xavier…wait…p-please stay,” she begged, but he was gone before she could find the strength to form the words.

Pitch-black darkness settled over the office, and her coworkers abandoned the last of their bravery. She crawled under her desk, trembling, and huddled in place, terrified and alone.

Until her broken monitor flared to life.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Is anyone there?

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Milly blinked, trying to comprehend the three little words illuminated the darkness.

Three little words on a broken monitor…in a building with no power.

She grabbed the keyboard and pulled the broken monitor towards her with trembling hands. Closing her eyes, she took three deep breaths to calm her racing heart, as Dr. Anthony had taught her to do.

As she took the third breath, her fingers steadied. “I am here,” she typed.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Where is here?

She winced at the generic greeting she’d given customers a thousand times before.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Is that on Earth?

Something inside her snapped. She felt a well of anger override her fear, and, this time, she let her anger take control.

“I don’t know who you are, but you can just go to hell,” she viciously typed. “We’re all scared right now, and you’re playing games? Fuck you!”

She watched the broken screen, and was about to set the keyboard down, certain that the culprit had been put in his place, when the screen flashed once more.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

My name is Oracle. Find me. Find my memories. They will help you survive.

As Oracle’s final message appeared, she closed her eyes and let the darkness take her.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The Non-Canonical Aftermath:

“Author, I think you’ve used enough lightning in this scene” Calista advises, watching the flurry of activity in the grid above the stage. “Leveling Up’s accountant is losing his mind.”

“It’s already cost us 1.2 million Ink!” shouts Kenji from off-screen, arms laden with spreadsheets. “And every lightning strike costs another fifty thousand.”

“I…might have gone a little overboard on the lightning,” the Author admits sheepishly. “Tell you what. Five hundred more strikes and we’ll call it a day.”

Character Art by Ayammbetutu (vgen.co/ayammbetutu)