Chapter 10
Millie; February 22nd, 9:34 P.M.
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXKbSpmR9OY
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I should definitely be taking this more seriously, Is the only thought running through my mind as Mia leads me down the hallway. We stroll inside an empty lounge, and she instructs me to sit down at a couch, before slamming down a slab of papers in front of me, along with a pen that nearly rolls off the table before I catch it. Pretty smart for a pen; I’d be running too.
“What's this…?” I ask with dramatic hesitancy. She sits on the couch across from me as she pokes the gargantuan stack of paper with her manicured finger. “An NDA.”
I raise an eyebrow. “An? As in, like, Singular?” She maintains a stoic expression. “Yes.” “Right. Quick question?” She hesitates for a beat before responding. She doesn’t trust me – Can’t say I blame her. “Yes…?”
“Do your eyes work?”
She loudly groans in frustration & throws her head back on the sofa, placing her head in her hands. I smile. I think I got her to break character. “Just sign the damn thing, okay? I don’t want to deal with you anymore than you want to deal with me.”
I shrug, picking up the pen and removing the first paper from the stack. “Sure,” The line I’m supposed to sign on is at the bottom of the last paper in the stack– something I realize all too late. Mia’s just been staring at me the whole time, no help given towards the funding of my ‘find-the-line’ adventure. Before I sign it, I skim a few of the papers, which are now strewn about the table like a crime scene; the reminisce of me spending 30 minutes trying to find the line to sign on. Do I sound like I’m holding a grudge? Well maybe that’s cause I spent thirty minutes trying— One of the pages stands out to me as I’m skimming, interrupting my mental rant. The heading reads “Module 32: Living Arrangements” in big, emboldened font. I pick it up without so much as a second thought; I wonder if it’ll have big windows. Ohh, or maybe a jacuzzi? I’ve always wanted a jacuzzi…
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpjx8VGvX0T
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG26Qd4PDp9
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWPvytyZiPo
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211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu1T9AOJzpI
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211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAzTS6Og67i
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmgRKP4XBWp
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcNy53R2efp
Module 32: Living Arrangements
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwrYXTZMLgl
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkpSUta0ScR
In the signing of this document (s), All parties (The employer & all members of previously disclosed partnership– A & B) must agree to the notion of a shared living space between both affiliates, in order to ensure the eliminated risk of the abscond of partner B.
Due to lack of necessary funding, parties must also acknowledge the absence of a newly purchased space, and must agree to reside within the bounds of any of partner A’s pre-existing financial assets.
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdwX2r0aFIi
Module 33: Usage of H.A. Regulated Weaponry
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVrjy971Sc5
Use of weaponry will be mandated, so long as
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZzj6MWVIva
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡY3awPX1zhI
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5fQw0v6fWc
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbpwlKWSEuJ
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyP8ah1bL3y
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmO4yELUqYJ
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHvDECiQp5G
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq30Z7Q1GSI
Someone please tell me this is a joke. I don’t bother reading anymore, because this is ridiculous. I look up at Mia, seething. She conveniently turns her head to the side, examining some unforeseen object. “Just what the hell,” I start slowly, as if I'm powering up for some big explosion, “makes you think you can do this?” My voice is rising, slowly getting unsteady. If there's one thing you should know about me, it’s that I don’t like sleeping in other people’s houses. I don’t know where it came from, or why I am the way I am, but every time I sleep over at someone else's house, I end up having a panic attack and freaking everyone out. As a kid, I could never do sleepovers with my friends, and I still can’t, even now as an adult. The only times where I was able to comfortably sleep in someone else's house were when their house was so clean that it felt like a hotel or a B&B. Walking into a house and immediately being met with the smell of old jeans, clutter everywhere, and dust sticking to my socks has always been nightmare fuel for me. I could say I blame my upbringing, that growing up in a clean, minimalist house is the source of my fear, but I recently got an official diagnosis for anxiety around three years ago, and it’s changed my view on everything. I’m not medicated, solely because the idea of drugging myself freaks me out, but it still hits me every now and then.
Anyhow, this is going to be hard for me. Then I think about sleeping on the dirty prison cots – maybe this’ll be better. I hope. Mia doesn’t respond, and the silence kills me. As if on cue, Cy walks into the room, pausing when he notices the tension between us. Wordlessly, I hand him the paper as he walks closer. He plucks it out of my hand gently and skims it before returning his soft gaze to me, setting the page down, and sitting beside Mia. “Did you…” I take in a big gulp of air, hoping my voice doesn’t sound too watery; I don’t need them to know I’m freaking out. “Know about this?”
He doesn’t respond, just looks away awkwardly. I’ll take that as a yes. Lovely. I take a deep breath as I press the pen to the paper, and it feels like I'm pressing a gun to my head – This is a bad idea. It feels invasive; creepy, even.
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPK9cOFJR5J
—
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHRIbv8ruVD
It’s quiet– too quiet. Me and Cy step outside of the building, and I stop to take what might be my last few breaths of cold night air before catching up with and following him to the parking garage directly beside the building.
This is possibly the strangest parking garage I've ever seen. We walk up to a small, metal hinged door with what looks like a tiny ipad nailed to the wall beside it. Cy pulls an ID out of his hoodie pocket & taps it on the screen. It beeps, glows green, and he places his hand on it. Then, it.. Wait, Is it… Scanning his hand? What is this men-in-black bullshit? You’d think they’d have a better way to do this. This has got to be some sort of intimidation tactic. Whatever. I don’t say anything – a rare occurrence for someone like me, but it’s past 9:00 P.M., and my brain has officially powered down for the night. The door opens… Upwards? Like, It retracts upwards into the wall. They seriously couldn’t do this any less normally. I follow him inside.
I take it back; this is possibly the nicest parking garage I've ever been in. The floors are made out of fresh, white concrete, the lights are bright– none of them are flickering, and the walls are made out of this reflective metal that bends and distorts my reflection as I pass. I look around at the floor. Not a single oil stain to be found. It is at this point that I realize I'm tired of shutting up. “Isn’t this a little…” I trail off. Actually, maybe I shouldshut up, especially if I can’t finish my fucking sentences. This is a social disaster. “Much?” Cy finishes for me, touching the wall as we pass and rubbing his fingers together, as if ridding of some unforeseen dust. Nevermind. All is safe and right with the world. “Yeah…” I respond, examining the garage. We pass rows and rows of cars, some tactical, but most that look like you could auction me off and still not be able to afford them. And I'm priceless, so that’s saying something. Sorry. I’ll shut up now. We stop at a beat-up red honda civic. Are you serious? What is he, a lesbian mother? My car is nicer than this. He opens the driver's side door, staring at me as I stand in front of the car, trying not to laugh. “What?” he asks, patting the top of the roof “Don’t like my car?” He’s smiling. This is not helping with the whole ‘don’t laugh, this is serious’ thing. I take a deep, bracing breath. “No… It’s… It’s nice..!” I fear I'm smiling, too. No! Bad Millie. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid. I mentally facepalm myself 1000 times.
Then he laughs. A full belly, hunched over, grasping the car door for life laugh. Beside myself, I laugh too. I try to keep it practiced at first, but it slowly spirals into a real, loud laugh. To my demise, I let out a snort. Instead of saying anything, he laughs harder. At some point, I actually have to stop to catch my breath. “I can’t… breathe…!” This only sends him reeling again, but this time he’s gasping for air. Oh, how the tables have turned. I haven’t laughed like this in a long time; it feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my chest. Our incessant giggles echo through the garage, and for some reason, I don’t care who hears.
I recover first, restoring my breath with a shaky sigh & standing straight again. He does the same, clearing his throat and resuming a poised, gentlemanly stance, still slightly smiling. If I look at him any longer, I’ll laugh again, so I simply open the passenger-side door and climb in. Cy ducks under the roof and climbs into the front seat next to me, starting the car. In the sudden silence, I come to my senses.
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzKfDMWDiPB
What the hell was that???
Chapter 10
Millie; February 22nd, 9:34 P.M.
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ4VgiO0wDz
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhpLkU2eBsa
I should definitely be taking this more seriously, Is the only thought running through my mind as Mia leads me down the hallway. We stroll inside an empty lounge, and she instructs me to sit down at a couch, before slamming down a slab of papers in front of me, along with a pen that nearly rolls off the table before I catch it. Pretty smart for a pen; I’d be running too.
“What's this…?” I ask with dramatic hesitancy. She sits on the couch across from me as she pokes the gargantuan stack of paper with her manicured finger. “An NDA.”
I raise an eyebrow. “An? As in, like, Singular?” She maintains a stoic expression. “Yes.” “Right. Quick question?” She hesitates for a beat before responding. She doesn’t trust me – Can’t say I blame her. “Yes…?”
“Do your eyes work?”
She loudly groans in frustration & throws her head back on the sofa, placing her head in her hands. I smile. I think I got her to break character. “Just sign the damn thing, okay? I don’t want to deal with you anymore than you want to deal with me.”
I shrug, picking up the pen and removing the first paper from the stack. “Sure,” The line I’m supposed to sign on is at the bottom of the last paper in the stack– something I realize all too late. Mia’s just been staring at me the whole time, no help given towards the funding of my ‘find-the-line’ adventure. Before I sign it, I skim a few of the papers, which are now strewn about the table like a crime scene; the reminisce of me spending 30 minutes trying to find the line to sign on. Do I sound like I’m holding a grudge? Well maybe that’s cause I spent thirty minutes trying— One of the pages stands out to me as I’m skimming, interrupting my mental rant. The heading reads “Module 32: Living Arrangements” in big, emboldened font. I pick it up without so much as a second thought; I wonder if it’ll have big windows. Ohh, or maybe a jacuzzi? I’ve always wanted a jacuzzi…
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv6svNyj3QY
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjNWtdIiLzP
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJ2q31cUADD
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMIEr4EutUf
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaeB44ONbrW
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvhDb7QYwkn
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡROo6XsBoPO
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211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp9ONkgfRND
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZEFRiXMojo
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvBysRGIHHy
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3smVGpqZgf
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmJxEvKMGhE
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcUkKlSYiBc
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT5Zv5nwlAB
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡg4xrvexEZo
Module 32: Living Arrangements
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjmFIckLMtS
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmlFajeAKy7
In the signing of this document (s), All parties (The employer & all members of previously disclosed partnership– A & B) must agree to the notion of a shared living space between both affiliates, in order to ensure the eliminated risk of the abscond of partner B.
Due to lack of necessary funding, parties must also acknowledge the absence of a newly purchased space, and must agree to reside within the bounds of any of partner A’s pre-existing financial assets.
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡb69ek1skfu
Module 33: Usage of H.A. Regulated Weaponry
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8d5DYHysZ6
Use of weaponry will be mandated, so long as
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvNywK1UMwa
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOLqRFM2dtv
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡR7RRbUvaeE
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv6vuC0uiKp
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX22xiTrnx7
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEpqmkyLKc2
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoSBqKFWj91
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDL0wiiiVO1
Someone please tell me this is a joke. I don’t bother reading anymore, because this is ridiculous. I look up at Mia, seething. She conveniently turns her head to the side, examining some unforeseen object. “Just what the hell,” I start slowly, as if I'm powering up for some big explosion, “makes you think you can do this?” My voice is rising, slowly getting unsteady. If there's one thing you should know about me, it’s that I don’t like sleeping in other people’s houses. I don’t know where it came from, or why I am the way I am, but every time I sleep over at someone else's house, I end up having a panic attack and freaking everyone out. As a kid, I could never do sleepovers with my friends, and I still can’t, even now as an adult. The only times where I was able to comfortably sleep in someone else's house were when their house was so clean that it felt like a hotel or a B&B. Walking into a house and immediately being met with the smell of old jeans, clutter everywhere, and dust sticking to my socks has always been nightmare fuel for me. I could say I blame my upbringing, that growing up in a clean, minimalist house is the source of my fear, but I recently got an official diagnosis for anxiety around three years ago, and it’s changed my view on everything. I’m not medicated, solely because the idea of drugging myself freaks me out, but it still hits me every now and then.
Anyhow, this is going to be hard for me. Then I think about sleeping on the dirty prison cots – maybe this’ll be better. I hope. Mia doesn’t respond, and the silence kills me. As if on cue, Cy walks into the room, pausing when he notices the tension between us. Wordlessly, I hand him the paper as he walks closer. He plucks it out of my hand gently and skims it before returning his soft gaze to me, setting the page down, and sitting beside Mia. “Did you…” I take in a big gulp of air, hoping my voice doesn’t sound too watery; I don’t need them to know I’m freaking out. “Know about this?”
He doesn’t respond, just looks away awkwardly. I’ll take that as a yes. Lovely. I take a deep breath as I press the pen to the paper, and it feels like I'm pressing a gun to my head – This is a bad idea. It feels invasive; creepy, even.
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRi2o4rhF0m
—
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGMY1Gd56DW
It’s quiet– too quiet. Me and Cy step outside of the building, and I stop to take what might be my last few breaths of cold night air before catching up with and following him to the parking garage directly beside the building.
This is possibly the strangest parking garage I've ever seen. We walk up to a small, metal hinged door with what looks like a tiny ipad nailed to the wall beside it. Cy pulls an ID out of his hoodie pocket & taps it on the screen. It beeps, glows green, and he places his hand on it. Then, it.. Wait, Is it… Scanning his hand? What is this men-in-black bullshit? You’d think they’d have a better way to do this. This has got to be some sort of intimidation tactic. Whatever. I don’t say anything – a rare occurrence for someone like me, but it’s past 9:00 P.M., and my brain has officially powered down for the night. The door opens… Upwards? Like, It retracts upwards into the wall. They seriously couldn’t do this any less normally. I follow him inside.
I take it back; this is possibly the nicest parking garage I've ever been in. The floors are made out of fresh, white concrete, the lights are bright– none of them are flickering, and the walls are made out of this reflective metal that bends and distorts my reflection as I pass. I look around at the floor. Not a single oil stain to be found. It is at this point that I realize I'm tired of shutting up. “Isn’t this a little…” I trail off. Actually, maybe I shouldshut up, especially if I can’t finish my fucking sentences. This is a social disaster. “Much?” Cy finishes for me, touching the wall as we pass and rubbing his fingers together, as if ridding of some unforeseen dust. Nevermind. All is safe and right with the world. “Yeah…” I respond, examining the garage. We pass rows and rows of cars, some tactical, but most that look like you could auction me off and still not be able to afford them. And I'm priceless, so that’s saying something. Sorry. I’ll shut up now. We stop at a beat-up red honda civic. Are you serious? What is he, a lesbian mother? My car is nicer than this. He opens the driver's side door, staring at me as I stand in front of the car, trying not to laugh. “What?” he asks, patting the top of the roof “Don’t like my car?” He’s smiling. This is not helping with the whole ‘don’t laugh, this is serious’ thing. I take a deep, bracing breath. “No… It’s… It’s nice..!” I fear I'm smiling, too. No! Bad Millie. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid. I mentally facepalm myself 1000 times.
Then he laughs. A full belly, hunched over, grasping the car door for life laugh. Beside myself, I laugh too. I try to keep it practiced at first, but it slowly spirals into a real, loud laugh. To my demise, I let out a snort. Instead of saying anything, he laughs harder. At some point, I actually have to stop to catch my breath. “I can’t… breathe…!” This only sends him reeling again, but this time he’s gasping for air. Oh, how the tables have turned. I haven’t laughed like this in a long time; it feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my chest. Our incessant giggles echo through the garage, and for some reason, I don’t care who hears.
I recover first, restoring my breath with a shaky sigh & standing straight again. He does the same, clearing his throat and resuming a poised, gentlemanly stance, still slightly smiling. If I look at him any longer, I’ll laugh again, so I simply open the passenger-side door and climb in. Cy ducks under the roof and climbs into the front seat next to me, starting the car. In the sudden silence, I come to my senses.
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7aqXrwoXMw
What the hell was that???
211Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6gIJGAEgkE
and then Add to home screen.