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Playtime Co. was an...odd place. Its unethical business practices played an extremely large part, yes, but it was really the people that really set its deranged tone. Especially the ones who were the foundation of this place. The Heads.
To be a higher up, I've realized after some time here, you really had to lack a part of yourself. A part of your humanity, usually. No regular, run-of-the-mill person could do the job that was required without totally losing themself. No. You had to go in lost.
As I was pulled from my thoughts, the box I held tightly, filled over the brim with heavy textbooks, swayed in my grip. I felt myself tremble.
Great.
Recently, it became seldom that I got a full night's rest. Seldom that I even got rest. My time that should have been spent in peaceful slumber had been riddled with gory nightmares, where I wake up in the dead of the night in a trembling cold sweat, with my cat-whatever-its-name-was smiling critter grinning at my bedside. In spite of my pride, I admit that my continuous lack of sleep may have been starting to wear me down a bit.
"Excuse me," A voice called out from behind me. I threw my head back, wary of the books that could easily give me a concussion near my head. I peaked around the stack. A woman stood a few feet away. Stella Greyber, Head of Playcare.
If I had to be stuck in a room with any Head for the rest of my life, I would undoubtedly choose her. But that didn't undermine how powerful and dangerous she really was, no matter her sweet facade. After I was brought back to the present, I straightened and met her eyes.
"Uh, what's up?" She gave a nervous smile.
"You're delivering that to the Schoolhouse, right?" I nodded, uneasiness settling in my stomach at her lack of enthusiasm. She clasped her hands in front of her, knuckles going white. "Ah, that order of textbooks was...a mistake. I'd like you to take it to Storage Room 72 instead." I cocked my head, about to ask how an order of forty textbooks could be a mistake, but I thought better of it. Maybe it was just a lie to cover up some situation that happened down there. I wouldn't know.
I shrugged. "Alright, I guess." I turned and started to make my way back down the hall. My steps dragged on the ground. Of course this whole trip here was a waste of time. Well. At least the storage room wasn't too far—suddenly, something tall moved in the shadows, making me jump back. Two books tumbled to the ground, and a thing came into view, looming over me. I braced myself before I processed that the person in front of me wasn't an experiment that was going to maul me alive.
It was a slender woman dressed in a long lab coat over a black turtleneck and dress pants. In her hand, she held a two brown paper bags, one plain and another labeled "no pickles" with a smiley face. My gaze drifted to the name tag pinned to her top. I winced as I read it; Head of Design: Sera W.
Lovely.
A Head.
Her blonde hair was braided loosely, the tail of it laid over her shoulder. Her baby blue eyes held almost nothing as they rolled over me. I suddenly gained the realization that I was just standing there like a buffoon instead of grabbing the books and doing my job. I ducked to the ground, my hand stretching out to grab the two books. They were plucked off the ground by a pale hand before I could even touch them. By the Head. I looked up at her, predicting that I'd get a lecture on not being careful with materials that cost Playtime's precious funding. But she stayed silent. I carefully stood back up as she held the books out to me.
"Here." Her voice was deep and a little shine of amusement danced in her blue eyes. I tried to thank her but I couldn't muster a response. With a nod, I shuffled down the hall. Just as I turned a corner, I caught a glimpse of her eyes follow me as she faded out of view.