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For my whole life I have always wanted to write. To write is to express oneself, and it is one of the most beautiful ways to create valuable art. I love reading, analysing words, envisioning each sentence as a scene. Therefore I thought to myself; "Why couldn't I write?"
I wrote cringey Wattpad books as a tween, and hated every page of them as a teen. People loved it, one of them got 120K views before it was deleted, but I still felt the need to be perfect. Few years after the Wattpad cringe incident I discovered my love for languages and books. I chose to study English Language and Literature, to do what I love the most: to read and to write.
I have always enjoyed my work here in the local digest, Detroit Today. I've worked here for three years and I'm a regular contributor at this point; I have written over 30 independent articles and many more in collaboration with others. My workplace is rather friendly, people warmly greet each other and there's usually no drama, apart from a conservative-ish woman who tries to push her bigotry into her content and the creepy old man who hovers over other coworkers. Honestly I wish for the latter to be fired first, because once he was caught smoking red ice in the office bathroom and he tried to beat up our security android, Vicky, mistaking her for his ex-wife.
Poor thing, but nobody made a noise about it, she was sent to CyberLife service for repairs and came back in 4 days and he didn't even get a complaint (not even for doing drugs, let alone the android!). During the Android Revolution, she hid in Sage's house (Sage is the closest person to me in this workplace) and pretended to be a human. Then she came back here, because Sage and I assured her that everything will be fine. Now we have our little friend group with two humans and an android.
"I'll see you all tomorrow," I said to Sage and Vicky before leaving the office. "Sage has amazing ideas and I don't want to ruin it for them!"
"You better not, mate!" exclaimed Sage, while looking for their city bus card in their canvas tote bag.
As two of you were about to leave the office in different directions, Vicky shouted: "Goodbye, can't wait to see you tomorrow!" and went back inside. After greeting her, I walked towards the underground station with my headphones on, blasting 2010s angsty indie songs.
"I'm glad to have such amazing friends," I thought to myself, as I enter my safe, little dwelling. "Especially after all those happened, we're lucky that everything's fine."
...
I normally hate working the early shift, because, first, I. Hate. Waking. Up. Early. I'm a night owl! Inspiration arrives when the moon is out in the sky. Also, it's always crowded in the morning. Remember, dear me, 7-9 A.M. and 4-7 P.M. are universally rush hours. Given that I have to be there in 8 A.M., I have to suffer through TWO rush hours. Amazing.
Honestly, though, today I don't mind working the early shift if it means avoiding the summer heat. I remember back in 2025, I was literally BEGGING my family to buy an AC because the heat was unbearable. Little did I know, the weather got warmer and warmer because, ehm, climate change. At least the office has AC systems, so salvation for me!
Despite the lack of scorching daytime rays from the sun, the underground was low-key hot, due to the amount of people in the trains during rush hours. I still ended up getting sweaty from the crowd. As I walked towards the office from the station, I kept swearing to the people who refused to wear deodorant in this weather.
I took off my earphones and reached to the office keys in my bag, while still complaining about the weather. Usually, only one person arrives at 8 A.M. to open the office and get it ready for work for those who come later. During this time I usually do what I have to do (turning on the coffee machine, water cooler, AC and chief editor's PC, heating up frozen snacks for all coworkers and tidying up my own desk), then I talk to Vicky, who stays here to guard the building, especially when there's someone working overtime.
"Here we go." I sighed as I opened the door. Inside was dark because of the blinds. I turned them off with the button next to the door and they rolled up by themselves, lighting up the room with warm sunlight."Vicky!" I shouted, but nothing was to be heard.
"Maybe she is busy doing something," I thought. Sometimes alert systems need maintenance and she's responsible for that.
As I walked into the kitchen to turn on the water cooler and the coffee machine, everything seemed a little too quiet. As if the building was abandoned. I wanted to liven up the area a little bit with music, so went to my desk to turn on some tunes. In the middle of my path, I felt something tug onto my jeans and made me almost fall.
When I turned back to fix it, I saw them.
Derrick, the creepy man, was lying dead on the floor with two holes on his chest, surrounded by his own blood. A few steps near him was Vicky, who was damaged almost to death, with a hole near her stomach, leaving stains of Thirium as she slowly bled. She was unconscious and her LED was a flickering fire red.
I was petrified at the sight, and it took a couple minutes for this moment to sink in. Shaking in terror and disgust, I pulled out my phone, dropped to the side of the wall and made the call.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"I'd... I'd like to report a crime."