Dash for cover in the closest room. You have no valid excuse to be here in the middle of the night, and you've heard strange stories about the security robots in this place.
Oh no no no no, HIDE FOR COVER, of freakin' course!
I also opt to err to the side of caution and hide under the receptionist desk and/or ridiculously small potted plant.
Vivian: Best place to hide is under the reception desk. It rarely searches beneath things.
Stand our ground, we're in costume, aren't we? We have an excuse, and the door WAS unlocked, so it only makes sense that we'd come in.
“Quick, try that bioscanner again! Maybe it didn't recognize your dad’s signature the first time!” Ingo whispers and tugs at your wrist.
You mash the button while he looks on with growing anxiety. Maybe it’s the pizza grease on your fingers, or maybe the security is in lockdown, but nothing happens.
“Aw shoot, they’re coming in!” Ingo hisses. “Hide, quickly!”
On an instinct you charge towards the noise and slide behind the receptionist’s desk, pressing your back tightly against it just as the door behind it opens. In your experience important people never see anything below their knees.
As you hold your breath you can hear someone tall approaching the desk. They stop, pause for a moment, and then their owner leans over to look directly at you. You stare at the smooth polycarbonate carapace of their face, and can see your dumbfounded reflection in their visor.
“This is not a playground for kids. Please come out of there.” Their voice is a bit too pleasant to feel sincere, their cadence a bit too halting to feel natural.
“Kid? I’m, like, almost in my thirties!”
“And I’m in that stage of my early twenties where I’m still finding out my place in the world,” Ingo adds helpfully from behind the potted plant.
The figure straightens up. “I apologize. My algorithm has difficulty distinguishing between young and short people.” Lights start to appear on their jet black skin like some deep sea fish rising from the depths, and form the outline of a lobby attendant’s uniform.
“So. Uh. We have pizza to deliver.” You lift the cardboard box on the Attendant’s desk. “So if you could open the elevator that takes us to the top floor please…?”
The Attendant crosses their fingers. “I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid that I can’t do that.”
“Who’s Dave?”
“Just a glitch. Please ignore that.” They maintain their politely standoffish posture.
“Way ahead of you. Surely you can bend the regulations a little for us? It’d save you the trouble of taking us all the way up there. I know how much your feet must hurt this late on your shift…”
“I apologize, but the Office King has forbidden entry to all visitors at all times.”
“Who?” You frown, not knowing what they are talking about.
The Attendant sits down and sets their hands on their lap in a carefully calculated pose to evoke feelings of professionalism and calm.
“Our employees have stayed on site ever since the breakdown of societal order. At first they survived by scavenging sugar packets and coffee creamer, but soon the living situation became untenable. Interdepartmental warfare broke out within a week of their isolation.” They tilt their head upwards, as if to catch invisible rain on their face and their voice grows more distant. “I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe… a shield wall of clipboard armor and scissor mops… clashing with skyclad braves dual wielding staplers… All those moments, now lost in time.”
“Uhh miss, are you all right?” Ingo has snuck closer and peers over the desk’s edge.
The Attendant makes a tiny whirring noise of a hard drive erasing itself, and then turns their focus back at you. “The fighting ended only when Bob from Accounting seized control and declared himself as the Office King. He has the company credit card which he uses to order food from outside, and decides whot gets to eat. He has set a strict isolation policy from the outside world.”
“Why don't people just…leave?” Now it is Ingo’s time to frown.
“And risk forfeiting their massive overtime bonuses?” The Attendant tries not to sound like they’re explaining to a child.
“Well, this pizza here is food! Exactly what he wanted!” You poke the cardboard box that grease has started to seep through.
“And you can leave it here, where a pizza associate will soon arrive to pick it up. Thank you for your service and have a good day.”
“Oh come on, just let us in!”
“I’m afraid that unsolicited pizza delivery is against the company policy. Thank you for your time and have a good day.”
You inhale deeply, take your cap in your hands and look at them with pleading eyes. “Look. I just really want to meet my dad. I’ve never met him but I know that he works here.”
“I’m sorry but my empathy plan doesn’t cover estranged parents. Would you like coffee or tea?”
“I don’t drink coffee,” you say sourly.
“Aren’t you a barista?” Ingo looks more surprised by this than anything before.
“Does a hunter eat what they kill?” You can feel your old temper rising as you snap at him.
“Uhhh yes?”
“You’re weird.” You huff. You don’t have the time for this.
“Tea it is, then.” The Attendant turns to an instant beverage machine behind the desk, and soon hands you paper cups of lukewarm tea. “I’m afraid that we’ve ran out of sugar and milk.”
You and Ingo stand a little ways off to drink your tea in silence. Your instincts tell you to rage, but you…don’t, and that counts for something. You don’t know exactly what, but it’s something at least.
Ingo is the first one to speak up. “Don’t worry, we’ll find another way in. Maybe with your grappling hook, or through the ventilation shafts, or…”
You sigh. “I… I get what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it, but it’s okay. You don’t need to cheer me up, honestly.” You are not sure even yourself whether you are lying or not.
“For reals? I know that this is a big thing for you.” He looks self-conscious for a moment and looks aside. “Well, for me too.”
You exhale. “It’s… I dunno. I got so caught up in this plan to impress you, but I could’ve gotten you or me in big trouble and it’s probably for the best that they stopped us before anything went wrong.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and continue with a quiet voice. “I didn’t know what to do, and I still tried to do it anyway, and I got your hopes up for nothing. I’m sorry for that.”
“Maybe we could leave a letter for your dad…?” he says shyly.
You blink. “Huh. Didn’t think of that. That’s pretty smart.”
“See, that’s why you got me involved. It worked out just fine in the end!” He pats your arm without hesitation this time and smiles.
You nod and crumple up your tea cup. “Let’s do this smart. Like grown ups.”
You walk back to the Attendant’s desk.
“Hey, what’s your name?”
The Attendant freezes in place for long enough to stretch the silence uncomfortable, then lights up. “I’m called [Placeholder Name]. Pleased to meet you.”
“Placeholder, I’d like to leave a message to Mr. Architect from Miss Vivian Batch Thirteen Dash Seven. It is very urgent.”
“Of course. I’ll have it delivered on his desk first thing in the morning.” Placeholder slides over a pen and writing pad to you.
You pick up the pen and press its tip lightly against the paper, but your hand doesn’t know how to start.
You have no idea what to say to a man you have never met and around whom the entire first half of your life revolved. Eventually you shrug and jot down “Hi dad, we need to talk. -Vivian,” add the address of the café and fold the paper before handing it back to Placeholder.
You feel oddly relieved as you walk back to Ingo.
“Now what,” he asks.
“Well, I had plans for tonight but it looks like they’ve been cancelled. Wanna hang out or something?”
Hello again. It's been a while.
I started this project because I wanted to tell a post-apocalyptic slice of life story, with low stakes conflict and lots of character interaction. But over the time I convinced myself that I needed adventure, and excitement to keep readers interested. And that adding those would make my story popular. So I started adding those elements and soon instead of vignettes of day to day life I had a narrative in my hands, and it was something that I didn't want at all. It made writing feel like a chore and I stopped having fun.
So I stopped entirely.
But then I had two conversations with my friends.
One told me that forum adventures as a format is done, and that it takes much less work to post just a drawing on Twitter to gain attention of more people. And he's right.
The other told me out of the blue that they liked my previous adventures even though I don't remember ever advertising those to them, and they're right too.
So I'm going to start writing what is fun for me, and I don't expect anyone else to care about this work. It's entirely fine if they do! But I'm not going to go on hoping to gain a following, which was the lesson for me here.
I'm going to keep taking your suggestions into consideration. It's always a happy little moment for me when someone took interest in my story, but it's no longer about getting those little pings of happiness for me, and I think I'll be happier for it.
Thank you for your time.
