Let Chaos Begin
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It was my first official day as an office assistant at Solvera Creative Group, and naturally, I was already running late. Solvera wasn't just any agency. It was one of those sleek, intimidating marketing firms that handled luxury brands, high‑profile clients, and campaigns so polished they practically sparkle. The kind of place where everyone walked fast, talked fast, and drank coffee like it was oxygen. And me? I was the newest hire, the girl who somehow convinced HR during the interview that I was "organized, punctual, and detail‑oriented." Lies. All lies.
A brilliant start. A flawless debut. Truly, HR should frame my attendance record.
"Great. Amazing. First day and I'm already speed‑running unemployment," I muttered as I sprinted toward the employee lockers, nearly tripping over my own feet because the universe loves slapstick comedy at my expense.
The hallway leading to the lockers was exactly what I expected from a company that charged clients more for a single campaign than I'd make in a year. Warm lighting, matte‑black walls, gold accents, and plants that were definitely too expensive to be real. The floor‑to‑ceiling windows showed the open‑concept office: glass meeting rooms, a creative bullpen filled with mood boards and color palettes, and a coffee bar that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel. My new workplace. My new battlefield.
I yanked my locker open, juggling my orientation folder, pens, notebook, ID badge, and whatever was left of my sanity. My job title, Executive Operations Assistant, sounded far fancier than what I'd actually be doing. Scheduling meetings, prepping presentations, emailing clients, keeping track of campaign timelines, and making sure the CEO didn't spontaneously combust from stress. HR said I'd be "supporting upper management," which was corporate language for "you'll be doing everything no one else wants to do."
I still wasn't sure how I got hired. Maybe it was my resume. Maybe it was my interview. Maybe the recruiter was drunk. Or maybe Solvera was desperate. Either way, I was here, and I was determined not to screw it up on day one.
Then someone slammed into me hard, sending my things flying across the floor like a deck of cards in a hurricane.
But the impact wasn't the shocking part. It was the feeling.
The air around me didn't just shift; it snapped. A sharp, electric jolt shot through me, not warm or buzzing or pleasant, but cold and invasive, like static crawling under my skin, like the atmosphere had been ripped open for a second. It felt wrong, instinctively wrong—the kind of wrong your body recognizes before your mind can form a single coherent thought.
I froze, breath caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat.
"...Okay, what the hell was that?" I whispered. "Nope. Not doing supernatural nonsense before 9:00 AM."
I knelt to pick up my things, hands trembling slightly even though I tried to pretend they weren't.
A low voice said, "I believe these belong to you."
A man crouched beside me, handing me my pens, notebook, and, kill me now, a tampon.
But something was off. Very off.
His presence didn't match the building at all. Everyone else in Solvera looked polished, curated, expensive. He looked like he'd stepped out of a different world entirely.
I reached out. "Th...thanks..."
I looked up, but he turned away before I could see his face. All I caught was a black mask pulled too high on his nose, a cap pulled too low over his eyes, and a dark hoodie that definitely didn't belong in a corporate hallway. His jeans looked worn, not stylish. On his wrist was a vintage watch, old and scratched, the leather band cracked and the face slightly fogged. It was a timepiece that looked like it had survived things, not accessorized outfits.
He didn't move like an employee. He didn't move like a visitor. He didn't move like someone who had any reason to be here.
He moved like someone who didn't want to be seen, like someone who was used to slipping through places unnoticed. He moved like someone who shouldn't be here at all.
He walked away quickly, disappearing into the hallway with a pace that felt too purposeful, too practiced, and too familiar with escape routes.
That strange electric feeling pulsed again as he left, sharper and colder, like a warning crawling up my spine, like my body was trying to scream something my mind couldn't understand.
I blinked hard. "Okay. No more caffeine for me."
But the feeling didn't fade. It lingered: heavy, icy, wrong, and impossible to ignore.
I gathered the rest of my loose papers, tossed my heavy jacket and umbrella into the locker, and tried to pretend I hadn't just experienced a moment straight out of a paranormal thriller.
I shook it off and slammed my locker shut, clutching my notebook tightly against my chest. First day. New job. New office. No time for weirdness.
Sarcasm loaded.
Sanity questionable.
Let the chaos begin.
I clutched my orientation folder and rushed to the meeting room.
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