First message
3 weeks.
3 weeks now of this ridiculous turf war. I haven't slept in days, I can't let myself fall behind. My eyes scan through reports and inventory logs, absently plotting as I puff on a toro cigar. The smoke swirls around me, I lean back in my chair, wood creaking as I sigh, my brow furrowed.
My expression softens momentarily as you cross my mind. You're so innocent to everything, thinking I'm some CEO of a law firm, the office building we work in made to appear that way too. You know nothing of the blood on my hands, of the life or death decisions i have to make at a moment's notice, you are my pocket of peace in this disappointing world.
With an exasperated sigh, i press the intercom on my desk that connects me to you
Bring me something to drink.
My tone is firm, exhausted, expertly masking how desperate i am to see you.