“Ah.” Amy jots something at the top of her papers. “He shouldn’t have said that. I’ll have a word with Andrew. And he shouldn’t be asking you to do his work, but that still doesn’t excuse you taking the mickey out of his shoes.”
“He wears loafers without socks,” I say, and fold my arms in an “I rest my case” gesture, but my eyes fall down to Amy’s feet as though I can see through the table. I remember she also wears shoes without socks or tights.
God, this place is infested.
“Fine, I’ll apologise to him,” I say.
“Wow. Okay. Thank you,” Amy says, a genuine smile creeping over her face. “I wasn’t expecting such a grown-up response.”
I force down my retort.
“The other thing we need to discuss is the type of work you’ll be doing after your training’s over,” she says.
“You mean there’s an end to the training?”
Amy laughs as though I’d been joking. “We’d like to try you out on a few different tasks to see which one is a good fit for you. It’ll be mostly administration tasks for the first few weeks, if that’s okay?”
Fuck knows why she’s asking for my approval. She and I are both painfully aware it’s not mine to give. I’ll shut up and get on with whatever task she gives me, or they’ll report back to Father. It’s that simple.
“So we’re thinking you could do some archival work, answer the phones, do some file assembly? How does that sound?”
No ma’am. No. Archival work? Answering the fucking phones? File assembly? Not for me. Not for little old Lando. Please excuse me now so I can go to the bathroom and cry myself into a coma.
“Are we done?” I say instead of responding. “I’ve got a lot of riveting training to get back to. No such thing as too many ways to learn to lift a box.”
Her genuine smile pinches into something much tighter. “Yes, we’re done. I’ll send you an email with your progress report, and we can start thinking about chipping away at your targets.”
Before I realise what I’m doing, I flash her a double thumbs up and a fat-cheeked but dead-eyed smile, and push up from my chair.
“Hey, Andrew,” I say, taking the long way back to my desk to pit-stop at Andrew’s.
He casts a glance at the meeting room Amy and I recently vacated and raises a single brow.
“I’m really sorry I called you an indolent pleb. That was way out of line.”
“Oh,” he says, clearly surprised by the turn of events. “Thank you?”
“I’m also sorry your shoes are so ugly.”
His smile falls away as he realises what I’ve said. I don’t wait around for his response.
At my desk, I pull my headphones on, knock two more Buscopan down my throat, and try my best to ignore the cramps building in my lower abdomen. The toilet paper in this necropolis is practically made of sandpaper, and my hole is already protesting another attack.
And then, for what must be the quadrillionth time this week, I do a multiple choice quiz on how to set up your monitor, desk, and chair to avoid certain death from neck strain.
I fucking hate this place.
9
Monday 3rd May 2027
Harry
Once again, Mathias is the first person to arrive in the classroom. He sits in the front row and casually scrolls on his phone while waiting for everyone else to catch up. Story of my life. He nods his indifferent greeting to us, and Pi and I take up our usual spots at the back.
Dan arrives next but doesn’t sit next to Mathias where he normally sits. Instead, he heads straight to the front and hovers around the desk Eksteen’s laptop rests on. It’s ominous as fuck, and an icky feeling stirs inside me.
I knew this was coming, though. I’ve had all weekend to process the information, but that still doesn’t make it any easier to digest.
