spectre

A preface—I didn’t edit it, it’s very clearly very wolshtola oriented, the pov is the “wol” but I leave it ambiguous/nonbinary, so my grammar probably falters in many places, I probably misspelled/wrong worded, etc even with names, sorry, it’s tech sector based because that’s where I’m being tortured everyday, no ai mentioned though lmao. It’s written in stream of consciousness style for reasons you can obviously guess

2545 words 👍

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The first day is all tours and introductions. The multi-building campus is split up between workspaces, offices, atriums, food halls, and a conspicuously placed mini mall and merchandise store. Each place has its own slew of introductions, greeting faces familiar to their charismatic white haired tour guide or simply meeting the required politeness of a first time social interaction.

The names come and go, piled into an unintelligible mound as they grow in number, feeling like the very first name was likely learned several days ago instead of a few hours. With as large as the campus was, it was no surprise that only covering half of it lasted all three hours prior to lunch. And even after, another two lost to the more recreational sides, losing 30 minutes watching what seemed like an impromptu futbol match between departments.

The last visit was the badge office, getting there before its 4pm closing time to have their hapless face plastered on a white and blue card with nothing but name and company logo to break up the monotonous colors.

At 4:30, they finally got to sit down at their office. It's empty save for the two monitors that would eventually broadcast the contents of their work computer. Three of the four walls were a beige with cloth texture, and the fourth a glass wall hosting the door. Some smaller cabinets were mounted on the wall behind the desk but at inspection all of them were empty.

Where the 7 and a half hours flew by, the last half hour dragged on, sitting in an office chair, aimlessly looking at the ceiling.

On the second day, there was a computer in the office and a partially translucent name card was placed at the entrance to the small office. It wasn't plugged in but, it was easy enough to manage and connect the daisy chained system.

The morning is spent filling out forms and requesting access. Strange that the new email inbox sported 37 unread emails before they even started. Programs were installed, messages and notifications only increased, and by 11:57 am it felt like everything was coming together.

A knock on the glass wall pulls their eyes from a new email with a near incomprehensible title. On the other side of the glass is a woman, white hair much like their tour guide yesterday. She was dressed in a darker button up loosely draped over her shoulders covering a cream turtle neck with only the bottom button clasped, and tucked into darker brown pants.

"We're headed to lunch." She said, when they opened the door, the bright teal of her eyes locking unabashedly. "Care to join?"

After three hours of staring at the two screens, a curt nod is an easy answer. There's a group of three waiting—the tour guide from yesterday, a taller and thinner man, and another although less thin. All white hair—a presumed trend. They followed in silence, the three men seemed to go back and forth on various topics with the woman simply observing the conversation yet never choosing to directly participate.

It was much more of the same when they sat together at the table with their plates of food. The men went back and forth on details of projects they couldn't even begin to parse, but she only watched, more focused on the plate before her. They locked eyes once sitting across from each other, and it seemed like she would ask a question, but it never came and they broke eye contact.

The third day was full of meetings. Most of the needed access was granted and the calendar was instantly populated. Meetings with managers, meetings with the team, 1:1s and coffee chats, a slew of things quickly gobbled up available time slots.

In the middle of a full team meeting call a ping comes through at 9:47am from Y'Shtola Rhul.

I put time on your calendar.

Clicking between scattered windows, the calendar shows up front and center. 3:30p today.

I'll come to your office.

It's direct, and they don't complain, only giving a thumbs up reaction to the message. The meeting goes on, tuning back in after the messages stop.

Another meeting with their group on the team is had, tasks and project reviews of the work being done and the work that needs to be done. They get assigned to ramp up on the projects the team owns, get a feel before being assigned anything.

When 11:55am comes, another knock on the glass. She's there again, now distinctly compared to the profile picture of a different, neater hair style and a mug that took up at least half of the photo neatly hiding the bookstore background.

She doesn't say anything this time, just smiles and turns to join the group—a sign to follow and they do. This time the tour guide and the other two men are missing. A taller woman, hair more silver than white, and a smaller woman with blonde hair await them.

This time all three women talk to each other, discussing a problem with some of the systems they've been trying to solve. They remain quiet in the group, though Y'shtola continues to walk at their side while the others walked just ahead.

When they get to picking tables, the men are there, three tables pushed into one and waving them down to join them. They have taken to sitting on the end, not wanting to get caught up in conversations they did not know about. Y'shtola seemed to do the same. Sitting across from them at the table's end just like the last time they had lunch together. She joined in their spirited debates periodically but often left the weeds to observe from time to time.

The office halls feel so quiet in comparison to the food halls, only the sounds of keyboards and mouse clicks buzzing between distance and muffled conversations through thin walls and partially opened doors.

They received many messages over that time. Their manager, which turned out to be a much older woman, sent distinct instructions on what to do with their time for the rest of the week. She made her expectations clear and left no room for confusion. Another person, Ysale Doungalain, sent a message asking if they needed help with any of the onboarding. They went back and forth on some details and ended the conversation with a meeting set for 15 minutes the next day.

3:30 comes and there's a tap on the glass. Y'shtola stands on the other side and they let her in, a chair being dragged behind her. She pulls it up to the far end of the desk.

"You've spoken with Matoya?"

They nod, "in messages. I have a meeting with her tomorrow before lunch."

"Likely you'll be placed on my project." Y'shtola says plainly, crossing one leg over the other, "which means I am likely to be assigned your onboarding buddy."

They give a short humored scoff, a oddly silly name for the position. "Is that why you scheduled the meeting?"

"It is. All other projects are being taken care of. Mine, on the other hand, is only at its inception with no free hands to join."

They don't question it, just nod.

"Familiar with back end systems?"

"I've touched them." They say, and grimace at the wording, "I'm more familiar with front end, but I've touched on a few back end systems to support them."

She seems to hum in what they hope is approval, "we can speak more about it once you get the official word. Until then, how is your third day?"

"Busy." It's the first word that comes to mind, "I feel like I've been in meetings all day."

"That fades. You'll have many more as people try get to know you, then you'll have your regular meetings, and your sporadic ones will become less frequent."

Her eyes divert past them, holding a following stare. Looking over, two smaller women walk by, they wave when they're spotted earning a small smile and wave in return.

"Krile and Tataru," Y'shtola says as if she sensed the question coming, "Administrators."

They mark that for memory, not sure if they had seen those in any of the meetings so far today.

"Are there any more meetings on your calendar?" Y'shtola asks, and they turn to click around the computer.

"You're my last for today."

"Good." Y'shtola stands, starts towards the door, "would you like to get some fresh air?"

They eye her for only a moment getting a better look at the loose army green stripped shirt tucked into belt lined white pants, sleeves rolled up the forearms. 

They answer by standing, following her through the halls of the office.

The fourth day goes by faster. They were getting better at names. Thancred, Urianger, Ysayle, Estinien, Arenvald, Minfilia, Moenbryda, Lyse, Matoya, Louisoix and of course, Y'shtola. At least, better at the names of the developers and the developer managers. There were others, content writers, product managers, technical program managers whose names came and went in the flurry—all the same department but not the same group, not the same subteams.

Thancred, Y'shtola, Ysale, and Arenvald were in their developer group, reporting directly to Matoya, the others to Lousoiux.

The meeting with Matoya didn't last more than 15 minutes of the 30 minute time slot. She called, went straight to business, gave the work, and essentially was ready to hang up after giving all the information she felt necessary.

Y'shtola was right about the assignment to her project and the buddy assignment. It was a relief in some ways. They had already talked, the comfort was there.

After the meeting ended, a ping comes through.

Would you prefer daily meetings or once a week?

It was Y'shtola. They guessed the status change to online from the meeting ending early signaling her opportunity to message.

Daily. At least until I get up to speed.

Y'shtola didn't reply via message but rather a notification of a new meeting signaled her answer. It is Monday to Thursday at 3:30pm. 

Never schedule a meeting on a Friday.

Her first piece of onboarding buddy advice, they surmise, one they could easily adhere to. New group chats appear on the list, ones they were being added to by Y'shtola Al with the name of her project in the title in some way. The history reveals debates and reviews, discussions on architecture decisions and security concerns. Many comments battered away by Y'shtola's explanations and defenses. Very rarely did she seemingly concede to the "what if.." and "why aren't you doing.." statements without considerable pushback.

They were parsing the chat histories until the 11:58 knock on glass came.

The fifth day was quiet. Many people didn't go to the office on Fridays, deciding to work from home in the hybrid structure. Nearly every office was empty as they passed by glass walls. The only people present were Ysayle and Y'shtola, tucked into their offices, eyes locked to computer screens, fingers tapping away at keyboards. 

There were no meetings, no last minute calls, no real work beyond the week long ramp up. Instead of reviewing products and services, they decided to review Y'shtola's project. 

Overnight an email came through from Y'shtola, forwarded with a 2:47am timestamp. It was a back and forth conversation with attachments and discussions much like the chats they now accessed. Her only addition to the email to them was feel free to review, y.

The day is decided then and there, especially after one of the attachments turned out to be a 30 page specification document, littered with review comments spanning from argumentative to genuine questions. Y'shtola's name was at the top along side a name seen in passing—Clemence, listed as a product manager for the project.

Their name had been added too under the owning developers on the document. It felt strange to be placed as if any of the work had been done by anyone but Y'shtola, but they assume she was the one that added it.

At 11:27am a knock came on the glass and Y'shtola stood in waiting with Ysayle close behind her.

An earlier lunch, not surprising given the lack of bodies in the office and the lack of meeting across the board. They walked together mostly in silence, save for a question from Ysayle aimed at them.

How do you like it so far?

The easiest answer is Good and most of the following probing questions earned many of the same milktoast answers pointing at vaguely positive experiences thus far. No one had posed any issues, no problems had been put before them and the only scathing comment they could even potentially muster was that Matoya was very blunt. It earned humorous chuckles from them both but surfaced no rebuttals.

"You'll get used to it." Was Ysayle's attempt at comfort.

"You don't have a choice." Was Y'shtola's reassurance.

The rest of the day after lunch is quiet, spending time reading over the forwarded email and attachments in the hopes that Monday will mean doing actual work.

Around 4:30pm Ysayle swings by to say goodbye, making a half dreading statement about getting stuck in Friday traffic. 6:47pm comes and they realize time flew by.

No noises leaked through the walls or echoed down hallways. The other offices in view were darkened and vacant.

They gather their things, prepare to leave. Just as they open the door, turn to up and sling a bag over their shoulder, and turn off the light, Y'shtola stands in the doorway.

"Good. You're leaving." She says, a bag of her own hanging off her shoulder. "I noticed your light still on and planned to chide you on either leaving the light on or for staying beyond five."

"Lost track of time." They say simply rubbing at the back of their neck. "You're still here."

She nods but doesn't saying anything else. "Do you drive here?"

"I've been taking the metro."

"I can drop you off at the train station if you like." Y'shtola says, shrugging the slipping bag up her shoulder. "Do know—it has started raining."

It seals the deal. "You drive a hard bargain."

She chuckles turning on heel, leading through halls and elevators to the parking deck. Her car is black, a sedan, fully electric by the lack of exhaust pipes at the ends. She places her bag in the back seat before getting in. They sit in the passenger seat, setting the bag between their legs as seatbelts click.

The drive is short, quiet. The train station was at the edge of the campus, easily reached by foot, more so by car. Y'shtola pulls up to the curb, putting the car in park.

They take that as a sign that is was good to get out. Only one foot makes it out of the car before they stop and half turn.

"Thank you. For the ride."

"Think nothing of it." She says and they finish their exit.