#andy graves

Back in your office, you were practically dying of boredom. It was annoying having to go to work. Sometimes, you wish you were a nepo baby so you can just have generational wealth, enjoy your days in your room sleeping and watching TV.

Sounds like living the dream.

But instead, you’re stuck staring at another screen—your work screen. You didn’t feel like writing anything today, really you were just scouting, but everybody didn’t seem suspicious at all.

Ruby’s too busy talking with Clara about how she thinks her husband is cheating because he keeps going to Home Depot, like that’s not a man’s man cave. Justin is too busy taking orders from the upper boss, currently scurrying around and snapping at people for electrical cords hanging out on the ground. George is too busy trying to hit it off with the young new intern when he’s supposed to be teaching her how to work the front desk. Robert sat at his desk typing some new article like the star employee of the month he is. Yuki’s doing what Yuki does, stare at her phone until her shift is up.

Nobody seemed like they’d be a hitman at all. They were so boring that not even a serial killer would go after them. 

Your phone rang, prompting you to answer it upon seeing it was your home landline, meaning Andrew was reaching out.

“Hello?” you answered. 

“Hey.” Andrew spoke, the sound of the TV in the background. “You should get stuff for dinner on your way home.” 

“Like?” you questioned.

“Like… food.” Andrew groaned.

You could hear him shuffling on the couch, most likely leaning on the armrest. You’ve come to learn his habits.

“I’m feeling like… hm. Rice? Beef? Beef and rice?” Andrew hummed.

“Yeah. I can get something for like pepper steak or Mongolian beef.” You nodded. 

“Mongolian. I like the spice.” You could practically see Andrew’s signature smirk. “Oh. And could you bring like, Dr. Pepper or something?”

“I thought you didn’t like sweet things?” you frowned.

“Yeah, well. I’m craving it. I don’t wanna waste energy chewing on a cookie.” Andrew groaned.

“Okay, okay. Yeah, I can bring Dr.Pepper too.” You nodded. 

Maybe you’ll bring home some matcha mochi to make Andrew try. Andrew looks like the type of guy to try and impress women with his grass-eating skills.

“I’ll be home like, 8 PM. Max. If I’m not home, I’m kidnapped.” You spoke, before hanging up.

You closed your eyes, leaning back on your chair. You sighed, reaching into your desk, grabbing a coffee cake.

Robert bought you a box of them when you called out pretending to be sick. Robert has a nice heart. He’s always gifting people stuff for their birthday and sending get-well cards to sick coworkers.

You can’t stand things that sugary sweet. It gives you cavities.

But? You can enjoy this sugar cinnamon coffee cake. Seriously, whoever invented these deserves something that ascends the greatness of head. 

You are a coffee cake, feeling a bit more energized to get through the day. Throwing the empty wrapper away in your trash can, you noticed the bag of fancy chocolate coffee beans Robert gifted you.

It’s been sitting there for a couple days now. You haven’t taken it home, obviously as it’s still on your office floor. You’re not sure if you can accept such a gift. Apparently it was imported from somewhere in Brazil. It must’ve cost over 30 bucks minimum, the median you’re guessing is 60 bucks.

You sighed, debating, before grabbing the coffee beans. You shoved them in your purse so you wouldn’t forget it. You shut off your computer, deciding to spend the day on your phone instead. . . . You walked to your car with quickened steps. It was raining outside. Usually, you liked the smell of rain—but in this shitty city? It made the dumpster smell even worse, lingering in the air with humidity mixed in. 

You got to your car, keys jingling as you put it in the ignition. With a twist, you started your car.

Or at least tried to.

The car clicked, stalling to start. 

“Oh come on.” You hissed, annoyed. 

You removed your keys from the ignition and tried to start it again, but it didn’t work. You groaned, hitting your head back on your cars headrest.

“I hate you, Walmart car batteries!” you cursed.

You closed your eyes, a dejected sigh as you sat in your car, pondering what to do next. You could jumpstart the car, but you’d need to get someone else out here to park near your car.

Thinking about calling a tow-company, you were in luck. Someone knocked on your driver window, causing you to turn to look. 

It was Robert! Yes, he has the same shift as you, so he’s going home too. You can just ask him for help, he’s such a kiss ass that he’ll help you; how do you think he became Employee of Every Month after all?

You opened your car door, smiling.

“Hey, you.” You sighed, relieved.

Robert had an umbrella in his hand to protect his work clothes from the rain as he looked at you. 

“Hey, (Y/N)! I heard you trying to start up your car. It doesn’t sound very happy.” Robert chuckled. “Sounds like a start-up problem to me.”

“Yeah. My battery.” You sighed. “I could’ve sworn the damn thing had at least a few months left, but I guess you can’t really trust a car. They always break down when you’re struggling.” You huffed, annoyed.

“Well, I can jumpstart your car for you? I have jumper cables. Let me just go pull up my car.” He spoke. 

You nodded, listening, waiting for him to come back as you waited in your driver seat.

A red Ford pulled up close next to you, grey seats inside as Robert stepped out of it. He smiled, before handing you the umbrella he was a holding early. 

“Here. I don’t really know if rain would affect jumpstarting a car, but I’d really not like to find out.” Robert spoke.

You opened the umbrella, holding it over you two as Robert fetched jumper cables from his car trunk. He opened his car hood as you unleashed the hatch for yours, opening it up.

“So… anywhere after this?” Robert questioned. “Well, other than an auto shop obviously. You need a new battery.” He chuckled.

“I was going to go to the store, but it might be closed by the time I leave the shop.” You frowned, protecting Robert from the rain.

“Always tomorrow?” he smiled. “At least you can make a list or something.” 

“Yeah. I guess.” You looked away from him, not interested in small talk, before looking back to make sure he was doing it correctly.

Red on positive. Black on negative, except the jumper cable was connected to Robert’s negative terminal and your end was clamped to a metal surface of your car.

Robert started his car engine, then waited back under the umbrella with you for the battery to charge.

“So… I noticed a few days ago you didn’t seem to like our lunch.” Robert spoke up, hands awkwardly fiddling with a random part of the car. “Was the food not good? Not your style? There’s another place instead.”

“It’s fine.” You sighed. 

You didn’t want to talk to this buffoon, you just wanted to go home. 

“I’m just… not a huge fan of sandwiches.” You excused.

Especially not human sandwiches.

“I know another place. Or maybe next time you can choose?” Robert suggested, looking at you. 

“That’s not necessary.” You spoke, your free hand that wasn’t holding the umbrella awkwardly tapping your hip. 

Rodger mistook your hesitancy as being polite, and spoke up “No, really, it’s fine. You didn’t enjoy lunch. We should do a redo. I’d feel like if embarrassed if you thought I had a terrible palate.” He chuckled.

A poor excuse to ask for a second date. Really, you weren’t interested in the dating scene. Why care about such nonsense with all the terrible things in the world? You were a woman of business. You didn’t want to hunker down and settle for the first man who showed you attention, especially if it was Robert “Kiss Ass” Rodgers. 

You looked away, debating. You really didn’t want to associate with your work enemy. 

But really. How childish is it to have a work enemy? Especially when he’s nothing but nice to you. You’re 26. It’s about time to start thinking about your future. Your parents sure are. Grandkids and all that.

Robert… wouldn’t be the worst option. You could see him being a good father. The kind that would go outside and play baseball with a  son. The kind that would buy his daughter the prettiest dress for their daddy-daughter dance.

If he’s as much as a people-pleaser as he is at work, you could see him being a good husband. The kind to cook dinner and do dishes on your days off. Surprise you with bouquets. 

It’s better for you to marry someone who loves you, than someone who doesn’t. It works better in your favor. 

You sighed along with the rain. The rain cried onto your umbrella, before you spoke.

“What do you have in mind?” you questioned.

Might as well make an effort.

Robert smiled, looking back at you while his car charged up your battery. 

“Do you like Italian?” he questioned.

Classic move. Every girl loves a good pasta. 

“I do.” You nodded.

“Great! That’s… great. Yeah.” Robert grinned, a spark in his eyes, excited. “Um… you can try starting your car now. See if it works.” 

You handed him the umbrella to protect himself and the jumper cables while you walked back to the driver side, opening the seat. You put your keys in the ignition and started it, happy to hear the engine roar.

You exited the car, making sure you kept the keys in so you wouldn’t have to repeat the jumpstarting process again. You were happy to have your car working, even just temporarily. You walked back to Robert, watching him take the jumper cables off in the opposite order he put them on.

“There. Hopefully it should be fine for you to make it to the nearest auto shop.” Robert spoke, sweeping the invisible dirt on his pants. 

“Thanks for your help.” You spoke, waving your hand as you turned on your heels.

Before you could sit in your car, you turned around to face him.

“So… when should I expect dinner?” you questioned.

“You’re free Sunday, right?” he smiled, already knowing the answer but just wanting to double-check.

Because of course he’d know when you’re in and out of work.

“I am.” You nodded. “I’ll see you Sunday then.” You smiled, closing your car’s hood and walking back to the driver’s seat.

You pulled out of the parking lot, waving to Robert as you drove away.

“Men are insufferable.” You sighed, rolling your eyes.

Maybe romance wasn’t for you, but you could fake it. Sometimes, even the most isolated people need company. 

You pulled up the nearest Autozone on your phone, following the GPS to it. It wasn’t a far drive considering you worked in the middle of the city. When you found the place, you pulled into the parking lot, turning the car off.

You went in, bought a battery for your car, and had an employee do a free installation while you sat back and watched. 

A lady should know how to change a tire, but they never should.

At least, it’s what your father always said. And it’s a battery instead of a tire, but still.

Checking your phone, it was close to 9 PM. Some grocery stores were closed by now, but thankfully your local Walmart was open. You drove to Walmart with your new car battery, making sure to mentally note to never buy another car battery there. 

Skirt steak, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, oyster sauce, sesame oil, red pepper flakes, rice—all you need for the Mongolian beef Andrew requested. Even the soda too.

Standing in the soda aisle, you looked at the brands. Of course, there was a large selection of Toxisoda. You didn’t know what Toxisoda was until moving out to this city—you used to live in a small farm. 

Toxisoda was as popular at Coca Cola here, if not, more. And it disgusted you. Would people still support it if they knew what the company has been doing?

The answer to that question scares you. Over this past month, you’ve seen what people are capable of doing. Whatever their goal is, they’re willing to hurt others for it—you know that very well now.

You forced yourself away from the soda aisle, picking up the Dr. Pepper Andrew requested. You received nasty looks from the employees who just wanted to close up and leave as you checked out. Finally, getting to your car, you drove home.

You unlocked your apartment door, heavy, exhausted steps as you walked. Andrew was on the couch (as he usually was). He turned his head back to look at you, annoyed.

“You know… I could’ve sworn you said you’d be back at eight.” Andrew spoke, standing up from the couch. 

“My car battery died.” You grunted, the groceries heavy in your hand as you dropped the bags on the kitchen table. “I had to get it jump started, then go AutoZone to get a replacement, and then Walmart for dinner.” You sighed.

Andrew let out a groan as he stretched, before he walked into the kitchen, helping unload and put away the groceries. 

“I wasn’t really worried. Just call next time.” He frowned, although the small shake in his hands said otherwise. “It’s pretty late to be cooking Mongolian beef now. Won’t be done until close to midnight.” 

“We could do ramen?” you suggested.

Andrew groaned, turning his head to look at you. “I used to be a college student—I’ve grown sick of instant noodles. Chicken broth is practically my blood.” 

“How about PBJ?” you suggested. 

“Peanut butter has a weird texture. I can’t stand it on my tongue.” Andrew grimaced, placing the Dr. Pepper pack into the fridge. 

“You know, for a literal cannibal, you’re picky.” You frowned, crossing your arms. 

“Hey, hey. It was to survive.” Andrew frowned, turning back at you, annoyed at your judging. “And then later, I got used to it and like, ended up liking it.” He shrugged, arms crossed to match your stance

You frowned, unimpressed with his answer, before turning around with a sigh. You continued to put away the rest of the groceries in silence.

After completing your domestic task, you did another domestic task: showering. You took a shower, throwing on a sweatshirt and sleep shorts once done.

Andrew was rummaging through the pantry when you walked into the kitchen. He appeared to be debating what to cook for dinner. You needed something quick to make considering you’ll be going to bed soon.

“Okay. Okay. How about we just eat Alfredo? I have a jar of Alfredo sauce. We just cook it in a saucepan and boil some noodles, then call it a day?” you suggested. 

“I can work with that.” Andrew frowned, before shoving his hands in his pockets. “But you gotta season that damn thing. Those jars aren’t ever seasoned enough.” He spoke.

Andrew tried to walk out of the kitchen, but you quickly stopped him, grabbing his arm and frowning.

“Hold it, mister. I’m not cooking alone.” You spoke.

“You kidding? I cooked breakfast yesterday.” Andrew groaned.

“That was hardly breakfast considering you fed me my innocent elderly neighbor.” You hissed. “And that was over 24 hours ago. It takes 15 minutes to boil pasta. Get to it, boy.” You huffed, slapping his shoulder playfully, going around him to retrieve your jar of Alfredo in the pantry.

Andrew groaned, looking up into the sky as if questioning “Why, God? Why?” before lazily shuffling to grab some Alfredo noodles.

Andrew got the water boiling, adding salt as he stared at the kitchen lights in boredom. Meanwhile, you grated up some Parmesan cheese to add to the sauce for a more real cheese flavor. 

You waited until Andrew put the noodles into the water before heating the Alfredo sauce. You stirred in cheese and spices, waiting for it all to mix together. 

"So... How was your day?" you questioned, looking over to Andrew.

"Fine." He hummed. 

He seemed perfectly fine not engaging in social interaction, but you thought different. 

"Come on, spend time with me." You groaned, annoyed. "Tell me about your day!"

Maybe it was the idea of getting to rub it in Andrew's face that you're going on a date. Whether you're interested or not in Robert, you were more curious in how Andrew would react. You don't really know why you care. Maybe it was just to stir up some excitement. You hated being bored, stagnant in place; a polar opposite to Andrew who liked being anchored on the couch. 

You don't care much for Andrew, he's like a living partner. Comfortable, and despite being annoying, he's a better roommate than the ones you had your early college years. 

Andrew frowned, annoyed, before looking back at you with a fake smile, eyes squinted. "Well then. I woke up at 9 AM. You were at work, so I went and took my morning shit. Then I cooked some eggs and sausage because you didn't go grocery shopping for food. Then, I sat my ass on the couch and left an imprint there as I watched whatever was on TV; nothing but re-runs of Friends and Family Guy, so I debated shooting myself in the head because I fucking hate the shows. I called you because I was bored and wanted soda, then I decided to nap. I woke up at five, read a few chapters from one of your smut books, then decided to go through your DVD's until I found some actual good media: Adam Sandler."

You frowned, watching as Andrew listed his day in great detail just to annoy the shit out of you.

"I'm not reading all that." You deadpanned, looking away, re-focusing your attention to the Alfredo sauce, stirring it. 

Andrew glared at you, before sighing, his shoulders dropping as he decided to relax some. You waited for him to ask about your day, but he didn't.

"This is the part where you ask about my day." You spoke up, guiding him in the social conversation.

"I don't care about your day." Andrew frowned.

"And I didn't care about yours, but ask anyways!" you hissed, irritated as you kicked his shin.

He glared, muttering something about "needy women," before turning his attention to you. "Oh, (Y/N). Please just bless my ears with your word vomit. Pray tell, what endevours have challenged you today?" 

You ignored the obvious sarcasm and dramatic display as you spoke. "Well, as you know earlier. I worked together, had my car battery died, got my battery replaced, went to the store, and got asked out on a date." 

"That poor man, being seduced by the likes of you." Andrew frowned, shaking his head as he stirred around the boiling pasta so that it wouldn't clump up. "So when are you gonna tell him you're into being tied up?"

"Stop reading my books!" you snapped, a heat rising to your face, before you cleared your throat. "And for the record, I'm not one to spend the night for a first date. I also don't appreciate your implications." You frowned.

"Sorry." Andrew shrugged, not apologetic at all. 

You sighed, turning off the burner for your sauce. You grabbed a strainer so Andrew could drain the noodles while you placed the saucepan on top of a counter-protector. 

Andrew then poured the strained noodles into the pan of sauce, mixing it in. You grabbed two bowls, then sat down and enjoyed a nice meal with no protein. Andrew would've complained about there being no protein, but he just knows if he comments about it, you'll worm into the conversation of his questionable choices of protein at breakfast yesterday--- so he decided not to. 

You ate in silence. Not much words to go around. 

Andrew finished his meal first, then you. You washed the dishes as Andrew cleaned up the kitchen counters; even work after all.

As you made your way to the couch, Andrew stopped you.

"Want to play a board game?" he questioned, standing in front of the TV (that was currently turned off). "While I was bored and looking around for stuff to do earlier, I found some board games in your closet." 

You paused trying to remember why you had board games. Right, you had them for the holidays for whenever family visited. 

If it was anyone else, you'd reject the offer, but this is Andrew we're talking about. The man who avoids conversation like it was the sun, stayed on the couch all day and watched TV. The same man you're housing for being a wanted criminal. 

"Sure." You shrugged, walking over to your TV cabinet. You opened it, scrounging around, "I got... Clue. Battleship. Candy Land. Guess Who?" 

Andrew frowned, peering over your shoulder as he thought about it. "Eh, let's do Guess Who?" he hummed. 

He took a seat at the dining table as you placed the cardboard box on the table. You wiped the dust off the cover, then opened it. You put up your own side, adding the character cards into the slots, before choosing a pale girl with braided red hair and blue glasses named Emma.

"You can go first." Andrew spoke, waving his hand.

You frowned, looking at your options, before speaking. "Is it a man or a woman?" 

"Man." Andrew answered, making you knock down all the women characters you had. "Is yours a man or a woman?" 

"Cheap. Taking my question." You scoffed, before sighing. "Woman."

You watched Andrew smile as he knocked down his own set of cards. 

"Is your character wearing any facial accessories? Like, glasses or jewelry?" you questioned.

"Yes." Andrew nodded as you once again knocked down some cards. "Does your character have brown eyes?" 

"No." You hummed, Andrew flicking cards down. "Does your character look like they work 9-5?" 

"Hell no." Andrew scoffed, smiling. "Does your character look like they run a Discord server?"

Maybe if it was My Little Pony, you could see it.

"Yeah, I'd say so." You nodded. "Is your character smiling in their picture?"

"No." Andrew answered, causing you to knock some cards down. "Is your character Donna?"

"Nope." You smiled, watching Andrew remove the card. 

Now you were torn between two characters who seemed most plausible. One a pale man with a nose ring and red hair named Brody, a frown on his face. The other was a man with dreads that had on black glasses and a beanie named Sam. 

"Okay... Do they look like they work in a 24 hour smoke shop?" you questioned. 

"Yeah." Andrew nodded, before thinking deeply. "Okay. Does your character look they drink sparkling water instead of regular?" 

"Ugh... Maybe?" you frowned, thinking. "Yeah, if it's fruit-flavored yeah." You hummed. "Is your character Brody?" 

"Yeah..." Andrew sighed. 

"I win." You smiled, watching as Andrew sported a uncompetitive frown.

"Congrats." He hummed, resting his cheek on his palm. "Who was your character?" he questioned.

"Emma." You answered.

"Oh come on. That was going to be my next guess." Andrew groaned. 

"Maybe next time." You hummed, putting the board game away. 

Andrew cleaned up his space, then spoke. "Hey, let's play Mario Kart. You got a console, right?" 

You smiled, getting out of your chair and putting the board game away. It seemed Andrew wanted to spend more time with you. 

"I do." You nodded. 

You dug through the back of your TV cabinet, grabbing two controllers. You hooked them onto their cords to connect to the console, dragging them to the middle of the living room. You remembered you had a bean bag chair you kept in the closet out of sight, taking it out so you can lean on it. 

"Wow. I really haven't messed with this thing since I first moved out on my own." You sighed. "This used to be my younger brother's, but he gave it to me when he upgraded to something better. I didn't use it until moving out, for Netflix and stuff, games already on it. I stopped using it once I got a Firestick." You explained. 

"Hm." Andrew hummed, leaning down and snatching the bean bag from you.

"Hey! Jerk!" you hissed, annoyed as you almost fell on your head, catching yourself with your elbows. 

Andrew took the bean bag for himself, sitting next to you. You rolled your eyes, before crawling over to him. You spread his legs, moving to sit in the middle, leaning back to use him as a chair instead. Andrew didn't bother to complain as he leaned his head on your shoulder while you powered up the console. 

"I bet you didn't bother showering today." You muttered, leaning away from his head.

"I did earlier before you came home actually." Andrew frowned, pinching your cheek punishingly. 

You huffed, moving your head back to his chest as you selected Mario Kart 8 Deluxe. You chose which game mode to do, then your character. You chose Shy Guy, peeking over at Andrew's screen as he chose Dry Bones Bowser. 

"Mid character by the way." You scoffed, smirking.

"All part of my strat." Andrew defended as you both chose and customized your vehicles. 

"What cup should we do?" you questioned, clicking through the cups. 

"Let's just start at the first one and keep going through them all." Andrew shrugged. 

"So the Golden Dash Cup first. Got it." You hummed.

You got on the first track. Once you were given the green light to start, Andrew quickly used his character to crash into yours, knocking you to the railing of the track.

"The road is straight, dumbass." You scoffed, steering right to hit him, but it only caused you to get knocked back, Andrew taking the lead ahead of you.

"That's the strategy." Andrew chuckled, smirking. "My character is heavier than yours, so it knocks you to the side."

"I got faster acceleration though." You gritted through your teeth.

"No point in it if you can't get by me." Andrew smiled.

No matter how fast you went, what shortcut you took, or what you had in your lucky blocks, Andrew ended up ahead of you. As you used your parachute to fly down to the finish line, Ludwig overtook you.

"I hate those damn NPC's!" Andrew snapped, watching the green turtle-dinosaur- (whatever it is) fly past you both, taking first place. 

"See? Because you were fucking around, we both lost." You scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

Andrew leaned forward, annoyed. "Turn on Minecraft." 

"Quitting already?" you chuckled.

"I just haven't seen the new update yet." Andrew huffed, adverting your eyes.

"Or perchance you're mad that the AI bot kicked your ass?" you giggled, rubbing salt in the wound. 

"Turn it on!" Andrew huffed, annoyed as he pinched your cheek.

It was like beating your boyfriend in a fighting game that he plays religiously by button-mashing. 

"Ow!" you gasped, before elbowing his ribs. "Fine, fine. I'll turn it on." You frowned, exiting Mario.

You put on Minecraft, leaning back on Andrew, getting ready for a relaxing session of Minecraft as the music kicked in.

Andrew joined the game, the two of you spawning in a plains. 

"Oh thank god. A decent spawn." You breathed out, relieved. 

"There's barely any trees." Andrew huffed.

"Yeah, but it means that the skeletons won't hide under the trees in the daytime and shoot you from afar." You commented.

"Skeletons and their aim bot." Andrew muttered under his breath, annoyed as his character ran to a tree, punching wood. 

"I'm starting to think that you just suck at games and blame it on AI." You teased.

"I was ahead of you in the race. If I'm bad, you're worse." Andrew spoke, building a craft table.

"Well, I say we find a village and pillage them. Take one of the homes to build base." You suggested.

"You can do that. I'm going to go get iron." Andrew spoke. "Just tell me the coordinates if you find a village."

You nodded, parting ways in the game. 

The music was relaxing; it always was. You collected stuff of interest as you went on. Tree samplings for any rare or uncommon biomes you don't want to return to for wood, killing sheep with your bare hands so you can sleep—the average Minecraft experience. 

You found a village, settling into a home and taking their bed, using their chest for storage. You sorted your items while Andrew was in the mines, the both of you in a comfortable silence. 

People chased butterflies. Adrenaline. When you lose those butterflies, people seem to assume you lost the spark in your relationship. That you're stagnant, no longer moving forward.

But that's not true. Romance. It doesn't need to be grand. It doesn't need to be thrilling. You don't feel butterflies in your home doing dishes, do you? No. It's that quiet intimacy, the domestic lifestyle of sharing a routine with another person, living under the same roof.

Maybe, you're just weird. Maybe it's why you don't understand Robert's advances. Why you never got the hint in college. 

But you'd rather feel this sense of relaxed bliss than a thrill of the honeymoon. 

You closed your eyes, resting them for a few seconds because of the bright screen.

Eventually, that short rest turned into a slumber, the background noise of the game's music and Andrew's mining luring you to sleep. 

The next chapter (chapter 6) will be the last chapter, then we'll move onto the Ticci Toby series. I'm excited!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Current Chapter, Chapter 6 (in the works)

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Cannibalism is a weird thing. I mean, animals resort to it all the time. Humans are animals, but humans have ethics; animals don’t. The ability to question what makes a human, a human, already proves the intelligence and emotional capacity of humans. 

        Therefore, there’s no excuse for hurting another. You know what you’re doing. 

        So eating people? You know Andrew’s guilty, from the day he broke into your apartment with blood covering his mouth. 

        Meat Master’s is your next place to investigate. The idea of unknowingly consuming human is unsettling enough, but the fact you discover this just after finding out about a human organ ring? Yeah, the chances of those two being separate incidents happening at the same time in the same city is small. If there’s a chance that the Meat Master is connected to the apartment complex mystery, it’s something worth looking into. 

        You had dragged Andrew out of bed once again. By now, he’s gotten used to his sleep being interrupted. You had your camera in your pocket, ready to photograph any evidence or anything that looked suspicious.

        The city alleyways were mostly deserted, not much but the occasional shady stranger walking alone and trash on the cracked sidewalks. You and Andrew walked down the street, reaching Meat Master. The front door had a padlock on it, needing a four-digit code to unlock the door. On the store windows, there were advertisements such as combo sandwich and soup, their new soda flavors after partnering with Toxisoda, and their new ‘brisket’ sandwich (which you know now is definitely human meat). 

        Andrew fiddled with the lock, before sighing, irritated. He looked back at you, frowning.

        “Any idea what the code is?” Andrew questioned, looking back at you, although the look on his face suggested he already knew your answer. “You know, I thought you were a detective or something?”

        “Journalist.” You corrected him, before frowning, taking your phone out of your pocket.

        You looked up Meat Master, finding the owner’s page. Albert Newson, 34, born in 1992. Three stars on Yelp, with people complaining about the quality and taste of the meat. 

        “Try 1992.” You suggested.

        You watched as Andrew spun the number dials, before pulling the lock.

        “Nope.” Andrew hummed.

        You frowned, before looking around at the windows. There was a sign, saying the establishment was founded in 2021. 

        “2021?” you suggested. 

        “Nah.” Andrew spoke, tugging the lock again. “Got a specific birthday anywhere?” 

        “Only that he was born in 1992.” You sighed.

        “Well, that’s that.” Andrew smiled, standing up straight, burying his hands into his pockets. “Let’s go before something sees us. I bet we look really suspicious trying and failing a padlock at 4 AM.”

        “No way! This could have a connection to your case!” you exclaimed. 

        You looked around more desperately, looking at the posters on the windows. Your eyes locked onto the Toxisoda poster, reading the small fine print for anything. 

        Founded 1957. 

        “Try 1957.” You spoke up, looking at Andrew.

        Andrew let out a tired sigh, fiddling with the lock. The padlock popped open with a click, opening as Andrew twisted it. He looked at you, almost annoyed that your idea worked. He pushed open the door, looking around cautiously, before stepping inside. 

        You walked into the establishment. The chairs and tables inside are neatly put away, with a strong smell of pepper and lemon wafting in the air. You made your way to the back kitchen, looking around. 

        Andrew pulled a metal handle, the door belonging to a walk-in thawing fridge. There was a plastic curtain blocking the way, red blurs behind it. Andrew lifted the curtain and walked inside, immediately seeing hanging carcasses. There were shelves with bins in them, and upon opening them, there were severed legs and arms—some skinned and others intact. The limbs were in bins while full torsos were hooked up like hunting goods, their chests already ripped open and missing internal organs. There was a large dumpster with bloodied bones. Some shelves had cut-up meat, a layer of lemon juice to try to tenderize the meat and hide the taste. 

        The smell. God, the smell. A rancid stench that was kept air-tight in the walk-in fridge thanks to the doors stripping, but now face-to-face with the smell, you wanted to puke.

        And to think you ate that. 

        “I’m… not feeling good. At all…” you groaned, in a limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness.  

        Andrew grabbed your arm, dragging you out of the walk-in, shutting the door behind you. He led you to a chair, sitting you down. 

        “You know, I’m surprised a place like this is in business. I mean, food establishments need to be cleared by health inspectors before opening for business.” Andrew spoke. 

        You nodded, leaning back on the chair and looking up at the ceiling, surrounded by dim security lights to deter people from breaking in (not like that stopped you). 

        There were no cameras in the establishment, which is to be expected considering you wouldn’t want your crime caught on tape. You can’t complain much though, it made it easier to break in undetected. 

        “I’m sure there’s dirt here.” You spoke, before standing up and handing Andrew your camera from your messenger bag. “Here. Go back in there and take pictures for evidence. Make sure it’s good quality. Get the limbs especially to prove it’s humans. I’m going to go see if there’s an office and snoop around.”  

        Andrew looked down, before sighing, nodding his head. He walked back into the walk-in while you searched for another door. You found shelves with bold seasonings and spices, a freezer to preserve some more older meat, tons of large pots scattered around, the sink’s drain wafting a foul smell. 

        You found a grey-painted metal door, trying the doorknob. You swung the door open, walking in and looking around. You opened file cabinets, scanning over documents, most unimportant and not useful to your investigation. Utility bills, truck deliveries, even a list of things to fix in the restaurant; tightening chair legs, fixing the front doors bell, adjusting the timers for the freezers and fridges, etc.

        Looking at the papers, you noticed a separated column of papers that didn’t have a note saying what it was. Picking up one of the pieces of paper, you read about truck deliveries every 7th of the month from Toxisoda. 

        It’s no surprise. You’re starting to wonder if the city council happens to also be Toxisoda’s board of directors too. You rummaged through some more papers. Contracts with Toxisoda, a written agreement to keep everything involving the food and drinks silent while the business remains in operation, and if ever closed, disclose no information of Toxisoda or any sister companies. 

        Big companies suck. 

        Andrew found you in the office, handing the camera back over. You took it, taking a picture of the written agreement. Andrew sat in the office chair, spinning in circles while you looked through more stuff. 

        “You know, I’ve been wondering. What’s the plan after this?” Andrew questioned, spinning around. “Like, you save the day by writing an article about Toxisoda and their sister companies' crimes. Yay. What happens to me though? I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not just going to go live on the streets or something.”

        “There’s always homeless shelters.” You muttered, comparing documents together.

        “Hehehe...” Andrew chuckled, smiling, before his face fell. “No.”

        You frowned, looking at him, before rolling your eyes. “Whatever.”

        You could just hand him into the police later down the road. After all, he is on the run. You could just say you were housing a criminal because he was threatening to kill you. Surely, you can come up with some fabricated lie along the way. An anonymous tip could work too…

        It wasn’t long before you closed the drawers with a sigh. You left the office, tidying it up and making it look like you were never there. You exited the restaurant, closing the doors and replacing the padlock on the handle. 

        Andrew walked down the streets, hands in his pockets as he looked around. You walked by his side, walking on his left.

        “You know, you’re supposed to be walking next to the road, not me.” You spoke up. 

        “That’s only if a man cares about you though—which I don’t.” Andrew hummed. 

        “Charming.” You muttered sarcastically.

        You made it back to your apartment, safe and sound. You got to work, grabbing a USB data cord, plugging one end in your phone charger, and the other in your computer cable. The screen lit up, asking to transfer the pictures, to which you agreed. 

        While you waited for the pictures to load, you grabbed your notebook of notes. From what you saw at the restaurant, you didn’t see any organs. No hearts, livers, kidneys; the high-demand money makers basically. If your idea that Meat Master is connected to the harvesting ring, then the most logical conclusion would be the harvesting ring probably sells the organs, and the Meat Master rids the actual bodies. What does Toxisoda, a soda company, do? Who knows. 

        In conclusion, the Toxisoda factory is your next target.

        But for now, you could use a shower. You’re not that hungry right now—you don’t think your stomach can handle any meat right now, nor do you think it could handle soup at the moment. 

        Andrew sat on the couch, his whole body taking up the couch, resting his head on the couch arm as he read one of the books he grabbed from your bookshelf. 

        “This guy sucks.” Andrew deadpanned, reading the book. “Puts cameras in her house, hacks her computer, watches her webcam, follows her to work, is her ex-boyfriend’s roommate and friend. Gross. Who wants to fuck your friend’s leftovers? This isn't some all-you-can-eat seafood buffet." Andrew spoke crassly, rolling his eyes. 

        “Yeah, don’t trust Booktok.” You sighed. “Their recommendations suck. I never finished that book.”

        Andrew nodded in acknowledgement. He tossed the book on a random shelf, before grabbing a different one, collapsing back onto the couch. 

        “I’m taking a shower.” You spoke. 

        You didn’t have to tell him, but you felt it was a good conversation-ender. 

        “Don’t drown.” He muttered, nose buried in the book. 

        You walked to the bathroom, undressing. No matter how hard you tried, you could still smell it, that disgusting smell of flesh. Even in the shower, you tried to clean off your skin. It felt greasy, like trying to clean a spatula with bacon grease on it. Despite it being your imagination, you couldn’t help but panic. 

        Human fat as bacon fat. The skin was kept—probably being fried similar to how pig skin is. The legs, far too oversized and humanoid to be drumsticks—the meat soft and easy to tender, making it perfect for stews. The fingers, maybe if you de-bone them and grind up the meat, you could make meaty mozzarella sticks.

        The ideas racing in her head made her puke in the shower. 

        You’re not sure if you felt nastier before or after your shower, but you finished your routine, walking out with a wobble. You dressed in a sweatshirt and sleep pants, walking out to the living room to Andrew. 

        Andrew’s position moved from laying his body on the couch to sitting up, bored out of his mind and he clicked through the channels for something interesting. He seems to have a short attention span, or perhaps he’s passing time and wasting your electricity. 

        You frowned, snatching the remote from him. 

        “Hey!” Andrew hissed, annoyed as he turned his head to look back at you. 

        You searched up a history documentary of WWII, clicking the screen. He suddenly had no complaints as he settled back into the couch cushions. 

        Men and having a strange addiction to history. You frowned, shaking your head. It’s like turning on a cartoon for a toddler. Got to keep the kids entertained.

        You walked back to your work desk, happy to see the photos have finished uploading onto the computer. You gathered all the photos in one album and started printing them. While waiting for them to print, you grabbed one of your many empty scrapbooks. 

        You always kept useless stuff like the hoarder you were—just in case! Which, it really can’t be useless because it’s proven to be useful now. 

        You grabbed some glue and colored pens, writing a headline for: The Hartsworth Apartments Quarantine 

        The place where it all started, or at least, what drew your attention to everything. You know most about it considering you have Andrew as your interviewee—who you’ll keep anonymous for his and your own safety. 

        You should start at the beginning. 

        Turning your attention to Andrew, you looked over at him as he watched his history documentary. You grabbed your trusty little notepad for notes, plopping down on the couch next to him. 

        “Listen, ranger. I need some questions answered.” You spoke, throwing your legs on his lap.

        “Don’t call me that.” Andrew looked at you, irritated, before pinching your toe. “And be careful before this piggy goes back to Meat Master.” He gritted through his teeth. 

        “Ouch! Okay!” you yipped, sending a light kick to his stomach, before relaxing. “I need some answers… You get to live here; I get answers for my biggest story yet.”

        Andrew sighed, leaning his head back onto the couch. “Fine. Fine. What do you want to know?” 

        “Let’s start with the quarantine itself.” You hummed, opening your notepad and placing it on your lap. “What exactly was the quarantine claimed to be caused by?”

“Allegedly, according to the news, it was caused by a water infection in the pipes, probably connected to the water tank or something like that.” Andrew hummed, resting his face on his palm. “But we know that’s just a cover for the public.”

        “And what exactly happened during quarantine. Who visited you? What was life like?” you questioned. 

        “At first, we had these nurses who took our vitals, asked us about our health history, and drew our blood.” Andrew spoke. “But that stopped. We started having people in the hallways, wardens. Men with guns who would force us to stay in our apartments claiming they were keeping the quarantine contained. Once you ran out of food, you were out. You couldn’t leave to go to the store, and the wardens wouldn’t give you food. They kept us isolated and starved.”

        “Did you have any access to the outside world?” you questioned. 

        “Other than the wardens, you could try yelling to your neighbors, but the wardens quickly shut you up with that. We did have landlines. If you tried to contact people outside and explain the situation, they didn’t believe you. Pretty sure the news tried to cover that by saying those infected with the disease could have delusional symptoms or something.” Andrew explained, crossing his arms, thinking. 

        “Did you experience anything strange? Any symptoms at all?” you inquired. 

        “No, cause it wasn’t a real illness. Just a cover-up.” Andrew scoffed. “I was perfectly fine, before the quarantine, during the quarantine, and after I left.” 

        You nodded, taking notes, sitting back and thinking. An unknown waterborne illness affecting a whole apartment. It’s certainly strange. 

        As far as you know, all waterborne illnesses have a cure, or at least they have a name to the illness, such as brain-eating amoeba. While there’s no cure, there’s a label to it, so somebody wouldn’t just be quarantined for having it. If there was a waterborne disease with no name and no known cure, you’d expect there to be more urgency. More nurses coming to visit and check-up regularly, doctors looking at symptoms, people trying to find cures. It would be talked about on the news worldwide to prevent this unknown disease from spreading, especially considering how lethal it is if 53 people died in a singular building. 

        Suspicious indeed. 

        “I’m satisfied.” You smiled, swinging your legs off his lap and hurrying back to your desk. 

        You grabbed the photos that finished printing from the printer, taking your scrapbook and writing. 

        You wrote what Andrew told you, adding your own bits and pieces of information. How there were wardens, you clipped a picture of one of them, pointing out the guns using a red string. You explained how they were being starved, taping pictures of the empty pantry and the dead person withered away in their bed, how they just went to sleep and never woke up. You clipped a picture of the doors with writing on them, “O+” “O-” how they resembled blood types. You put down the surveillance camera room, how everything was monitored, pointing out the abundance of Toxisoda cans. Down below the apartment complex, there was The Ring. 

        The Ring was your next headline. You showed the pictures you collected of the surgeons extracting human organs from the dead. It was pretty obvious what was going on there. You didn’t need to explain much anymore. 

        And then Mr. Washing Machine, the hitman who tried to kill you. You taped his note into the scrapbook, underlining specifically how the letter requesting to kill you offered new flavors of soda from their sister company.

        Then you moved onto Meat Master. You theorize they’re working with Toxisoda considering their contract with them and all the evidence of Toxisoda being involved so far. There were no meat deliveries, but deliveries from Toxisoda. All these coincidences lining up, it can’t just be separate incidents—they’re connected. 

        You taped the pictures of what’s actually inside the walk-in, the human carcasses. How they lacked internal organs. You theorize after the apartment complex collects the bodies, they get sent to the Ring underneath to be dissected and extracted, which then gets delivered to Meat Master to rid the bodies. Those bodies get used as meat and sold to dispose of evidence, and the bones remain. 

        You have two mysteries. What happens to the bones? They can’t just be disposed of, especially in such a large amount. It’d be suspicious and easy to suspect foul play if there's just piles of human bodies strewn around the city or forest, and police would easily be able to identify human bones from animals. 

        The second mystery is where are the organs going? You know for sure there’s a organ trafficking ring involved; however, where exactly are the organs going? 

        You shut your scrapbook shut. That’s enough for tonight. You have more than enough work. 

        Now, you can settle down for the night. 

        But even so, your mind can’t help but wander. The bodies. The stench. Why? Why isn’t anybody considered in this shitty city? 

        You looked up on your computer, “Toxisoda.” You really didn’t expect to find their sister company in bold bright lights on your screen. 

        And you’d be right, yeah. There wasn’t anything telling you about a sister company, but you still wanted to check. You scrolled the company’s page.. Founded in 1957. Founder being some guy named Harold Fitz—something you’ll keep note of. The founder is retired and it’s being run by his daughter Donna Fitz. On the front of the soda can, it says it’s a“great source for calcium and magnesium” , probably trying to convince buyers it’s healthy for you.

        You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. Peeking over at Andrew, or rather the lack of Andrew.

        He’s already gone to bed. Looking outside, it was an hour after sunrise, which makes sense considering you did go to Meat Masters in the middle of the night. At least you have the day off from work, so you don’t have to worry about falling asleep at work. 

        You walked to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. Andrew was in bed, wearing some oversized T-shirt and sweatpants he found in your closet. You collapsed on the bed, eyes closed, ready for sleep. 

        .

        .

        .

        You woke up to the smell of eggs and bacon. Looking at your phone, it was 5 PM. You’ve slept quite a bit, exhausted from your earlier investigation and thinking. It’s not like your sleep schedule wasn’t messed up before this whole thing started, but it’s definitely off-track now. 

        You stood up, walking to the bathroom to get yourself ready for the day. Use the bathroom, fix your hair, brush your teeth. You washed your face—it felt like rubber, probably from your lack of sleep. You had blackish-purple eyebags under your eyes, they were so big it practically engulfed your whole eye. If someone asked what eyeshadow you used, you’d say “Stress” 

        Your stomach growled as you exited the bathroom, walking out into the kitchen. You saw Andrew, still wearing pajamas, plating fried eggs.

        “I didn’t know you could cook.” You spoke, eyebrows raised, not surprised, more so amusement of this guy being a domestic person. 

        “I was hungry.” Andrew shrugged. 

        Your eyes trailed to the kitchen sink. He even washed all the dishes he dirtied. How thoughtful. 

        The bare minimum impresses you.

        You took a seat, watching as Andrew flipped the bacon, before placing it on the plate. He poured some grits in a bowl, then slid the dish to you.

        “I don’t remember the last time I had food cooked for me.” You yawned out, accepting the plate.

        You don’t remember the last time you made food either. You still remember all the leftover containers you used to house in your living room until Andrew decided that even your uncleaniness was worse than his.

        “I know.” Andrew hummed, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Half the stuff in your fridge is expired. It’s like going to my grandma’s house, finding chips from 2019 and stuff.” 

        You frowned, unamused. “Doesn’t matter. It’s still good if it’s not opened.”

        That answer earned you a disgusted glance from Andrew, before he busied his face with food. You put butter and sugar in your grits, mixing it till it was sweet enough for you, eating a spoonful. Take a piece of bacon to your lips, your stomach dropped.

        “Andrew?” you muttered, the bacon stuck on your tongue as you refused to swallow. “Where the hell did you get this bacon?” 

        “From next door.” He answered, chewing his own.

        You spit the bacon out on a napkin, rushing to the bathroom to brush your teeth. As you gagged with the toothbrush in your mouth, Andrew came into the bathroom, his arms crossed around his chest with a smug expression.

        “Well, I didn’t think you hated my cooking that much.” He chuckled.

        “That’s no damn food.” You hissed, staring into his eyes through the mirror. 

        “Yeah, some elderly lady next door. She asked for help cooking earlier, and I happened to need to recharge my little trinket.” Andrew shrugged.

        “What did I tell you about behaving?!” you snapped, hitting his chest. “You can’t be killing innocent people! Especially not in my apartment! The hitman was self-defense, that was a totally innocent lady!”

        “Hey, you never know if she was innocent. I could’ve saved you from the next Nannie Doss.” Andrew frowned. “She could’ve poisoned an ex-husband of hers for money.”

        “Stop trying to justify yourself.” You growled, your eyebrow twitching, irritatedly. 

        “I was just making sure for real that you didn’t like human meat.” Andrew spoke, raising his hands in the air in a surrender-like motion. “Maybe you needed a second opinion from a way better chef.” 

        “You ever cook this type of crap in my apartment, I’ll skin you myself.” You threatened before walking back into the dining room.

        You threw poor Ms. Down's flesh on his plate, settling for eating your eggs and grits.

        “So, anyway. I needed to recharge my trinket because it was used yesterday. I saw another vision.” Andrew spoke, spooning eggs in his mouth. “I’d recommend being vigilant at work, especially considering we’ve been targeted before.” 

        “What’d you see?” you questioned, curious, although you were still angry at him.

        “Saw you in the backseat of a car. Black leather seats. You were sleeping, but who knows.” Andrew shrugged. “I wasn’t there, so I’m sure that it’s a time of day when we’re apart, such as when you’re at work.”

        You hummed, thinking. You don’t really do much. You work, grocery shop right before it closes, and sleep at home. Not much going on in your life. 

        “Okay.” You nodded. 

        It should be easy enough. You were able to change the events from the previous prediction after all.

        Deep down, you already know who it is, and like the journalist you are, you want evidence. 

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Current Chapter, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 (in the works).

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