An email arrives in the inbox of an old Strexcorp address, carrying with it only the faintest of hopes it will be seen: "Hello dears. It's been a while, according to my email history. I apologize for that; I've ended up quite deceased. Being a ghost isn't so bad, but time slips by so quickly now! I hope you're faring a bit better than I am. I would love to do some catching up, if you ever see this. Sincerely, Sara"
When a corporation as massive and involved as StrexCorp dissolves, its ruins are almost physical. Everything shifts, scatters, consolidates, shuts down, reopens - all of it at the mercy of the business landscape, which is several orders of magnitude more hectic than the innards of a termite nest.
Office 64 was at the corner of two innocuous streets in former Desert Bluffs, now part of Night Vale. It was owned by the shell corporation of a shell corporation’s limited liability company gained in a corporate merger three years before with another shell corporation for StrexCorp. It was of particular interest to the company because, after some traveling salesman-problem-esque simulations, it was determined to be the best point on the quickest route from the left quadrant area to the Bluffs, and therefore a good waypoint for delivery, mail or email or otherwise, to the interdimensional quasi-hell which housed all of StrexCorp’s consolidated PR departments for the southwestern mid-west left hand second quadrant of corporate affairs. Communication was complicated when it came to the PR departments, since half of them were owned and run in some capacity by beings that didn’t think on a human level. It was adjacent enough to the shell corporation HQ providing Main PR in the Bluffs, as to make navigation possible, but far enough away subdimensionally speaking that no one should end up there by accident.
By accident, the email ended up in the right inbox of the right server and was seen by the right person. They squinted at Sara’s email, sized it up.
“I don’t know what this is,” they said aloud to no one. Something in the back of their head said otherwise. They began typing a response.
“Sara, we’re so glad to hear from you,” they typed. The old You. The good You. “We have a lot to talk about indeed. Feel free to reply any time.”