#stellar constellations

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).

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

The entrance was covered in “Do Not Enter” yellow tape, two middle-aged men in dull grey uniforms blocking the entrance.

        It was early in the morning. The news vans and news anchors were long gone, leaving after yesterday’s monthly reporting of the news. 

        Andrew stood behind you, his arms crossed as he leaned on the alleyway’s brick wall. “You know, it took a long time for me to finally get out of there——and the first thing you do is make me go right back?”

        “Would you rather prison?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

        Andrew frowned, unappreciative of your snarky comment. He knocked his hip against yours, making you lose your balance and face plant into the brick wall.

        “Asshole…” you hissed, annoyed, clutching your nose. “I’ll take back my offer.”

        Food. Your offer was food. If what he said earlier was true, apparently the apartment isn’t actually quarantined from an unknown illness; but the people there have been being starved. Why? He doesn’t know.

        Which is where you come in. If you break in and find out Morrison City’s hottest 3 month case, you’ll beat Robert Rodger’s for sure. You can get your picture on the Employee of the Month. Hopefully you can get a raise too! If you can keep your place as Employee of the Month, it can show others your journalism and focus on little details can help you climb the ranks to being a detective! 

        You looked around at the men guarding the doors. The building looked like it was old, terribly old with no safety inspection in the last 10 years. 

        “So like, how did you escape this place?” you questioned, looking over at Andrew.

        “Murder.” Andrew hummed, smiling at you. “Wanna find out?” he questioned, pulling a gun out from his waistband. 

        “Woah, hey, hey!” you gasped, backing up and raising your hands.

        “Ha. Don’t worry.” He smiled, raising the gun at you. 

        You heard the click of the trigger, but didn’t feel any unbearable pain.

        “It’s empty.” He smirked.

        “You’re such a fucking psycho.” You hissed, clutching your heart as you caught your breath. 

        “Scared ya.” He chuckled, placing the gun back in his waistband. “Used all the bullets to escape.”

        “There is something seriously wrong with you…” you grimaced, before looking back at the building. “You know if there’s any guards on the sides of the building?”

        “There isn’t. They guard the hallways though.” Andrew hummed, his hands shoved into his pockets. 

        “Come on.” You urged.

        You stepped out of the alleyway, walking past the apartment like a normal pedestrian, before taking a sharp left, ducking behind the side of the building. You took cover in some bushes, cringing.

        “Spiderwebs.” Andrew spoke, unphased, before picking up a spider and placing it on your head.

        You resisted the urge to shriek. “Get it off. Get it the fuck off.” You whispered harshly.

        “Arachnophobia?” he smiled, taking the spider away, looking at it in his palm before crushing it, wiping away the remains on his shirt.

        “I see why you were kept quarantined from society.” You quipped, earning a glare from him.

        You gave a pointed stare at the window, before looking back at him. “Well? You’re the tall one. Open the window.” 

        “Like it’s gonna be unlocked.” Andrew scoffed, rattling the window, before pushing up. 

        It creaked, Andrew having to push up the window with extra force a few time, before it unjammed. 

        Not stuck.

        You look at him, smirking, to which he just rolled his eyes. He grabbed the windowsill, before hoisting himself up. He reached his hand out, pulling you up through the building.

        Andrew panted, his hands on his knees as he hunched over. 

        “Out of shape?” you teased.

        “Fuck you. I-I’ve been famished. My strength ain’t a-all there yet.” Andrew rasped out.

        “Whatever you say.” You hummed. 

        You turned your attention to the room you climbed into, suddenly smelling a disgusting smell. It was putrid, invasive even as you covered your nose. 

        “W-what the fuck is that stench?” you coughed out. 

        It felt like your eyes burned as you watched Andrew straighten, his eyes trailing around, as if looking for something. He took a few steps forward, turning past a corner. 

        You followed him into a bedroom, where the scent only got more stronger. Andrew felt around, before the room was taken over by light. 

        The bedroom was messy, clothes strewn around and dust on the drawers. The bed had a lump, a figure resting on it.

        Andrew didn’t hesitate to rip the covers off, revealing a skinny-boned male. The man was dead, but there was no visible injuries as if he just went to sleep and never woke up. 

        “I knew I smelt death.” Andrew frowned, covering it back up. 

        Not like there was any meat to take. 

        “Urgh…” You groaned, covering your mouth, resisting the urge to vomit.

        Even though you’re a journalist and have seen many dead bodies. The body on the side of the road from a car crash, the murder-suicide on Flare Lane, the dead cashier from a robbery gone wrong. It never gets any easier to see a dead body and wonder what kind of person they were and who will miss them.

        “Did they die from the sickness?” you questioned, looking over at Andrew.

        “I told you, that sickness is bullshit.” Andrew scoffed, irritated as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

        “So why would an apartment complex just quarantine everything and report people dropping dead from a sickness in the water?” you retorted, trying to make sense of this absurd situation.

        “I don’t know. Isn’t that why you’re here? To figure it out?” Andrew frowned, annoyed.

        “Yeah, but you’re someone who experienced it first-hand. You’re telling me you can’t give me any useful information?” you sighed.

        You uncovered the dead body, using your camera and snapping a picture. 

        “I’m telling you there’s no sickness.” Andrew frowned, his hands still in his pockets as he leaned on the wall. “Died from hunger. They weren’t giving us any food once we ran out."

        “Really?” you raised an eyebrow, skeptical, before looking back at the body.

        It was a possibility, the man was extremely skinny and pale. You lifted his shirt, taking a picture of his sunken chest and stomach, his ribs protruding through his skin. You opened his mouth, taking a picture of the dry, cracked tongue. 

        “Sure looks like starvation…” you muttered. 

        You put the blanket back on him, allowing him to eternally rest warm, looking back at Andrew.

        “But… I don’t understand why they would just let you all die and give an excuse to the public?” you frowned.

        “Who knows?” Andrew frowned, crossing his arms. “This city is fucking shifty. Nobody gives a damn about anything.” 

        You nodded, looking around more for any clues. You went to the pantry, opening up the cabinets.

        There wasn’t a single can. Not even a forgotten tomato soup in the corner, or a can of tuna you swear you’ll eat eventually, or even any salt crackers.

        “Jesus…” you muttered, brows furrowed as you snapped a picture of the empty void. “I want to explore outside this room, look for more answers.” You spoke, looking at Andrew.

        “Can’t.” Andrew spoke plainly, admiring the decoration in the apartment. “The door is locked. You’ll have to wait for them to do their rounds. If they don’t hear anything, they’ll come in and we can sneak out. 

        “How long will that take?” you frowned, looking at him. 

        “They usually do it at ten.” Andrew hummed, looking at the clock on the stove. “Meaning… we’ll have to wait six hours.” He sighed, letting out a groan.

        “Oh great.” You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Can’t we just sneak into another window that leads to the hallway?”

        “We don’t have windows in the hallways. It’s an apartment complex. You think anyone cares about the view of a smogged city?” Andrew frowned. 

        “Personally, I like gray skies.” You spoke, receiving a glare from your non-trustable companion.

        You exited the bedroom, not able to stand the stench any longer. Andrew followed, plopping down on the couch. 

        “How can you not be phased by the smell?” you questioned, crossing your arms as you sat down on the couch. 

        “You could smell death from two rooms over. I could smell my dead neighbors.” Andrew spoke, unbothered as he reached for the TV remote, turning on the TV. 

        You frowned, grossed out, feeling lightheaded from the stench. It felt like you could taste it in your mouth. Stinging. Metallic. A slight acidic burn. 

        You raised your shirt to your nose, dropping down onto the couch, burying your head in the fabric to try and hide from the smell (it did very little). 

        You could hear Andrew stick with something on the TV, the sound of a show being played, most likely Courage the Cowardly Dog. You would watch the show if you didn’t feel like Courage, getting himself into bad situations to protect his family, only difference if you’re trying to protect and the truth. 

        You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you could feel yourself nodding off, the tv show being white noise to you before your head hit the couch cushion.

        .         .         .         You woke up to the sound of banging on the front door, jolting you awake. You looked over at Andrew, seeing his groggy expression and the drool on his lips, signifying he fell asleep too.

        Another banging on the door, followed by the sound of a voice.

        “Hey! What the hell is that smell? Are you dead in there?”

        Both you and Andrew froze, looking at each other. You both quickly jumped up from the couch, crouching down and hiding behind the couch. 

        The door banged again, getting louder. “If I have to come in there and you’re still alive, you’re going to regret it!” the guard hissed, his fist hitting the door.

        He stopped, before you heard the sound of the lock being undone, the quiet click loud in the room, Courage screaming on the TV. The door creaked open, the guard cautiously looking around, before stepping foot in the apartment. 

        You peeked your head out of the couch, watching as the man followed the stench to the bedroom. You took the opportunity, quickly crawling to the front door, sticking your head out and looking around. 

        Nobody else was on the floor, allowing you to escape. You quickly scurried out of the room, getting up off the ground and looking around. Through the walls, you could hear the guard talk in a radio about a dead body and to bring someone to help with the mess. You probably had a few minutes before more guards would come.

        On the doors, you noticed markings. Most of the said “O+” and “O-“, but you did see one as “A+” 

        Two of the O+ doors were wide open, presumably no occupants in those apartments. 

        “They’re… blood types?” You spoke up, looking at the doors. “What’s your blood type?”

        “O-negative.” He answered. “You know, that would make sense considering when I left my apartment, it did say O-negative…” he hummed, thinking back. 

        “Why would an apartment complex write your blood type onto the doors? How did they even get ahold of that kind of information?” you frowned, brows furrowed.

        Andrew closed his eyes, thinking back. “Well… I do recall the very beginning, we had a nurse come to our apartment and take our blood, ask us questions about our health, that type of stuff.”

        You nodded, thinking. “That makes sense for a pandemic, I mean, trying to figure out the symptoms and infected—all that jazz.” 

        “Yeah—never saw another nurse again.” Andrew spoke up, crossing his arms. 

        You frowned, confused. “What? Like, no check-ups?”

        “None. Exactly why I find it strange. I mean, if this infection or disease whatever is unknown, why aren’t we having people regularly or at least weekly asking about our symptoms? Check-ups or stuff?” Andrew explained. “Just seems weird…”

        You were about to open your mouth, but the sound of footsteps climbing stairs caught your attention. You ducked into one of the open rooms, hiding behind the door as footsteps walked to the apartment you had escaped from. 

        “This one’s a goner.” The guard spoke. 

        “Jesus, how long this guy’s been dead?” 

        “Probably a few days.”

        “How did you not smell the stench, man? I don’t think that can be salvaged.”

        “Hey... don’t be insensitive. I just got surgery.”

        “I’m sorry…”

        You listened as they entered the room, ready to move the body.

        You and Andrew peeked your heads out of the doorway, walking back out and stalking down the stairs.

        “Ready to go?” Andrew whispered, his hand on the stair railing for balance.

        “You kidding? I have more questions than answers.” You scoffed, looking back. “Salvage? Like, what do they mean by that? Why are your blood types on the doors? Why aren’t there any nurses checking up? Why is nobody testing the water if it’s infected?”

        ”Why do you ask so many questions?” Andrew hissed, annoyed. “Listen, woman. These people here have guns and they’re hiding something. If they see us, they’ll shoot us.” 

        You reached the bottom of the staircase, ignoring him. Looking around, it looks like you’ve made it to the lobby. Perhaps there would be guards protecting this staircase if it wasn’t for the body upstairs, giving you the chance to snoop around. 

        “Hey, what’s the chances of there being a cams room?” you questioned, turning your head to Andrew.

        “Likely considering there’s cameras all around.” Andrew spoke, looking into the corner at the camera. “I’d guess it’d be in the back, behind the desk.” 

        You nodded, letting Andrew take the lead, following him through the hallway. There was a door with the words “prohibited” 

        Andrew turned the knob quietly, looking around you. 

        “You peek your head in.” He spoke, gesturing his head to the door. 

        “Why me?” you whispered, frowning. 

        “Cause I’m not going to die for your case. Duh.” Andrew scoffed. 

        You glared at him, muttering something about “chivalry being dead”, peeking your head open. 

        “It’s… a pig?” you whispered, confused.

        “Huh?” Andrew muttered, just as confused.

        You smirked at him, opening the door to reveal a chair in front of a screen of cameras, “Kidding.”

        He frowned, unamused. He walked into the room, much more at ease and relaxed upon seeing the burly security guard sleeping in his chair. 

        “Wow… this is the snitch behind the cameras?” Andrew scoffed, frowning.

        “Who cares? Let’s look around for something.” You whispered, your eyes trailing around the room.

        A half empty bag of trail mix, some toxisoda cans, a neck pillow around the guard’s neck, crumbled up papers of grubhub and DoorDash receipts. Nothing useful to you.

        “Hey.” Andrew spoke, shaking a paper in his hands. “Look at this.”

        You walked over to him, peering over his shoulder, reading the paper.

        Elise Williams. Female. 32. Married.          Blood type: O-         blood pressure: 110/72         Conditions: None         Concerns: None         Status: Undergoing Treatment.

        “Looks like this is what those nurses were checking for.” You spoke, taking your camera out, snapping a picture of the evidence in the messy room, Toxisoda cans and takeout in the background of the picture.

        The flash and shutter of the camera cause the guard to jolt awake. You and Andrew froze, watching as the guard opened his eyes.

        “What the Hell…? Hey! How did you guys get in here?!” the burly man spoke, sitting up straight in his chair.

        Andrew glared at you, before quickly turning and running out of the room. 

        “Oh, you fucker!” you hissed, taking off after him. 

        You heard the sound of radio static, no doubt the security guard calling for guards. Andrew quickly unlocked a window, jumping out of it. You hoisted yourself up and out, landing on the pavement.

        A few men turned the corner, spotting you two, both of them wearing the same grey uniforms the other guards did. 

        “There they are!” one of the guards spoke, drawing their gun.

        Andrew grabbed your hand, forcing you down an alley, “Hurry up!”

        “Would be faster if you didn’t ditch me!” You snapped, angry.

        “Hey, you caught up.” Andrew smirked, ducking into an alley. 

        It was late morning, possibly 10:30 AM, which would make sense of Andrew’s earlier statement of guards doing rounds at 10. You could run into a crowd and blend into people, but your thoughts were cut off, noticing a light from a dark alley. You would’ve ran away from it, but it was small light underneath a dumpster can that drew your attention. 

        The darkness underneath the dumpster allowed you to see a light. You shoved the dumpster with your shoulder.

        “What the hell are you doing?!” Andrew hissed, turning back to you. 

        “Hiding! Help me.” You frowned.

        Andrew grumbled under his breath, quickly pushing the dumpster with a hard shove. He looked back, on the lookout while you peeled open a sewer grate with light shining through. 

        You quickly climbed down the ladder, Andrew following. Hitting the concrete sidewalk of the sewers, you turned your head, noticing three people in surgeon masks and white coats, blood staining their sleeves. In front of them lied a dead body, cut open, their heart in one of the surgeon’s hands.

        You paused, everybody awestruck in the room, before you pulled out your camera and took a picture, the camera shutter loud in the silence.

        “G-get them!” one of the surgeon’s stammered, almost tripping over his feet as he rushed towards you two. 

        “Woah, woah! I can delete it.” you lied to try and de-escalate the situation, your hands in the air. 

        Andrew scoffed, grabbing your hand and running down the sewers concrete. 

        “This is gross!” you groaned, cautious not to step in any puddles as you ran, avoiding a dead rat on the ground.

        “Not my concern right now.” Andrew hissed, looking around for an exit. 

        You looked back at the people chasing you, one of them avoiding the puddles like you, another scrambling to put the heart in a container safely, and one of them running like an all-star athlete, quickly gaining ground on you.

        This must be what Flint Lockwood felt like. 

        “The big one is eating up space!” you spoke, forgetting about the puddles as you quickly slammed your feet in the ground. 

        Andrew frowned, looking around, before stopping at one of the ladders. He quickly climbed up, forcing the sewer lid open, climbing up. He held out your hand, you quickly taking it.

        You reached up, grabbing the hand and using the ladder to lift yourself up. The big man grabbed your ankle, trying to pull you down.

        “Get lost, fatty!” you hissed, kicking your foot against his nose, causing him to let go with a groan. 

        You climbed up, quickly shutting the lid and running out into the street, smelling like sweat and sewage. You laughed, looking at Andrew as you cackled.

        “What the hell is so funny?!” Andrew snapped, stopping on the sidewalk, looking back at you. “We almost died! Jesus Christ, lady, how do you live by yourself?!”

        “Money, specifically from my job, which I went there to get all that information!” you spoke, looking at your phone camera. “These are great. Amazing quality. I’m so glad for upgrading my device.”

        “Hello?! Again! We almost died!” Andrew hissed, waving his hand in front of you.

        “Yeah? But we didn’t.” You smirked, looking at him. 

        “Do you ever think or—“

        “I’ll feed you Cracker Barrel if you shut up and stop complying.” 

        Andrew immediately shut his mouth, looking away from you, annoyed. You used food against him, knowing damn well he’s been starving, just like how you made him come here with the promise of food.

        He grumbled under his breath, annoyed as you walked down the street, ignoring the stares of the people around you, noticing your reek of sewerage. 

        You were cautious to make sure there was no other guards or surgeons following you. You made it to your car you parked a few streets away from the apartment complex, unlocking the car and hopping in.

        “Try not to get the smell stuck in here.” You spoke, starting the car. “I don’t want it seeping into the seats. I just got this car like, four years ago.” 

        “Wow, how privileged.” Andrew spoke, rolling the car window down for fresh air.

        You frowned, looking back at him, “You know, I really don’t like your humor.”

        “I don’t like you.” Andrew shot back.

        “Starve.” You hissed, irritated, but you know you’ll still get him food for all his generous help today. 

        .         .         Andrew snatched the bathroom first. Apparently chivalry isn’t a word in his vocabulary because he didn’t let you take the first shower. 

        While Andrew was showering, you had ordered some Cracker Barrel on your phone for delivery, stacks of pancakes and bacon and their hashbrown casserole. 

        Andrew walked out of the bathroom, wearing a black sweatshirt and grey pants. It’s a good thing you like oversized clothes to sleep in, otherwise he’d be stuck in those bloody and sewage-smelling clothes. 

        “I don’t like the smell of your shampoo.” Andrew commented.

        “Get your own money for shampoo then.” You spoke, walking past him to get to the bathroom. “The delivery guy’s on his way. It’s already paid for. Just answer the door when they knock.”

        You entered the bathroom, locking it behind you. Andrew’s dirty clothes on the ground, annoying considering there was a laundry bin right next to them. 

        Rolling your eyes, you threw his dirty clothes in the bin, then undressed and threw your own clothes in. 

        You sighed, closing your eyes and scrubbing all of the dirt and shit from today. The images of that man’s dead body replayed in your head. Unnourished. Starved. He just went to sleep to escape the pain in his stomach, and he never woke up again. 

        Is that what happened to all the causalities?

        Why would someone do that to people? 

        Why would they keep people locked in their apartments and harvest their organs?

        How is nobody concerned about anyone in the apartment? 

        Doesn’t anybody care? What about the families? The friends? 

        Your arm was red from how hard you were scrubbing. You sighed, rinsing off and getting out of the shower. 

        You changing into a sweatshirt and sleep shorts, wearing comfy Christmas socks. Walking out of the bathroom, you saw Andrew already eating at your crowded dining table. He pushed aside your papers and folders, digging in on some pancakes.

        “Would’ve been nice to tell me food was here.” You frowned, although you couldn’t be too mad—he was starved after all. “Also, you need to start putting your dirty clothes in the laundry basket!”

        “You complain about clothes on the floor but there’s coffee stains on your couch.” Andrew frowned, scarfing down half a pancake in just one bite.

        “Do as I say, not as I do.” You spoke, sitting down at the table and snatching the hashbrown casserole, digging in.

        It could be because you were hungry and tired, but the silence was nice. Maybe that’s what shared trauma does to a person. 

        There was a knock at the door, causing you and Andrew to look at each other at the same time.

        “They forget anything?” you questioned, checking the bag. 

        You didn’t notice anything missing, but you still went to the door; perhaps a salty guy who didn’t receive a tip. You’d give him a tip anyways, salty or not, he deserves some money. 

        Opening the door, you were unpleasantly met with Robert Rodgers in front of your door, holding two cups of coffee in his hands. He smiled with his pearly whites, combed black hair. His smile faded upon noticing your unprofessional attire.

        “Oh… bad timing?” he questioned.

        You grimaced, not even bothering to hide your annoyance, “Yeah. I was eating lunch.”

        “Sorry. I just figured since you’ve been behind on work lately, I’d stop by and help you out.” He spoke. “I brought coffee?”

        He held up the peace offering, one you accepted, before slamming the door in his face.

        “H-hey! Wait!” Robert gasped, knocking on the door again.

        You walked to Andrew, pointing to your room. “You. Hide in my room. Nobody can know about me housing a wanted man.” 

        Andrew grimaced, annoyed, before you shoved the bag of food at him. He seemed to accept being locked in your room as long as food was involved as he walked into your room, closing the door behind him.

        You walked back to the front door, opening it to see Rodger standing there like a kicked puppy, before perking up, seeing you opened the door again.

        “Sorry. I was just tidying lunch up.” You spoke, reluctantly opening the door wider for him to enter.

        Rodger entered your apartment, looking around. 

        “Woah… your place is… very you.” He spoke, trying to be polite, seeing empty coffee cups and microwave steak boxes. “It’s just like your workspace.”

        Messy. Disorganized. Cluttered.

        “Thanks. I always remember where stuff is.” You spoke blandly, before jestering to the dining room table. “Sit.”

        He nodded, sitting down, his posture straight and perfect with his hands in his lap politely. 

        “You came to help me with work?” you frowned, raising an eyebrow.

        “The boss figured you could use a little push to bring out your full potential, so he offered it to me. I think your work is good! Only thing I would tweak is your… subjects.” Rodger’s spoke.

        “What do you mean?” you questioned, crossing your arms.

        “Well, we have a lot of people who cover crime stories in our department. And, no offense, but a woman writing about true crime is a subject everyone’s heard of. You know? Everybody knows a female podcaster or YouTuber who talks about cold cases, or a woman who watches Law and Order, or some teen girl watching police bodycams. Basically, there’s a lot of females in the crime scene, and the boss thinks you’ll do better in a place where you’re… more different?” Rodger’s spoke.

        You didn’t bother listening. Everything he was saying was going in one ear and out the other. You don’t need constructive criticism, especially if it was about your gender; you couldn’t change that and why should you? He should just accept it. 

        “The boss can say it to my face or up his ass!” You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

        “Ahaha… blunt as always!” Rodger’s laughed awkwardly. “Well, he just means… maybe fashion? Or perhaps food would be a better fit for you?” 

        “I’m actually working on something big that will change the boss’ mind once it’s out!” you huffed, standing up from your seat. “I believe you can leave now. I can help myself!”

        “I-I didn’t mean any offense, just—“

        “Leave please.” You snapped, annoyed.

        Rodger’s got up from his seat, walking to the door. “By the way! I’m a really good cleaner! I used to clean houses for a living. I could help clean your place, free of charge.”

        You slammed the door on his face, locking it and twirling on your heels back to your bedroom. Andrew rested on your bed, reading your beside book.

        “I didn’t know you were into dark rom-fantasy or whatever it’s called.” He hummed, reading a book with a cover of shapeshifters.

        “Mind your business!” you snapped, snatching the book back. 

        “So? Was that your loverboy?” Andrew questioned, smirking. “How shameless of you, to house a man like me in your home, here on your bed.”

        “As if. He’s a shitty coworker.” You scoffed, taking your book and placing it back on your bedside. 

        “Drama?” he smirked, propping his head up on his palm. “Tell me. Ex-lovers? Childhood friends grown apart? CEO and assistant?” 

        “He’s the damn Employee of the Month… every month!” you frowned.

        Andrew raised his eyebrow, as if asking “seriously?” He frowned, unimpressed and disappointed. “How boring.”

        “I never said it was interesting. You got your hopes up.” You frowned, before crossing your arms. “And get out of my bed!”

        “If you think I’m going to sleep on that stained couch, you’re even stupider than I thought you were—and I think you’re pretty stupid.” Andrew grimaced, stubborn and refusing to move.

        You glared at him, annoyed. “I ain’t giving up my bed. My rent; my bed.”

        “And I’m not moving, so I guess we’re sharing.” Andrew spoke, doubling down as he squirmed under the covers. 

        “Fine.” You gritted through your teeth, but not before giving him a harsh elbow jab as you climbed into bed and got comfy.

        Andrew scooted over to the wall, closing his eyes.

        It might be the soft blankets with a slight smell of mocha coffee. Or maybe it was finally feeling clean of dirt and blood. Perhaps it was finally having a full belly and a chance to relax. Whatever it was, it made Andrew pass out as soon as he closed his eyes. Not even three minutes went by and you could hear his breath evening out, followed by a soft snore.

        You couldn’t be too mad at him, you were pretty tired too. Breaking and entering, napping with a dead body in close proximity, running in sewage water away from organ harvesters and crooked guards.

        Yeah. You could use this rest.

        With a yawn, you placed a pillow before you and Andrew to separate him from you.

        Tomorrow, you’ll download the photos onto a USB and turn it into authorities to open an investigation of the apartment complex.

        But that’s something for tomorrow.

        At least, it’s what you thought it would be. Andrew quickly shot up, not even 10 minutes in sleep, a panicked expression as he looked at you.

        “We need to leave.” 

Chapters: Chapter 1, Current Chapter, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 (in the works).

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