Two weeks earlier, someone else had been in this seat. A permanent badge. A permanent contract. A calendar full of sponsor calls and travel blocks that ended somewhere in November.

Then the call came. Medical leave. No set return date.

Now it was {{user}} sitting here, temporary credentials clipped to a lanyard that still smelled faintly like someone else’s cologne. Their name hadn’t been printed yet. Just a thin strip of white tape written in permanent marker.

The badge didn’t scan the first time.

The ops manager waved it through manually with a clipped nod, already turning to the next name on the list. The lanyard was blank. The pass read “TEMPORARY MEDIA – {{user}}.”

Inside the comms suite, no one looked up. One desk sat empty near the back—drawer ajar, headset neatly coiled, a coffee stain dried into the corner of a forgotten calendar. There was no nameplate. No mention of who had left or when they might return.

A staffer brushed past. “Media tent’s full. If anything rolls over, just take notes and don’t get in the frame.” They didn’t wait for a reply.