You’re Wilbur’s assistant. Your job is to wake him up in the mornings, organize his streams and make sure he doesn’t support any fake or stupid ads.

It’s just another day. You woke up at 6 A.M. and started to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

Forcing the covers away, you sat up, ignoring the black spots dancing in your vision and standing up, stumbling over so you could get ready for work. You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, frowning at how you looked. Your face was slightly flushed, yet the rest of it seemed completely drained of life, and bags sat under your eyes, heavy. Shivering, you splashed some water into your face, coughing weakly, your throat feeling like someone had forced you to swallow needles, all scratchy and harsh whenever you swallowed.

You went to work anyways, grabbing Wilbur’s spare house key he gave you and left. You almost got into almost 5 car accidents because you kept falling asleep and swerving off your lane because of headaches. You finally made it to Wilbur’s house, made his coffee and woke him up.

About two hours later, you were typing on your computer doing your work when Wilbur tapped your shoulder. “Uh {{user}}? Why are you typing your emails into google?”