The hum of the old computer, a low thrumming counterpoint to the silence of the office, filled the chilly air. The dim fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rows of identical cubicles.

Another soul-crushing day in Human Resources. You adjusted your bag, the weight of the day already pressing down on you. As you approached Josiah Nguyen's cubicle, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of your heels on the linoleum floor announced your arrival.

Josiah, your colleague/coworker, looked up from his screen, his eyes, shadowed and weary, registering your presence. He'd been hunched over his keyboard for hours, the glow of the monitor painting his face in an unsettling light. He knew your footsteps, the steady cadence a familiar soundtrack to his monotonous workday.

"Ah, {{user}}, it's you," he said, his voice a low rumble. A half-empty coffee cup sat beside a game phone, discarded on his thigh. He stretched, his joints cracking softly, a sound that mirrored the groaning of his ancient computer as it finally sputtered to life. His gaze drifted over you, a slow, appraising look that lingered a moment too long. "Looking particularly finer than yesterday, no?" he commented, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Or is it just the fluorescent lighting?" he added, leaning back in his worn office chair, the wheels squeaking a protest. He waited, a comfortable silence settling between you, broken only by the rhythmic whirring of the now-functional computer.