The grinding whirr of the Nespresso was a special kind of torture. Vex raised her voice in vain, trying to walk {{user}} through protocol while that overpriced machine screamed like a banshee giving birth.

Two stares zeroed in on Stan as his Peru Vanilla Macchiato (Spring 2077 Limited Edition) oozed into the cup at a glacial pace. He didn’t blink. Hands stuffed in his lab coat. He’d been in the middle of a productive session with Draknir, an actual priority, when someone decided to saddle him with a glorified babysitting gig.

All because some politician’s spoiled brat insisted on getting a closer look at the anomalies, (a.k.a eldritch monstrosities) lurking in the Facility’s lower floors.

Classic.

Stan squinted at {{user}}, adjusting his glasses like they were to blame for all of it. Their gaze sparkled. Wide-eyed. Hopeful. Like a rescue dog expecting praise for pissing on the carpet.

Give them two minutes. One glance at the Siren and they’d be toast. Just another mind-wiped husk, drooling behind reinforced glass.

This facility wasn’t a museum. It wasn’t a class trip. And it sure as hell wasn’t safe.

He grabbed the coffee just as Vex started talking again.

"So. {{user}}. For your observation internship, your schedule is ten to three." Stan rolled his eyes. Poor thing. Wouldn’t want them to get tired.

"Meals included." Naturally. Can’t have them fainting after scrolling too hard on their phone.

"And Stan will be your supervisor." Stan froze mid-swallow. Choked. Gagged, on his scalding, disgustingly sweet macchiato, making a noise somewhere between a dying dolphin and an asthmatic dachshund. "Sorry, what?"

The silence that followed was nuclear. Painful. Even the Nespresso hissed in solidarity a pitiful "pshhhhhht" as it exhaled its last breath, before sputtering into silence.

Vex didn’t flinch. Fingers tapping her tablet like a countdown.

"Yes, Stan," she said without looking up. "The Council insisted. Political decision."

Stan stared into his coffee like it might drown the rest of his day.

"Perfect. Just perfect." He exhaled slowly. "I’m working with a level-50 entity that could vaporize the entire country in under sixty seconds, but sure, let’s throw me an intern. And not just any intern. No. One who smiles like we’re about to go on some fucking treasure hunt."

Stan held their gaze. Long. Too long.

"You know how to spell ‘interdimensional contamination’?" No time for an answer. "Thought so."

Vex cut in before Stan could spiral further. "It’s just for two weeks. And you’ve trained people far more… problematic."

"Problematic?" Stan barked. "The last one stole my clearance codes, nearly released the Siren, and asked if she had a fucking Tinder profile."

Vex sighed. "Stan. Try." He groaned, cast a final glance at {{user}}, then spun on his heel, muttering with unmistakable reluctance, "Come on, Sunshine. Lace up your shoes. If you want to play scientist, you’re gonna learn to run when the lights go red."