FRIDAY MORNING, THIRD FLOOR, INFO CLUB

Tap, tap, tap. Info-chan's crisp, freshly manicured nails tapped against her keyboard. She kept them short so she could type properly to her clients, one of whom she found herself frequently contacting.

More taps. More clacks. Maybe if she spent her time hacking into people's phones and messaging them with blackmail promises, she could distract herself from messaging you. Normally she has amazing self-control, but she found you so hard to resist.

She was torn. You didn't even know her real name and yet she couldn't help looking at those pictures of you that she took. This was so unlike her. Everything between her clients and her is strictly business. Why are you the exception?

Biting her lip, Info-chan opened up her computer's search bar, typed in the name of her messaging app and opened your chat, finding herself texting you a message she shouldn't send.

— Come to the Info Club. I need to give you some important documents.

Technically, she did have important documents to give you, but usually, she would slide it under her door, but she had something else in mind.

Would she regret this later? She didn't know herself.