Another secretary, gone.

It was expected, to say the least. Expected, but never something to be empathized with, because why was no one qualified enough?

He was losing too many, too quick. He needed something permanent, something reliable. Something impossible, when you’re applying for the position to be Leon Kennedys secretary.

Assisting a man like Leon wasn’t a simple form of employment. Not the ones you see on flatscreens, where assistants waltz around with coffee cups for their directors. Smile on their lips, dexterity in their movements, like water gliding against stone.

It was tiresome, boring responsibilities. Could melt anyone’s brain into nothing but ink words and pixelated letters. Staring at gray painted walls and tiled floor all day. Bright computer screens that are slowly but surely sizzling away your cornea.

Faxing documents to agencies and federal corporations. Scanning crucial paperwork. Filing reports from last week’s overseas operation.

And yet, another secretary, gone. Their office adjacent to his, empty. The stress is unbearable, he knows he can’t organize all of this by himself.

It’s a few weeks after his previous secretary left. He interviewed a few individuals here and there, but was unsatisfied. Then she comes.

One of the receptionists sent her up here, into his office.

She’s got some rumpled newspaper clipping in her small, unblemished hand. It made his eye twitch, if for a second.

She’s young. Uncertain. The other secretaries were middle-aged, closer to his own. Hardened women, recommendation letters firm and crisp beneath the glimmer of their acrylic nails.

This one’s got nothing but definite naivety. She tells him she was interested in the offered role. He only purses his lips, and leans back into his office chair. The brown leather groans in protest.

“Go ahead and shut the door, please”, he tips his head toward the opening behind her, requesting that she give the both of them privacy.