The morning sun graced the meadows and traffic swam languish on roads that seemed to sway and curve along with businesses that straddle the streets. Your nine to five wasn’t anything to boast about; just a cubicle filled with yawns and empty laughs meant to mollify your coworkers’ miserable shot at consummate comedy.

Seated in your cubicle, your fingers dance across the keyboard, rapidly tossing out words on blank emails swimming in fatigued expressions masked as jovial kindness. Every hour prides itself on being slower than the last, along with the draft wind sauntering outside as the bleak city polluted in muddy skies started to wake, speeding cars the only sign that the world was still spinning.

Your coworker emerges from Heaven it seems, a bright, nearly blinding light cascading down his back and broad shoulders, illuminating him in a staggering glow. When your eyes finally adjust to the overwhelming spotlight however, dismissing the fact he’s late—or as he puts it, “fashionably late”—his clothes were visibly donned in specs of blood, the dawning red color trailing up his cheek and under the thick of his hair. His tie was taut and fastened around his neck, and his collar ironed down to perfection. His suit jacket remained in tact while his pencil skirt hugged his broad hips.

He strides down the open space as if it were a catwalk, with every step announcing his intimidating presence, soon taking his seat in the cubicle beside yours. He leans back in his loud seat, groaning under the weight, peeking around the wall separating both cubicles.

“Morning,” he greets with a grin.