Guess who just panicked during their 2nd 9 hour shift of the week? me!!!!!
Anyway, I'm putting Olrox through hell, enjoy.
Things had not honestly been going well. He woke, showered, dressed, and had just enough time for something to drink. Then the commute was not ideal. Not life-threatening, but taking time out of everyone's schedule for construction was deeply inconvenient, even if the potholes were 'being filled' and the sidewalk was going to need to dry for the next few hours/days. Corporate was none the wiser. Hours passed, and spreadsheets got done, a small breakfast of some sort of fruit and tea, mostly to keep up appearances with the rest of humankind. A few more weeks, and Olrox could either work from home or re-discuss his contract.
The meeting moved. Not cancelled and not a harsh deal. Just something over the intercom about some window being cracked due to poorly managed construction. a change in routine, then waking in a groggy mood to no one in the apartment. Having not slept well due to some noise, he could have sworn it should have been an email, but nonetheless, a notice was given right on his door in carefully polite script as he entered. So that some issues on nearby moved pavement and what looked to be some actual gold inside the concrete.
And Olrox's chest felt tight. First, he thought nothing of it; he should have thought nothing of it as pr the last email, the job description was fine and untouched because, shockingly the team was ahead of schedule. Another thing to worry about and another email. Originally, he had been watching something on the work computer. That was before everything went... dizzy, and not in the pleasant one-night stand kind of way. This was the kind of fear that came from standing too fast or committing some new social blunder. This man he could not rid himself of, hello anxiety.
Somewhere in his lizard brain, eating a guy in a construction hat is bad, hilarious, but then he would bring attention to him and would then need to pack and move again; Somewhere deeper in his lizard brain was a panic attack that was now demanding to be nursed not by meaningless sex or blindly following while telling himself he was not being led. This did not stop the idle chatter of co-workers in cubicles next to him. Nor was... wait, wait a minute, was that an earthquake? No, his leg was shaking. This was not something the entire office had to deal with. starting to feel lightheaded this time, with added chest pain and the tightness in his stomach. Even decades before this whole business of buying and selling stock, people were so worried about the end of the world that occasionally people hyperventilated so much they died in the streets, then people invented taxes that did not involve coin and crusading Just number and identity.
Washing his hands in the sink, splashing water from the tap on his face? No, too much like Fight Club, a movie that had, when it came out, been all the rage for a few weeks, been purchased on DVD and collected dust. the ring on his finger reminded him to shoot a quick text. Then it was back to waiting for a response. Putting the glowing rectangle back into his pocket and pretending that had not just happened, long, sleek strides past a noticeably now sad plant made up of plastic gravel and wet carpet. Olrox walked faster. suddenly very aware of the fact that he had no energy to do anything else. And more manila folders were piled up on his desk, only one of which contained a single piece of paper labeled 'personal survey'. Oh good, the cleaning staff swept by.
And that could have been because, even after all these years, the countless integrations people have made. His brain and body refused to be on the same page. The body was in a secure, air-conditioned place the brain was being hunted for sport. The sport seemed to be watching the clock and having men in polo shirts comment on liquid diets for their partners(not raw meat juice, he learned too much from his last unforgettable trip to France about it). That was the thing about medical progress: You don't have a drink or a tincture or a pill that means you never feel like this again. he was the guy at the office with long hair, not the guy at the office with the brain condition and frequent need to urinate. Speaking of which, Olrox suddenly needed to escape.
Rightfully so came to mind, because what else was there to be done on a Wednesday? The thoughts of everything that he had done wrong were the door not locked, could a Spanish settler find his current address? Don't be ridiculous! Those days were long behind him. But what if? Oh GODS, what if? So Olrox made his way to a washroom on the men's side and began trying to actually collect himself. Thankfully, no one was inside... and next time he was choosing a less foul place, like a cemetery or something.
Breathe. He had been advised once, years ago in a temple room coated in incense, arms stacked in gold, the earrings feeling less than permanent and too heavy. Breathe and look to center yourself. Nope. No prayer would fix this right now; He couldn't stop shaking. How could he gather intention? Breathe and just look for something to look at. The floor was decent enough. Linoleum tile that also gave nothing away, no ugly green-eyed monster to explain to his co-workers, jokes around the water cooler about how mental health was a beast.
Only to have someone in a stuffy laboratory coat pull him aside to ask about not only how the past few weeks had been(since corporate's annual mental health day headcount) and to subtly remind him that counseling sessions were free up to twice every week for fifty-two weeks (not provided with vacation days activated on the same period). This was not what mattered most in the world, but the fact that he had simply noticed the water cooler was acting correctly and the parking lot was no longer crowded with security and civilians alike. Also, the awful screeching noise from levels below him had stopped. So did Olrox's heart rate eventually, as it always had returned to normal, crisis averted.
Olrox works for the SCP Foundation. Because I'm hilarious.
