Off Screen Post
An Escape Attempt - Part 1
Date: 08.16.2024 Time: 19:56 Location: Hideaway Pokemon Sanctuary [South Province, Area Five]
A quiet sigh escaped Aspen Sharma, age 16 as he strolled around Hideaway Sanctuary, or at least the parts he had access to at the time. His employee badge was crumpled up in his back pocket, ready to be whipped out at any given moment. Yes, technically, Aspen was off the clock, and technically he was meant to be exploring Hide-n-Seek, eating food, maybe throwing balls of mud at his friends, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something would go wrong. You’re just anxious, he could almost hear it, We’ve never had an incident since we started doing Hide-n-Seek. Why would we start now?
I don’t know, Aspen would’ve said if it was acceptable, maybe because we have an entire fucking [DATA EXPUNGED] on the premises this year!
Unfortunately, according to multiple regional governments, this was not an acceptable thing to say in public, and accordingly, Aspen could not verbalize the fake argument he was having with his boss.
He sighed again, thinking about the [DATA EXPUNGED] he so often had referred to as his ‘new client.’ At this point, it hardly even registered to him as a [DATA EXPUNGED]; no, the new client was simply the new client, even if it’d been at Hideaway for months. If anything else, he supposed he considered it to be 04, though part of him mused that it deserved a proper name instead of a number.
He rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly, feeling the raised remnants of the previous incident that’d occurred with 04. It occurred to him now that his anxieties surrounding Hide-n-Seek had almost entirely revolved around 04, and he pursed his lips. Maybe he should’ve been more vocal about his protests, or maybe he should’ve sought an alternative solution. Nonetheless, it was far too late to do anything now. Aspen brought a hand up to push his hair back, but the gesture was more of a habit than anything; he’d forgone any semblance of styling his hair that week, and it just fell flat, down into his face and over his eyes. All around him were laughter and giggles and the occasional gleeful shriek, young children running around and followed by apologetic parents; more than once he’d narrowly sidestepped out of a collision with a toddler, and he’d already helped one scared child find his mom. The kids were a comfort, their laughter serving as a reminder that the event was going off without a hitch, and in just a few hours, his fears of another incident would be put to rest.
It was when Aspen sighed for the third time that disaster befell for him.
A piercing shriek rang out, and time seemed to stop when he realized where it’d come from.
For not the first, but maybe the second or third time in his life, Aspen Sharma, age 16, hated being right.
