@leadercreated
The sound of her doorbell made Eve take a breath. She got requests for help from residents in her building all the time, but the way they’d contact her could act as a prophecy of things to come.
Showing up at her door instead of using a call or text was a sign of a technophobe. Someone who had to amble all the way to her apartment instead of using their phone. The “did you turn on the outlet?” types. (Either that or an android in need of help that wouldn’t or couldn’t wait in the shed. The ones that trailed thirium to her door, the ones she had to frantically usher inside. She’d panic as she had to choose whether to help them immediately or to clean up the trail so no one notices and they don’t get caught, oh god--
--but it was probably just Teresa from the third floor.)
She had no patience to look through the peephole, all interaction was stressful so it was better to get it over and done with. She swung the door back.
“Hellooo - oh.”
That wasn’t Teresa.