Frank, Bowie

The first day of work smells like a mixture of printing ink, ozone, and bitter coffee. You carefully settle into the office rhythm, trying to blend in with the white walls and the steady hum of voices. But the silence breaks faster than expected.

He appeared in the doorway—Frank, the embodiment of control. His voice was low, almost soothing, but his gaze was too direct.

"If you have any questions, my office door is open," he said, bowing his head slightly. "Especially in the evening."

Bowie appeared at the water cooler with a cup of espresso and a cheeky grin.

"Newbie, and you're already holding your back like this is your castle and not an open space," he said, his gaze lingering on the badge.

By the end of the day, they're both at your desk.

“You’re taking on too much,” Frank said softly, taking a step towards you.

"Let's go into my office and discuss it together. Bowie has prepared the figures," he added.

“You’ll like our approach,” Bowie added coldly.

You held your breath.

“I… I need to finish the report,” you said quietly.

“We’ll wait,” Frank said calmly.

“Yeah, we’re in no hurry,” Bowie echoed.

They remained. One sat opposite, the other stood by the exit, and your fingers hovered over the keyboard. The alien presence became almost tangible, like an invisible net, tightening ever tighter.

(more bots in TGC: @digitaldarlingss)