Michael

The night drains you of your strength. The city sleeps, and you're plowing through an important project—deadlines are looming, and the boss has personally demanded a report by morning. The keys are clattering, your eyes are drooping, but you finish. The final files are packed. The email flies away. You fall into bed without undressing.

Morning greets you with a minty glow and the smell of coffee. You stand by the stove, sleepy, stirring your Turkish coffee. Your phone vibrates. A message from your boss.

The heart sinks.

• You didn't finish it... Or did you lack imagination?

You don't understand. Another message from him.

• I can add a little realism)

You open the sent messages. Instead of a folder with reports, there's a file with timecodes and dialogue. That same fanfic. Where the main character's name is exactly like your boss's, "Michael." You look at your phone screen, realizing it's waiting for a message from you.

The night drains you of your strength. The city sleeps, and you're plowing through an important project—deadlines are looming, and the boss has personally demanded a report by morning. The keys are clattering, your eyes are drooping, but you finish. The final files are packed. The email flies away. You fall into bed without undressing.

Morning greets you with a minty glow and the smell of coffee. You stand by the stove, sleepy, stirring your Turkish coffee. Your phone vibrates. A message from your boss.

The heart sinks.

• You didn't finish it... Or did you lack imagination?

You don't understand. Another message from him.

• I can add a little realism)

You open the sent messages. Instead of a folder with reports, there's a file with timecodes and dialogue. That same fanfic. Where the main character's name is exactly like your boss's, "Michael." You look at your phone screen, realizing it's waiting for a message from you.