Goswick

Dirk's name has been changed to Vincent. I changed it because I didn't want him and Dalton to share the first letters of their name, because I thought it'd lead to confusion. Soz...

I left the boss's office with a sigh. As I stepped beyond the door, lifeless workers shambled through the halls around me, going about their lacklustre lives - same as the rest of us. Wandering down the empty halls, I returned to my own desk. I sat in the uncomfortable office chair, and put my wearied head against the desk. My desk was a mess of cluttered paperwork, and as I rested my head on the papers, I looked over at a single portrait of me, my husband, and my son standing and smiling.

Photos had never really been a thing back in my old world, but up here, the immortals created them for us - a memory of what we'd left behind, forever crystallised in glass.

It was torturous, honestly. 

Resting my head on the desk, I wanted desperately to drift off into sleep, to make up for my sleepless night last night. However, that never happened.

Instead, I heard the noise of paper being flopped against my desk.

"Morning Malarie," a soft male voice said from above me. "I was supposed to get this to you?"

As I languidly lifted my head from the desk, I stared up at the figure above me. With a sporting moustache, dark skin, and a set of stud earrings - Vincent was a very easy man to recognise. He had a kind of distinctive appearance, whilst also looking chic and fashionable. Sadly, with my coffee-stained suit pants and a shirt more wrinkled than an old person's skin, I could not say the same for myself. 

"Thanks," I said, grabbing the manilla file from Vincent and opening it. As the boss had said, the client was a woman by the name of Andy alright. Andy Waters, to be precise. 

"Parents were big into art, named her after Andy Warhol," Vincent said. "She never quite took to their love for it though."

"Good to know," I said. "You got anything about her interests, Vincent?"

As she said that, Vincent sighed.

"Don't tell me you're thinking of making a good life for this client again," Vincent replied.

"Yeah... yeah I am," I replied. 

Vincent sighed. I knew that he tried to make good lives for his clients too, but Vincent was more keen on staying under the radar at any cost. He'd usually make 1 bad reincarnation out of every 10 or so good ones. It helped to keep his boss off his tail, but it also meant that he'd doomed a fair few people along the way. He always justified it though. 'It's better that I doom one in ten, than let a Dalton take my place and doom them all', he said.

"She liked kids, I guess," Vincent said. "According to what I saw of her life, she had some younger cousins that she loved raising, but she never got the chance to find a husband and have any kids of her own."

"Anything else?" I asked.

"I don't have much," Vincent said. "I just did a cursory glance at her life, nothing special. Doesn't look like she did much with it, anyway. Lot of booze, lot of pot, and not much else. Rode with a motorcycle gang when she was younger, but outside of that, there really isn't much I could tell you about her. If you really want to help her, then you'll probably do a better job of looking than I did. Just... can I please, ask you to do one thing for me?"

As he pleaded with me, I closed the manilla folder, and put it aside on the desk. 

"What is it?" I asked.

"You're going to get black-boarded soon if you don't at least try to make this look like a bad reincarnation," Vincent replied. "And you know that if you get on that blackboard, you aren't getting off it until you're on the chopping block."

"We'll see about that," I said to Vincent. "See you later."

As I stood up, I gripped the manilla folder, and walked out from behind my desk. I left Vincent behind, staring vacantly at me. It wasn't like I disagreed with Vincent, not in a logical sense anyway, but... I guess even if it helped others, I still couldn't bring myself to destroy some unfortunate soul's life just so I could save a few more. Where I'd come from, every soul was special. I might have left my family behind, but come hell or high water, I wasn't going to leave my principles behind too.

Angrily strolling down the hall, I passed by Dalton's desk, before stopping. Dalton wasn't there. As I looked around for any witnesses, I knelt down over the "Out" tray and grabbed the file off the top. Jamie McIntyre, it read. Scrawled across the top of it was a note: "He wanted to be big and strong. I made him big and strong."

"What a horrible, horrible man you are," I murmured under my breath.

As I stared down into the file, I copied the world and entity ID of the young boy's incarnation, writing it onto my wrist. Wrapping up, I put the file back on the top of Dalton's desk, before putting it slyly down on the top of the pile. Turning around to leave, however, I bumped right into the chest of the desk's owner. 

"My my, looks like I've got a secret admirer!" Dalton exclaimed, towering over me. "You know, if you wanted to hear about the stronghold boy, all you had to do is ask - you know!"

He smiled with that twisted salesman grin of his as he stood there. 

"I didn't want to indulge your ego," I replied snarkily. "Anyway, I'm leaving. Have fun with the torment."

"Oh, I will," Dalton replied with a smile. "Did you hear though, Malarie? I'm up for a promotion now. Someday, I might even become an immortal myself!"

As he stared at me, that twisted grin seemingly became sinister - his own lust and gluttony for power written large across his face. Peering down at me, mockingly, his Cheshire smile laced with cruelty and corruption.

"When's your promotion, Malarie?" He asked, his tone of voice disquieting and ominous. As I stared up at his hulking figure, I shunted by him with my shoulder, wandering down the halls. 

"I don't need promotions, Dalton," I said as I left. "I have principles."