Sonar leans a fraction closer behind you, hands gripping the counter. His voice is quieter now, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters. "We truly don't." You catch his subtle gaze flicks to you, and it twists your chest into something strange, part unease, part something unnameable.
A piece of your soul threatens to float free, lifting toward the ceiling with a coy sort of reluctance, like it is pretending to flee but cannot resist staying to see how far they will push you.
Fucking hell
You are starting to think the dispatcher office looks pretty damn peaceful right now.
"Alright, back off," you growl, shoving them gently but firmly with both hands. Heat creeps up your neck, flushing your face as the tension in your shoulders spikes. You feel your pulse hammering in your temples while the two of them erupt into giggles, high-pitched, careless, like schoolgirls who have just discovered a secret at your expense.
Your jaw tightens. Your patience thins. But you press on.
Because despite everything, despite the absurdity of the situation, you are tragically still employed.
You take a slow, deliberate breath, trying to regain some shred of professionalism. You flip through the papers on your clipboard, the soft rustle of pages the only sound you make amid their chaotic energy. "Okay... next, social interactions-"
Malevola throws her head back and laughs, a rich, sharp sound that bounces off the walls and fills the cramped apartment with almost tangible energy. "Interactions? Sweetheart, you might as well mark us down as hopeless right now," she says, her voice dripping with amusement, like she is daring you to hold onto any shred of professionalism.
Her grin spreads wider, eyes sparkling with mischief, and you can feel the weight of her confidence pressing down on the conversation, daring you to crack.
Sonar raises a hand defensively, ears flicking back in exaggerated caution. "I've been improving," he says carefully, each word chosen with precision, almost desperate for you to take him seriously. "I only screeched at two people this week."
"Those were Girl Scouts," Malevola reminds him flatly, voice calm, yet razor-sharp, like she is stating an immutable law of the universe.
"They startled me!" Sonar snaps, eyes wide, glinting with the dim light of the room, fangs just barely visible. "They had bells! What were they jingling for?!"
Your pen hovers midair, and you just kind of stare in Disbelief as your hands are rooted to the page. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a small rational voice murmurs plaintively.
I would like to go home. I would like to rethink every single decision that led me here.
But your mouth, for reasons entirely beyond your control, refuses to cooperate. "Let's... continue," you say, the words hollow even as they leave you, lost amid the radiating chaotic energy from the two of them.
You flip to the health section of your form, fingers trembling slightly as you try to anchor yourself in routine, clinging to the familiar rhythm of questions, checkboxes and notes.
"Sonar," you say carefully, trying to keep your voice even, though your stomach twists, "it says here you, uh... might have rabies. Have you gotten your shots yet?"
He blinks at you.
You blink back.
One brow ridge shoots up so high it practically files for independence."Define... shots."
You stare at him.
He stares back.
Malevola sighs theatrically, as though your hesitation is a personal affront. "He means no. He has not."
YOU ARE READING
Send the Dispatch (Dispatch x fem!reader)
Romance"Dude, I think I miss working as the Dispatcher..." It wasn't supposed to be like this. One minute, I was behind a desk, pushing papers. Next, I was thrown into chaos. I used to only read about it in incident reports. Somewhere along the way, I stop...
Chapter 10: Veil
Start from the beginning
