Episode 04 - Reception and Other Forms of Survival

At precisely 8:57 AM the next morning, Olivia arrived at the front desk—just as Charles had asked.

The front lobby was oddly still. Not quiet, just… still. The TV in the corner cycled through static and old interstitials: a 1950s anti-smoking PSA, a trailer for a movie that didn’t exist, and a brief clip of a puppet show that ended with a blinking “Please Stand By.”

A small placard now sat on the desk:

RECEPTION: Olivia Harrison

Beneath it, someone had doodled a little tail and a set of perky ears on the “O.”

There was no welcome basket. No handbook. Just a worn-out rolodex, an old-fashioned phone that looked haunted, and a pile of pastel sticky notes in a plastic tray labeled “READ ME FIRST.”

She picked up the first sticky note.

RULE #1: Don’t buzz anyone in if they ask for you by name.

The second:

RULE #2: If something’s knocking from inside the filing cabinet, ignore it. Unless it’s Wednesday.

Third:

RULE #3: Bernard is not allowed to eat visitors unless they’re rude.

The fourth was blank, except for a hand-scrawled addition in Sharpie:

Seriously, Olivia. You’re doing great. –L

She paused. Was that Miss LaDonna? She hadn’t met her yet, but Charles had mentioned her name in passing—Miss LaDonna, who ran half the station, sometimes more.

A warm puff of static passed behind her and she didn’t even flinch.

“Good morning!” Bernard chirped from somewhere over her left shoulder, his tentacles politely keeping to their side of the desk. “Thought I’d stop by and make sure you weren’t devoured by paperwork. Or Greg.”

“Greg?”

“The filing cabinet.” A ripple of amusement fluttered through his translucent mass. “We’ve reached an understanding, but it still hates interns.”

“I’m not an intern,” Olivia muttered, flipping to another sticky note.

RULE #4: Never look at the Vault access logs alone. Or with a mirror.

She sighed, set the note down, and looked up at the monitors on the wall behind her. Channel feeds from the various stations blinked and danced.

Crime and Grime was airing a hard boiled monologue about betrayal and cigarette smoke. B-Movie Enema was stuck on a loop of a man in a rubber monster suit falling into a pond. Background Noise was—at the moment—playing static overlaid with faint accordion music.

“This place is…” She trailed off.

Bernard finished it for her: “Perfect?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Unknowable?” he offered.

She gave him a look.

He wiggled a tentacle. “Charming?”

“…I was going to say ‘a lot.’ But sure. Let’s go with charming.”

A soft ding interrupted her. The old phone on the desk buzzed once, then went silent.

She picked it up. “OtherWorlds TV, this is Olivia—”

“Hello. There’s something watching Channel 7. Tell it to stop.”

Click.

She stared at the phone, then slowly placed the receiver back down.

“...What’s Channel 7?” she asked Bernard.

He shrugged. Or possibly jiggled. “We don’t have a Channel 7.”