VOLUME III: 45 – Table for Six

I arrived ten minutes early to Project Parfait HQ.

Not out of professionalism. Out of spite.

I wasn’t about to be the last one into whatever circle of corporate hell awaited me. If I had to smile through a PowerPoint about "branding" while trying not to sob over a granola bar, I was going to do it with punctual vengeance.

My name was on the iPad at reception. I tapped it with the fear of someone clocking in for war.

The guy at the desk smiled too kindly. “Welcome, Ms. Halberd. Elevator’s on your left. Floor eight. Conference Room B.”

It wasn’t even ten yet. I hadn’t had caffeine. I was wearing real pants. Someone please clap.

The elevator dinged on the eighth floor. Familiar halls. Same sterile lighting. I tried not to think about the last time I was here—signing away the rights to a digital demon queen with eyeliner sharper than my emotional coping skills.

This time, I followed the signs labeled ORIENTATION: GEN04. A laminated sheet with Comic Sans. Bold of them.

A staffer waved me into a glass conference room where six chairs had been arranged like some kind of social experiment. One of them was empty.

Mine.

The others were not.

First thing I noticed:

Girl #1. Her. The girl from the convenience store. Bangs slightly neater, hoodie upgraded to a cropped jacket, but still the same cautious energy like she’d teleported here via unfinished side quest.

She looked up, startled.

"YOU!"

We said it at the same time.

I pointed. "Juice box girl."

She pointed. "Beer-on-curb girl."

Silence. And then: we both burst out laughing.

She stood, walked over, and hugged me like we were old teammates in the Olympic Games of Unhinged Timing. It was brief. Weird. Great.

“I didn’t know you were—”

“Same!”

“Wait,” I blinked. “We still didn’t exchange names.”

She grinned. “Call me Amy. I’m the responsible one. Sorry I never introduced myself before. I was emotionally lost and directionally confused.”

“Aoi,” I replied, before I could think better. “And I was emotionally fermenting outside a 7-Eleven. So we’re even.”

She then laughed.

I looked her up and down. “You gave off emergency contact energy.”

“That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever received.”

We sat.

Girl #2 was already there, slouched sideways in her chair like a fashionable pretzel. Curly hair tied up with a scrunchie that might’ve been a scrunchie in a past life. Yellow bomber jacket. Fingerless gloves. Cartoon panda pins. I knew her vibe immediately: chaotic good, powered by HDMI cables and soda.

She pointed at me with a cookie stick. “You bought the slippery desk mount.”

“I returned it,” I muttered.

She nodded solemnly, like this was a spiritual lesson.

“I’m Jules,” she said. “I like cables. And pandas. And also cables.”

“Aoi,” I replied. “I like boundaries. Please respect them.”

She offered me a second cookie stick. I took it.

Then there was the guy. Tall. Hoodie. Familiar face.

One of them, I’d know anywhere—Noah.

With his hoodie half-zipped and a look on his face like someone who’d survived both med school and me. He raised his brows in quiet recognition, then gave me a nod like hey, ready to die together?

I blinked at him.

Paused.

Then, I blinked again. “Wait. Noah?”

He gave a tiny smile. “Hey, trouble.”

I stared. “What the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you—aren’t you still indie?”

Noah sipped his drink like it was nothing. “Graduated yesterday.”

“What.”

“I posted the announcement. Kinda soft-launched it.”

“You soft-launched your graduation?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t want to make it a big thing. I already had enough to worry about.”

I wanted to scream. Or laugh. Or throw a snack at his head. Instead, I just mouthed, “You’re the worst, tell me everything later.” as quietly as I could.

He grinned wider.

Guy #2 sat across from him, legs crossed, nails painted a glossy jet black, faux fur collar fluffed like he’d just stepped off the runway and was bored of the attention. His name tag said “Basil”, but the sleeve tattoos creeping past his rolled cuffs told a longer story. Inked florals, barbed wire, and celestial symbols. Definitely the type to kiss his knuckles before throwing a punch and call it performance art.

He saw me looking, tilted his head, and gave me a slow, knowing smile—like I was late to a joke he’d already told.

“Relax, darling,” he drawled. “I don’t bite unless it’s a rating request.”

“I like their nails,” muttered Jules.

Then another guy arrived late. Kicked open the door like it owed him money. Blonde undercut. Sunglasses indoors. British accent so sharp it might cut through drywall.

“Sorry, everyone,” he said, plopping into a chair and immediately spilling an energy drink. “Got lost. Found a Starbucks. Got lost again. Am I fired yet?”

“Yes,” said Amy.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“Heard,” he said.

The door opened again.

Rika.

Still immaculate. Still giving community manager with a side of "knows where the bodies are buried."

Behind her was Weaver, clipboard in hand. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Also like he’d personally written whatever onboarding torment we were about to experience.

“Good morning,” said Rika.

“That’s debatable,” muttered Basil.

“Welcome to Project Parfait,” she continued. “You six are now officially Gen 4. Internally, we refer to you as the Harbingers.”

“Oh we’re in a boy band,” whispered Jules.

Weaver ignored her.

“This week is onboarding,” he said. “You will meet your individual managers, finalize your model concepts, and begin prep for debut strategy.”

He looked directly at me for that last part.

I stuck my tongue out.

“We’ll start with introductions,” said Rika. “But please. Be formal.”

We absolutely were not.

Amy adjusted her chair like she was preparing for battle.

Jules pulled out another cookie stick and immediately offered it to the British guy, who took it and promptly dipped it into his energy drink.

Basil began reapplying lip gloss with the elegance of a villain in a soap opera.

Noah just leaned back, hands behind his head, like this was exactly what he’d expected all along.

And me?

I sat in my new chair. My new chapter. My new chaos.

Well, hell.

Let’s debut.






SURPRISE!! Gen 4 is here, and they're already unhinged. This chapter was so fun (and so cursed) to write. Thank you for being patient with me while I brewed this gremlin stew.

We’re officially entering the debut prep arc now. Chaos, lore, and psychological damage incoming. I hope you fall in love with these six idiots like I have. 💖

Also, deepest apologies for the delay — life has been a bit of a tangled headset cable lately (job interviews, deadlines, the usual existential side quests), but I wanted to make sure this chapter did justice to the mess, the magic, and the beginning of something big.

Thank you for sticking with me. Thank you for reading. And YES, Amy was juice box girl. You're welcome.

See you in the next one, you chaotic little flowers 🌼

~Edeshei 🧃