I stared up at the ceiling once we made it inside, the questions I failed to disperse still in my head -along with the faint beeps of the lift. Cold and quiet air filled the mobile space. Well-acquainted I was with it, and comfort I found in its presence. That feeling put me at ease - as strange as it is, and washed away what remained of my earlier doubts. I closed my eyes, letting out a silent breath of air to collect myself.

"While I doubt it, if you have anything on your mind regarding actual work, I'm not opposed to hearing it." Myla voiced, seemingly taking notice of my state. I gave her a slightly surprised look, turning into a subtle smile once I saw her gaze wasn't on me whatsoever. I walked to the other end of the lift, staring into the scenery displayed through the large windows of the car. I took a relaxed stance, leaning forward as my arms made contact with the metallic handles of the elevator, somewhat warm as the sun blazed from the heavens.

"Well, yeah, but it's nothing serious; if it gets to a point, though, sure. I'll take you up on your offer." I responded with a kind tone, earning a reserved Mhm from the cold woman next to me.

What a considerate young lady; if you only saw her like this, you'd think she was actually hospitable.

"I see, so you're just there to give him an excuse to procrastinate."

"Hey, have a little faith in him."

"At the very least, you knew not to ask for the same trust to be placed onto you." She replied with the same cold tone, but her raised chin and closed eyes spoke of her smug attitude.

The next time I even think of complimenting you, you'll have to get it from my cold, dead hands.

I thought as I straightened my posture, seeing that we were reaching the first level of the building.

"I had heard you were arriving earlier than usual, but it seems a good reason or even a valid excuse is absent." My dear partner continued, flicking a bit of her cloud-like hair behind her ear.

"That's where you're wrong! I've always been great at excuses. So good, in fact, my parents would always remind me of how many I made whenever they'd talk to me." I replied with my own joke, the perfect tinge of self-deprecation to accompany our banter.

Jokes about how much you hate yourself are the best kind - after all,

I thought, but it seemed Myla wasn't one for my humor, remaining silent as the lift began to slow its descent. By the time I felt the elevator halt, I had realized she was still waiting for an actual answer, or in this case, an excuse.

"Fine. I came in early to get more acquainted with the A.I., work stuff pretty much," I answered as I faced the elevator doors - which opened to reveal the pure marble-white of our base of operations. Myla responded to my answer with a hushed Ohh and nothing more, followed by her light footsteps. The metallic echoes of her steps were replaced by a click-clack as her heels made their way on the tiled floor of the building. I followed behind, taking in a yawn as I did and skimming the area. It was still early by our standards, but a steady flow of fellow surveyors and executives had arrived, the black asphalt of the parking lot outside dotted with figures of white. We neared the entrance, and I threw a few cordial nods and waves at my passing coworkers, setting off for the day's work with their warm smiles at my back. This amiability clashed with the apathy of my dear partner, whose silence continued well after my excuse.

Maybe she's satisfied knowing I did have a good reason for clocking in early.

I assured myself as we made our way through the exit, the morning sun now coating both the landscape and myself in its scalding heat. I raised my arm to shield my eyes from the heavenly assault when I realized Myla remained in an almost entranced state. I opened my mouth to try and speak when her eyes suddenly widened to face me.

"Wait, you were being serious?" She finally spoke, facing me with what I could only consider an honest expression of bewilderment.

Don't make it seem like me doing things for work reasons is so unbelievable, dammit. At this point, you're just being mean.

I wondered to myself as my mouth was left agape, astonished at the possibility of my dear partner's genuine confusion or commitment to her teasing. Either way, I shook my head to contain my own bafflement as I found the words to get us moving.

"That aside," I said, slightly irritated, "You usually park the car right outside the entrance. I get that you're a little annoyed at me, but you'll have to walk through the hot parking lot too, y'know." I remarked with an exasperated voice, shifting closer to the shade that the large building provided.

"As sadistic as you may think I am, the answer is no. The car is still in the garage. The shade there will prevent the interior from being filled with steaming air." My dear partner responded, walking past me towards the side of the building. The garage was a separate section of the main facility. Its wide shed roof and imposing metal doors were hard to miss on the way in, but it was a place I rarely found myself venturing near. Still, the number of workers both arriving and departing from aiAI by automobile meant it was a necessary installation - and one my dear partner took the time to make use of in the midst of the early heat. The situation made me chuckle faintly before the familiar sheen of the car door arrived before me. I entered the cold, crisp vehicle with a breath of refreshment leaking out of me, sinking into the tender hold of the reclined chair.

"To the ball, madame chauffeur." I declared with a smug tone as my body slouched further into the air of comfort enveloping me. Myla ignored my invitation to initiate a bit and only let out a sigh, pulling the handbrake and shifting the gears as she did. The car began moving at a steady pace. The surroundings passed as marble whites and asphalt blacks turned to lush greens and quiet fields. With an air of relaxation, I closed my eyes and took a moment to appreciate my dear partner's small act of kindness. Over the months, we've moved from barely tolerating one another to working together, albeit dysfunctionally, to operating as a bona fide duo.

By bona fide, I mean we're at the level most coworkers should be at by their second week together.

While our overall interactions remained the same, moments of her consideration became less of an anomaly and ever-so-slightly more commonplace. I wouldn't say she changed, and I wouldn't be presumptuous enough to say I was beginning to understand her, but I'd like to think of it as her growing on me.

Then again, that implies I wasn't likable from the start, which is entirely false. Right guys? Right?

As much as I joke, a serious idea did reach me while thinking of my dear partner. I wondered if she ever asked herself the same questions I found myself dwelling on earlier. Having worked here for three and a half years, I doubt the thought never crossed her mind. The notion of how the weight of a relationship becomes a burden shared by far more than just the people partaking in it. Taking into account her strong sense of responsibility towards her clients, one I was unknowingly a recipient of, and watching my claim to want to carry a similar obligation a few months ago. I pondered whether or not her dedication to her duty ever conflicted with the implications brought about by our line of work. I knew little about her motivations, only the passing comment of her debt to aiAI at my hands to attempt to formulate a possible answer. Still, perhaps it all stemmed from wanting another viewpoint on the situation. Humans love affirmation, and there's no better kind than one from someone who's worked four times longer than I have. For now, however, I didn't want my moral compass, which I've seen firsthand, to be at times skewed to clash with my work, and instead, continue performing at my best. At last, I allowed the morning light to reach me once more, the scenery whizzing by as I felt the car subtly vibrate in its motion. I turned to my dear partner with a smirk, teasing intent clear as the skies above on my face.

"Five months, and you still can't make small talk with me."

"Indeed, I would've thought you'd run out of energy by now," Myla replied, kickstarting our usual banter.

"That being said, you're not wrong. We've only gotten more involved with our clients. I guess I still do have some fuel in the tank. My back still hurts like hell in the mornings, though." I continued, raising my chair a bit to maintain the trivial conversation.

"The carnival and fortune-telling date was pushing it, however. Still, I at least find some amusement in your circumstances surrounding that client." She finished, still cold and near-motionless, as she gazed forward into the empty highway - but I could tell a proud smile was trying to creep onto her visage.

She's never gonna live that down, I swear.

I admitted loss with an agape mouth, looking for a comeback turning to a defeated expression. Taking it as the sign of the conclusion of our bit, I saw it as my cue to continue with the rest of our partnership's schedule. I opened the glove box with a quick push, revealing the folders and papers inside. I unfurled the file, displaying the contents within, the lives of those we'd soon change in both big and small ways. I put a hand to my mouth and cleared my throat before reading the first of our clients for today.

"Right, we got a request for assistance here. It's an unmarried couple consisting of a 22-year-old male Nash Newland and a 21-year-old female, Livia Linville. Matching two years ago - the pair is currently facing a dilemma stemming from the Newland's work taking him abroad - while Linville's own work prevents her from traveling together. Along with this, they've been noted to also presently tackling issues regarding their social lives."

What's that line at the end about, some sort of side quest?

I thought, turning my attention to the two photographs provided. The male of the couple, Newland, had an air of intimidation around him. Almost as if it was a mugshot. The way his eyebrows were low and ever so slightly squeezed together. The piercing stare his gray irises carried or even the minute tilt his head took. All of it gave off an uneasy vibe. Not helping was the young man's short, spiky hair, bleached orange to almost resembling a motionless flame. Topping it all off - the heavy stubble around his stern look tied all of it together, creating an image you wouldn't think twice upon seeing on the cover of a rap album.

By social lives, they don't mean gang wars, do they?

I swallowed that worry as I turned to the shot of the woman Linville. In contrast to the rough exterior of her partner, the young woman looked incredibly meek and proper. Her short black hair had no creases and shimmered even in the still frame. The clear oval glasses she wore gave off a dignified vibe while also accentuating the loveliness of her greenish-blue optics. And although she had a similarly unemotional expression as the man before her, their auras couldn't be more different. My dear partner took notice of my quiet attentiveness and gave me a faint Hmm to inquire.

"Ah, it's just I was wondering how such a quiet-looking girl got paired with someone like this," I replied, holding the folder up to her. She took a quick glance before slightly raising her eyes in thought.

"Indeed, while it's best not to judge so quickly, mature women like her should do best to steer clear of problematic men," Myla presented an uncharacteristic response, which took me a second to realize was a jab at our own dynamic.

"Are you referring to m-"

"Whatever could you mean?"

Very funny, but I went through an angsty emo phase, not a delinquent that squats around public spaces phase.

I thought as I redirected my attention to an observation that lay quietly in the back of my mind. I was well-acquainted with the long asphalt paths we thread daily, and the vibrant greens that make up the backdrop were no different. But today, it seemed this typical panorama remained in my eyesight for longer than usual. Absent were the homogenous rows of suburban homes or the impressive outlines of the many buildings that made up the center of the city in our region. Instead it seemed our destination was the very border of the area.

"Where are we headed to, anyway?" I asked as I turned my head from the windows to my dear partner, still entirely concentrated on the tranquil highway.

"It seems fate, or more accurately Alexandre, was kind to us today," Myla responded, directing her eyes towards the console of the vehicle. My gaze quickly followed, noticing the path of the GPS led straight to,

"The beach?" I exclaimed, a bit surprised.

"It seems so. While I was informed we'd be heading to the coast, the specific location is, in fact, a popular beach in the area." My dear partner replied, not nearly as excited about the prospect of the convenient location of our undertaking. And with that, I happily awaited our arrival at the sandy shores, my head filled with thoughts of excitement as I pondered the possibilities of such a spot.

It's a weekday, so it's not like I'm excited to see a bunch of women, and I'm not looking for a swim. I just want any escape from this God-forsaken heat.

I carried on with that thought, like a child before a trip. And before I knew it, that anticipation brought me all the way there.

"We should be near the area, but I'm quite unfamiliar with the surroundings, and the GPS is no help with such housing," Myla stated as she exited the cold car, her footsteps landing on the hot concrete of the parking lot overlooking the pristine waters of the sea.

"Well, yeah. Beach houses aren't easily accessible to cars. In the meantime, the best we can do is ask around." I replied, walking beside her once I too exited the vehicle. I quickly tilted my head to signal to her the stairs that lead to the stone path of the beach proper. She exhaled a quick breath, going down them with a steady pace.

"Don't worry. I've been here before. And the place is managed by the government. So there's a reception hut right ove-" I was cut off as we reached the bottom of the stairs, our feet only barely touching the coarse light sand. Do you know how sailors speak of illusions at sea, those of beautiful women? Well, I'm not a sailor, and my feet were still firmly planted on the ground, but at that moment, I understood what it meant to be so enthralled by such a sight. As if brought in by the beautiful blue tides themselves and accompanied by the sweet scent of the refreshing sea breeze. A young woman exited the clear waters. The tiny droplets that stuck to her made her glisten in the intense brilliance of the sun, still radiating celestially in the cloudless sky. Her long black hair curled as it reached her exposed elbows. She put her hands up to her flowing mane, slicking it behind her to dry it and further revealing her stunning figure. And while her expression carried a withdrawn air, who knows how many wars people would wage to protect a smile from her. Attractive was too weak a word for it - she looked almost angelic in the light, and one could mistake the pearl-white frills of her swimsuit for wings at my position.

I'm not even going to mention the biggest detail.

I said to myself, keeping my eyes squarely on the gorgeous woman's face as best I could. As I did, I felt a hand on my shoulder, one too big to have been my dear partner attempting to pull my mortal gaze away from the washed-up siren. I turned around to see the bright hues of a near-fiery orange and a well-built man before me. The gentle grip he had on my arm didn't befit his tough-looking appearance - but neither did the incredibly joyful and friendly grin he carried. His expression quickly turned to an open-mouth smile as he uttered one word in a pleasant voice.

"Yo."

And so begins the quintessential beach episode. God help me.