As soon as Tyler wanders into the conference room, Taylor clears her throat and turns on the projector. I didn't realize the special circumstances I had been called in for a discussions meeting. I tried to ban these types of gatherings years ago. Obviously, I was unsuccessful. I thought it was easier to print out the files and pass them around, but no. Her superiors liked the idea.

This time around, Taylor insisted on holding in-person meetings to discuss our ideas and summarize what we know. It is the stupidest shit I have ever had to witness with my own two eyes, but at least it's professional and run by someone who knows what they're talking about. I just wish I could actively be involved with the investigation.

The meeting room is fairly small in comparison to the rest of the building. There's space for a few rows of folding chairs, a pool table in the back corner, and a small countertop packed with a coffee machine and a box of assorted grocery store cookies. It sucks when you look out the window to a beautiful open space, modernized and useful.

"Thank you for joining us Tyler. We've been waiting for you." She mutters in a sickly sweet tone as he walks up to the front and gives Josh a plastic cup of steaming coffee. I don't know why he's up there, but he's there.

"I was taking a dump," he says as he takes his seat in the middle of the third row, just behind me, "I had Taco Bell for lunch."

"It is nine o'clock in the morning." Taylor purses her lips and stares at him for a second.

"I said I had Taco Bell for lunch."

She doesn't dwell on the chaos for long and organizes the papers on her podium. "Thank you all for attending this debriefing. The case we're talking about is nowhere near solved, but this investigation directly involves everyone in this room."

There is a total of ten people in the room spread across five rows of ten plastic chairs, split down the middle for a walkway. The only people here were either mentioned in the note, or one of the few that saw the contents of the mini fridge. The case is exclusive, for obvious reasons.

I notice Josh nods along when she speaks and I can't help but raise my hand. "Pardon me, but what is Josh doing up there?"

He grins like a little puppy. "I made the PowerPoint."

Oh no.

Taylor looks miserable. Everyone else in the room looks less than thrilled. "Yes, he made the PowerPoint. Let's get into it, shall we?" She points to the projection and presses the button on the remote control.

"While the unit from Quantico will not be aiding our investigation, we did get an analysis back from their graphology and linguistics department." She shows a photo of the handwriting from the note. "The writing is large. Our suspect — we'll call them John Doe — is an attention seeker. They will most likely want to insert themselves into this situation, more so now that we know about it. When we have an estimation of what they should look like, keep an eye out anywhere you visit. Security is on high alert for anyone suspicious that frequents the site. We also have someone reviewing our security camera footage."

Josh takes the remote and presses the button to show the next slide. He has written 'attention seeker' in rainbow letters, curved above a cartoon cloud. There's a picture of binoculars wedged into the bottom corner. He continues to the next slide.

Taylor pauses and clenches her jaw, but continues nevertheless. "There is also a downward slant to their writing. This signifies pessimism, just in case you couldn't tell by the context of the note."

Tyler raises his hand. "Hold on, before we get any further. How reliable is this analysis? Like, my handwriting is small, but that doesn't mean I'm shy and quiet. I'm an asshole. Who cares what it means if someone's writing slants down? They write weird? Their teacher screwed them up in kindergarten? I think I can speak for all of us when I say kindergarten was not a time for pleasant memories, am I right?"

The room falls silent. "No," Pete scoffs from the back row, "you absolutely do not speak for all of us. What the hell happened to you in kindergarten?"

Tyler spins around at the speed of light with his right fist clenched and raised. "Mind your own fucking business."

Taylor clears her throat, not even bothering to address a single second of that exchange. "Hitler's handwriting was slanted so far downward, his letters were almost horizontal. The bars in the letter 't' slanted downwards as well. And if you'll see in John Doe's note, their 't' bars slant downward. Don't think that I won't hesitate to remove you from this room, Tyler. Not another word from you."

Josh presses the button a few times, skipping through a few more rainbows. He lands on a slide regarding pressure, and how the intense pressure on the pen signifies anger and aggression. It's easy to follow and expected. It's just a long and repetitive flow of information.

Next is the pointed lettering, showcasing both intelligence and aggression. Our John Doe is an angry, angry human being, and we didn't need an hour-long meeting to remind us. The next slide is a white background with 'questions?' written in neon green Comic Sans. It's barely visible and very inconvenient.

Pete raises his hand. "What does that say? I know I can't read but—"

Taylor lets out one of the longest sighs I have ever heard. "I'm asking for any questions before we move on. We could analyze handwriting more but I think we get the gist of it. I'm just trying to keep everyone updated while we continue to run more tests. Handwriting is all we have right now, and it will be for a while. Units were dispersed to try to track down where the photos were taken, but very little will come out of that."

The room falls silent. I glance around and see everyone staring at the floor, void of questions. I just want the case file, one of the chocolate bear claws in the break room, and my fiancé. I'm exhausted. I shouldn't be, because I took the rest of the day off after I went home and then back out to get breakfast. I didn't do anything. I need to do things. I need to be productive.

"We can move on." I mutter. Taylor nods and Josh continues to the next slide, blank except for a rotating party hat emoji.

Lieutenant Swift clears her throat and shuffles the paperwork gathered on the podium. "Perhaps this is the wrong time to introduce this. We have two new investigators joining us. Both in Dallon's department."

I didn't authorize any new people. I wasn't notified, nobody said anything to me about this. "What the fuck?!"

She shoots me a dirty look. "We spoke about this months ago. You need new recruits on your team. Two people left in the span of a month earlier this year. Someone needed to pick up the slack, more so than ever—"

"I picked up the slack—"

"You overwork yourself. You also don't look when you sign paperwork anymore. More proof you need people to help."

"I do look where I sign."

She raises her eyebrows and crosses her arms over her chest. Oh, no. "Two weeks ago Tyler and Pete forged a document that you signed without reading. You are legally obligated to have an open bar at your wedding ceremony, whenever the hell that is."

Tyler and Pete stand up and lean across chairs to high five each other. They sit down once they realize that I know what they've done and that the drinks they are served on that day will be laced with laxatives.

I don't need anyone to help me but there's no point in arguing if the official documents have been signed and finalized. I'll bitch about it until the end of time, but there's not much else that I can do. "Can I at least be the one to point out that this is an awful time to integrate someone into the system? Aren't we busy enough with both you-know-who's?"

I waggle my finger at Josh. He glares at me when he realizes I'm not just referring to our John Doe. "I will spit in your laptop monitor and dump a bowl of oatmeal on your keyboard."

I try my best to ignore him after that, but I can't shake the mental image. How much can he spit? Is it enough saliva to damage my laptop? Would it be a sad spit or did he learn how to cough one out like a llama? How would he make oatmeal on my laptop? "Either way, I have no recollection of choosing to hire these people. I don't want them in my department if I don't even know who they are."

It's Taylor's turn to shoot me one long and continuous glare. "I came to your desk with sixteen profiles for possible candidates. You picked two out of the bunch and then put the rest in the garbage can for no reason. I came back the next day to confirm your decision. You told me you had already looked at them and to get out of your sight. So then, I brought you a chocolate bar and gave you a copy of all the files again, which I definitely didn't have to do because I am your superior but I did anyways because you were pissed off for no reason. You confirmed that they were the only two people you deemed worthy enough to join your department."

"I said I have no recollection of that." I say. Pete and company shift uncomfortably towards the back of the room. Josh stares at his shoes. "Get rid of them."

"I'm not getting rid of them."

"I said fucking get rid of them. I didn't authorize their arrivals. I don't even remember reading files and choosing anyone to join."

Her fists clench on the podium stand. "You were so overworked and consumed in your job, you failed to notice when I presented you with a normal task. Williams was with me. She will back me up, as well as all of my superiors that requested your input on the decision. Remember our talk the other day? This is exactly what I was talking about."

"I don't care. Get rid of them."

It's so quiet a pin drop could sound like a waterfall. I don't think I've ever fought with Taylor before. We get along well, for the most part at least. Yeah, we didn't agree when she forced me to take a vacation but this feels different.

She smiles sweetly and I am truly scared for both my life and my job. "I can't get rid of them. I'm telling you all this because they'll be here tomorrow, and there is nothing you can do about it."

I don't know what else to do but sit in silence and pout like I'm being served broccoli at my third birthday party.

"The files were split to eight women and eight guys. I cannot believe you picked two men," she hisses, "there is so much testosterone in this facility, I feel physically suffocated sometimes." She claws at the air around her head, visibly frustrated and at the end of her rope with me. I thought it would take more than that to kill her, but I guess all I had to do was say the opposite of what she wanted for about a minute. I really am a three-year-old being served broccoli at my birthday party.

We sit there and shoot daggers at each other until Josh clears his throat and starts to skim through their file covers aloud.

"Ryan Ross. Forensic toxicologist. Graduated early from the University of Florida, ew, with a masters degree in forensic toxicology. He gained his official certifications after three years of full-time experience in a lab. Ross is transferring from a unit in Miami where he has spent the last four years. He has lots of family but isn't in contact with most of them anymore. He is missing a chunk of his right forearm due to field work and he is severely allergic to pine nuts."

Tyler raises his hand. "Why is he allergic to pine nuts?"

"Genetics." Pete calls out. "He was fucked by the gene pool."

Josh raises his hand. "Are allergies a heritable trait?"

Pete shrugs. "Ask Satan."

Taylor puts her head in her hands. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

Josh continues on to read the next file, stepping on the podium step and slowly inching Lieutenant Swift off and slightly away. "Jake... Jake G-something is a forensic psychologist. He graduated from the John Jay College of Criminal Justice with his masters degree and certifications. He worked in Philadelphia for five years and wants to slow down without quitting his job. He has no close family and no other relationships. He's severely allergic to dogs. And happiness, probably."

Why do they already sound better than me? And why do they both coincidentally have severe allergies? Allergies plague the weak.

One of the CSI's peeps up from the very back of the room. She raises her hand just above her head and coughs to gain our attention. "Where will these people be staying? Are they here permanently?"

Josh frowns and skips through pages and pages of personal information. He squints and skims for a solid minute before deciding on what to say. "Good questions, ma'am. I dunno. I've only been here for a few months, possibly even less. I have no concept of the passage of time."

"Josh, stop talking." Taylor slides the files out from his grip and takes the podium back. "This has been planned for months. They both have temporary studio apartments covered to thank them for their cooperation as they begin to settle in. They will take over the cubicles that Dallon chose to use as a storage unit after his colleagues quit. As the paperwork states, they will be here until they decide to retire or transfer to a new town. In other words, this is a permanent arrangement."

Everyone understands except for Tyler. He has managed to sneak through Taylor's loopholes and mess around with every new recruit to be hired. Josh was his most recent victim. There's a reason why the screws to some of the the air vents have been permanently fused to the walls, and there is a reason why Josh's desk was positioned away from any of those vents.

Tyler knows too much about the air conditioning system.

Taylor points at Tyler, then makes direct eye contact with Pete, his frequent partner-in-crime. She holds up half a sheet of paper  and reads aloud. "Please don't bother, prank, haze, harass, provoke, upset, tease, disturb, concern, pester, torment, nag, irritate, annoy, hassle, plague, badger, hound, or aggravate any of the new people."

"You forgot 'irk' and 'tick-off'." I say. Tyler glares at me like I just threatened to sneak into his house and steal his television set, which I only did once, for the record.

"What if I consult them about my ideas first," Tyler huffs, "and Ross and G-whatever both agree to it? Then can I do it?"

"That depends on what 'it' is, Joseph. You walk a fine line, especially with John Doe roaming around. No life-threatening or troubling jokes if you decide to go against everything I say." Taylor states firmly. She packs up her files without breaking eye contact with him. "Dallon, I'd like to speak with you in my office. If you're not there in the next five minutes, there will be repercussions."

The room falls silent. Completely silent. No rustling papers, no hushed mutters. Nothing.

Josh claps and yanks on the cord of the projector screen. "Good job, team!"

"Shut the fuck up, Josh."