Page 1 of The Dark Lord Awakens
1
Beau
Islouched in my ergonomically challenged chair, drowning in a sea of corporate monotony. The call center sprawled before me like a vast cubicle-infested wasteland filled with adults wearing headsets and speaking in tones so artificially sweet they could give you diabetes. And there I was, sticking out like a sore thumb with a sunburn—a scrawny twenty-two-year-old with skin so pale it could’ve been mistaken for fresh printer paper. My messy hair and thick glasses completed the look of a stereotypical nerd who’d stumbled into the wrong dimension. Probably because I had.
The ceiling loomed above, a labyrinth of massive vents that wheezed with every blast of recycled air. I wondered if they were secretly plotting to suck us all into oblivion. It’d be more exciting than another day in customer service purgatory.
My headset crackled to life, and I plastered on my best fake smile—not that the caller could see it, but hey, they say it comes through in your voice. “Welcome to OpenSesame. You’re speaking with Beau. How may I assist in your online shopping crisis today?”
“Oh là là!” the caller exclaimed. “Are you French? Can you speak French to me?”
I bit back a groan. Ah yes, the daily ‘are you French’ routine—as predictable as my paycheck and twice as annoying. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m about as French as a Big Mac. Is there something I can actually help you with today?”
“But your name is Beau! That’s French!”
“It’s just my name, ma’am. A cruel joke by my parents, really. Now, about your order?—”
“Your voice is so sexy,” she purred. “Say something naughty to me in French.”
My eye twitched. Time to channel my inner high school French teacher. “Très bien, madame. Je termine cet appel. Au revoir.” Translated to: “Very well, madam. I’m ending this call. Goodbye.” I hung up before she could protest, resisting the urge to bang my head against the desk. Another satisfied customer served with a side of existential dread.
As I waited for the next call, my thoughts drifted to my ridiculous name. Beau Adonis Percival Quixote Macbeth. It sounded like my parents had thrown a bunch of random words into a blender, hit puree, and poured out whatever literary smoothie came out. Beau—probably because my mom thought it sounded fancy, or maybe I came out looking “beautiful” after putting her through twenty hours of labor. Adonis—clearly, my parents had a sense of humor, or possibly severe visual impairment. Percival—Dad’s obsession with Arthurian legends, or maybe they thought I’d grow up to be a knight instead of a human punch line. Quixote—because apparently, they wanted me to tilt at windmills for the rest of my life. And Macbeth—because why not top it all off with a curse from ol’ Billy Shakespeare himself?
I sighed, remembering all the times I’d been teased about it. My name had been a thorn in my side since day one, a gift that kept on giving in the form of endless mockery. From playground taunts to college snickers, it seemed the universe had decidedthat Beau Adonis Percival Quixote Macbeth was the punch line to a cosmic joke—and I was the unwilling stand-up comedian. My parents were certified cuckoo, but I couldn’t deny they loved me. They’d embraced my weirdness from day one, even if their naming choices had set me up for a lifetime of pain and terrible French pickup lines.
Speaking of comedy, my parents, in their infinite wisdom, had decided it was high time I spread my wings and flew the nest. And byspread my wings, I mean they kicked me out faster than you can sayfinancial independence. So, at the ripe old age of eighteen, armed with nothing but a high school diploma and a sense of impending doom, I merrily waltzed out of their lives and into the arms of adulthood.
Enter OpenSesame, the mega-retailer of the internet on steroids. This behemoth of online retail had everything from toothpicks to space shuttles, and somehow, they’d decided that I was qualified to be the voice of their customer service. Me, with my sultry tones that could apparently charm the pants off unsuspecting callers. Who knew?
Now, OpenSesame wasn’t just content with being the world’s everything store. Oh no, they had to go and become a bank too. Because why stop at selling you stuff when they could also hold your money hostage? It was brilliant, really. They’d made it so easy to spend money that I half expected my wallet to grow legs and walk itself to their headquarters.
I was a sucker for their promotional offers, falling for them hook, line, and sinker. Sweet buns in bulk? Sign me up! Who cares if I can’t pay rent this month? At least I’ll have enough buns to build a small, delicious fort.
As I sat there, daydreaming about my next meal—despite having eaten lunch mere hours ago—I felt a familiar sensation. The hunger pangs hit me like a freight train, causing me to salivate embarrassingly. My stomach was a bottomless pit,constantly demanding tribute. Not that it was doing much good—I’d plateaued at a towering five foot five, much to my chagrin. Apparently, my body had decided that being mistaken for a middle schooler was my true calling.
I quickly wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve, hoping to salvage what little dignity I had left. But alas, it was too late. I’d been spotted by the office Aphrodite herself, Veronica “Don’t You Dare Breathe Near Me” Johnson.
Veronica was everything I wasn’t—tall, stunning, and apparently allergic to kindness. Her perfectly coiffed blond hair and immaculate makeup made her look like she’d just stepped off a magazine cover, while I looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge backward. She sat across from me, a constant reminder of the genetic lottery I’d failed to win.
Her piercing green eyes narrowed as they landed on me, her perfectly shaped eyebrows arching in disgust. She leaned over to her equally glamorous sidekick, whispering something that made them both titter like hyenas at a comedy club.
“Having trouble keeping your food in your mouth, Beau?” Veronica’s voice dripped with fake sweetness. “Or are you just practicing for your next call? I hear your fans can’t get enough of your… oral skills.”
I felt my face heat up faster than a microwave burrito. “Just savoring the memories of lunch,” I quipped, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “It’s a skill you might want to try sometime, Veronica. You know, actually eating?”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “At least I don’t look like I raid dumpsters for my wardrobe.”
“Ouch,” I clutched my chest dramatically. “You wound me with your originality, Veronica. Did you stay up all night thinking of that one?”
Before she could respond, my headset crackled to life, saving me from further verbal evisceration. As I turned to answerthe call, I caught Veronica miming gagging to her friend. Just another day in paradise, I thought, plastering on my best fake smile as I prepared to charm another unsuspecting caller with my apparently irresistible voice.
“Welcome to OpenSesame,” I purred into the mic. “This is Beau. How may I seduce… I mean, assist you today?”
“Oh, hello,” a timid voice responded. “I’m having trouble with my account. Can you help me?”
I switched into professional mode, guiding the caller through the labyrinth of our website’s account settings. As I wrapped up the call, I caught Veronica rolling her eyes dramatically at my customer service voice. I shot her a sarcastic smile and mouthed, “Jealous?”
Just as I was about to bask in the glow of a successfully resolved issue, and Veronica’s annoyance, another call came through. I straightened up, ready to face whatever fresh hell awaited me in this digital inferno. But then Craig’s voice bulldozed through my headset like a verbal wrecking ball.
