How it Began
This was not a good day for Martha. This was not a good day for anyone involved, but Martha took the brunt to the psyche. Her emotional stability was questionable, on the best of days, but this would assuredly put her over the edge.
Staring at the dim blue light the occupied her desk, she inhaled slowly. The soft scent of lavender doing nothing to soothe her, despite the bottles claims. There were a stack of papers threatening to teeter to the floor and add to the piles of folders already crumpled under her small desk.
She had only been in this position for two years. She thought she was adequate at her job--granted the job itself was nothing short of mediocre--but she was adequate. There was nothing to gain from the repetitive typing and the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights were starting to take a toll on her in the windowless sterile room. Push through it, just make it, it'll be fine. Her constant mantra that had held up for a year, but now it was starting to show cracks, and the cracks it showed we'rent pretty.
It all started to decline when she learned her supervisor was acting more or less like a pawn of the High Governor, which was not surprising given her propensity for wealth at the sake of being (though Wendy suspected she enjoyed inflicting suffering in the most passive aggressive manner.) That wasn't even the worst part. It was the fakeness. How she had pretended to care about Wendy's well-being then snapped a 180 as soon as Wendy's health came into question. Let her burn, shit let me burn and I'll take her down with me. Coupled with being betrayed by a close colleague, this was shaping up to be a banner year of scum.
Despite her best efforts to keep her head down, everything went topsy turvy when they announced that there had been a breach from the High Governor's Estate, and Wendy's supervisor had contracted to find the culprit and restore the records of those effected. Which of course meant that Wendy and a few others who actually did the work, would be working hellishly towards whatever ridiculous deadline their supervisor had agreed to on their behalf, but of course, with no input from the parties involved.
Wendy logged into the Estate's secure network and began clicking away at various bits of information the High Governor deemed too sensitive to release. It was during such a day, a Tuesday in fact, that she came across the file of "Dopey" of the Seven Dwarfs. Scanning the document her eyes widened as she got to the end of the page. She had finished processing the case and sent it off for approval, and sent a quick message to her Manager reading, "Hey, just finished this case, Dopey's date of death doesn't match the official records. I released both anyways."
It seemed almost immediately after she had hit send, she had a flood of messages demanding she delete the file, several messages from her Supervisor chastising her for being "foolish" enough to not alert an Estate Agent, and several other more formal messages from the company going on about "the importance of compliance." But one message stood out, it was from an external sender, and message simply read: We need to talk. It was signed "G." and disappeared as soon as Wendy had finished reading it. She wasn't sure how "G"proposed to get ahold of her since the only evidence of her communication self deleted, but she did know that this was the start of a bad situation and Tuesdays were always her worst days.