The Empty Desk

The walk to the student media center felt entirely different from your walk five minutes ago. Your steps were hurried, adrenaline humming through your veins as you pushed past groups of students in the corridors, the fluorescent lights of the humanities block casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to mock your haste. The air, usually thick with the scent of old paper and stale coffee, now buzzed with the electric tang of anticipation. You found the small studio booth tucked away in the basement, a cramped space that always seemed to hum with a low, electronic thrum, even at this late hour. Through the glass, you saw the student announcer leaning back in his chair, a half-eaten sandwich resting on the console beside him, the faint glow of a monitor illuminating his face.

You knocked, a sharp rap that seemed to echo in the quiet corridor. The announcer looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he registered your presence. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, the soundproofing of the room swallowing the ambient noise of the campus. "Hey," you began, your voice a little breathless. "That announcement you just made... about the architecture student and the earphones?"

The announcer blinked, his gaze shifting from the console to you, then back again. A slow grin spread across his face as he leaned forward, his eyes widening. "No way. *Elite reflexes?* Emergency cardboard logistics? You’re the guy!" He gestured with his half-eaten sandwich. "I knew it! When she described the whole thing, I was like, ‘This sounds exactly like that dude who saved her project from flying down Haile Selassie.’ Come on in, man. Take a seat."