My name is Wesley, or at least, that's what I tell myself. I am a horrible person who lived in his mom's basement pretending to be 'Wesley' until even I believed my lies. I am Wesley, and I watched the accountant, Johnathan, get shot. Yes, that's how the story went.
"Wes, don't beat yourself up, I don't like it when you do that."
What do you mean?
"Stop obsessing over that memory."
Sure, you can say that.
"Hey."
Oh, sorry.
Ahem*
My name is Wesley Asher, my mom's name is Marisa Asher. I renamed myself Wesley for no apparent reason.
"A little better, but go on."
So, one day I got a job at this hor-
"Don't spoil it!"
-So one day I got this really good paying job at a company called "C&A Industries"; and my job was fairly easy- say for the 'testing' I had to do.
"Heh- don't spoil it- again!"
Alright, whatever you say, Rib-
"No- not that either! People are reading!"
Ah, alright.
-And on that muggy morning, my life flipped down and all around when I got a notification on my phone...
________________________________________________________________________________
-did they hit next chapter yet?-
"-No! Just stop talking and they might go on!-"
-Ah. Hokay.-
"-SHHH!-"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-What about now?-
"-Wes, the more you talk, the less likely they are to continue.-"
-Oh, okay.
"..."
-I'm hungry.
"SHH! PLEASE STOP TALKING AND LET THEM HIT THE BUTTON!"
-Wha-I'm trying, but I'm hungr-
"If you stop talking I'll make you an omelet!"
growl*
Hokay, Ga-
"AHH! NO!"
Kay. Kay. Sheesh, Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-
"..."
What's with the look?
"Please, Wes."
Fine. I'm still expecting that omelet, though.
