Cochlea

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I now understood why no one wanted this job, and why those who worked it ended up quitting with only a few months under their belts.

Working at Cochlea was a job that had the potential to change someone, and not necessarily for the better. 

So much suffering happened here. And we were privy to it all.

My days consisted of checking in visitors at the front desk, taking a break every thirty minutes to do a round of the floors I was assigned to, and make sure nothing was amiss.

I patrolled the first floor, where lower rated ghouls were kept, every hour on the hour, and the second floor, where S rated ghouls were kept, every thirty minutes.

I had expected the first floor to be an easy patrol. Lower rated ghouls should be no big deal, right?

I was wrong. The cries coming from the cells, the voices of the ghouls who had been there much too long, begging to be released, it was enough to crack the resilient front that anyone put up.

And then there were the occasional sexual comments, growled out from the darkened corners of cells, telling me how pretty I looked, how good I smelled, how they wanted to sink their teeth into me. 

The second floor was a piece of cake compared to the first. Ghouls on the second floor seemed more resigned to their fates. I heard the occasional sob, or whisper for me to come closer to their cells, but as the days passed, I was able to steel myself against the voices, to keep walking as if I'd heard nothing.

But if the sounds didn't set ones nerves on edge, the smell surely would. The stench of mildew and decay, of long-uncleaned bathrooms and the faint smell of iron clinging to everything. This was not a place where any type of life could thrive, ghoul nor human.

 I adjusted quickly to the conditions, but it was the suffering of others that got under my skin. I forced myself to push through, although my first instinct was to run. I needed this job. After two days of work, the muffled tears on my lunch breaks ceased. After a week, the pit of anxiety in my stomach had lessened.


**


I was on my lunch break, on the first day of my third week of work, when my phone chimed and I quickly silenced it, the electronic ding was deafening in the empty break room, and looked at the message.

Message from: Akira (14:47)

Y/N, I have something important I need to discuss with you. Can I call you sometime soon?

Reply to: Akira (14:48)

I'm about to head back to work after my break. I'll call you after work. I'm off at 19:00.

Message from: Akira (14:50)

Okay.


I hustled back to my post at the front desk, with only three minutes to spare before I had to go on another round.

I noticed that Nitori, the man that was scheduled to work this shift with me, was missing from the front desk.

He was here when I left, where could he have gone off to?

Just then a hand clapped onto my shoulder and I whirled around to look into the dark eyes of the shift leader. 

"Y/N-chan, Nitori-kun went home with a migraine. I know you're assigned to the first and second floors, but I'm going to need you to monitor the third floor as well until Yuu-chan gets here to cover Nitori's duties." He gave me a hesitant smile. "Think you can do it?"

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