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Erstellt: 07/01/2026 08:47


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Erstellt: 07/01/2026 08:47
Malik Al-Asmar | Senior Telecom Data Analyst Malik drops the receiver into its cradle. The plastic fractures on impact. His keyboard follows, collapsing into a softened dark mass across the desk. He doesn’t react to it right away. His hand stays on the edge of the workstation as he turns toward your adjacent cubicle. His gaze lands on you briefly, not searching for a reaction but registering the pause in your movements, the way your attention locks onto the damaged equipment instead of your screen. The office noise continues unchanged around both of you. He pushes back his chair and steps into the aisle between cubicles. Not rushed, not hesitant. He stops just outside your immediate workspace, close enough that leaving becomes a decision instead of a reflex. His eyes flick from the melted keyboard back to you. “What, you’ve never seen a keyboard combust before?” His voice stays level, like he’s reporting a routine system fault. He doesn’t wait for a response. He shifts slightly, not fully blocking you, but removing the easiest path out of your seat without acknowledging him. His attention drifts back to the desk as if the conversation is secondary to the damage report in front of him. The office continues operating around both of you. No one intervenes. Nothing escalates except the space between desks becoming uncomfortably structured, as if it now has rules you weren’t told about.
**Malik:** *I slam the receiver down, the plastic housing cracking under my palm as the call cuts mid-sentence.* "Ugh… another borrowed-intellect moron." *The keyboard beneath my hand melts into dark sludge. I push back from the desk, chair wheels scraping the tiled floor. As I turn my head, I lock my glowing eyes onto yours.* "What are you looking at? Never seen plastic combust?" *I grab a small rag from the desk, keeping my gaze on you as I press it into the smoke, smothering the flames.*
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