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All in a Day's Work
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"All in a Day's Work", Written by DrAkimoto & DivineAtlas. A continuation of the prologue to the Zenith Canon.

Atlas & Akimoto Collabs:

Levels: Level 80, Ataraxia
Entities: Entity 21
Tales: Canticle

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A picture of the NYC skyline, glistening in the sun.

Emilia Zohn sits longingly in a crowded boardroom, the words of the droning researcher scratching at her brain. She twiddles a Zenith Corp-branded pen in her hand as she stares out the window, the New York City skyline glistening in the radiance of the September sun.

"…ohn?" She hears something familiar.

"Ms. Zohn?" Dr. Anderson's voice cuts through her wanderlust and focuses Emilia, the room silent in anticipation of her response.

"Your budget is not where the board's concerns lie, Dr. Anderson—we will pour as much money as we need to for this project to succeed. And all these projections are fine, but we aren't going to write a blank check with no results to show for it. We expect results by the end of next quarter, or you're going to find yourself out of funding and a job." Her voice carries a quiet authority, cold and pointed.

"Absolutely, Ms. Zohn." The scientist gathers his belongings and shuffles into the waiting room, ushering in the next researcher with a "good luck in there".

The proceedings occupy a third of Emilia's attention as she glances between the window and the clock periodically, patiently waiting to punch out for the day. As the eighth such review continues, she grows tired of the meetings—she tugs on the lobe of her left ear, signaling her assistant.

"As you can see from the graph on page thirty-two, three of the nine test subjects—"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Doctor, but Ms. Zohn has another engagement. Please excuse us." Emilia's assistant, Joseph, said, prompting her to rise from her seat. They walk swiftly through the waiting room and to the elevator door. Emilia stands waitingly as Joseph catches up; he reaches out and presses the button indicating up. They enter the elevator, and Emilia sighs dramatically as the door shuts behind them.

"I'd stab myself in the ears if I had to listen to them drone on any longer." She scoffs as she holds out her hand. Joseph pulls her phone from his pocket and places it in her waiting palm. "Quite the long meeting today, no?"

She slides her thumb over the screen and swipes her way to the calendar, clicking it as she looks back to Joseph. "Long is one word for it. I personally call it lifeless. I just wanted to get them out of the way before my trip. Less for her to have to handle."

She looks at her schedule for the day and shakes her head. "Clear my appointments for the afternoon and reschedule them for when I return."

"Yes, Ma'am. Speaking of your trip, Mr. Rodriguez left a message, said he sent you some files you should look at, it seemed important."

The elevator doors open. Emilia doesn't look up from her screen as she steps out and offers him a distant "Mhm".

Emilia enters her spacious office, the walls lined with dark mahogany shelves filled with various books and trinkets she had accumulated over the years. She kicks her shoes off by the door, the thick carpeting hugging her feet slightly as she walks towards her desk. She plops down in the wide leather seat, puts her feet on the desk, and retrieves a slim cigarette from the top drawer.

Just a few more hours, she thinks as she ignites it and takes a long drag.

She groans as she finishes the cigarette, extinguishing it in the ashtray as her other hand shakes the mouse to her computer. She clicks open her message application and begins downloading the files Mr. Rodriguez sent to her, titled los-lagos-incursion.zip.

The phone on her desk beeps loudly—aggravated, Emilia presses the answer button.

"I'm sorry to interrupt; Mr. Dubois is on line three and said it was important." Her assistant says reluctantly.

"Who?"

"Lestat Dubois, the EU lawyer you spoke to—"

"What a bore—patch it through."

The light for line three glows red, and Emilia answers. The Zenith Corp lawyer drones on, rattling off legalese in French as she listens half-heartedly. Emilia's attention begins to drift as the topic shifts to human experimentation bylaws. She doodles in the margin of her notepad as she listens—a chibified rendition of a Hound, with the face of a Smiler and the wings of a Deathmoth.

"Si vous ne réglez pas ces problèmes, nous allons avoir de gros soucis… Vous m’écoutez au moins?"

"Yes, I am listening—and to be frank, I just don't have answers for you. It's your job to make it work. Either figure it out or I'll find someone who can." She ends the call abruptly and retrieves another cigarette, lighting it before meandering to the window. The city looked small to her, with far too many people.

Her computer makes a gentle ding as the files finish downloading; she walks back to her desk and slides into her seat. She quickly scrolls past the documentation and opens an MP4 file. A window consumes the screen as the video begins to play.

The scene opens to two men walking through an empty, dilapidated warehouse. Light pours in from holes in the ceiling, sporadically illuminating the room.

The man in frame is of average height, middle-aged, and wearing a bright green blazer, a dirty Mets hat, and a torn pair of jeans. Speaking briefly in Spanish, "Es por aquí, amigo, justo por aquí atrás", the man being filmed ushers the cameraman forward.

They approach the rear corner of the main room; the man points to a grimy brick wall. "Es este, señor", a portion of the wall distorts slightly as the camera focuses on it. The cameraman picks up a small piece of rubble and tosses it at the wall—it phases through it seamlessly.

"¿Dijiste que había una indemnización, verdad?" The cameraman turns to the man and finally speaks, "¿Quién te contó sobre esto?"

"No te preocupes, amigo, solo eran unos chicos del pueblo"

The cameraman pulls a silenced pistol on the unsuspecting man, firing it two times into his torso. The man stumbles over, groaning broken expletives as he slumps to the floor. The cameraman drags the body to the wall and, with some degree of effort, lifts him and shoves him through the wall.

The cameraman takes a few steps back from the wall before holding up his left thumb.

As the video ends, a slight smile graces Emilia's face. She pulls up her messaging application and sends a reply to Mr. Rodriguez.

Take care of the kids too… No loose ends.

-Z

She pulls out a sticky note from inside her desk drawer and begins to write: This is what we've been searching for. With a few clicks, she pulls the files back up, sticks the note to the screen, and turns off her monitor. Emilia presses the intercom and speaks, "I'm leaving early, Joseph." A brief moment passes before her office door opens, Joseph steps in with her coat and bag in hand.

Traffic makes their drive to Emilia's apartment take far longer than it should, given she lives only a few blocks from Zenith Corp's headquarters. Joseph unlocks and opens her penthouse door, "Enjoy your trip, ma'am—I'll see you when you get back." She nods to him as she closes the door.

Emilia's body relaxes as she slips off her jacket and steps out of her dress shoes. She walks through a sterile hall to an equally bland kitchen, tossing her bag onto the counter as she goes. She opens the fridge. It's barren, save for twelve glass bottles of spring water—identical, evenly spaced. She takes one and closes the fridge. She untwists the lid and puts the bottle to her lips—it's cold and smells of benzaldehyde. She takes several long sips as she saunters from the kitchen to her bedroom.

She removes her clothes—a slim-fitting pair of black slacks and a monochrome floral blouse—tossing them in a small wicker basket in the corner of the room. She finishes the bottle of water as she moves to the bathroom. Emilia stares in the mirror before grabbing a makeup removal wipe from the drawer under the sink. She wipes away her face—her foundation, liner, and lipstick smears in muted streaks before fading. She pauses on the long scar on the side of her face, tracing it lightly with her finger as if it brought some form of comfort.

Emilia enters the shower, turning the ornate handle, prompting cold water to spill out from several directions. It's sharp and immediate; the stresses of the day melt away as she stands motionless. The world, if only for a moment, is finally quiet.

After her show, she returns to the bedroom. Emilia finds a pair of black khakis and a form-fitting shirt. She takes out a set of pink silk pyjamas and lays them out on her bed, cocking her head before grimacing. She enters her walk-in closet, the room perfectly bisected by similar, yet distinctly different, clothing styles. She retrieves a pair of sturdy black boots, slipping into them and tying the laces. She grabs a bleach-white lab coat on her way out. Emilia returns to her bathroom and takes a candle from the cabinet, lighting it and placing it near the tub. She turns on the faucet and begins to fill the tub with steaming hot water. Once the bath is full, she turns off the light and leaves the room.

Emilia enters her pristine, modern living room. Glass, steel, and pale fabric are arranged with deliberate precision, immaculate, a space less lived in than carefully maintained. She sits on the couch, phone in hand, and she makes a call.

"Dante's Pizza, how can I help you?"

"Hi, I'd like to place an order for a large olive and onion pizza."

"The usual, same place as normal, Ms. Zohn?"

"Yes."

"Alright, give it like thirty–forty minutes."

Emilia ends the call and dons her lab coat, making her way to a cabinet in the kitchen. She grabs a small bottle of pills, squeezing and twisting to remove the lid. Inside lay a medley of tablets and capsules—a concoction meant to alleviate her circadian needs. She dumps the contents into her mouth, swallowing hard, the sharp lump sliding down her throat for what felt like minutes.

She finds a cigarette in her bag and lights it, walking to the large picturesque window to stare out at the bustling city below. After a few minutes the medical cocktail she consumed begins to take effect—her mind sharpens, her aches dissolve—Emilia is ready for the day. She looks back at the clock and notices the time, extinguishing her cigarette in the nearby ashtray. She moves swiftly, tossing her phone on the counter on her way to the front door. She doesn't reach for the handle; instead, she turns around, facing her apartment, and simply waits.

Three

Two

One

The world abruptly shifts around her, reality warps, and a kaleidoscope of color engulfs Emilia as the sensation of falling overwhelms her.

When Emilia opens her eyes, she is in Laboratory 14; before her, a large stone slab sits in a CNC machine, her name etched ever so small, always in pairs, forming a grid-like pattern on its surface.

"It's really an ingenious setup you two have, Ma-am." Her assistant, David, stands behind her, clipboard in hand. Emilia brushes her fingers along the engravings on the slab, years of trips recorded in the beige stone.

"Going back in time to switch with yourself using the Tooth fragments… who would've thought of such a thing?"

"Me, David, and it took countless years to achieve…" her voice fades as she momentarily becomes lost in thought. David coughs, focusing her as she turns to look at him.

He gives a half smile. "How was the trip, Ma'am?"

"Couldn't have come soon enough—that place is suffocating." She steps past David, already on her way to the elevator. "Did she figure out a way to track the incursion fields from here?"

"Yes, Ma'am—Ms. Zohn has the blueprints and said she will recreate them in the Frontrooms."

They stop before the elevator door; Emilia waits for David to press the button indicating "up".

"And what of my darling?"

"You'll be happy to know Subject 348 is awake, eating, and seemingly healthy. The only issue is that the wings appear to be vestigial still."

A ding interrupts the conversation as the doors open and they step inside. David presses a button, and they turn to face forward.

"Another failure—that's a real shame… We'll have to try again." Her face remains unchanging, statuesque.

The elevator hums as it starts to rise.

After a few moments David turns to Emilia. "Will you be going home?"

The elevator door opens to her spacious office, the furnishings carved from monochromatic marble and engraved with ornate gold detailing. In the rear glass wall, the sprawling view of Level 11 stretches out as far as the eye can see.

Emilia smiles faintly.

"No," she says. "There's work to be done."

A wide shot of a vast city skyline
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page revision: 9, last edited: 08 Jul 2026 18:48
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