April 3, 2025 (Thursday)
The red panda primarily eats bamboo, supplemented with occasional insects and small vertebrates. Active during dawn and dusk, they spend much of their time foraging for food, using their sharp claws and agility to climb trees. Solitary by nature, they seek refuge in trees or dense foliage during the day, curling up with their bushy tails for warmth and protection. They take short naps throughout—
The calming words of National Geographic: Almanac 2025 abruptly exited Celine Myers's mind as she slammed the book shut, sighing loudly and feeling the headache that had been brewing in her mind since last Tuesday only accelerate in its visceral pounding against her skull.
Of course, Celine had nothing against red pandas. At the moment, however, she did have a bone to pick with the lab research department at Pym Technologies, and the stationary red mammals on the book pages were unfortunately just taking the brunt of her frustration.
"Nine days," Celine muttered to herself, shoving the National Geographic book back into a crevice on the bookshelf behind her before leaning back on her office chair and subconsciously twisting the leather strap of her wristwatch, her dark hair pooling across her shoulders. "Insane."
Nine days she'd been waiting for a follow-up from lab research regarding the department's monthly financial budget and modeling. She'd emailed the head director about needing the numbers an entire month ago, only to get forwarded to his assistant, who'd then forwarded Celine to the lab operations supervisor, who'd then taken a good week to email her back just to ask which month's numbers she wanted him to send (the email subject line was March 2024 Lab Finances).
By the time Celine had sent back a polite and notably-blunt response, she'd only had nine more days until her quarterly report presentation to her manager, for which she needed her numbers by.
That had been last Tuesday. It was 1:08pm on Thursday now, and Celine's inbox was still void of an email from the lab operators supervisor with some numbers that she very desperately needed, which meant that Celine had exactly 52 minutes before her presentation, which meant that she only had 52 minutes to somehow obtain the necessary financial data she needed, crunch the numbers, analyze them, add her analysis to the slide deck she'd been preparing all quarter for her presentation, do a quick run-through of the final slides, and then make her way up to Conference Room 1342 for the presentation that very well could determine whether she secured a full-time job offer from Pym Technologies or not.
As a part-time financial analyst intern at Pym Technologies, one of the largest corporations in the global world of science, half of Celine's week was spent in a small office on the 9th floor of Pym Technologies Headquarters, while the other half was spent commuting back downtown to attend classes at the University of San Francisco.
It really was a hustle-and-bustle lifestyle, and although Celine's LinkedIn profile described her as "an enthusiastic fourth-year student majoring in finance who is eager to utilize her passion for data analysis, mathematical reasoning, and quantitative modeling to explore the intersection between business and technology," it was really all just fancy word vomit that in actuality probably should say something like "monetarily-suffering 22-year-old with dead parents and barely any financial support of her own who is desperate to secure a well-paying job post-graduation so that she can pay off her debts, get rid of her student loans, and stop thrifting second-hand for basically everything she owns."
Celine's dad passed away from a heart attack before she was born. Her mom worked at least two jobs everyday for twenty years until she was struck dead by a tow truck two Decembers ago while working to deliver pizzas by foot in the middle of the night, leaving a 20-year-old Celine with a mountain of medical bills and a determination to never suffer to put food on the table like she witnessed her mom do.
That was that—and, in all honesty, Celine felt pretty proud about where she was headed. An internship at Pym Technologies wasn't an easy snab, and when she'd received the job offer four months ago, after months of late nights and internship applications and food stamps and studying, it had finally sparked a needed flame of hope within her: maybe her hard work was paying off after all.
Of course, it'd all be for nothing if Celine bombed her quarterly presentation, which seemed like the current likely outcome, considering her email inbox was still empty.
She glanced down at her wristwatch, which—like almost everything else on her—was bought second-hand from a shabby consignment store a two-minute walk away from her college dorm. The leather strap was shabby and worn down, and the slightly-cracked glass of the face displayed that the time was now 1:11pm.
Wonderful.
Celine pinched the bridge of her nose, staring at the empty mug at the corner of her desk. She'd barely eaten today, having irrationally felt the urge to stay in her office until she received her awaited email, and now the thirst was catching up with her too, but even now she couldn't even bring herself to go refill her mug lest she accidentally missed the lab operations supervisor's email notification and lost precious time in finalizing her presentation.
She felt her levels of stress rising steadily as her knee began to bounce uncontrollably, the panic of failing to adequately present her report finally having caught up with her. If Celine's performance and work for this presentation were deemed poor by her manager—which they obviously will be if she's missing critical data from the overall analysis—then she might as well just kiss her office desk goodbye and walk out of Pym Technologies Headquarters right now.
Ping!
Celine practically upended her chair as she shot out of it, sending a stack of papers on her desk into a flurry in her rush to get to her laptop. She paid them no mind, heart racing as she opened her email in anticipation.
Celine stared at the email notification for the new 20% off sale at Urban Outfitters going on between April 6 and April 15 for one long, drawn-out second.
"Okay," she muttered, closing her laptop and repressing the urge to chuck it out the window. "That's it."
She stood up, grabbing her mug from her desk on her way out the door. She'd get her water, and she was going to get those damn numbers too.
Celine filled her mug at a water fountain with water and took a long-awaited chug. 1:12pm.
In the elevator, Celine checked her wristwatch. 1:14pm.
When the elevator doors opened to reveal the 23rd floor, Celine looked down again. 1:15pm.
When she turned the corner and approached a set of heavy metal doors flanked by security card readers on either side and "RESTRICTION: EMPLOYEE ACCESS LIMITED BEYOND THIS POINT TO APPROVED LAB PERSONNEL" in bold red letters on a sign above the doors, it was 1:16pm.
She waited behind an adjacent wall until a young man in a white lab coat approached from a side hallway and swiped his authorized employee I.D. through one of the card readers, causing the doors to automatically open, revealing the vast research facility within. Celine quickly followed behind him. 1.18pm.
Inside was a setting beyond Albert Einstein's wildest dreams. Rows and rows of white work stations were lined up underneath the tall, raised ceiling above, from which clinically-bright light shone down upon the numerous lab workers below. Equipment of all different shapes and sizes was scattered across the lab, with most of the specialized instruments occupied by users. Fume hoods, fire extinguishers, emergency showers, and eyewash stations ran across the walls of the lab, and there were probably more beakers and vials in sight than Celine had ever seen in one room together.
Most of all, everywhere she looked, people in sweeping white lab coats and safety goggles were hard at work, rushing past and interacting with the scientific equipment, mixing mysterious liquids together and pouring concoctions out of glass tubes.
"Sorry!" One such lab worker exclaimed as he rushed past Celine and accidentally bumped against her shoulder, a vial in his hand and thick safety goggles strapped around his head. Celine barely had time to reply before he was already rushing away.
Celine knew she stuck out like a sore thumb, a dark blazer and slacks in the sea of white lab coats around her. She was probably going to get called out soon for sneaking into a restricted area that she clearly didn't have access to, so she gave herself a good three seconds to take in her surroundings in awe before she zeroed back in onto her current goal, quickly approaching a nearby table and tapping the shoulder of a redheaded woman in a lab coat who didn't look to be busy.
"Excuse me? I'm so sorry to disturb you, but do you know where I can speak to the lab operations supervisor?"
The redheaded woman stared at Celine. "Uh, I think Mr. Rosenberg's by the equipment area. I can go get him if you'd like."
"That'd be great, thank you."
Celine loitered by the table, waiting and feeling a little awkward as she felt curious eyes staring at her from all around the lab. She hadn't really been thinking too much about the implications of just barging in here without permission, having acted impulsively, but now that it was done, she was beginning to wonder if it had been the right thing to do. Maybe this was what would get her kicked out of Pym Technologies—not for a failed quarterly report presentation, but for sneaking around in places she didn't belong.
No later than what felt like five seconds after the redheaded woman rushed away, she came back, a bald, pudgy man in tow behind her. He was short and sweaty, with a thick mustache above his mouth, and Celine knew right away that he was Mr. Rosenberg just from the mixture of recognition and distaste he was eyeing her with as he approached, no doubt categorizing her as the bothersome intern who'd changed from interrupting his day's work with emails to now doing so with an in-person visit.
"Ms. Myers!" he cried in a very high-pitched, pedantic voice when he reached her, barely giving Celine any chance to even open her mouth. "I understand that you need those financial numbers, but that gives you no right to force yourself into this restricted facility without proper authorization!"
Celine tried not to let her exasperation seep into her voice. "Mr. Rosenberg, sir, I understand, but it's been nine days, and—"
"You must recognize that that does not give you authority to enter into the laboratory here!"
"Yes, I know that, but—"
"It's dangerous here, Ms. Myers! We work with dangerous chemicals in this lab to procure concoctions for Hank Pym himself! You do not have the adequate protective equipment to even be standing in this space right now!"
Celine's voice softened slightly. "I understand, sir, don't worry. I'll be out of here in no time—I just really need those numbers sent to me. My presentation is in half an hour."
Mr. Rosenberg huffed, the hairs of his mustache bristling. "I—very well. I will head to my office right now and have those sent to you in the next five minutes. Please, just leave."
Celine arrived back at her small little office on the 9th floor at exactly 1:26pm in determined spirits, mug full and a new email from Mr. Rosenburg in her inbox. She sat down at her desk before opening her laptop, taking a sip of water from her mug and ready to crunch some numbers in order to demolish her quarterly report.
She never made it to her quarterly report presentation. At 1:27pm on April 3, 2025, Celine Myers vanished from her little office on the 9th floor, and all that was left behind were the loose pieces of paper on her desk, fluttering slightly from some unknown source of wind.