I didn't sign up to be a babysitter!

Ange grabbed him by one skinny wrist and dragged him to the elevator, jabbing the 49th floor button and rounding on him as soon as the doors closed.

“Right, enough of this "Aunty Ange" crap. I'm an only child, I hate kids, everybody I work with knows that. So who the bloody hell are you?”

The little boy shrugged, scuffing one plimsoll on the dirty lino.

“Cat got your tongue? Or do you want me to haul your juvie butt down to the police station?”

“You didn't have to make it difficult, you know.”

“I'm a difficult woman, suck it up, kiddo. Just tell me who you are.”

“But that's not a very fun story.” He sounded put out.

“Real life isn't meant to be a fun story. That's all we write here - real life. So spill it.”

The boy sighed theatrically. He seemed to already have so many behaviours reminiscent of her 7 year old nephew that it was really quite unnerving.

Wait... 

She stepped backwards, her back hitting the mirrored glass.

"No, no, NO!" she shook herself. "Come on, Ange, facts, facts..." she glared at him. "This is you, isn't it?! What the fuck kind of tripped out reality are you trying to make here?"

That impish grin again. 

“I'm the operating system of your unit.”