Ring-ring!
"Hello, BidWave Trading Company, how may I help you?"
Knock-knock, clack, tap.
"I'm telling you, we cannot provide compensation for... Sir, please don't raise your voice, I'm sure we can reach a compromi..."
Shuffle-shuffle.
"Ma'am, could you spare me a moment? I'm calling because I've just received the best insider offer. Let me briefly tell you about the product..."
Tap-tap, clack-clack, crackle.
'Damn, this tie is choking me.'
The spacious office on one floor of a large corporation was utterly crammed with the peripherals of people from various specialties. Every corner was packed with desks, chairs, and computers, each accompanied by the shell of a human belonging to the subspecies "office clerk." They could be distinguished from other workers by their hunched posture, slumped shoulders, calloused fingers, enormous dark circles under their eyes, and eyes devoid of any hope, shattered by the disillusionment of their supposedly glorious company careers. Unlike other employees engaged in sales or customer service, these individuals lacked any particular friendliness or zeal for their work. Though one could almost envy them. Unlike some, they at least had a desk... and a chair – essentially, their own workspace. Some, of course, were unlucky and had to share their spot with another person, while certain "special" company employees were granted a place on the floor. Thus, having one's own workspace was considered a luxury ever since the parent company, facing financial difficulties, decided to lease out several floors of its building to smaller firms. The thought of reducing the workforce apparently never crossed their minds, or perhaps the suits simply didn't care about the lives of the ordinary peons working for them. Consequently, several hundred, if not thousands, of workers were crammed onto the remaining floors, creating a picture so intricate it could only be described with one word: "Chaos." Given the large number of people, equal to value X, multiplied by the office ventilation system's capacity, equal to 1, and accounting for additional variables like the smell of sweat, cheap perfume, and cigarette smoke, coupled with coefficient H – signifying hatred – we arrive at a truly staggering answer to the universe's fundamental question that arises during work: "What is the meaning of life?"
"Work, work, and work some more," as the former company CEO would have decreed. Though, as usual, the main task at work was simply survival, so one needn't worry. Ah, another glorious day at my beloved job. Isn't life wonderful?
You're probably wondering what the hell kind of nonsense I'm spouting? Well, fuck if I know. I've noticed I have this ability: the moment I take a few steps past the company threshold and sit down in my work chair, my rational mind just flies straight to hell. Not that it helps much here anyway; I'd even say that switching my brain off allows me to fully focus on the task and achieve a zen-like state akin to a Shaolin monk dwelling in the mountains. That is, until...
"Damn it all, why the fuck do I bother with this tie every day when it chokes me?" said a young office worker, loosening the tie and pulling it off his neck. "I could barely get you fastened; how can you be my second noose, showing no respect for my feelings whatsoever?" he lamented in a suffering voice, crumpling the black silk tie and stuffing it into his pocket. Then, unbuttoning the top button of his white shirt and stretching, he groaned: "Only 4 hours out of 10 have passed, and I already want to die. Someone, please, get me out of here."
"Your wish is heard..." a low, languid voice sounded behind his back. In the next instant, an arm wrapped around his neck and began to choke him.
"Hmph... what the... mmmph... ah, Matt, it's just you. What brings your highness down to our level, us lowly serfs? Dare I ask, have you issued a new decree stating that 21-year-old Cassian Warren, working on the 63rd floor of WEEATSHIT Company, is to be sent home immediately for enforced rest due to his immense contribution to the company's development? Any other decree, alas, I shall not accept," said Cassian, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms, and raising an eyebrow. A mixture of envy, contempt, and hatred was clearly visible in his posture and voice.
"Oh, come on, Cass, I'm not that different from you. Sure, I can now be called a bit of a suit-wearing bigwig managing a whole department. Yeah, I have a separate office away from the common peons with a working air conditioner, and yes, I have a sexy personal secretary who brings me coffee, but you have to understand how hard it is for me. Ah, sometimes I start to feel weary of it all," he said, striking a dramatic pose with a melancholic voice. "But don't you worry, Cass. It's not what you think that matters, it's what others see. Just picture us like a piece of shit floating down the river compared to a person driving alongside in a car," he added, spreading his hands.
"Fuck off. Playing king of the castle with me, huh? If you jumped from your self-importance down to your IQ, you'd fucking die on impact. Seriously though, why are you here?"
"I'm on break, decided to pop over and ask. Are you playing KOTA 2 tonight? I almost managed to get our old crew together for a few games. Just missing you."
"Hmm, why not. I remember in our prime we could win 20 games in a row."
"Exactly, man. Finally, I'll climb out of fucking Squire and become a Knight. So tired of getting nothing but whiners and griefers on my team."
"Pfft. Oh, come on. Are you serious? You can't even play. I did everything for you as support: pulled creeps, harassed the enemy Hardlaner, drew the enemy support's attention, grabbed runes on time – all so you could leave the lane with a score of 0/12/0! Are you fucking serious?!"
"Not my fault we had a cancerous Midlaner back then. Dude literally couldn't come to our lane when needed. Besides, my skill was weaker then than it is now."
"That match was the fucking day before yesterday, Matt!"
"Well, my skill improves day by day. I feel like my macro and micro movements are already better than they were the day before yesterday."
"Yeah, amazing how zero squared equals one. Well done, truly progressing."
"Heh, you little son of a bitch, one one."
Matt was a pleasant guy. Tall, fit, with tanned skin, dark eyes, and long hair, and in his fucking elegant dark suit, he could be mistaken for some gang boss. Compared to Cassian, who was of average height—well, middling, middling height—scrawny, with medium-length light brown hair and amber, almost golden eyes beneath which dark bags from lack of sleep were prominently displayed, he looked more like a convict than an office worker. But Cassian didn't care; Matt was one of the few people he hadn't stopped hanging out with since graduating university. Moreover, they'd even managed to get jobs at the same company, in the same office. Though, unlike Cassian, Matt had climbed the corporate ladder, getting promoted to head of the finance department just six months after starting. Sure, his charisma was well-leveled, like his vocal cords, but his brains? Not so much. Guys like him fit the word "reckless" better than "stupid."
"Alright, I should probably head off. Been gone way longer than I should. Melinda's probably looking for me already," Matt said, glancing at his brand-new watch.
'Damn, he even got a watch now... wait, is that a Volex?..'
"Melinda? Your secretary?" Cassian said, giving absolutely no sign he was surprised by the gleaming watch on Matt's wrist.
"Yeah, fuck, bro, you gotta see her. She's like she stepped out of a painting. And the curves on her..." Matt replied, spreading his palms to indicate the dimensions of Melinda's charms by eye. "And she's also really goo—"
"Alright, I don't want to hear any more! Fuck off out of here faster before I strangle you with my bare hands," Cassian hissed through his teeth. His envy could easily have taken the form of an aura by now.
"Ha-ha, okay, okay. I'll text you tonight when we're gathering," Matt waved at his back, turned around, and walked away.
Cassian watched his retreating figure for a while until it disappeared from view, then mentally sighed and turned back to his monitor.
'What a bastard. Why the fuck does that asshole get so lucky? Feels like he won the lottery of life. Sigh, if only life were different, I...'
BOOM!
CRASH!
"Huh? What the—?" Cassian instinctively ducked, covering his head with his hands.
A deafening explosion sounded from somewhere below. Immediately afterward, the entire building shook. People's screams erupted.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
"HOLY FUCK, WHAT THE HELL?!"
"GET THE FUCK OUT!"
"W-what the hell is happeni—" Cassian stammered, his voice trembling.
And then...
BOOM!
A second explosion roared. This one occurred much higher up the building than the first. The floor shook violently, plaster rained down from the ceiling, and the windows blew out from the blast wave.
Panic broke out, followed by a stampede.
"Hey... Hey, where the hell are you pushing?!"
"STOP... NO!"
"H-HELP!"
Cassian saw with his own eyes how some poor souls were crushed to the floor like they'd been hit by a wave, but the crowd didn't care. They were unlikely to be saved.
'Fuck, g-gotta run. Take the fire stairs down, and then...'
BOOM!
He didn't get to finish the thought. An explosion roared nearby, and then everything plunged into darkness.