The fluorescent lights hummed their familiar funeral dirge at 3:47 AM.
Takeshi Yamada stared at his computer screen, watching the cursor blink in the empty cell of yet another spreadsheet. His eyes burned. His back ached. The coffee from six hours ago had long since metabolized into a dull headache that pulsed behind his temples in rhythm with the overhead lights.
This was fine. This was normal.
He'd pulled 127 all-nighters in the past two years at Sakamoto Industries. This was just number 128.
"Yamada-kun, are you still working on the Fujimoto account?"
Takeshi didn't look up from his screen. He recognized the voice of Tanaka-san, his section chief, a man who treated sleep as a weakness and human decency as a liability. "Yes, sir. The revised projections will be ready by the morning meeting."
"Morning meeting is in three hours."
"I'm aware, sir."
Footsteps retreated. Takeshi allowed himself the luxury of a single, quiet sigh before his fingers returned to the keyboard. The numbers blurred together. Revenue projections. Cost analyses. Profit margins that would make shareholders smile and employees weep. He'd done this dance so many times he could probably do it in his sleep—if he ever got any.
The thing about working at a black company was that you learned to measure your life in different units. Not hours or days, but in projects completed. Deadlines met. Performance reviews survived. Takeshi had survived twenty-three of them. He'd watched colleagues burn out, break down, or simply disappear after being "asked to resign" for failing to meet impossible quotas.
He was still here because he'd learned the most important skill: how to endure.
His phone buzzed. A message from his mother, asking if he'd be home for dinner this weekend. He'd respond later. Maybe. If he remembered. If he had time between the Fujimoto account and the emergency presentation Tanaka-san would inevitably assign him tomorrow—today, technically—at 9 AM sharp.
Takeshi reached for his coffee mug and found it empty. He stared into its depths like a fortune teller reading tea leaves, seeing only the dried brown ring at the bottom that marked where his last shred of dignity had evaporated.
The lights flickered.
He looked up, frowning. The building's electrical system was old, but it rarely—
The world shattered.
It wasn't a sound or a sensation, exactly. More like reality itself had been a pane of glass and someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Cracks spread across Takeshi's vision, jagged lines of brilliant blue light that carved through the air, through his desk, through the very fabric of existence.
Then everything went white.
[SYSTEM INTEGRATION INITIATED]
[WELCOME TO THE TOWER]
[SCANNING PLANETARY POPULATION...]
[7,891,432,651 ELIGIBLE PARTICIPANTS DETECTED]
[ASSIGNING CLASSES...]
The words burned themselves into Takeshi's retinas, hovering in the air like some kind of augmented reality display except he wasn't wearing any headset. He tried to stand, to move, to do anything, but his body refused to respond. The white void held him suspended, weightless, while text continued to scroll past.
[ANALYZING INDIVIDUAL: TAKESHI YAMADA]
[OCCUPATION: CORPORATE EMPLOYEE]
[EXPERIENCE: 8 YEARS, 4 MONTHS, 17 DAYS]
[OVERTIME HOURS LOGGED: 14,327]
[PERFORMANCE REVIEWS SURVIVED: 23]
[CALCULATING OPTIMAL CLASS ASSIGNMENT...]
Takeshi's mind raced. This had to be a hallucination. Exhaustion-induced psychosis. He'd finally pushed himself too far and his brain was shutting down in the most elaborate way possible. That made sense. That was logical. The alternative—that this was actually happening—was insane.
[CLASS ASSIGNED: CORPORATE DRONE]
[RARITY: UNIQUE]
[EMPLOYER: THE BLACK COMPANY]
[WELCOME TO YOUR NEW POSITION]
The white void shattered like the reality before it, and Takeshi slammed back into his body with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. He gasped, hands gripping the edge of his desk as the familiar office materialized around him.
Except it wasn't familiar anymore.
The fluorescent lights still hummed, but they flickered with an sickly green tinge that made his skin look corpse-pale. The cubicle walls had taken on a strange, organic quality, pulsing slightly as if breathing. And beyond his partition, he could hear something that definitely wasn't the usual office sounds.
Screaming. Roaring. The wet crunch of something tearing through flesh.
"What the hell..." Takeshi whispered.
A window appeared in front of him, translucent blue and hovering at eye level.
[TAKESHI YAMADA]
Class: Corporate Drone (Unique)
Level: 1
Employer: The Black Company
Corporate Rank: Entry-Level Associate
HP: 100/100
MP: 50/50
Stamina: 15/100
Attributes:
Strength: 8 Agility: 7 Constitution: 12 Intelligence: 15 Wisdom: 11 Charisma: 6 Endurance: 18
Skills:
[Overtime Exploitation] (Passive): Convert accumulated fatigue into temporary stat bonuses. Bonus scales with exhaustion level. [Meeting Scheduler] (Active): Designate a location as a "meeting point." Entities within range receive a compulsion to attend. Cost: 25 MP [Expense Report] (Active): Analyze defeated enemies to calculate resource value and drop rates. Cost: 10 MP [Corporate Synergy] (Passive): Gain minor stat bonuses when working alongside other Corporate Drone class holders.
Equipment:
Standard Issue Briefcase (Weapon/Storage) Wrinkle-Resistant Tie (Accessory - Minor Defense Bonus) Dress Shoes of Minor Comfort (Footwear - Reduces stamina drain from walking)
Takeshi stared at the window. Then he stared at his hands. Then he stared at the briefcase that had materialized on his desk—sleek black leather with the logo of a company he'd never heard of embossed in silver.
"This is real," he said aloud, testing the words. They tasted like copper and absurdity.
Another window popped up, this one styled like an email notification.
[NEW MESSAGE FROM: BLACK COMPANY MANAGEMENT]
TO: Takeshi Yamada, Entry-Level Associate
FROM: Regional Manager Designation: Unknown
SUBJECT: Mandatory Assignment - Performance Review Pending
PRIORITY: CRITICAL
Dear Associate Yamada,
Congratulations on your recent hire! We're thrilled to have you join the Black Company family. As you may have noticed, your previous employment has been terminated due to circumstances beyond anyone's control (planetary integration, force majeure, etc.).
Your first assignment is as follows:
ASSIGNMENT: Clear Tutorial Zone - Cubicle Farm Level 1
OBJECTIVE: Eliminate hostile entity within designated zone
DEADLINE: 6 hours from receipt of this message
QUOTA: Minimum 1 entity eliminated
PERFORMANCE METRICS:
Completion time Combat efficiency Resource acquisition Collateral damage to company property
CONSEQUENCES OF FAILURE: Termination (literal and figurative)
Please note that this assignment is mandatory and will count toward your first performance review. The Black Company maintains a strict policy of results-driven evaluation. We're sure you'll exceed our expectations!
Remember: Your success is our success! (But your failure is entirely your problem.)
Best regards,
Management
P.S. - Overtime is expected. Sick days are not available. Death is not an acceptable excuse for missing deadlines.
Takeshi read the message three times. Then he laughed—a short, sharp sound that bordered on hysteria.
Of course. Of course the apocalypse came with performance reviews.
The screaming from beyond his cubicle grew louder. Something heavy crashed into a wall, followed by a gurgling cry that cut off abruptly. Takeshi's hands trembled as he gripped the briefcase, feeling its unexpected weight.
Six hours. One entity. A quota that would determine whether he lived or died.
He'd survived worse deadlines. Barely.
Takeshi stood on shaking legs, his stamina bar mocking him with its pathetic 15/100. The all-nighter had drained him even before the System arrived. Now he was supposed to fight monsters while running on fumes and coffee-induced jitters.
He looked at his skills again, focusing on [Overtime Exploitation].
Convert accumulated fatigue into temporary stat bonuses.
A bitter smile crossed his face. Even in a death game, his exhaustion was a resource to be exploited. How perfectly on-brand.
Takeshi took a deep breath, adjusted his tie, and picked up the briefcase. It felt solid in his hands, real in a way that made his new reality impossible to deny. Through the gap in his cubicle partition, he could see movement—something large and wrong shambling through the corridor between desks.
The fluorescent lights flickered again, casting dancing shadows that looked almost alive.
"Well," Takeshi muttered, "at least the commute is short."
He stepped out of his cubicle and into hell.
The thing that had been Nakamura-san from accounting turned to face him.
It still wore a business suit, but the fabric strained over muscles that had swollen to grotesque proportions. Its face had elongated, jaw distending to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth. The ID badge still hung from its neck, swaying with each lurching step.
[SALARYMAN ZOMBIE - LEVEL 3]
HP: 150/150
The creature's eyes—milky white and vacant—fixed on Takeshi. It opened its mouth and released a sound somewhere between a moan and the ringing of a telephone.
"Yamada-kun," it rasped in a voice like grinding gears. "Did you... finish the Fujimoto account?"
Takeshi's grip tightened on his briefcase. His heart hammered against his ribs. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to hide, to wake up from this nightmare.
But he'd spent eight years in corporate hell. He'd faced down managers who treated employees like disposable resources. He'd survived quotas designed to break people. He'd endured performance reviews that felt like executions.
This was just another deadline. Another impossible task. Another day at the office.
"The Fujimoto account," Takeshi said, his voice steadier than he felt, "is none of your concern anymore, Nakamura-san."
The zombie lurched forward with surprising speed. Takeshi sidestepped—barely—and swung the briefcase in a wide arc. It connected with the creature's head with a solid thunk that sent vibrations up his arms.
[DAMAGE DEALT: 12]
[SALARYMAN ZOMBIE HP: 138/150]
Twelve damage. The zombie had 138 health left. Takeshi's stamina bar dropped to 12/100 from that single swing.
The math was not in his favor.
The zombie recovered faster than Takeshi expected, spinning with its arms outstretched. Clawed fingers—when had they grown claws?—raked across his shoulder, tearing through his shirt and scoring lines of fire across his skin.
[DAMAGE TAKEN: 23]
[HP: 77/100]
Pain exploded through Takeshi's shoulder. He stumbled back, nearly tripping over a fallen office chair. The zombie pressed its advantage, shambling forward with that terrible telephone-ring moan echoing from its throat.
Takeshi's mind raced. He couldn't win through brute force—his stats were pathetic compared to even this Level 3 monster. But he had skills. He had experience. And he had something the zombie didn't.
He had survived the black company grind.
"[Overtime Exploitation]," Takeshi said, activating the skill.
The exhaustion that had been weighing him down—the 14,327 hours of overtime, the sleepless nights, the accumulated fatigue of years spent sacrificing his health for corporate profit—suddenly crystallized into something else. Something useful.
His stamina bar flickered, then began to glow red.
[OVERTIME EXPLOITATION ACTIVATED]
Current Exhaustion Level: SEVERE
Bonus Applied:
Strength: +6 Agility: +5 Constitution: +4
Duration: 10 minutes
Warning: Continued use may result in permanent stat damage
The change was immediate and intoxicating. Takeshi's muscles thrummed with borrowed energy, his reflexes sharpening despite the bone-deep weariness. He felt like he'd mainlined pure caffeine directly into his veins—jittery, unstable, but powerful.
The zombie lunged. This time, Takeshi was ready.
He ducked under the grasping arms and brought the briefcase up in a brutal uppercut that caught the creature under its distended jaw. The impact sent it reeling backward.
[CRITICAL HIT!]
[DAMAGE DEALT: 34]
[SALARYMAN ZOMBIE HP: 104/150]
Takeshi didn't give it time to recover. He pressed forward, his enhanced agility allowing him to stay inside the zombie's reach where its clumsy swings couldn't connect. The briefcase became a blur—striking ribs, knees, elbows. Each impact sent damage numbers floating up into his vision.
18 damage. 22 damage. 15 damage.
The zombie's health bar dropped steadily. But so did Takeshi's stamina.
[STAMINA: 5/100]
His breathing came in ragged gasps. His vision swam at the edges. The borrowed strength from [Overtime Exploitation] was burning through what little energy he had left at an alarming rate.
The zombie caught him with a backhand that sent him sprawling across a desk. Papers scattered. A keyboard clattered to the floor.
[DAMAGE TAKEN: 19]
[HP: 58/100]
Takeshi rolled off the desk just as the zombie's fist came down where his head had been. The cheap particle board cracked under the impact. He scrambled backward, mind racing.
He was going to lose. The numbers didn't lie. His stamina was almost gone, and even with the stat bonuses, he couldn't maintain this pace.
Unless...
Takeshi's eyes fell on the fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. Then to the sparking electrical outlet where someone's computer had been torn free. Then to the zombie shambling toward him, its suit jacket soaked with the same combustible cleaning chemicals the janitorial staff used every night.
A plan formed. It was stupid. It was dangerous. It was exactly the kind of creative problem-solving that had kept him employed at Sakamoto Industries despite his lack of connections.
"[Meeting Scheduler]," Takeshi gasped, activating his second skill.
[MEETING SCHEDULER ACTIVATED]
Designated Location: Current position
Compulsion Strength: MODERATE
Duration: 30 seconds
MP: 25/50
The zombie paused mid-step. Its head tilted, as if listening to something only it could hear. Then it turned and began walking directly toward Takeshi with single-minded determination—not attacking, just... attending the meeting.
Takeshi grabbed the fire extinguisher, his hands shaking. He had one shot at this.
The zombie stepped over the sparking electrical outlet.
Takeshi yanked the pin and sprayed.
The white foam caught the zombie mid-stride, coating its chemical-soaked suit. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the creature's foot came down on the exposed wiring.
The electrical arc was beautiful and terrible. The zombie convulsed, its body becoming a conductor for thousands of volts. The foam ignited. The chemicals on its suit caught fire. And Takeshi, his stamina finally hitting zero, collapsed against the wall and watched the monster burn.
[SALARYMAN ZOMBIE DEFEATED]
[EXPERIENCE GAINED: 150 XP]
[LEVEL UP!]
[ITEMS ACQUIRED: Charred ID Badge, Melted Stapler, 15 Credits]
[TUTORIAL ZONE CLEARED]
[QUOTA EXCEEDED: 1/1 ENTITIES ELIMINATED]
[OVERTIME EXPLOITATION ENDED]
[WARNING: SEVERE EXHAUSTION DEBUFF APPLIED]
All stats reduced by 30% for the next 2 hours
Takeshi slumped against the wall, his briefcase falling from nerveless fingers. His stamina bar was completely empty. His health sat at 58/100. The timer in the corner of his vision showed five hours and forty-three minutes remaining, but the quota notification had changed to green—completed.
He started laughing. He couldn't help it. The sound echoed through the transformed office, mixing with the distant screams and the crackling of flames consuming what used to be Nakamura-san.
"One down," Takeshi wheezed. "Quota met."
His status window updated, showing his new level and the debuff that would cripple him for the next two hours. Another notification appeared.
[TUTORIAL COMPLETE]
[PERFORMANCE REVIEW SCHEDULED]
[REPORT TO NEAREST BLACK COMPANY OFFICE WITHIN 24 HOURS]
[FAILURE TO REPORT WILL RESULT IN TERMINATION]
Takeshi closed his eyes and thought about his mother's message, still unanswered on his phone. About the Fujimoto account that would never be completed. About the life he'd sacrificed to a company that had never cared if he lived or died.
At least now, when the company didn't care if he lived or died, he got to fight back.
He opened his eyes and reached for his briefcase.
"Alright," Takeshi said to the burning corpse, to the transformed office, to the System that had turned his world into a death game. "Let's see what this performance review looks like."
The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting his shadow long and distorted across the blood-stained carpet.
Takeshi Yamada, Level 2 Corporate Drone, stood and walked toward the exit.
He had a quota to meet.
And he'd always been good at exceeding expectations.