Survivor

The hum of fluorescent lights was louder than any thought in Haruto’s head. His monitor glowed with spreadsheets and half-written reports, pale rectangles against the dull gray walls of the office. His hands moved on autopilot across the keyboard, each keystroke mechanical.

Haruto sometimes wondered if time in the office moved differently, like water thickening into tar. The seconds stretched into agonizing lengths. A new email would arrive, another row of numbers to check, another formula to drag across cells. By the time he blinked, hours had slipped by, leaving no memory except the ache in his head.

He couldn't taste the coffee he'd poured in the mornings anymore. He couldn't laugh at his co-workers' jokes, only nodding along with a false smile during his breaks. The office numbed him to the point where stories of other worlds and second chances were his only emotional release.

The background noise of his life continued today. A cough. A chair rolling back. Footsteps broke the droning of typing fingers. Haruto didn’t look up until a shadow fell across his desk.

“Move over there with the others,” said a voice.

It was Tanaka, one of the accounting guys. His hair was wild, his eyes bloodshot, and he jabbed the kitchen knife he carried in front of Haruto's face. Behind him, the coworkers huddled in the corner, some frozen in fear, while others yelled at Haruto to hurry.

With all the energy of a zombie, Haruto blinked at him. “You’re… blocking my screen.”

Tanaka’s glare wasn’t for Haruto. His eyes locked on the glass-walled office at the far end, where the boss sat.

“He ruined everything,” Tanaka muttered, voice breaking. “She left me for him—for a man like him!” His hand trembled harder as his attention turned to Haruto. “I gather courage to do something about it... And you sit there ignoring me... like it doesn’t matter!”

Haruto's face showed no emotion as he held up a hand. “I'm almost done with this—”

The knife slashed before he could finish. Pain bloomed across Haruto’s hand as the blade cut him, shallow but startling. Haruto looked at his hand with cold indifference. Blood dripped onto his keyboard, seeping into the keys.

“Oh,” Haruto said softly. “That’s… inconvenient.”

“Stop pretending you don’t care!” Tanaka shouted, voice shaking.

Haruto stood up from his chair slowly. He scanned the room, his gaze mostly vacant. He questioned why there was such fear in the room. It seemed unnatural to him.

"Ishikawa-san! Just listen to him." Michio-san, a female coworker said. "Just come over here with us."

Haruto's gaze seemed to pierce through everyone. Tanaka's rage flared as Haruto looked through him. Knife forward, Tanaka lunged, pushing it into Haruto's side.

When Haruto didn’t cry out and didn’t even stagger, the air drained from the room. Every pair of eyes widened at once. It wasn’t just the violence; it was the absence of reaction, the way Haruto looked down at the blade lodged in his side with the mild irritation of a man noticing spilled ink on his shirt.

The blade sank deep. Tanaka held it in for a moment before releasing the lodged knife. His hands trembled, his knees weakened, and he fell forward in shame. He looked at the blood on his hands.

"Tanaka-san..." Haruto said softly. "Are you okay?"

Tanaka looked up at him, fear rising in his chest. Haruto towered over him like the looming shadow of death itself. This wasn't a person in front of him. He was the closest thing to a real zombie that Tanaka had ever seen.

"Ishikawa-san... I'm sorry." Tanaka said, pleading. "I'll… I'll make it up to you. I swear."

"Oh..." Haruto looked at the knife once again. "My mother taught me... that if someone starts a fight... I should finish it."

He reached over to his desk, grabbing the heavy metal stapler. Without hesitation, Haruto swung the stapler, cracking Tanaka once against the head. Tanaka crumpled to the floor unconscious. Haruto replaced his stapler, adjusting it to its preferred position on his desk.

Haruto sat back down, knife still planted firmly in his side. He adjusted the keyboard as his eyes focused on the monitor. The blood smeared across the keys as he continued his work. His vision swam, but his fingers didn’t stop. His task was almost done.

Dozens of eyes stared. People covered their mouths; others stood halfway between running and helping. Michio-san attempted to tend to Haruto while someone else called an ambulance. But all Haruto did was stare at the monitor until the letters and numbers began to blur together.

The boss came out of his locked office only after Tanaka had been tied and subdued. He had stayed inside to sacrifice his workers until the police could arrive. Luckily, or unluckily, Haruto was the first and last victim of Tanaka's rage.

By the time the paramedics burst through the door, Michio was kneeling beside him, hands slick with blood as she pressed futilely against the wound. Haruto barely registered her voice in his ear. He reached for a paper on his desk before he lost consciousness.

"Can you..." Haruto shook as he spoke. "File this for me?"

Michio took the file, hesitating for a moment. He made it seem so normal as he passed it off. It was almost hypnotizing.

“Stay awake, Ishikawa-san! Please!” she said, snapping to her senses.

The stretcher rattled as they hauled him onto it, but his head craned sideways, eyes fixed on the glowing monitor receding behind him. His hands twitched against the straps, phantom keystrokes still tapping against the air. One of the medics muttered under his breath, “How the hell is he still alive?” But Haruto didn’t hear. He was still trying to finish his task.

He survived. That was all he ever did. He didn't live. Even through blood loss, the shock, and the knife wound inches from his lung, he kept surviving.

It wasn’t strength, or courage, or even luck. It was something colder, quieter. A simple refusal to stop. A stubbornness that went beyond reason.

Years later, when the truck’s headlights bore down on him and his life was translated into the strange logic of another world, that refusal took shape.

Job Unlocked: Survivor