Emptiness And Cruelty In Matte White 20 lb (75–80 gsm)

Malice had a way of metastasizing through the souls of miserable people who gained power. They festered in offices, boardrooms, conference calls, and message threads, forever protected and glanced over by like-minded individuals or friends who would shield them from harm. Hateful, wretched personalities gathered control and used it to abuse those beneath them, knowing they would never face actual consequences. Their ugliness lingered until entire industries were infected by their cruelty. Beneath them, every worker or mentee was at risk of harassment, violence, extortion, and basic malice.

Masaru hated them. His boss was one such person, and on more than one occasion, the harassment and violence had been severe enough for gentle Masaru to imagine drowning his boss in a vat of discarded toner. Or watch as his head was crushed between malfunctioning elevator doors. Either worked, as long as it meant such a person couldn’t harm anyone else ever again. Unfortunately for Masaru and the world, his superior was very much alive and was currently in a conference room waiting to give him his review.

As Masaru tried and failed to steady his breathing, he caught a glimpse of two glowing orbs reflecting in the windowpane at the edge of the hall. He flinched and closed his eyes, hoping it was just a mental regurgitation of what he’d already seen that morning. To his relief, when he reopened his eyes, the orbs were gone. The Eyes weren’t there. Only the distorted refraction of nearby caution lights blinking in the rain.

“Masaru! In here! Now!!” his superior shouted from the conference room.

As always, no honorifics. Only bluntness and dismissal.

The air conditioner vent squeaked overhead as the cheap unit forced its dampened cycles through the ducts. The door handle to the conference room was loose. Every part of him was damp. His neck was still bleeding.

Pick.

Don’t pick.

dontpick

Focus.

“Kakarichō, forgive me for being tardy. There was an accident on the train this morning,” Masaru explained as he closed the door behind him.

His superior didn’t move or respond, instead allowing silence to permeate the walls and open air as he stared at his prey. Beige. Everything was beige. The room smelled of mildew and cigarette smoke.

His superior had yet to blink or look away.

Masaru’s chair squeaked as he sat down. Then it popped as the worn-down springs of the back support shifted. Its sudden loudness caused Masaru to flinch from habit. It wasn’t a stapler or a hole in the drywall. It was just the chair. Still no blink. Still looking directly at him.

Let it heal don’t pick.

Don’t pick.

dontpick

Eyes.

Eyes everywhere.

Eyes always watching.

Still not a word.

“...S-sir?” was all Masaru could ask.

Once, that man had intentionally urinated on Masaru’s shoes when they were in neighboring stalls.

He got away with it, of course.

He got away with everything.

They always did.

Masaru’s heart rate was rising in the unblinking silence. This was a taunt, he knew it. A simple manila folder sat waiting between them. Only one printed page was inside, and its corner was partially sticking out. Masaru’s gaze settled on it.

“If I look at your bad eye and only your bad eye…” his superior finally spoke.

Masaru raised his head to listen and braced for whatever verbal humiliation was coming. After a lifetime of it, there was little else he could hear that hadn’t already been hurled at him.

“If I only look in that eye, can you see me?”

“Sir?”

“More importantly… Can you see me SEEING you?” his superior said with a dead-eyed smirk.

This room was always frigid. It made the dampness even worse because now he was shivering. Those words were strange.

“I… I can see somewhat well in my laz- my bad eye.”

“Do you feel it when it starts to drift out of position?” he asked.

Masaru inhaled. He hated talking about his eye. He hated talking about himself. He hated talking.

“No. There’s no physical feedback,” Masaru said as he lowered his head once again.

There was never any physical sensation within his eye socket that alerted him that his eye was betraying its correct position. No, the only things that happened were the tension headaches arriving without warning and the steady blurring of vision. When it was really bad-

pick

When it was really bad, the darkness would appear.

Pick.

Black emptiness would spread from the far edges of his vision, bleeding into the frame of his mind until, drop by drop, the emptiness consumed half of his vision, leaving his eye utterly pointless.

Manilla creased, and his superior finally blinked as he smirked a devilish smile of coffee-stained teeth. There was a bit of shaving cream still behind his ear. It was small, but now that Masaru had seen it, he feared he wouldn’t be able to look away.

Smug fingers tapped on the folder.

Sounds of teeth grinding returned with a whisper.

His superior removed the single page from the folder and handed it to Masaru to inspect.

When Masaru received the paper, he was confused to find it blank. Simple, matte coat, standard-weight letter-sized paper bent and shifted in the breeze of the air conditioning vent as Masaru looked at both sides to see if he was missing something.

“Is this my review form, sir?” he asked.

His superior simply chuckled and reclined slightly. Grinding, snarling teeth were near Masaru’s ear now. He could almost feel it. Chiiiiit. Chiiiiiiiickt. Ccccccchiiiiickt. Chickkkkt. Chiittt. Chit. Grrrrrk. Grrrk. Grrrrrrrrrrrk. Empty white.

“It is. Your review for this year is me telling you that I fucking hate you. I hate every one of you. But you especially. You are a hideous, strange, lonely creature with absolutely no purpose. Some sad sacks of shit forgot to wear a condom forty years ago, and now we have you sitting in here bleeding from your neck with your stupid crooked teeth and your weird damn eye looking at me even when you aren’t.”

Black appeared.

Creaks in the chair told him his superior was standing. He couldn’t raise his head, just in case a slap or worse was coming. Please, not a stapler again. It hurt. He didn’t like being hurt. He didn’t like being hurt. He didn’t like being hurt.

Black emptiness. Pick. Chickt. Grk. Bleed.

A vice grip was tightening on his skull. WHeRe WaS HiS eYe eVeN LooKiNG? sHOES iN hIS vISION tOLD hIM hIS sUPERIOR wAS bESIDE hIM.

“I’m tired of looking at you, Masaru. I’m tired of acknowledging you. So from now on. I’m not going to. When you’re in my building, I’m going to pretend like you don’t exist.”

Black spread. GODS IT FELT LIKE HIS HEAD WAS BEING SAWED OPEN. Emptiness spilled along the edges of reality. Pulses accelerated as his ribs popped. This was humiliating. Was a hit coming? He didn’t want to bleed anymore. He had to speak. Speak.

“W-when I’m in-in your building?” Masaru asked in concern.

A heavy palm settled on his shoulder, causing him to flinch once more. Two fingers were extended in disregard, with a small business card hanging limply between their clasp. Trembling fingers retrieved the offering.

“Correct. You’re not going to be here often anymore. Because I’m relocating you.”

Masaru inhaled as he looked at the card. Being relocated was different from being promoted to client-facing. Being relocated was a death sentence. They weren’t firing him, but they were abandoning him. This was a trick they’d do to avoid being penalized for firing people. The degradation and isolation were usually enough to force people to quit and place the same on themselves. Black. Black everywhere. For all he knew, his eye was bleeding from the agony now.

Pick.

“Starting tomorrow, you will be the facilities and operations manager for this establishment. Handle your duties well.”

Black spread until nothing was visible in half of his sightline. When Masaru lifted his head, he gasped in shock. His superior was right beside him, leaning down with his bloated face only inches from Masaru’s. Bloodshot eyes stayed locked on him as they soaked in his misery like a fresh meal waiting to be devoured. Muscles tensed, pulling the man’s lips upwards into a smile.

“Do your best,” he said with a sadistic wink.

With that, Masaru was left alone with the blank page and the business card. It took every ounce of effort to focus his eyes and look at the cardstock death sentence. Tacky red font was embossed over faded gloss black. Edges were torn and frayed. But the address and name were there to read.

Warm Embraces Hotel

4-chome-99-4 Arakawa

Tokyo 194-0004, Japan

Masaru quickly retrieved his phone to inspect the new location. To his great terror, when he typed in the address and name, the images that greeted him were of a garishly painted, dingy, forlorn building on the western edge of the metropolitan sprawl. It was closer to his home, in an area never thought of by most. This wasn’t the glamorized, functional, or cute variation of this type of establishment. This was the variation no one went to with good intentions.

Chikkkt.

This time, it was his own teeth grinding. He could hear them as they scraped against one another with panicked friction -pick- Flickers of orbs in the corner, glowing, watching, never blinking -pick- Blood on his collar -pick- Stains everywhere -pick- Everything was damp -pick- He hated his eye -pick- He hated all of this.

Pick.

He was being sent to a nearly-abandoned, seedy love motel.