The Place That Caused All Of This

In many ways, the lights were the worst part. Sickly, glaring halogen pierced through segmented brackets, shining unrelenting white into all those who existed beneath. On the walls, the clocks disagreed with one another. Every one told a slightly different time, leaving those within to never be sure what actual minute they were left counting down till their shift ended.

Everything smelled faintly of something overused and underfinished. Burnt coffee, cleaning chemicals, microwaved lunches.

Adjust the bleed and the printers. Replace the toner. Pick.

Nearly every heart that entered that building to sit at a cubicle did so by accident. Life’s inertia had cruelly decided they would remain at those desks. Mechanical keys tapped in uneven, clacking cadences as workers slowly typed away at the ledgers of their souls, removing tiny valances day by day until arthritis and tendinitis locked every finger into perpetual readiness.

Andrakin was wholly, horrendously awful in that regard. It was plainly familiar. Across the country, thousands of companies existed in the same state of malicious subordination. Horrid, hateful bosses led desperate workers to the slaughter every day, cultivating a steady offering of death by overwork to the gods of gross domestic output.

Cloistered within their cubicles of isolated productivity, the workers of Andrakin typed away, processed work orders, answered phones, submitted invoices, and did their best to keep their heads down. Their superiors lurked just on the other sides of those nearby conference rooms, and no one wanted to wind up like one of the many who were sent away to vanish.

The dreaded Oidashibeya treatment waited for anyone who dared to fall out of favor with their leaders. They would be scattered across the office, sent to isolated rooms with the worst chairs and faulty equipment, left with nothing to do. Next, there was Madogiwazoku - where all responsibilities and expectations were removed, leaving the worker with nothing to do but look out the window and count down the minutes left in their pointless careers.

Worst of all was Murahachibu. Ostracism was the final insult. Some would be sent away to rot in far-off locations. Others would be ignored in their offices, surrounded by former colleagues who now could not even utter their name. All of this would be done so that eventually the worker would simply resign in desperation, and the company would not have to face punishment for a layoff.

For Ishikawa Masaru, every form of isolation and harassment had culminated in him being sent to Warm Embraces. Years of humiliation, neglect, bullying, and assault had left him frayed and broken down. Now, a handful of shifts in that forsaken hotel had shattered any remnants of dignity and mental fortitude he had left.

So, when he burst through the front door of his office on that forgettable Thursday morning, disgusting and rancid, eyes wild with trauma, he had every intention of begging for a relocation.

No one looked up as the door slammed against its bracings.

pickateverything

His hands were shaking.

The stench. Gods, the stench.

He was rank from the drying fluids that were now crusting along his suit.

His eye had never returned from its abandonment, meaning his left eye socket was now merely an empty canister where yellowed sclera bulged out at whoever would look. Daylight bled through the dusty windows in a dull, exhausted haze. Row after row of black and blue suits greeted him. Mechanical clicks from butterfly switches in cheap keyboards clacked like frigid jaws. Sunlight fought and lost its battle with halogen, as the illumination of the space settled on all who were condemned to reside there without conviction or color.

PICK

Masaru’s face was pulling to the side once more as he grunted and twitched.

“Manager!!!!” he shouted out as he staggered towards the room where his superior hid.

Even after his cry, no one looked up.

Itching bites bit at every inch of his skin. Smells beyond decency followed him like a bloodhound.

Silence greeted him. Stained carpet and chipped corners guided him.

Nothing in this building was new.

Plodding, dripping steps led him to the private office he was seeking.

“Maanaaaager!!!” Masaru screamed.

Still, no one responded.

He reached his destination only to find it empty. His superior was not there. Desperation caused him to turn on his heel and continue to the nearest conference rooms and private booths. There was a possibility he was in a meeting or on an important call. Masaru couldn’t give a shit anymore. Door after door was ripped open as he searched for his manager.

Innocent workers screeched in fear as the deranged, disgusting man burst in on their private moments, but Masaru couldn’t be bothered to stop or apologize. The only thing pick that mattered to him pick was finding that fuckingpick man.

Every corner of the office was scoured, yet he was nowhere to be found. Masaru’s facial muscles were locking in strain now, cramping into a pulled, pained snarl that drooped to the right. Fingers flicked against themselves. Nerves spasmed. Gag reflexes seized every time he felt or smelled his skin and clothes.

After completing a loop around Andrakin’s entire floorplate, Masaru found himself back in the cubicle farm, surrounded by dozens of beaten-down former colleagues who still would not look at him.

Breaths quickened. Dull, radiating pain burned across his sternum and into his lungs. Fingernails pressed into his itching face, then proceeded to press deeper. Then they pulled down. Masaru could feel his top layer of skin crumpling and lumping beneath his nails as he screamed out in horror and disappointment.

“MAAAAAANNNNAAAAGGGGGEERRRR!!!!!!”

Silence.

“ANYONE!!!!”

Heads stayed down. Keys continued to clack. Printers churned in the distance.

“Please…” he whispered as he stood in the center of the room, begging for any single head to look up.

Silence.

It was only ever silence.

Every time he’d asked for help or wanted a simple moment of gentleness. Every time he’d dared to pray. Silence was all that ever greeted him. Now, that silence was becoming something worse.

Darkness began to spill from his bad eye and into the periphery of his good eye. Masaru spun and faced a nearby worker.

“Look at me. Please look at me,” he begged.

She didn’t move.

Exhales through the nose pushed air out in unraveling bursts as he moved to another former coworker.

“Look at me. Please. Please. Please.”

Darkness continued to spread across his sight. Still, the man did not look up or even seem bothered. Email responses continued to be typed.

Toner alert. Black toner low.

A shattered, bloody growl bubbled in Masaru’s throat as he turned one last time. That was when he saw the new employee.

Sitting in a place that was once his, a young man was now slumped forward, already degrading. Masaru’s former chair was no longer his. His desk was no longer his. This new hire was in the spot he was supposed to be.

Masaru’s hands slammed onto the cabinet and desk as he grabbed his former chair and yanked it to face him.

But the young man didn’t look up.

“I used to sit here. T-t-this was my desk!” he stammered.

The young man didn’t blink or flinch. Instead, his toes pressed to the carpet, and he slowly swiveled back to his original position. Masaru’s hand relaxed in shock, and all he could do was watch his replacement wheel himself into the space he’d once occupied.

“WHY WON’T ANYONE LOOK AT ME????!!!!!” Masaru cried out.

Silence’s final insult did too much damage, and Masaru lunged for the computer’s monitor. Cables resisted as he yanked, but he continued his heave until the screen was severed from its desk. Masaru hoisted the monitor over his head and slammed it onto the ground, shattering glass and cracking plastic casings.

“ALL OF YOU COULD WIND UP LIKE ME!!!! Why won’t you look at me?! Why won’t you listen to me?!!!” he begged.

“Why w-won’t you help me?” he whimpered.

Without speaking, the young man rose and passed Masaru. An office attendant appeared and retrieved the broken display. Then, the door opened, and a tingling cold pulled across Masaru’s neck.

He turned to see who it was and let out a grunt when he confirmed his target.

His superior was there, smiling a smug, blank smile as he sipped on a cup of coffee.

The man’s cold eyes scanned the room, looking right past Masaru and down at the broken display. Whispers of apology were muttered from the attendant, who had nothing to do with the incident.

Masaru stormed around the cubicles and directly towards his manager.

“Manager! Please. Please. Please take me away from that hotel. I don’t care where. Send me to Chiba. To Nagoya. To Anchorage. I don’t care. Just please, anywhere but there.”

Lips parted and blew air into the coffee cup’s opening. The man never looked at him.

“Manag-g-ger, p-please…”

The man smiled a devious, hateful smile, and stepped slightly to the side, so that he disappeared into the blind spot of Masaru’s bad eye. If Masaru didn’t move, he couldn’t see him.

His superior let out a sigh, then stepped past Masaru.

“Manager? Manager!! MANAGER!!!” Masaru shouted.

But the man didn’t stop.

Just like the unanswered phone calls.

It finally settled in.

Masaru was being ignored.

He was going to be Murahachibu’s next victim.

He was being turned invisible.

His superior stepped into his office and closed the door. Masaru lingered in the spot he’d been left. Minutes crept by, and no one glanced at the filthy, hyperventilating man standing in their midst. At 10:17 a.m. - or 10:18 depending on the clock - defeat formally set in.

Life’s bitter, mundane disappointments had compounded enough to send Masaru to this dead end. There was no chance for a relocation. There would be no escape. Warm Embraces would be where he would spend his remaining time with Andrakin. If he were to quit, he feared that his superior would simply refuse to accept his resignation. He’d heard stories of workers being forced to take extremes just to flee their old companies, but it always resulted in them being blacklisted by future employers.

As cruel as it was, no matter what path Masaru chose to move forward, it would likely only mean more hardship.

Life’s cruelty had finally won.

Ambient office work drowned out his cries for help, and he slowly faded into the white noise. Broken acceptance washed over Masaru, and he stumbled back out the door.