Black Company

Lights shined out from the massive towers as glistening obelisks of economic industry continued their onslaught towards rising gross domestic product. Tens of thousands of souls remained trapped in cubicles as screens burned their retinas and spreadsheets reduced their lives to pivot tables and empty cells.

Far below the colossal buildings, Andrakin’s office was still occupied. It was customary for workers to be there till at least nine or ten at night, for no reason other than the managers found it entertaining to deny them rest.

The building’s door access system was broken. It had been for months. So if anyone was still on the premises and the alarm wasn’t set, the doors could open. Most assumed no one would ever enter beyond the miserable employees, so it was of little concern. Occasionally, strong winds would pull the door open, and someone nearby would have to go and pull it shut.

That night, when the door yanked open, revealing the pouring rain and darkness, no one seemed bothered. The young man who had taken Masaru’s desk stood and made his way to the door to close it. He noticed the carpet was freshly damp as he neared the opening, but didn’t think twice about it. Rain streaked along his sleeve as he closed the door. Something glinted in the reflection of the door’s glass, but when he turned to look, nothing was there.

Their manager was still present, as he always was. His private office was still brightly lit, with unorganized piles of paperwork lazily thrown into unmarked boxes. A half-eaten bento box sat on the side table while a desk radio blared a baseball game broadcast.

A dirty, rarely cleaned coffee pot sat on its burner in the break space just across from the manager’s door. The machine stayed on all day, so that by nightfall, the coffee was always burnt and had an unpleasant smell.

No one spoke. Hardly anyone typed, beyond those who had been so thoroughly broken into submission that they pantomimed labor to help keep up the illusion that any of this was necessary.

Minutes dripped by.

It was almost time to be released. All of them knew it.

A few moments later, their manager opened his door to go to the restroom, as he always did.

He coughed into the open air as he walked out the door and near the break space.

That was when the coffee pot rose from its burner and flung its scalding contents into his face.

He didn’t even have time to process what was happening. Pure, unfiltered pain exploded across his face, ears, neck, and chest.

The scream started as a muffled, confused yelp. Then, sensory feedback activated, and the screams built. And built. And built.

Workers rose from their cubicles, hair standing up along the backs of their necks, as their cruel leader howled in a tone that could only be described as ‘animal being carved apart while awake’.

One man dared to approach to see what was happening. When he did, he saw the coffee pot floating in the air, suspended on its own, just before crashing down onto the manager’s head and shattering, causing him to scream out even more.

Panic rose. Voices shouted out. Chairs tumbled over. Bodies rushed to the door. But no one rushed to help their manager. Too many years of abuse had left him without any true supporters. As the burns turned to boils and the screams rose into hysteria, every worker fled, leaving the manager alone.

Alone with Masaru.

Masaru retrieved his phone from his pocket and gripped it like a brick before winding his arm back. Another swing came down into his manager’s temple, knocking him to the ground.

The once-proud man let out another squeal of confusion, but Masaru simply stood over him and raised his phone again.

The next swings struck his manager in the ear repeatedly, until blood began to flow and the man’s eye began to blink without ceasing.

Days of hate had become years of sorrow, and these walls had devoured as much of Masaru’s happiness and Warm Embraces. And so much of it was this man’s fault.

The man screamed out again and tried to crawl, but Masaru grabbed him by the legs and began to pull his kicking body to the print room.

Wooden heels struck Masaru’s knuckles, but he didn’t let go.

“Please, stop! Stop!! PLEASE!!!” the man begged.

It only made Masaru even more furious.

They reached the print room, and the man’s grasp locked on the door for support. He didn’t know how, but his feet were released, and he dared to feel relief. But then his tie began to wrap around his neck and tighten. Tighter and tighter it went, until he began to feel pressure bulging along his eyes.

His hands released the door, and he tried to fight the tie’s restraint.

It slacked, and he gasped for air, but then he was lifted to his feet and slammed into the nearest printer. His head struck the toner compartment, knocking cyan and magenta tubes loose. The great machine whirred to life, sending beeps and musical notes of corporate comfort out to serenade his assault.

Something invisible lifted the toner cartridges and ripped them open. Tufts of blue and purplish-pink burst out, settling on the shoulders of some unseen spectre of a man. The manager screamed out in pure terror as he caught a glimpse of the being that was haunting him, but the ghostly apparition turned the toner canisters over, dumping the toxic coloring onto the man’s scorched face. Cries turned to chokes. The printer began to spit out blank pages as it tried to run a color test.

Masaru saw the blank pages collating in the printer tray and sneered.

His review had been blank.

His life here had been blank.

So many things had taunted him and warned him of what he was going to become.

This entire wretched economic system and social structure had turned him blank.

He couldn’t destroy it all, but he could make this bastard pay. He was as bad as Warm Embraces, and he would meet the same end.

That would be enough.

The man began to cry, and Masaru found himself laughing.

Black bled into white as Masaru’s eyes ignited. The man saw the glowing white orbs and shouted out one last time.

Masaru’s hands tightened around his throat as he lifted his face to the printer’s scanning tray. A plastic door covered the glass surface to block out the light. Masaru flung the door open and slammed the man’s face into the glass, breaking his nose. His manager tried to fight, but instead merely pressed the scanner activation button.

Belts pulled and lights shined upwards as the device hummed left to right, capturing the man’s bloodied, anguished cries for mercy that was not coming.

Images printed, showing a smooshed face and red lifeblood reduced to single color black print settings.

Page after page fell from the feed, showing more screams and more blood.

“Scan these screams and watch yourself die, YOU MISERABLE BASTARD!!” Masaru roared as he slammed the man’s face down again and again.

His manager’s hands went limp, and Masaru flipped him over to face him. Darkness solidified long enough for Masaru’s shadowy form to turn into something visible. When he finally became mostly recognizable, he felt a flicker of joy as he watched hist manager realize who it was.

“Can you see me SEEING you?” he growled as he repeated the man’s mockery from the day of his review.

“CAN YOU SEE ME FUCKING KILLING YOU?!!!” Masaru screamed as he grabbed the scanner door and slammed it onto the man’s skull with all his might.

Gurgling, horrified, bloodied pleas sounded out, but Masaru only slammed the hardened plastic down once again.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

There was a slight crunch, and his manager went limp.

Masaru released the lifeless body and it slumped to the ground, smearing crimson, cyan, and magenta along the printer’s plastic shell.

Breaths came swift and shallow as Masaru looked down at his victim. To his great terror and disappointment, he did not feel a great release or burst of satisfaction. It merely felt complete. As though all the years of turmoil and tragedy were leading him to this point all along, and his soul was simply relieved that it had finally occurred.

Cyan-stained blood dripped from Masaru’s flaking hands, and he looked back at his cubicle.

Six halogen tubes separated him from the place he used to exist. Garish light shined down from those tubes, and even though it was only a few dozen meters away, it felt like a place he would never reach again even if he wanted. As he looked at his lonely chair and unseemly desk, he felt a ping of melancholy.

It could have been so different. There was nothing malicious in a cubicle holding an L-shaped workstation and a 1080p monitor. This could have been a decent place. He could have had a decent life.

But it wasn’t.

And he didn’t.

And it was too late.

Blood began to pool around his feet, and he found himself feeling sick.

It was all over.

Sayane was gone.

He was a blurred remembrance.

The rain began to soften as he limped out from Andrakin’s stale interior for the last time.

He hoped that he would fade soon.

What he didn’t know was that Sayane was not gone, and was instead doing her best to rush back to their apartment in hopes of finding him.