COMPANY CULTURE

Dahlia Rojas pulled at her shirt’s collar, which dug into her neck every five seconds, ready to suffocate her. As much as she wanted to undo the top button, she couldn’t. The collar would droop otherwise, and she couldn’t let that happen. Not on her first day. 

The elevator doors to the sixth floor slid open, spitting her and the plump woman with a mousy face, who’d been assigned to help her onboard at Megalos, into a wide hallway lined on either side with rows upon rows of gray cubicles devoid of decoration, as bare as the white walls enclosing the room. Even standing, all Dahlia could make out were the top of the employees’ heads in the tiny squares spaced at even intervals. Blond. Black. Brown. Red hair. All brushed neat. Gelled or pulled back. No frizz anywhere. 

Dahlia frowned, adjusting the leather tote bag on her shoulder. It was hard to tell how long the hallway was. The far end of the corridor was shrouded in shadows so thick, it was as if someone had spilled black ink there.

Her guide—Sarah Crackle, Dahlia gathered after a brief glance at the gold nametag pinned to her crisp white blouse—turned around to make sure she was following, then grinned. 

Dahlia jerked her head away, pretending to adjust her bag again, trying to avoid eye contact. Sarah had not uttered a single word when she came out to usher Dahlia inside the Megalos building. She only grinned. With unwavering black eyes and perfectly straight teeth. Wide enough that Dahlia worried the woman's face might split in two. It had upset her stomach. But it was simply first-day jitters trying to convince her she didn’t belong. It’d been a miracle that she’d even gotten the interview at a company as competitive as Megalos. So Dahlia swallowed down her nerves and followed Sarah into the elevator, up to the chilly sixth-floor hallway. And bright. It was painfully bright. The fluorescent lights burned her eyes, glaring off the polished linoleum even when she looked down.

Maybe they were compensating for the lack of windows.

Except—

Hadn’t she seen windows when she looked up at the building from outside?

Satisfied that Dahlia was keeping up, Sarah turned back around and increased her pace. Dahlia groaned inwardly. She’d worn small kitten heels, but they pinched her little toe, and the strap rubbed the back of her ankle raw.

“Is it always this bright?” Dahlia whispered in an attempt to make small talk (slow her down).

Sarah came to a halt. So suddenly that Dahlia’s heels squeaked against the floor as she narrowly avoided a collision with her colleague. Heads turned in their cubicles. Eyes narrowed.

“Brightness,” Sarah said, tone chipper but back rigid and still turned to Dahlia, “is essential for productivity.” 

With that, she hurried on. Heads dipped back down. Fingers raced across keyboards. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. The only sound that filled the room. 

When they reached the border between the illuminated and pitch-black parts of the corridor, Sarah took a left and pointed to the third cubicle down.

“Here you are,” she said. Grinning, of course. “You’re neighbors with Jonathan Wu and Stacey Morra. Stacey’s out today.”

Hearing his name, a lanky man in his mid-twenties, clad in a white button-up and black slacks, popped out of his cubicle. His dark hair was parted to the right, shiny with pomade, and a little mole dotted the bottom of his lips. His obsidian eyes were sharp and curved upward, and when he tilted his head—ever so slightly—they shone an iridescent blue for a second, too brief to be more than Dahlia’s imagination.

“Welcome to the family,” he gushed. “So happy to have you here!”

She gave him a tight smile. “Hey, I’m Dahlia Rojas. I’m part of the finance management team. You?”

“Sales,” he said, then plopped back down when an email notification punctuated the steady click-clack of the room.

After that, Sarah guided Dahlia through the basics, and once she was satisfied that the new employee could work without major hiccups, left. 

As Dahlia worked on the assigned budgets and spreadsheets, she tugged at her shirt’s collar, still refusing to unbutton it. This place was worth the small discomfort. She’d only gotten this job because she’d been laid off from her previous one: a local tech startup that believed in casual office wear but couldn’t keep up with Megalos. A blessing in disguise. Megalos was not only prestigious, but it had extremely low turnover and significantly higher pay. Pay that would help her chip away at the student loan mountain looming over her life. 

Four hours into her shift, Dahlia stood from her desk, ready for a break.

“Where are you going?” Jonathan asked, peering into her cubicle, smiling.

She took a step back. “Lunch,” she said slowly.

His smile thinned and he bobbed his head. “Oh. Right. Yes. Yes. You need to get that taken care of.”

“Where’s the kitchen?” she asked, pulling out her lunch bag and setting it on her desk. “Also, where are the recreational rooms? Like the gym and library? I saw in the welcome brochure that Megalos has those.”

Jonathan didn’t break eye contact as he pointed toward the dark corridor. “That way.”

“Ah. Of course,” she mumbled. “Thanks.” She tucked her black hair behind her ears. “Why are there no lights?”

“They burned out,” he said, “but they’re getting replaced soon.” His eyes flicked over to Stacey’s desk. 

“Ah. Right. Yeah. Okay.”

Neither of them moved for several excruciating seconds. Finally, she shrugged. “Um, do you wanna have lunch together?”

“Already ate,” he said, blinking and shaking his head as if she’d snapped him out of a trance.

She gave a small laugh. “Right.”

Had all of her coworkers already eaten and taken their breaks? She’d been so absorbed in her work that she hadn’t noticed if they had.

An email notification pinged, and Jonathan disappeared in a blur of black hair and white shirt.

Ignoring her sweaty palms and fluttering pulse—really, there was nothing to worry about—Dahlia stepped out of her cubicle and inched down the hallway until the tips of her shoes reached the threshold between light and dark. It reminded her of an ocean boundary zone, where navy blue offshore water meets murky coastal water, their masses too different to collide. 

She squinted, but there was nothing to see. Not even the outline of a door. The only indication that there was anything down there at all was the frigid air blowing in her direction. She moistened her cracked lips and glanced back. Faces watched her from their cubicles. Eyes bright. Jaws slack. She turned to the wall of black again. There was no reason to be afraid. Not with this many people around. So she crossed into the darkness. 

The cold air instantly seeped through her clothes, chilling her bones to brittle ice. Her teeth chattered as she walked, hugging her elbows, her heels echoing faintly against the linoleum. She reached for her phone to use as a flashlight and cursed under her breath. She’d left it at her desk. Along with her lunch. She peered over her shoulder. If she went back now, she’d make a complete fool of herself. She could at least find the bathroom and kitchen first, grab some water, then return for her things.

Her attention snapped back to what lay ahead. A thin strip of light seeped beneath a door a few feet away. Had it always been there? She exhaled hard and hurried toward it, keeping one hand pressed against the wall to steady herself.

The door opened onto a white kitchen, with only the faint buzz of the fluorescent bulbs hanging overhead filling the quiet. She blinked hard, wincing as her pupils shrank against the sudden glare. She wiped her sweaty palms on her slacks and glanced around. The sharp smell of ethanol hung in the air. Not a single coffee stain, mysterious food splatter, or dirty dish in sight. Ceramic bowls, plates, and mugs sat neatly arranged inside a tall glass cabinet, silverware organized beside them. A touchscreen coffee machine and microwave flanked the sink, along with a metal bowl overflowing with snacks.

A yellow sticky note had been tacked to the refrigerator: FREE FOR GRABS :)

Dahlia pulled open the fridge. Rows of water bottles and soda cans lined the shelves, along with cheese snacks, dips, and stacked brown boxes labeled with their contents. Turkey club. Chicken Caesar salad. Veggie wrap. Her stomach growled. But as she reached for the turkey club, the hair on the back of her neck rose. She withdrew from the fridge, taking in the room once more.

There was nowhere to sit.

“Tables are in the next room,” a familiar voice chirped behind her.

Dahlia whirled around. Sarah stood by the door, a grin plastered across her mousy face, her slacks and blouse still crisp, as if she hadn’t moved much in the hours since Dahlia had last seen her. 

“Hey, Sarah.” Dahlia glanced at the refrigerator. “These lunches are for us, right?”

“Of course. Company perks.”

Sarah approached and patted Dahlia’s head with the gentle affection one might use for a puppy, then gestured toward a door tucked into the far wall. “Dining area’s there.”

“Ah. Didn’t notice in my excitement,” Dahlia said.

Sarah opened the door. Inside was another bright, windowless room with several wooden tables and a tall metal cabinet labeled UTENSILS. She nodded toward the refrigerator. “Grab me a salad, and I’ll join you.”

Dahlia retrieved a turkey club for herself and a salad for her coworker before following her inside. They chose a table and sat across from each other.

“How are you liking Megalos so far?” Sarah asked, unpacking her salad.

Dahlia raised her sandwich. “It’s nice. Great perks.”

Sarah nodded—mouth pouty, brows knitted—as if Dahlia had said something incredibly profound, and finally took the lid off her food.

Three bites into her sandwich, Dahlia stopped chewing. Her gaze dropped to Sarah’s salad. Sarah wasn’t eating. She only pushed the contents around with her fork, stabbing at lettuce, dragging it from one side of the bowl to the other.

Dahlia looked up.

Sarah planted her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop clasped hands. Smiling, of course. “Do you think you’ll stick around?”

Dahlia opened her mouth to answer. Nothing came out. She frowned and tried again. A weak squeak came out as her arms went limp at her sides and warmth spread through her body, turning her muscles to jelly.

She pitched forward. 

Her chest struck the table first, then her cheek, smashing the rest of the sandwich beneath her. She wanted to scream. Wanted to run. Wanted to do something. Anything. Couldn’t. Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth.

Sarah rose calmly from her chair and closed the dining room door before crossing to the metal cabinet marked UTENSILS. 

“I think you’ll stick around for a very long time,” she said. 

Dahlia could only watch as she opened it.

The shelves were lined with clippers, scalpels, clamps, drills, and other things she couldn’t make out.

Sarah rifled through the contents before turning around. In one hand, she held a thin silver chip the size of a quarter. In the other, a pair of black eyeballs, squishy and glossy, with several thin wires dangling from them. They caught the fluorescent light and flashed an iridescent blue. Like Jonathan’s had.

“Don’t worry,” Sarah crooned. “This is standard company protocol. You won’t even feel a thing!” She set the eyes and chip on the table in front of Dahlia, then returned to the cabinet and reached for a drill.

Dahlia blinked. She was back at her desk. Typing. Clicking. Unable to stop. Even though she wanted to. Wanted to remember if she had been in the kitchen just now. She had, hadn’t she?

Her cellphone rang. She felt herself answer, her mind detached from her physical body, as if she were haunting her own flesh and bones. 

“Hey, you still down to go out to dinner tonight?” her sister asked on the other end. “I want to hear about your new gig.”  

Yes, Dahlia tried to say. Yes, please come pick me up. Now. 

Instead, she smiled, even though her sister couldn’t see her, and said, “I would love to tell you about my new job… but I can’t tonight. I have to finish several reports that are due tomorrow.” 

“Ugh. Seriously? It’s your first day…”

“It’s worth it,” Dahlia heard herself reply. “So worth it.” 

Silence filled the line. A few moments later, her sister sighed. “Fine. Tomorrow, then? We’ll catch up?”

“As long as I accomplish all my work,” Dahlia said before tapping the red button and watching the phone screen go black.

She took a deep breath and tried to stand. Tried to walk away from her desk. To call her sister back once she was outside. But the moment she pushed herself up, her legs buckled beneath her, like a newborn fawn’s, and all she managed was to slide out of her chair, the rug cushioning her fall.

Jonathan appeared beside her. “Oh, no. This always happens the first time.” He helped her back into her chair and patted her hand. “It takes a day or two to fully sync to your body.”

“What does?” she asked weakly, blinking hard up at him through the lights that outlined him in a halo, nearly swallowing him whole.

“The best Megalos perk, of course!”

“What perk?” Dahlia asked, smiling even as warm tears carved trails down her cheeks and slipped into her mouth. Salty.

Jonathan tilted his head; a smile stretched across his face, mirroring hers. 

“What perk?” she repeated.

“Your efficiency chip, of course! The lights in every Megalos building keep the chip powered through photovoltaic cells.” He pointed at his eyes. “They’re like tiny solar panels.” The corners of his mouth started to droop. He shoved them back up with his fingers and kept talking. “The company sends a script straight to your brain. Tells you what to do. What you need. Isn’t it amazing? No more distractions!” 

“And when do we go home?” she asked, face sore from grinning, the collar of her shirt digging into her throat. Suffocating. She wanted to tear off the top button. Wanted to drop the smile. Couldn’t. 

The entire office laughed, sharp and staccato, a steady metronome. 

“When the company says we can,” Jonathan replied, then sat back down. 

In one synchronized wave, the entire office—Dahlia included—turned back to their computers, heads bowed, fingers flying across their keyboards. 

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.