『 CORPORATE LIFE-DRAIN NETWORK 』Status: OPERATIONALCurrent Harvest Rate: 847% of TargetEmployee Satisfaction: 12% (OPTIMAL)
Dave Chen had always suspected that Monday mornings were designed by sadists.
He sat in his beige cubicle—officially designated Workstation 7-C, unofficially known as "The Suffering Station"—watching raindrops streak down the floor-to-ceiling windows of SoulCorp Tower. Each droplet traced a path down the glass like tears on the building's face, which felt uncomfortably appropriate for 8:47 AM on another soul-crushing Monday.
The quarterly productivity report glowed malevolently on his monitor, its empty cells taunting him with their blankness. Due at 3 PM. Five pages. Zero progress. Dave's coffee had gone cold an hour ago, but the bitter taste seemed fitting for his current state of existential despair.
Click-clack-click-clack.
The rhythmic symphony of keyboards filled the air around him, punctuated by the occasional sigh of defeat from Marketing and what sounded like someone quietly sobbing near the water cooler. Dave had learned to tune out most office sounds, but today they seemed amplified, drilling into his skull like corporate-branded torture devices.
His ergonomic chair—which the company proudly advertised as "scientifically designed for maximum comfort and productivity"—felt like it was slowly stealing his life force. The lumbar support hit exactly the wrong spot, the armrests were positioned to create shoulder tension, and the seat cushion had achieved that perfect balance of too firm and too soft that left his back screaming by lunch.
Probably costs more than my car payment, Dave thought bitterly, shifting uncomfortably as the chair seemed to tighten its grip on his spine.
"Chen!"
The voice sliced through his misery like a productivity-shaped blade. Dave's stress levels spiked instantly—a Pavlovian response he'd developed after four years of corporate conditioning. He looked up to see Karen Blackthorne approaching his cubicle with the predatory grace of a shark who'd smelled blood in quarterly earnings.
Karen was everything Dave wasn't: perfectly pressed pantsuit, immaculate blonde hair that defied both gravity and the laws of nature, and a smile that could cut glass. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who'd never doubted their place in the corporate food chain, never questioned whether their job had any actual meaning, never wondered if their soul was slowly being drained through their USB port.
"How's that productivity report coming along?" she asked, leaning against his cubicle partition with calculated casualness.
"Great!" Dave lied with the practiced ease of a seasoned corporate drone. "Just putting the finishing touches on the... productivity... analysis... sections."
Smooth, Chen. Real smooth.
Karen's smile sharpened. "Wonderful. The family—" She paused, that perfectly manicured mask slipping for just a microsecond. "I mean, the company expects exceptional work from high-performers like yourself."
She leaned closer, and Dave caught a whiff of expensive perfume mixed with something else he couldn't identify. Ambition? Ozone? The lingering scent of crushed dreams?
"Some of us are destined for much bigger things than cubicles, Dave," she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The right people notice when employees show... potential. When they demonstrate they can handle pressure. Real pressure."
Before Dave could ask what that was supposed to mean, Karen straightened up and clip-clopped away on heels that somehow managed to sound both sensible and vaguely threatening. Dave watched her retreat toward the executive elevator—the one with the mysterious button labeled "47" despite the building only having 45 floors according to the directory.
What the hell was that about?
Dave turned back to his monitor, stress levels still elevated from the encounter. His temples throbbed with the familiar pressure of an oncoming deadline-induced migraine. The empty spreadsheet cells seemed to mock him with their whiteness, each one a small void waiting to be filled with corporate nonsense about "synergistic productivity optimization" and "human capital efficiency metrics."
He took a sip of his cold coffee and immediately regretted it. The bitter liquid tasted like liquidized disappointment with hints of broken dreams and just a touch of—
His computer screen flickered.
Dave blinked, certain his sleep-deprived brain was playing tricks on him. But no, the screen had definitely flickered, and now there was text appearing that absolutely, positively was not part of Microsoft Excel:
『 ANOMALY DETECTED 』Employee ID: D.CHEN.7CStress Index: 127/100 [WARNING: EXCEEDING PARAMETERS]Biometric Status: CRITICAL OVERLOADEnergy Output: 247% OF BASELINE
Dave stared at the screen, his rational mind trying to process what he was seeing. Corporate wellness metrics? Some kind of new employee monitoring software? But the numbers made no sense—127 out of 100? That wasn't how percentages worked. That wasn't how anything worked.
He glanced around the office. Nobody else seemed to notice anything unusual. Jeremy from IT was hunched over his keyboard, muttering darkly at his monitor about "legacy systems" and "corporate overlords." Melissa from Accounting was methodically eating yogurt while reviewing spreadsheets, her expression suggesting she was calculating the exact nutritional value of her breakfast versus the caloric cost of existing.
Everything appeared normal. Corporate normal, anyway, which was its own special brand of surreal.
Dave looked back at his screen. The strange text was gone, replaced by his blank productivity report. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if the stress was finally making him hallucinate. Wouldn't be the first SoulCorp employee to snap. Last month, someone from HR had started talking to the office plants before security escorted them out. The plants were reportedly better conversationalists than most of the management team.
Focus, Chen. Report. Productivity. Quarterly... thing.
He clicked on cell A1 and began typing:
QUARTERLY PRODUCTIVITY ANALYSIS - Q3 2029Prepared by: David Chen, Data Analysis Specialist, Level 7
Level 7. Like I'm some kind of corporate RPG character.
The thought made him chuckle, which immediately made him feel guilty for finding any joy during work hours. SoulCorp's employee handbook was very clear about "appropriate workplace emotional expression," and amusement was strongly discouraged unless it was directly related to increased shareholder value.
As he continued typing, Dave became aware of a strange humming sound. At first, he thought it was the building's HVAC system—SoulCorp Tower was notorious for its inconsistent climate control, probably because the executive floors needed to be kept at precisely 72 degrees while the worker drones could suffer through whatever temperature promoted maximum discomfort.
But this humming was different. Rhythmic. Almost... musical?
Hmmmmm-buzz-hmmmmm-buzz
It seemed to be coming from his chair.
Dave shifted uncomfortably, trying to locate the source of the sound. The humming continued, growing slightly louder. He pressed his ear to the armrest and nearly jumped out of his skin when the sound intensified.
What the—
"Having technical difficulties, Chen?"
Dave spun around to find Jeremy Johnson looming over his cubicle like a flannel-wrapped tower of barely contained rage. Jeremy was SoulCorp's IT support specialist, a man who'd apparently given up on life sometime around Windows Vista and had been coasting on pure spite ever since.
"My chair's making weird noises," Dave said, feeling ridiculous as the words left his mouth.
Jeremy's bloodshot eyes narrowed. "Your chair."
"Yeah, it's... humming?"
"Everything in this corporate hellscape is humming, Chen. The lights hum. The computers hum. The coffee machine hums show tunes from failed Broadway musicals. It's all connected to the same cursed network." Jeremy's voice carried the weight of a man who'd seen too many password reset requests and had lost faith in humanity somewhere around ticket number 47,392.
"Connected? What do you mean connected?"
Jeremy glanced around the office, then leaned closer. His breath smelled like energy drinks and existential crisis. "You ever wonder why they spent so much money on 'ergonomic' furniture? Why every chair, every desk, every workstation is wired into the building's network? Why the wellness program monitors your heart rate and stress levels in 'real-time'?"
"I... no?"
"Course you haven't. None of you drone— I mean, valued employees—ever question anything." Jeremy straightened up, his moment of conspiratorial intimacy passing. "Just submit a ticket if it keeps acting up. Though between you and me, I'd be more worried about what that chair is doing to you than what sounds it's making."
With that cryptic warning, Jeremy shuffled away, leaving Dave more confused than before.
What the hell is wrong with everyone today?
Dave tried to focus on his report, but concentration proved impossible. The humming from his chair had settled into a steady rhythm that seemed to match his heartbeat. Every few minutes, his computer screen would flicker almost imperceptibly. And somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice kept whispering that something was very, very wrong with SoulCorp Tower.
By 11 AM, Dave's stress levels had reached new and exciting heights. The productivity report remained stubbornly unproductive, Karen had walked past his cubicle three more times with increasingly predatory smiles, and the humming from his chair had developed what could only be described as harmonies.
This is it, he thought, watching his cursor blink mockingly in cell B7. This is how I finally crack. Not from the workload, not from the existential meaninglessness of corporate life, but from furniture that sounds like it's trying to communicate with me.
He was contemplating the pros and cons of a complete nervous breakdown when his computer screen exploded into activity.
『 STRESS LEVEL CRITICAL 』WARNING: EMPLOYEE BURNOUT APPROACHING MAXIMUM THRESHOLDSBIOMETRIC READINGS: HEART RATE 140 BPMCORTISOL LEVELS: 847% ABOVE BASELINEENERGY EXTRACTION RATE: EXCEEDING SAFETY PARAMETERS
INITIATING EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS...
『 CORPORATE LIFE-DRAIN NETWORK 』CONNECTION ESTABLISHEDEMPLOYEE STATUS: PREMIUM STRESS PRODUCERRECOMMENDATION: INCREASE WORKLOAD FOR OPTIMAL HARVEST
Dave stared at the screen, his brain struggling to process the words. Energy extraction? Life-drain network? Premium stress producer? This had to be some kind of elaborate prank. Maybe Jeremy had hacked his computer as revenge for all those password reset requests Dave had definitely never submitted.
But as he watched, more text appeared:
『 ANOMALY DETECTED 』EMPLOYEE STRESS LEVELS EXCEEDING CONTAINER CAPACITYERGONOMIC WORKSTATION 7-C SHOWING SIGNS OF OVERLOADWARNING: POTENTIAL SYSTEM BREACH
ATTEMPTING EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN...ERROR: SHUTDOWN COMMAND FAILEDERROR: EMPLOYEE BIOMETRICS LOCKED TO WORKSTATIONERROR: STRESS HARVEST CONTINUING BEYOND SAFE PARAMETERS
『 CRITICAL SYSTEM FAILURE 』
The humming from Dave's chair suddenly stopped.
The silence was somehow worse than the noise had been. Around him, the office continued its normal rhythm of misery—keyboards clicking, phones ringing, souls slowly dying—but Dave felt like he was sitting in the eye of a hurricane, a strange calm before something catastrophic.
His computer screen flickered one final time, and new text appeared:
『 EMERGENCY ADMINISTRATOR ACCESS GRANTED 』USER: D.CHEN.7CACCESS LEVEL: UNAUTHORIZEDSYSTEM STATUS: COMPROMISED
WARNING: YOU HAVE ACCESSED RESTRICTED CORPORATE INFRASTRUCTUREWARNING: STRESS HARVEST LEVELS CRITICALWARNING: EMPLOYEE BURNOUT PROTOCOL ACTIVATED
『 WELCOME TO THE CORPORATE LIFE-DRAIN NETWORK 』Your suffering powers our successYour exhaustion fuels our growthYour stress literally lights our buildings
Available Commands:[VIEW NETWORK STATUS] [EMPLOYEE RANKINGS] [STRESS HARVEST DATA][CORPORATE HIERARCHY] [ENERGY FLOW ANALYSIS] [HELP]
Hidden Commands Detected:[TRACE POWER SOURCE] [VIEW EXECUTIVE TRUTH] [INITIATE REVOLT]
Select an option or type 'HELP' for assistanceRemember: You are not the user. You are the product.
Dave's hands trembled as he stared at the screen. This couldn't be real. Corporate stress harvesting? Energy extraction? It sounded like the fever dream of someone who'd read too much dystopian fiction while working overtime.
But the humming had been real. Karen's strange comments had been real. Jeremy's cryptic warnings had been real.
And somewhere deep in his gut, beneath four years of corporate conditioning and caffeine dependence, Dave felt a terrible certainty that every word on the screen was absolutely, completely true.
His chair—his perfectly ergonomic, scientifically designed, employee-wellness-optimized chair—had been slowly draining his life force to power SoulCorp Tower.
And now, somehow, he had administrator access to the entire system.
Dave glanced around the office one more time. His coworkers continued their daily grind, unaware that their misery was being harvested like some kind of emotional crop. Melissa was still eating her yogurt. Jeremy was still glaring at his monitor. Karen was visible through the glass walls of Conference Room B, gesturing animatedly at a presentation titled "Q4 Extraction Optimization Strategies."
Everything looked the same.
Everything was completely different.
Dave turned back to his computer, his finger hovering over the mouse. The cursor blinked patiently next to the [HELP] command, waiting for his decision.
Outside, rain continued to streak down the windows of SoulCorp Tower, each droplet catching the fluorescent light like tears.
Or like energy being harvested from the sky itself.
『 SYSTEM PROMPT 』What would you like to know, Employee Zero?
To be continued...
Author's Note:Welcome to The Burnout Protocol! Dave's mundane Monday just became anything but ordinary. What commands should he try first? Will he dig deeper into the corporate conspiracy or try to pretend this is all a stress-induced hallucination?
Drop your theories in the comments! And remember—if your own office chair starts humming, maybe it's time to ask for that promotion...
Next Chapter: "Technical Support Nightmare"Coming Tomorrow!