Gemotions

She picked at the corner of her desk, the chipped paint flaking away under her fingernail. The move was official. She was now under the direct supervision of Ms. Abernathy, a woman known for her demanding nature and icy demeanor. Her stomach churned.

The elevator doors opened onto the new floor, and the air was thick with the scent of ambition and something else… something she couldn't quite place, but knew she didn't want. The vibrant wallpaper seemed to mock her. The enthusiastic chatter of her colleagues grated on her ears.

"Welcome aboard!" Ms. Abernathy chirped, her voice as smooth and artificial as the office furniture. She gave her a tour of the cramped space, highlighting the key performance indicators. The words washed over her, meaningless sounds in a sea of monotony.

That evening, she stared blankly at her dinner, the fork hovering halfway to her mouth. The taste of the food was absent.