Stephen hadn’t been to the top floor since orientation.
The elevator rose slowly, the numbers ticking upward in silence. No music, no chimes announcing each floor in turn, just the soft hiss of climate-controlled air and the faint smell of disinfectant. Stephen leaned against the brushed steel wall, hands balled in the pockets of his too-worn chinos. On his hip, his laminated ID badge had started peeling away at the corners.
The higher he went, the quieter it got. The HR offices were mostly empty. At least, that’s how it used to be. Except for open enrollment season when an army of temps descended on the office, it was usually just Candace the receptionist, always on her phone; Gloria from Payroll, who still printed everything; and Donna, the department head, whose greatest skill was scheduling meetings that solved nothing.
But that was before.
Over the last few weeks, things on the content development floor had started to shift. The changes weren’t announced ahead of time, but they sent shockwaves through the building. First, the women on Stephen’s team had started disappearing. A flurry of resignations, sabbaticals, and “personal leave,” none of which felt complete or real. There were no farewell lunches or goodbye emails, just a bunch of canceled calendar events and deactivated Slack channels.
Then the men started changing. Marcus. Jalen. Frank. One by one, they’d been summoned up to HR for a one –on one, only to stroll into the office the next morning with their shirts tucked in and their hair sharp at the sides. Marcus started using phrases like “scalable cohesion” and “action ownership.” Frank began showing up five minutes early for the very team huddles he used to mock. All of them walked through the office like they were being timed. None of them ever said anything about what had happened upstairs. They just smiled.
Stephen had always been the loud one. The complainer. The person who documented things and quoted policy in passive-aggressive emails. He’d built a reputation for exacting concessions from management simply by exhausting them past the point where it mattered anymore. HR probably had an entire file on him.
So when Carl, Stephen’s work bestie, started offering him cheerful advice about “compliance modules,” Stephen knew exactly what he had to do.
He’d sent the email. One sentence, no pleasantries. I’d like to speak with you. Today.
The elevator stopped.
DING. Floor 12 – Human Resources.
The doors opened. Stephen stepped out and stopped. The HR lobby had changed. Gone were the fake succulents and Donna’s framed “Women in Leadership” certificates. The walls were now a flat, high-gloss gray. The reception desk was a long slab of black glass. Everything looked like it had been designed by a pharmaceutical ad agency.
Two men sat behind the desk, both wearing suits. Not the business casual or startup formal type. Real suits. Slim-fit charcoal, white shirts, narrow ties. They looked like they could either sell a million-dollar mansion or launch a quiet coup.
“Welcome,” said the one on the left. Blond. Perfect skin. “You’re Stephen?”
“Yeah,” Stephen said, eyeing them both. “Where’s Candace?”
“Candace is no longer with the company,” said the other one. Brown hair. Ice blue tie. Not a flicker of emotion.
“And Gloria?”
“Also no longer with the company.”
“What about Donna?”
They didn’t answer. Stephen glanced past them. Donna’s office was still there, but the door had been replaced. Matte black. A nameplate in brushed steel.
DIRK BURKUM – VP, Human Resource Alignment
Stephen was about to ask another question when the office door opened and Dirk appeared. He was taller than Stephen expected. Much taller, at least 6’ 6”. His navy blue suit was sculpted to his body like it had been made from blueprints. He cut such an impressive figure, with wide shoulders, a broad chest, a shaved head, and a cropped salt-and-pepper beard, Stephen didn’t know where to look.
Until he caught sight of Dirk’s gloves. Tight, shiny, black leather. They looked expensive and were polished to a mirror sheen.
Dirk didn’t speak. He just raised one hand, and with a single, gloved finger, beckoned.
A moment too late, Stephen realized his feet were already moving, and the door was closing behind him. Dirk walked ahead without a word. His shoulders rolled gently under the taut lines of his suit. The back of his head gleamed under the recessed lights.
“Have a seat, Stephen.”
Stephen’s breath hitched slightly. Dirk’s voice was low and resonant, each word ringing like a bell in Stephen’s mind.
He sat.
Dirk moved behind his desk and rested both gloved hands upon it, slowly curling and flexing his fingers until the leather creaked.
“Thank you for coming,” he said
Stephen opened his mouth, unsure if he meant to speak. Dirk lifted one hand and tapped a single finger—tap—against the desk.
He did it again. Tap.
And twice more. Tap. Tap.
He continued the four-beat rhythm like a slow metronome. No rush, no variance, just the creak of leather following each movement, barely audible, but settling somewhere in Stephen’s bones.
“You’ve been underperforming,” Dirk said, as if stating the weather. “You’ve been disengaged. Distracted. Misaligned.”
Stephen sat a little straighter without realizing it. Dirk circled the desk. His footsteps were soft. When he stopped behind Stephen, the scent of leather bloomed around him.
“The company needs you to be at your best.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Dirk was in front of him again, hand casually resting on the edge of the desk. His gaze was steady. Not aggressive. Not warm. Fixed. Like a lens.
Stephen blinked, trying to hold it together.
“KPIs,” Dirk said, “are everything.”
Tap.
“They are how we measure reality. How we separate value from waste.”
Tap. Tap.
Stephen’s breathing slowed. The rhythm had found its way into him, beneath his ribs. His breathing fell into perfect sync with Dirk’s leather staccato.
“You used to complain,” Dirk continued. “Meetings. Workflow. Leadership. You gave unsolicited feedback. You documented minor grievances.”
A pause. Then, quietly: “How much time did all that take?”
Stephen opened his mouth, then closed it.
Dirk tilted his head.
“Every minute spent complaining,” he said, “is one fewer minute fulfilling your KPIs.”
Tap. Tap.
“You know this. You’ve always known this.”
Stephen didn’t feel tired, but his body was getting… heavier. Looser, like each breath pulled him lower into the chair. His fingers twitched, then stilled.
Dirk’s hand lifted. He extended one gloved finger and slowly drew a line in the air, from left to right. Stephen’s eyes followed it. The motion was slow enough to feel inevitable. Not forced. Guided.
“Your team relies on you.”
Another gesture. A slow, downward sweep, like a conductor guiding a rest note.
“You will not allow yourself to be the weakest link.”
Stephen’s lips parted, breath shallow.
“You understand.” It wasn’t a question. Stephen nodded.
Dirk stepped closer. The gloves made a faint groan as he flexed his fingers again.
“To look professional,” he said, “is to be professional.”
His hand reached out, not close enough to contact, just to hover near Stephen’s chest. But the gesture alone felt like a caress. Stephen’s shoulders relaxed beneath it.
“You’ve already started,” Dirk said. “You noticed the change in your peers. You recognized the improvement. It’s why you came.”
Stephen swallowed. His thoughts didn’t feel stolen, just… turned. Redirected. Like sheep urged into a different paddock. Not wrong, just different. Better.
“Obedience,” Dirk said, “is productivity.”
The phrase hit like a plunge into a pool, tingling every inch of his body at the same time.
Dirk leaned closer. “You want to be productive.”
Stephen’s head nodded again. He didn’t remember choosing to.
“You want to be aligned.”
A pause.
“You want to stop thinking about anything else.”
Stephen closed his eyes.
In the quiet, the tapping returned—tap, tap, tap, tap—and each sound folded around him like soft walls. Comfortable. Repetitive. A place to rest.
Dirk whispered one final phrase.
“You’re almost ready.”
Stephen sat in Dirk’s office for nearly an hour, silent and motionless, before he finally confirmed.
“I’m ready.”
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Interesting story. Will this be part of a longer piece?
It was planned to be a standalone, but feedback is a powerful thing. Thanks for the comment!