The conference room is always David’s favorite. It’s a quiet place to get real work done—away from the copious office chatter, the positioning, the endless parade of textbook sycophants.
Today, he writes emails to prospective employers. He figures he won’t be bothered here, and that the prying eyes of his fellow employees—who apparently have nothing better to do—won’t catch a glimpse of blood in the water. At Telos Holdings, the moment someone is on their way out and someone else knows it, they may as well already be gone.
The HR department has staked its claim on creating a place where everything is “kept in the family.” That’s one of the things that bothers David most. Sure, he’s made some good friends over the years working for Telos, and the work is meaningful enough—bleeding edge, clean-room industry—to keep things interesting. At least that’s true of one division: the one he supports most closely in accounting.
But David wants a change. Something new.
It has been years since he’s floated his résumé anywhere, and part of him simply wants to see if there are any bites. Maybe that alone is worth the effort—to know he’s still viable, still vital, maybe even to land a pay bump somewhere else. He’s talked it over with Cindy on just about every date night for the past year, and she’s reached the point where—after repeating her mantra of do whatever you think is best, dear—he can tell she’s agitated. She wants him to either find something new or stop talking about it already.
So he figures it’s finally time.
There are no meetings scheduled today. The conference room—sterile as the environments his department is charged with fabricating—feels like the perfect place to polish his résumé and make a move. He regards his edits with a self-satisfied grin. On paper, he’s a decent asset to just about any company, and with all the new jobs opening up along Iron Falls’ burgeoning Medical Mile—a hub of facilities and hospitals specializing in everything under the sun—he figures he’ll be able to land something.
Anything but here.
He can’t put his finger on it, but something has felt off lately.
At the last staff meeting, Julie won’t stop smiling at him. She’s always the happy-go-lucky type, but this borders on an obtuse kind of cheese that makes him want to squirm away. Then there’s his boss, Mark—usually even-keeled, matter-of-fact, emotionally neutral, except when corporate comes down demanding another ra-ra, touchy-feely staff trust exercise or some other ridiculous ritual. Mark plays the good soldier; everyone falls in line. David follows out of tepid obedience, even though he secretly wants to let Julie collapse onto her ass during the trust fall.
David marks a few spots on his printed résumé to correct later—reprint before he leaves for the day—when a murmur rises outside the door.
Conversation. Laughter.
Then the door bursts open.
An onrush of his coworkers spills into the room, laughing and talking about a botched fourth-quarter play from some football game, and then politics, because of course.
David straightens. He slides his résumé off the table and into his lap.
It isn’t Monday.
It’s Thursday.
There isn’t supposed to be a staff meeting today.
“Ah, David,” Mark says. “You’re early. Good.”
“Last-minute meeting?” David asks.
“Last minute is such a negative term,” Mark says. “Let’s call it a surprise.”
Mark flashes a flat smile and holds David’s gaze for just a little too long as the ten other employees file in and take their seats. One by one, as they settle, their heads slowly turn.
Eyes fix on David—squarely, calmly, intently.
Smiles bend into place.
Julie steps up on David’s right and sets a hand on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, David,” she says brightly. “I’m sorry you’ll be leaving us.”
David stiffens in his chair. The résumé slips from his lap and quietly flutters to the floor beneath the long conference table.
How does she know?
Why is everyone looking at him?
Is this some kind of bad joke—some bizarre attempt at team-building by way of a practical joke?
David clears his throat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“What an insight,” Mark says, nodding as he gestures outward. “We all feel that way sometimes, don’t we? Like life is moving around us but we aren’t getting anywhere. Like we’re stuck in a dead-end rhythm of routine that gets us nowhere.” He smiles again. “We appreciate your vulnerability in sharing that, David. But do you really want to leave us?”
David swallows. Heat prickles across his brow. “I—I’m not sure yet. I was only preparing my résumé.”
“Your résumé.” Mark holds it up.
David’s stomach drops. How did he—?
David glances down. It’s gone from where it fell. Gone from under the table. Gone, impossibly, as if it never touched the floor at all.
“It’s quite impressive,” Mark says. “Any company would be lucky to have you.” He pauses, then softens his voice—just a shade. “But before you go, I’d love for each member of our department to share something they’ve appreciated about you… before you’re gone.”
A murmur of agreement rises around the room. Their grins widen, and suddenly those smiles feel thin.
“I’ve always appreciated David’s punctuality,” says Francine, the office administrator.
“He always knows how to make us laugh,” says Gary, the accounts specialist.
“If I had to be stuck on a desert island with one of you,” Paul says, sweeping his gaze around the room before landing it on David, “it wouldn’t be David.”
Robust laughter erupts around the table. David hears himself chuckle along—awkward, reflexive—until the sound dies all at once, cut clean like a cord.
Silence.
Their faces go slack and solemn.
David tightens his grip on the chair’s armrests. He looks to Mark. Sweat beads on his forehead. He wipes it away with a trembling hand and clears his throat again.
“I… didn’t mean for you to—” David’s gaze flicks around the table. “For all of you to find out like this. I just thought maybe it was time for a change.”
“Change!” Mark bellows jovially. “Change is always a good thing. A change of pace. Loose change. A change of—”
Mark’s face darkens.
“—mind.”
Julie clamps down on David’s right arm. Gary grips his left.
“What are you doing?” David shouts, panic cracking his voice. “What is this?”
“We’re all family here at Telos,” Mark says, his tone bright again, too bright. “And families have to stick together.” He tilts his head, studying David like a reading on a gauge. “You just need a little recalibration. That’s all.”
“Recalibration?” David wrenches against their hands. “What are you talking about?”
Mark’s smile returns—wide, fixed. “You’re being transferred to the Lower Floor. I think you’ll be much happier there.”
Lower Floor?
What is he talking about?
This is a bad dream. It has to be.
Julie and Gary haul David up and drag him toward the door. David screams—loud enough to hurt—until the world skips.
A cut in the film.
A blink.
David sits at a desk, happily stamping envelopes. Satisfaction washes over him each time he lifts the stamp and sees the stylized square pyramid symbol. Familiar. Comforting.
He carries the fresh batch of mail to the chute and feeds it into the pneumatic tube system, one envelope after another, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Then he surveys the mailroom.
Hundreds of new family members.
Change comes in many forms.