Episode 1 - Please Remember This is a Professional Chat
The office wakes up the same way every morning, which is to say it never really does. It just idles. Waiting.
Fluorescent lights flicker on in stages, like they are being coerced. The hum settles into the room’s bones. The printer coughs awake, already exhausted. Somewhere near the break room, someone microwaves eggs, and the smell crawls through the vents like a punishment no one remembers earning.
This is Squeeze & Cope Stress Ball Co.
The building smells faintly of rubber, burnt coffee, and optimism that has expired.
McGurt sits at his desk before the office fully comes online, staring at a spreadsheet that has not changed in ten minutes. He knows this. He blinks again. Still nothing. The numbers remain smug. Incomplete. Judgmental.
He does not move.
McGurt has learned that motion invites expectation. Expectation leads to conversation. Conversation leads to meetings. Meetings lead to eye contact. Eye contact leads to being perceived.
The spreadsheet will win eventually. It always does.
A few rows over, Crashout is already on a customer support call. His posture is immaculate. His voice is soft, practiced, almost therapeutic. It is the voice of someone who has learned how to sound calm without feeling it.
“I completely understand why you’re upset,” he says, nodding to no one.
He mutes the call.
“I hope your death turns into one of those Dumb Ways to Die podcasts,” he says flatly.
He unmutes.
“That reaction makes total sense.”
Nearby, Nervin refreshes a policy document for the fifth time. He knows it will not change. He needs to see it not change. The sameness is proof. Proof that rules still exist. Proof that if he follows them closely enough, nothing unexpected will happen.
The page reloads. Identical.
He exhales like this confirms something terrible but familiar.
Ruckaz scrolls through scheduled marketing posts with the detached focus of someone diffusing a bomb they secretly hope goes off. One post catches her eye.
Friday. My second favorite F word.
She considers it for exactly half a second. Without blinking, she hits Post Now.
Across the aisle, Rebelle walks by holding a clipboard she does not remember picking up. She pauses, scanning the room like she’s inventorying future disappointments. She makes a mental note of three desks, two expressions, and one person who looks too calm to be trusted.
She keeps moving.
Batrick sits at his desk wearing headphones with nothing playing. He prefers silence. Silence has edges. Silence tells the truth. His screen displays a half finished design that looks like a crime scene someone carefully curated. He stares at it, listening to the room breathe around him.
FAFO spins once in his chair, bored, then opens the work group chat. Not because he needs to. Because it is there. Because curiosity and hubris are siblings and he raised them both.
Luci-purr leans against a desk that is not his, sipping coffee like the concept of urgency has personally wronged him. He watches the room the way a scientist watches ants. Interested. Uninvested. Calm.
No one speaks.
Without warning a wave of notifications hits everyone's phones.
Everyone looks down.
It's a new message in the work group chat called; TEAM SYNERGY 🔥
The name tells you everything you need to know about how the company. They think the fire emoji makes it feel less like work talk and more like a family group chat.
The fire emoji is a lie.
A new message reads;
HR PAM:
Good morning team! Reminder to complete the work culture survey by EOD 😊
The smiley face sits there.
Smiling.
Waiting.
Watching.
Crashout stares at his phone. “That smile has seen things.”
Nervin’s fingers hover over his keyboard. His brain races ahead, too nervous to be the first one to reply.
McGurt muted all notifications a while ago, he didn't want to be added, but now he is being held hostage in this corporate hell hole.
RUCKAZ
👍
Batrick mutters to himself.
“There is a fine line between work culture and trauma.”
Rebelle stops walking. Reads the thread. Leans against a cubicle wall. She recognizes the shape of this moment. The quiet before something stupid becomes permanent.
“Hm,” she says. “He’s taking his time. This should be good.”
The typing bubble appears.
FAFO is typing...
Nervin inhales sharply. “No.”
“Please,” McGurt says, barely audible.
FAFO
I’d rather get a prostate exam by Edward Scissorhands than answer a survey about ‘workplace joy’ 😭
The office goes quiet in a new way.
Crashout drops his headset. “We all thought it. Glad he said it.”
Ruckaz laughs out loud, sharp and sudden.
Nervin stands. “Okay. Okay. This is recoverable. Maybe. If HR doesn’t screenshot. But they always screenshot. Right? They definitely screenshot.”
Rebelle grins. “He never holds back. It’s admirable.”
McGurt stares at his phone like it is a live wire. “This is why I don’t talk at work.”
The typing bubble appears again.
HR PAM:
🤣
Crashout makes a noise like a deflating balloon. “That’s not laughing. That’s a threat.”
Nervin starts pacing. “That’s the face they make before they schedule a sensitivity meeting.”
BATRICK
Happiness shouldn’t have a deadline.
“Batrick stop narrating the apocalypse,” Crashout says.
RUCKAZ.
Pam we appreciate the feedback opportunity! We love joy. Big joy supporter here.
Always sarcastic and always trying to stir the pot.
“If this becomes my problem I will end you,” Rebelle says calmly.
“Worth it,” Ruckaz replies.
LUCI-PURR
Happy to complete the survey. Looking forward to seeing how the feedback is used.
Crashout chokes laughing. “Oh. He assigned her homework.”
Rebelle nods. “Clean. Efficient. No notes.”
The typing bubble returns. Everyone watches it pulse like a heart monitor.
HR PAM:
Please remember this is a professional channel.
FAFO, please see me in my office.
FAFO lights up. “Yay”
Rebelle groans. “First time I’ve ever heard ‘yay’ directed at HR.”
FAFO tries to DM Crashout privately, but sends it to the group chat instead.
FAFO
do i have time to fake my death
Crashout laughes even more watching this ship burn down in a beautiful blaze of glory.
Nervin grabs his bag. “Okay. If he gets fired does that affect our benefits. Asking for my heart rate.”
McGurt stands halfway. Sits. Stands again. “I’ll just excuse myself.”
BATRICK
I can write his eulogy.
Rebelle pushes off the cubicle. “I’m watching this.”
Ruckaz is already walking. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Crashout follows, vibrating. “I need closure.”
McGurt stays, knowing this moment to be alone won't last long.
Luci-purr trails behind them. “This is why warning labels exist.”
FAFO is already mid rant when the HR office door opens.
“…because the survey asks if I feel supported, but support isn’t a vibe, Pam,” he says. “Support is money. Support is staffing. Support is not a pizza party with cold pizza and an email that says ‘hope you enjoy 😊.’”
Rebelle leans in. “Oh he skipped the preamble.”
FAFO keeps going. He’s warmed up now.
“And then there’s the question where I rate my workplace joy from one to five. What does five mean. Is it ‘I cry less on Sundays’ or ‘I actively want to be here’ because those are not the same thing and neither option exists for me.”
HR Pam takes notes.
FAFO gains confidence like a cat possessed.
“And don’t get me wrong, I love honesty. But the last time someone was honest we had a restructuring and three people disappeared like it was the rapture.”
HR Pam opens her mouth.
FAFO gets louder.
“And before you say this feedback helps us grow. Who grows? Because it’s never us. It’s always the company. And the company isn’t tired, Pam. The company doesn’t need therapy. I do.”
Silence.
Batrick whispers, reverent. “He’s doing slam poetry.”
FAFO finishes.
“So yeah. I’ll do the survey. I’ll do it honestly. But if the action plan is another team building exercise, I will lie next year. For my own mental health.”
He smiles. “Which question would you like me to start with?”
HR Pam stares like she is leaving her body.
In the hallway:
“That man just speedran unemployment,” Ruckaz says.
“I’m sweating and it’s not even my career,” Crashout says.
“She fucked around,” Rebelle says.
“And she found out.” Luci-purr replies.
HR Pam exhales. “…FAFO. Sit down.”
FAFO beams. “Oh good. I though this was going to get weird.”
She notices the crowd. “Why are all of you here.”
Ruckaz; “Witnesses.”
Crashout; “Emotional support.”
Nervin; “Liability”
Batrick; “Wrong life.”
Luci-purr; “Research.”
Rebelle smiles. “I’m here for the ending.”
“Out. All of you.” HR Pam demands and then closes her eyes pitching the bridge of her nose. “FAFO. Complete the survey. Here. Now. With me watching.”
FAFO nods. “Okay but some of these answers are going to get aggressive.”
They scatter.
Later, back at their desks, the office resumes breathing.
“I need a drink and a new identity,” Crashout says.
“Should we apologize in the chat,” Nervin asks.
“No more words,” McGurt says. “Silence only.”
“Silence is sacred,” Batrick agrees.
“Five stars,” Rebelle says.
“Best eavesdropped meeting all year,” Ruckaz grins.
From behind the closed door, FAFO yells, “WHY ARE THERE SO MANY QUESTIONS.”
The printer wheezes.
The lights hum.
The survey was marked complete.
