A man like any other had a group of associates. Their friendship thrived well enough: sharing jokes, outings and overtime shifts. A typical coworker dynamic, as it were.
Yet, something did not sit quite right in this idyllic nine to five paradise. Why should he follow a schedule? Why would his coworkers not object over such baffling habit? What was the meaning behind a fifteen minute lunch break? Was its aim to grab a bite? Or rather, did it carry a different meaning? In his heart of hearts, could this “lunch break” signify a break of will? Subjugation? Domination? Submission?
Day after day, our amiable man, who harbored no ill will towards his coworkers toiled away. Unyielding. Without as much as an inkling of thought nor doubt. To him, the well-oiled machine was perfect. Its inexorable, perpetual and inevitable inner workings must not come to a halt. Still, a nagging thought plagued our meek fellow. What would happened if someone stand up against it?
There was no doubt in his mind that he was not the first individual to propose such course of action. It even seemed evident. The allure of chaos and all its wonderful and destructive coercion. A force of nature, at odds against the inevitability of a systemic lifestyle.
Every event that revolutionizes the life of someone starts with a question. A straightforward inquiry. Why? Why should I keep going? Why perpetuate the cycle?
It occurs that sometimes, one asks the right question at the wrong time. The HR in charge overheard the question of our meek fellow. What followed defied explanation.
The stern HR attendant directed him towards an imposing office. The office of a man who accepted no visitors. Someone who dismissed even clients of tremendous profit to the company. And yet, the doors spread open as open arms.
An imposing yet indescribable figure stood ahead of him. Such intimidating demeanor dissipated in a blink of an eye. He stretched his hand to give him a firm handshake.
Shortly after greeting him, the CEO of the company regaled him with a myriad of anecdotes. Our friend started to feel at ease. Comfortable. Vulnerable. An easy prey for what was about to happen.
The CEO’s visage contorted. No longer the jolly and affable man of before, his demeanor imposed fear upon our friend. In an inaudible murmur he communicated via his intercom. His orders directed towards his bodyguards.
Not two minutes had passed. The dehumanized soldiers deemed bodyguards were at his beckon and call. With a simple sleigh of hand, the CEO instructed his bodyguards to do his bidding.
Our friend had no chance to retaliate or react. Everything fade to black.
After an unknown amount of time had passed, he started to come to his senses. While groggy he could discern his surroundings. A warehouse, long since unused. The way he fit into a rusty barrel was not in any way comfortable. Unfortunately, neither was the way the concrete started filling his make-shift coffin.
In vain he strained his vocal chords. No sounds came out. He attempted to struggle. A manner of drug flowed through his veins, constricting his body. He was limp and helpless. All he could do was to keep his eye wide open. No attempts of escape were possible. All he could do was to witness his own, undignified death.
Was it worth it to speak up? Was any change accomplished? Would anyone find his concrete cadaver? Or were his relatives told that he cut all ties with everyone? No matter what ran through his brain, something was certain.
Concrete is not conductive for breathing.