The office was already buzzing when Cris arrived. Unfortunately, not in the "productive employees" way. More like the "everyone pretending to look busy because the boss is prowling" kind of way.
Cris slipped into his cubicle like a thief sneaking into a museum, hoping to avoid detection. He opened his laptop, tapped a few keys, and prayed to every deity that his boss wouldn't pop his head over the partition.
"Environment… strange."
Cris flinched. He stared at the spreadsheet on his screen, whispering under his breath, "Not now. Please, not here."
"So many hosts clustered. So much clicking."
"That's typing. Humans type."
"Inefficient. If all spoke in hive-thought, data transfer would be immediate."
Cris pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, well, welcome to capitalism."
His deskmate, Jessa, peeked over the divider. "You talking to yourself again?"
Cris straightened so fast his chair squeaked. "Nope. Just… motivational speech. You know. Hype talk." He raised his fist half-heartedly. "Go team."
She gave him a look that said you need therapy before retreating.
Cris exhaled. "See what you made me do?" he hissed under his breath.
"Host's cover remains intact. For now."
He groaned and opened his emails. Fifty unread. Most marked URGENT. His soul left his body. "This is worse than fighting mutant cockroaches," he muttered.
The ants didn't let up.
"What is the purpose of this… paper-work?"
"To keep us miserable."
"But it serves no function. Data input, data output. Endless cycle."
"Exactly."
"This… must be a form of punishment ritual."
Cris almost laughed but choked it back when his boss strolled by, coffee in hand, scanning cubicles like a shark. The ants chose that exact moment to yell in his head.
"INCOMING. PREDATOR APPROACHING."
Cris jumped, spilling his actual coffee on his keyboard. His boss froze, raised an eyebrow, then slowly walked on without saying a word.
"Thanks," Cris whispered furiously. "Perfect timing."
"We prevented ambush. You are welcome."
"No, you nearly got me fired!"
The rest of the morning was a blur of half-baked reports, copy-pasting jargon, and praying his computer wouldn't die from coffee damage. Through it all, the ants provided unwanted commentary.
"This one beside you. She types with only two fingers. Pathetic."
"That male host in front consumes too many sugars. Weak exoskeleton incoming."
"This whole hive would collapse in battle within seconds."
Cris buried his head in his hands. "Please. Just shut up."
But they didn't. They even started arguing with each other inside his skull, debating whether staplers were primitive weapons or ceremonial tools.
By lunchtime, Cris was a wreck. He slumped at the cafeteria table with Jessa, who raised an eyebrow at his disheveled look.
"You okay? You look like you fought a bear."
Cris poked at his mystery meat with a fork. "You don't know the half of it."
The ants, of course, chimed in.
"Food sample: questionable. High probability of toxins. Recommend immediate disposal."
He stabbed the meat dramatically and whispered, "For once, I agree."
Jessa leaned closer. "You sure you're not… y'know… losing it?"
Cris forced a grin. "Define losing it."
She shook her head. "Never mind. Just don't get fired. I don't want to train your replacement."
After lunch, the afternoon dragged. Cris fought sleep, fought spreadsheets, fought the growing headache from having a hive of ants arguing in his brain. When 2 PM hit, he handed in his report, half-expecting his boss to rip it apart. Instead, the man just grunted, nodded, and walked away.
Cris blinked. "Wait… did I just survive?"
"Victory achieved. Minimal casualties."
He leaned back, groaning. "Yeah, except my sanity."
As the office lights dimmed and people packed up, Cris dragged himself out the door. He thought of the Carapace Fiend, the Voidsworn, and whatever else was coming. And yet, somehow, he was sure of one thing:
Between monsters and the nine-to-five grind… the monsters were starting to look like the easier fight.