The office cafeteria droned with the same old symphony of plastic trays, slurping noodles, and stressed-out salarymen inhaling lunch like it was contraband. Beepers clipped to their belts beeped like ticking bombs, counting down to another round of corporate misery.
I, however, chewed at my own damn pace.
Why rush just to get heartburn faster?
I stabbed a soggy piece of sweet-and-sour pork—more sweet than sour, and mostly pork-adjacent—and chewed it like a condemned man on death row. Not because it tasted good, but because I refused to die with an empty stomach.
"Oi, John! You hear about that sickness going around?" Yang Ping asked between bites of rice, poking at the mole on his nose like it owed him money.
I didn't look up. "Do we get sick pay for it?"
He blinked. "Huh?"
"If not, I'm not interested."
Yang Ping leaned in, dropping his voice like it was insider info. "Nah, seriously—people are going nuts. Attacking strangers in broad daylight. Some guy bit a commuter on the subway."
Yang Ping wasn't a bad guy, but every time he picked at that mole, I wanted to swat his hand away. Or remove it myself with scissors.
I sighed. "Great. Another end-of-the-world virus. Should I start stockpiling toilet paper again?"
Before Yang Ping could launch into another theory, the cafeteria TV cut through the noise like a blade.
—Breaking News: Authorities urge all citizens to remain indoors. Symptoms include fever, coughing, and signs of sudden, violent behaviour—
The anchor's voice droned on in the background, spouting infection rates and containment zones. I half-listened, vaguely entertained by the panic on screen. Probably another media circus.
"Hey, John, I really think you shoul—"
I didn't catch the rest. Something colder than the cafeteria air slid over me.
A shadow fell across the table.
I looked up.
Mu Qinglan.
My boss. My direct superior. And depending on who you asked, either the most respected leader in the department… or the most feared.
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
"Assistant Manager Wang," she said smoothly, arms folded, gaze precise. "Would you care to explain why you've been ignoring my messages for the past thirty-three minutes?"
Her presence had a way of making even fluorescent light look dramatic. Hair pinned in a tight, elegant twist. Navy blue heels. A white blouse that was somehow both conservative and unforgiving. She looked like she'd walked out of a corporate thriller and into our crusty cafeteria.
I blinked. "Messages?"
Shit.
My hand shot to my hip, expecting to find the comforting weight of my beeper. Nothing.
Where the hell—?
She waited, expression unreadable, one eyebrow raised half a millimetre. If disappointment were an art form, she could've taught it at a gallery.
"Mr. Wang," she said, with the polite chill of a snowflake about to kill a flower, "follow me to my office. We need to discuss your future."
The phrase hit harder than it should've. Not because I feared her. But because, despite all her cold professionalism, she'd never used that voice with me before.
And something in her eyes lingered just a little too long before she turned.
Oh no.
It's over.
—
The elevator doors closed, and nothing but silence remained.
I tried to keep my posture stiff, facing the door, but I found myself peeking at the woman beside me, a hint of flowers, her perfume sweet and attractive. An icy atmosphere and pristine uniform, apart from the loose buttons on her chest.
Mu Qinglan stood without caring about these thoughts of mine. Her eyes, like sharp swords, always focused ahead, on the future.
She was a beautiful woman, tall, poised and with the kind of body that the corporate dress code just couldn't quite conceal. Her glasses caught the sterile light, framing her cheeks and enhancing her sharp eyes that sliced through useless workers.
Of course, she was beautiful—tall, poised, with the kind of body corporate dress codes couldn't quite conceal. Her glasses caught the sterile light, framing eyes sharp enough to cut contracts in half.
If she smiled, maybe she wouldn't be known as the Ice Queen of the marketing department.
But she didn't smile.
And I wasn't expecting to see one today.
"Assistant Manager Wang," she said without looking at me, "do you know what happens when a client pulls a multi-million-dollar campaign because their returns don't meet projections?"
There it was.
I exhaled slowly. "I told them the campaign wouldn't work. The data was clear. They overruled me. But sure, let's pin it on me."
Mu Qinglan paused for a moment, barely a single breath, before her eyebrows twitched and when she turned to me, but suddenly, the elevator chimed.
As the doors opened, we were met with a wall of whispers.
A crowd of junior staff lingered just outside, pretending to check their phones while obviously eavesdropping.
"He's done for."
"I heard it was seven million lost."
"What idiot screws up this bad?"
"It's a shame—he's cute."
I tried to hold in me emotions, the anger at these morons speaking behind my back despite knowing nothing of the true situation.
However...
"Enough," Mu Qinglan said, her voice as smooth as it was final.
The air snapped to attention.
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
"I expect professionalism in this hallway," she continued, eyes gliding over the group like a laser sight. "If you're so desperate to talk, book a meeting. Otherwise, get back to work."
The silence that followed was absolute. No one moved until she did.
She walked forward, heels tapping softly, like punctuation.
I followed.
Staring at the back of her head, one thought stuck in mine:
Did she just... defend me?
I didn't have time to process it. Her voice came again, crisp and low.
"Come along, Assistant Manager Wang. We're not done."
Mu Qinglan's office was colder than usual a very minimalist, modern, and aggressively quiet with the padded walls. She motioned for me to sit down, tapping the desk twice without even looking up from her table.
I took a moment before rushing forward and sat on the blue chair, feeling a sense of doom about my upcoming punishment.
She let out a long breath. Not dramatic—just tired. A crack in the usual perfection.
"I reviewed the situation," she said, setting the tablet down. "And regardless of whether your projections were accurate, the board's decision is final."
Her hands folded neatly. "Your contract is terminated effective immediately."
I stared at her. Not angry. Not surprised. Just… numb.
"No severance?"
Her eyes flicked to mine. "No references either."
And there it was.
Corporate exile.
My nails dug into my palm under the desk. "Let me guess. This is because Gu Tianhao thinks I'm sniffing around what's his."
Something flickered in her expression—but it vanished too fast to read. "You crossed lines. Whether you meant to or not."
I leaned back slowly. "So I'm being punished for being right?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she tapped a pen against her desk. Three slow taps. Then—
"I've reached out to two firms. Quietly. I can't guarantee anything, but... send me your resume. I'll forward it."
I blinked.
"What?"
Her voice remained neutral, and it almost felt she avoided looking at me on purpose, focused on her monitor before she responded. "You're a very competent and skilled worker, although a little wild and unique. I don't want to see your skills and effort going to waste." Mu Qinglan cleared her throat and gazed at me for a moment before shifting away again.
I honestly didn't realise she saw me in such a way, but she acted a little strange.
Was it out of guilt?
Maybe it was kindness?
Or was this... something else?
"…Thanks," I said, more awkwardly than grateful.
"Don't make me regret it." She leaned back, causing the chair to squeak and rubbed her face with an inaudible sigh. Yet she didn't shout or insult me once.
Then reached over the table without speaking and grabbed my phone. I wanted to snatch it back, but she started tapping on the screen and curled her lips into a faint smile before gazing up at me with her sharp azure eyes.
"Four zeros?" she said, exasperated. "Are you trying to get hacked by a toddler?"
Before I could respond, she handed it back. A notification blinked on the screen.
[New Contact: Mu Qinglan]
I stared at my phone and felt like it was Christmas.
Mu Qinglan avoided my gaze. "Don't misunderstand, it's just... You'll need a reference, eventually. I will give one for you."
But the tips of her ears—not her cheeks—were slightly red.
She turned her chair away, already reaching for a file.
"You're dismissed."
Dazed because of the sudden events and confused about gaining Mu Qinglan's phone number. I stepped out of Mu Qinglan's office still holding my phone like it might explain something.
She'd defended me. Fired me. Offered help. Gave me her number. Scolded my passcode.
My brain couldn't find the through-line.
But the world outside her door didn't wait for clarity.
Something was wrong.
The hallway that had buzzed with office gossip ten minutes ago had gone still. No idle chatter. No clacking keyboards. Just distant noise—muffled, irregular. A siren? No—two. Getting louder.
Then, my phone buzzed.
[Emergency Alert: National Health Authority]
Confirmed outbreak. Infection spreads via physical contact. Symptoms include extreme aggression. Authorities unable to contain spread. Citizens are advised to shelter in place immediately.
I blinked at the screen.
The message didn't make sense. It read like bad sci-fi. Like one of those texts from a fake emergency drill.
But then I looked up.
And the screaming started.
Not from far away. Just outside the office glass.
People running.
Not from something.
From someone.
A man sprinted down the corridor, soaked in blood. His face contorted in rage. His eyes—milky white, unfocused—rolled wildly in their sockets as he tackled another man by the vending machine.
The sound that came next wasn't a scream. It was a wet, animal noise. A gurgle.
Then the biting started.
Hard, fast, messy.
Blood sprayed against the white walls in an arc.
No security guards. No alarms. Just chaos.
And me—John Wang—still holding a half-dead phone, standing in the middle of a corporate hallway, watching a horror movie turn real in real time.
A familiar premise. A cliché, even.
But no one was yelling "cut." No one was filming.
This time, no one was acting.