Chapter 1

Who else here drinks an obscene amount of Diet Coke while on the job? It's hard not to, especially when they are complimentary and everyone you sit next to is equally addicted. I almost envy you who don't drink soda. Almost. I know they're unhealthy, but when your job's as interesting as watching grass grow, any small pleasure feels like a lifeline.

This past month, I've probably had 2 or three cans per day. I know, not ideal. But I'm not here to share my unhealthy habits. My boss has been way worse and I'm starting to get concerned.

It all started this past January. I was promoted to a mid-level managerial role after my former manager, Paul, left the company. Paul had been pretty disheveled, and smelled like a garden for the weeks leading up to it, so I figured he was quiet-quitting and ready to leave.

We run a pretty tight ship at the office. Those who perform poorly are often let go after 4 months. Since I've been around for over 2 years, I like to think that I've become indispensable. Paul was one of the rare cases where he found a new position out West.

While the company we work at is only mid-sized, the hierarchy is pretty strict. Aside from the random one-off emails from our CEO about what time is — event or can you reshare — report by —, I never really interacted with him. My manager rarely spoke about the boss' actual role. If it weren't for seeing his email in the CC or BCC lines constantly, I don't think I would have even realized that he'd been working with us for so long.

Paul mentioned that the CEO is an extremely busy person and manages nearly all of the operations and coordination both externally and internally within the company. It doesn't sound sustainable, but the company has been running smoothly for over thirty years, so clearly he must be doing something right.

Paul had left in a hurry and was unable to train me properly, but I was able to pick up his tasks pretty easily. The only real difference between our roles was that Paul had seniority. The only real advice he gave me was to always say yes to a task, even if you don't think you can accomplish it, and to always fulfill the CEO's requests. Pretty standard stuff for an office job.

"Good luck, kid," was all he muttered before leaving the office for the last time. "You're gonna need it."

This all ties back the soda because for the past eight months I've been constantly getting more and more soda for the CEO. We are talking OBSCENE amounts.

I met with the CEO first in January. He asked that I come up to his office to meet him face to face for the first time. And to bring a Coca-Cola on the way up.

I obliged of course, grabbing one for myself on the way up. We shook hands and discussed the details and expectations of my new position. Nothing out of the ordinary, besides some extra accounts to manage. I negotiated a pay raise, and received an extra $5,000 per year with 4% commission. We shook hands, and I was on my way to continue work.

"On your way out," he stopped me, "Would you mind grabbing another coke for me? Thank you!"

He hadn't even finished the can I gave him at the start of our meeting. I didn't think much of it at the time, so I ran back downstairs to grab another soda, rushing back only to see him slam the soda down like a frat boy at a house party.

My boss threw the can down, roaring with a powerful belch. It was disgusting, my face twisting more with unease every second he bellowed.

"Thanks, kid. I'll let you know if there is anything else." Every couple of hours, my boss would Slack message me to grab him another soda. Slamming it down like he did before.

This cycle repeated constantly for months. The job itself was never too difficult, but overtime the constant cycle of interrupting my day-to-day tasks just to get him more soda irritated me. Always fulfill the CEO's requests, I remembered. You'd think it would be creepier saying it out loud, but when you get paid as much as I do, it never seems annoying enough to say no.

My boss drinks almost everything under the sun; Coca-Cola, Diet Coke, Mountain Dew, Diet Mountain Dew, Fanta, Fanta Zero Sugar, Mellow Yellow, 7-Up — anything you can think of, he eventually requested I go out to the store to buy a case and subsequently 'grab' him several cans throughout the working day. Mr. Pibb, oddly enough, is the one exception. He can't stand the stuff.

What's strange is that my boss never checked in on my actual work. Over time, it felt like my only job was to serve him his soda. Some days, I'd just wait in my chair, doomscrolling until I get the ping notifying which type of drink he wanted me to 'grab'.

Grab, grab, grab.

That stupid word rattles around in my brain now. It's gotten so bad that even in my dreams I think about 'grabbing' him a new can of some foul concoction. I've gotten used to stress dreams related to work, but this feels different.

—

Things changed however this past Summer. The office was a lot busier and my boss was working into overdrive, more than he usually does. He even began asking for additional work-related favors instead of his constant need for caffeine and sugar.

"There's just too much to do, kid," he said, his sunken eyes leering in my direction from exhaustion. "The usual stuff just isn't gonna cut it. Do you think you can find anything stronger? Something that'll give me that pep in my step."

I introduced him to energy drinks, first Celsius, then Monster. I was surprised he had never tried them before, given his oral fixation on these kinds of drinks. The plethora of new flavors seemed to excite him. The white monster was his favorite, it seemed.

For the few weeks following his profound discovery over energy drinks, I hadn't seen my boss so much as move from his chair, let alone rest.

The requests not only became more frequent, but larger in size. I'd grab him three, sometimes five cans of energy drinks at a time. How was this healthy? There was no way his kidneys would recover from all of this.

"Grab me more, more!" he'd burst from his gullet, his voice slurring more from the constant film of residue gathered up from at this point gallons of caffeinated drinks. "Dammit kid, I need this stuff to keep me going. I don't ask much of you and this kind of laziness is exactly wrong with your generation. Your performance review is coming up and I need you to step it up."

I bit my lip at that statement. I generally can't stand criticism, let alone from Boomers and Gen Xers who ruined the economy. But I needed this job, and I wasn't about to lose it by not getting drinks.

After a time, the performance review arrived. Thankfully, my boss was pleased overall. Good reporting, solid revenue standards, and a healthy "can-do" attitude, as the report shared.

"I'll be honest, you're a good kid." Said the boss, heaving with every word. I noticed that he was larger than ever. Not fat exactly, but more bloated, like a tire that was pumping freshly with air.

"Your recommendations have helped myself and the company be more productive than ever! But if we're gonna exceed expectations before year's end, I'm gonna need you to grab me a few more things."

I sat patiently, squirming with every hot breath hitting my face, the smell of citrus, raspberry, and something garlicky permeating across his desk. "Sure boss, happy to help. What do you need?"

The boss slid a piece of paper across the desk. It listed the new terms of my employment. A promotion to "Lead Resource Manager", along with an impressive $45,000 raise, along with a $20,000 bonus. Holy shit, I thought. I felt I did a good job overall, but even I was shocked by how much they were offering me.

"We reward good work," Said the boss, "But I reward loyalty. And you're starting to get on my good side. When I see talent like yours, I try to foster it. What helps me, helps the company, and helps you in the end. There will be more money like that coming your way. You can forget about the clients, I manage all of the major accounts anyways. All I really need you to do is to grab me more energy."

I looked confused. "Yes sir. You mean the energy drinks?"

The boss looked at me, sweat pouring from his brow like an addict fiending for his next hit. He took a large sip from his Sparkling Fantasy Vibe flavored Celsius, calming his nerves.

"As you may have noticed, I drink a lot of caffeine. Mother always told me that you can achieve anything with good food and drink, so long as it restores your energy. Well, as much as these drinks have helped, I fear I need something healthier. Something more, farm to table, so to speak."

"You…want me to give you more drinks? Sir, I have a business degree, I'd rather build my skills out and…"

The boss raised his red, venous hand in my face. "Say no more. If the role doesn't suit your interests, there's the door. But do you really want to burn bridges so early in your career? Doesn't seem very wise to me. Say goodbye to your benefits."

I really did need those benefits. My insulin stabilizers were getting more expensive each month, and I didn't have enough stored. Besides, who knows how long it'll take to find a job in this market.

"Fine. What do you need me to do?"

"Thank you for understanding. Remember, your work is invaluable to the company's survival. I'll send you coordinates with my distributor's location. Simply take the supply and return here promptly. I'd appreciate discretion on this, you are my most trusted familiar of course."

It felt demeaning, but at least the pay was good.

—

I waited all day but never received instructions. It wasn't until I returned home that I received a text from my boss with a location pinged.

I plugged the address into my phone, got in the car, and drove like hell. This was some serious sketchy shit, but if a company like ours has been doing it for some time, how bad could it really be? Besides, my boss needs me, they'd crash if it weren't for my help. My boss needs me.

I arrived at an old storage facility, the kind you might see in storage wars. I messaged my boss I was there but did not see anybody.

402. He'll be in there.

I stepped out of my car onto the concrete, pacing quickly down the corridors. W-Lock Storage, was the name of the property*.* The blue doors loomed over me like rusted pillars. They were almost oppressive. A smell of mold and ammonia permeated from the walls, quaffing my face with each step I took closer to unit 402.

206.208.210.

The sounds hit me next. Scratching and fast tapping trickled around me as the rats ran faster. Christ, why did it have to be so far back? I can't stand rodents. The sound of my boots clicking the floor seemed to scare them off, but alerted them to my presence.

The sound of my footsteps seemed to alert something else on a unit next to me. A guttural moan, reverberating inside of the unit. Were people living here?

402. Finally, I thought to myself, relieved I survived the trek.

I knocked on the door and met with the thunderous rattling of the storage door rolling up.

The short man in front of me looked homeless, but I could tell from the fresh scrubs he wore that he must have been some kind of medical professional. "You the kid?" he said, with an offputtingly polite customer service voice. "I…yes, I'm here for the package? My boss sent it to me."

"Ah, makes sense, this stuff isn't really popular with women. Haven't found the right mixture yet."

The man handed me an opened box, filled to the brim with freshly sealed packets of liquid. The liquid itself was transparent. I was almost relieved that it wasn't cocaine or any other sort of old-school 80s narcotic.

"What is this exactly?" I muttered, curious. "IV fluid is hard to come by, isn't it?"

"Hey!" the short man shouted, pointing his finger inches away from my nose. "No questions. That was the arrangement. I don't need people poking their schnoz into my business. You got your goods, now leave. Tell your boss I'll take my payment the usual way."

"Oh, okay. Thank you, I guess."

I turned quickly back to my car. I was curious still, but not at the expense of losing my job.

I turned to face the short man one last time as he rolled up the unit door. And for the briefest second, I could see the twitching bodies. Tubes tied directly into their spinal column. One looked very, very young.

—

I never fully recovered from that night. My boss has been demanding more and more of his 'tonic' as he likes to call it, but I am at my wits end. He's become more bloated than ever, but says it gives him the 'energy he needs'. What have I been feeding him?

My boss needs me to grab another shipment tonight. This time from a new storage unit. He says its something new to boost up his game. I'd like to leave, but I feel like I'm dealing with something far beyond my pay grade. So if you're actively hiring for a skilled worker with a can-do attitude and professional experience with Microsoft products and fluid trafficking, I'd be happy to discuss my qualifications.