Corporate Sphinx

Marcus stood by the concession stand, nursing room-temperature water, watching his coworkers shamble through the third annual Zombie Apocalypse Team-Building Exercise. They painted their faces gray, stumbled toward imaginary survival points, pretending to fight off undead hordes while upper management took notes on 'collaborative problem-solving under pressure.' The whole thing felt less like team building and more like a documentary on corporate burnout.

His company's org chart had reorganized into a pyramid last quarter—literally. The CEO called it 'hierarchical alignment,' but everyone knew it meant tighter budgets at the base. Marcus had survived three rounds of layoffs by becoming indispensable, which was just another word for overworked.

"You look like you need actual water, not the lukewarm stuff they're giving away."

He turned. Elena from Marketing leaned against the concession counter, holding two cold bottles. She'd skipped the zombie makeup, which made her either a rebel or just too tired to care.

"I think I'm dehydrating from the inside out," Marcus said.

They ended up at the left field fence, where the stadium's sphinx mascot statue loomed—a fiberglass abomination with baseball bat wings and an oversized jersey. The company had rented the ballpark for the day, and somewhere between the escape rooms and trust falls, Marcus and Elena had quietly escaped.

"My dad played baseball," Elena said, tracing the chipped paint on the sphinx's wing. "College scholarship, blew out his knee, became an accountant. He still watches old games like they're religious experiences."

"My parents wanted me to be an accountant," Marcus said. "Instead I help optimize supply chains for a company that makes sustainable packaging, which is ironic because half our team-building exercises generate more waste than our products save."

She laughed, really laughed—head back, teeth showing, not the polite chuckle she used in meetings. "God, we're zombies."

"What?"

"We're literally zombies. Going through motions, eating brains—well, corporate brains—shambling through each day waiting for something to change." She touched his arm, fingers light. "Except I don't think we're waiting for something to change us. I think we're waiting for something to wake us up."

The sphinx stared blankly toward center field, stone riddles locked behind fiberglass eyes. Marcus thought about asking what she thought the riddle was, but instead he said, "I'm having dinner with my parents next week. They want me to meet someone from their temple group."

"Do you want to meet someone?" Elena asked.

"I," he started, then stopped. "I don't want to meet someone from a temple group."

She smiled, thumb rubbing condensation from her water bottle. "The baseball stadium closes at six."

"I know a place," Marcus said. "Actual cold drinks. No zombies."

"No sphinxes?"

"Definitely no sphinxes."

As they walked toward the gate, leaving behind the shambling figures on the field, Marcus realized he hadn't felt this awake in years. The pyramid could wait. The zombies could shambling on without him. Some things were more important than survival.