The Corporate Undead

Elena dragged herself through the office's glass doors at 7:43 AM, feeling like a zombie from another lifetime. Three years of mergers and acquisitions had hollowed her out, leaving a shell that performed financial analyses but forgot how to feel joy.

She'd taken up running six months ago — mile after mile at 5 AM, chasing an endorphin fade that never quite materialized. Her therapist called it "healthy coping." Elena called it the only hour she wasn't answering to someone named "Senior Management."

The IT guy, Marcus, always waved when she passed his desk. Cute in that quiet way, with hands that smelled faintly of copper and whatever synthetic vanilla they put in cafeteria coffee. She'd catch him watching her sometimes, not in a creepy way, but with an intensity that made her wonder.

Then came the day she found him crawling under her desk, face flushed, gripping a loose ethernet cable like it was a lifeline.

"Network's been spotty on your floor," he'd said, but his eyes betrayed something else. Fear.

Two weeks later, Elena discovered why. Corporate security escorted him out, his belongings in a cardboard box. He wasn't IT at all — he was a spy, planted by a competitor to intercept merger communications. The cable repairs had been cover for installing a network tap.

She should feel betrayed. Instead, she felt an odd kinship. They were both zombies, really — him playing a role that wasn't his, her playing a woman who still cared about spreadsheets and Q3 projections.

The morning after he left, Elena went running at 5 AM like always. But instead of her usual route, she found herself heading toward the train station, passport burning a hole in her gym bag.

Some zombies don't want to eat brains. Some just want to finally wake up.