The Glass Bullpen

Elena had stopped wearing her hair down three months ago. The corporate security cameras couldn't capture facial features when curls obscured your face, and she'd learned that partial invisibility was the only survival strategy in the bullpen.

She wasn't a spy—not officially. But as Senior Risk Analyst at Merriweather Capital, her job required watching people without their knowing, gathering intelligence on colleagues who might become liabilities. Today's target: Marcus from Mergers, whose sloppy due diligence had cost the firm millions. Or so they claimed.

"You catching the game tonight?" Marcus asked, leaning against her cubicle wall. He held a baseball like a worry stone, thumb rubbing the stitching.

"Maybe," she said, already preparing the report in her head: Subject displays nervous displacement behaviors. High flight risk.

The firm called it risk management. She called it the bull dance—part spectacle, part slaughter, everyone pretending the ring wasn't already soaked in blood. Her report would determine whether Marcus survived the next round of layoffs. Her supervisor liked words like "exposure," "vulnerability," "strategic restructuring." Bullshit for: We'll sacrifice whoever looks weakest when the quarterly earnings miss projections.

That night, Elena watched the baseball game alone. The pitcher threw a perfect strike, and something in her chest hollowed out. She thought about Marcus's nervous smile, the way he'd clutched that baseball like a lifeline. She thought about her own reflection in the bathroom mirror—hair slicked back severe, eyes that had forgotten how to soften.

The report sat on her desk, glowing on her screen. All it took was one click. Marcus would be gone by Friday, another liability neutralized, another bull led to slaughter while she stood safely behind the glass.

She opened the document. Deleted everything. Typed three sentences: Subject demonstrates exceptional attention to detail. Strong team cohesion indicators. Low volatility profile.

Her hair was down the next morning. The security cameras would have a field day, but for the first time in three years, Elena wanted to be seen.