The Sphinx of Sector 7

The vitamin supplements clinked in Maya's purse as she walked past the cubicle farm—row after row of hunched figures, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of monitors. Zombies, she thought, though she'd never say it aloud. These were her colleagues, after all. Her coworkers in the great corporate pyramid scheme.

Her hair had started thinning three months into the job. Stress, according to her doctor. She'd laughed hollowly at that diagnosis.

"You're going to see The Sphinx?" Chen asked, appearing beside her. He was the closest thing she had to a friend here, though they'd never met outside office hours. "Good luck. Nobody who goes to sector 7 ever comes back the same."

Maya adjusted her blazer. "It's just a performance review, Chen."

"It's The Sphinx," he whispered, and something flickered behind his eyes—fear, or perhaps conspiracy. "She asks questions. If you can't answer, you're reassigned. Nobody knows where."

Sector 7 was indeed different. No cubicles here. Just a long corridor ending in a single door with an Egyptian-style handle shaped like a cat. Inside, a woman sat behind a desk that was actually a stone pedestal. She had dark hair that fell like ink to her waist, eyes that seemed ancient, and wore modern business attire draped like ceremonial robes.

"Maya of Marketing," The Sphinx said, and Maya realized with a chill that this woman knew her name without introduction. "I have one question for you."

The air grew thick.

"What," The Sphinx continued, "is the difference between a vitamin that sustains you and a poison that kills you, when both are simply chemicals arranged differently?"

Maya's mouth opened, then closed. The question humiliated her with its simplicity, yet she had no answer. Something about intention? Dosage? The Sphinx's gaze held her, stripped her bare.

"I don't know," Maya whispered finally.

"Good," The Sphinx said, and for the first time, she smiled. "Those who think they know are reassigned. The doubters stay."

Maya walked back to her cubicle hours later, somehow changed. She saw Chen still hunched over his desk, his hair thinning like hers. A zombie, like her. But for the first time, she wondered: was there still something human worth preserving in all of them?

She took her vitamins from her purse, swallowed them dry. They tasted like hope, or perhaps like despair. She couldn't tell the difference anymore.