The Sphinx of Sector 7

The fluorescent lights hummed their perpetual funeral march as Marcus trudged toward the conference room. Forty-seven years old, three divorces, and he still felt like a rookie stepping up to the plate every time Gordon summoned him.

Gordon, the Sphinx of Sector 7, sat with his back to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The man never asked direct questions—only delivered riddles wrapped in corporate jargon that Marcus had to decode like some ancient priest interpreting omens.

"Baseball season's over, Marcus," Gordon said, not turning around.

Marcus nodded. He'd been striking out for months. The Q3 projections were a disaster; he'd sacrificed his team, his marriage, his weekend softball league—all for a promotion that might never come.

"We need a cleanup hitter," Gordon continued. "Someone who isn't afraid to swing for the fences even when there's two strikes."

Outside, lightning fractured the sky—a sudden, violent crack that illuminated the wet city below. Marcus saw his own ghost in the glass: the hollow eyes, the slack jaw, the undead posture of a man who'd stopped feeling anything years ago. He was a zombie in a bespoke suit, shuffling between meetings, consuming brains and spitting out quarterly reports.

"The riddle is this," Gordon said, finally turning. His eyes were ancient, tired.

The storm broke. Another lightning strike, closer this time. The power flickered.

"Fuck the fences," Marcus said.

Gordon's sphinx-mask slipped. For the first time in seven years, Marcus saw something human behind it—surprise, perhaps. Fear. Recognition.

"I quit," Marcus said, and the words tasted like whiskey and redemption. "Find yourself another zombie."

He walked out into the rain, letting the storm soak his thousand-dollar suit. His phone buzzed on the elevator ride down—his ex-wife, maybe, or his daughter, or just the corporate sphinx trying to reel him back in. He didn't check.

Behind him, the lightning flashed again, illuminating the empty plate. This time, Marcus wasn't stepping up to bat. He was leaving the ballpark entirely.