Unplugged

The Ethernet cable lay severed on the carpet like a dead snake, its internal copper exposed—bright and vulnerable. Marcus stared at it, wondering if he'd cut it on purpose. Three years at this company, and the only thing connecting him to anything real had been this slender thread of plastic and copper.

"You okay, Marcus?" Sarah's voice came from behind. His oldest friend here, though they'd never spoken outside the office. Not once. The water cooler conversations about her daughter's piano lessons, his mother's surgery—all of it Performative Corporate Intimacy™.

He turned. Sarah held an orange, peeling it slowly. The citrus scent hit him—sudden, sharp, cutting through the stale office air of printers and despair.

"They're letting me go," Marcus said. It wasn't a question. The meeting with HR had been scheduled for 3:00 PM. He'd seen his own name on the calendar invite: TERMINATION PROTOCOL.

Sarah stopped peeling. A segment of orange fell to the floor, juice splashing like a tiny wound.

"I know," she said softly. "They asked me to train my replacement yesterday. An AI agent. They said it would be 'more efficient.'"

Marcus laughed—a dry, ugly sound. "And you're still here?"

"I stayed because of you," she said, and something in her voice cracked open. "Because I thought maybe, if both of us were on the list, we could—I don't know. Figure something out together."

The air between them shifted. Three years of carefully maintained professional distance dissolved. Marcus realized he didn't know where she lived. Didn't know her last name. But in this moment, holding that half-peeled orange like an offering, she was the most real thing he had left.

"I cut the cable," he admitted. "Before they could disconnect me remotely. I wanted to feel like I had some control."

Sarah extended the orange. "Take it. It's good."

Their fingers brushed. For the first time in three years, skin touched skin. The moment stretched—charged, impossible, heavy with everything they'd never said.

Behind them, the elevator dinged. HR, arriving right on schedule.

Marcus took the orange. It was warm from her hand. He bit into it, the juice flooding his mouth—bitter, sweet, alive.

"Sarah?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to get a drink after this?" He gestured vaguely at the corporate hellscape around them. "Like, actually?"

Her smile was small, terrified, luminous. "I thought you'd never ask."