Zombie Hours at the Bullpen

Emma's hair fell across her face as she leaned over the keyboard at 3 AM, the office silent except for the hum of servers and her own jagged breathing. Another deadline, another night of feeling like a zombie—her body moving through motions while her mind had left hours ago.

The project had been bullshit from the start. The CEO—she called him "the bull" behind his back—had charged into Monday's meeting, horns lowered, demanding a rebrand that would somehow transform their declining startup into the next unicorn. He'd slammed his fist on the table, eyes wild, spit flying. "Disruption!" he'd bellowed. "We need disruption!"

Now Emma was stitching together the same hollow promises they'd sold investors three times before, just with new colors and buzzwords. Her fiancé had left her two months ago, citing her perpetual exhaustion, her emotional absence. He'd said she'd become someone he didn't recognize. He wasn't wrong.

Her calico cat, Buster, jumped onto her desk, knocking over a stack of strategy documents. He meowed, demanding attention, his whiskers tickling her arm. Emma stroked his soft fur, suddenly aware of how starved she'd become for touch that wasn't mediated through glass screens. Buster purred, vibrating against her palm, and something cracked open inside her—something that had been sealed shut since the promotion, since the endless acceleration, since she'd started treating her life like something to optimize rather than live.

She stood up, her legs stiff, and walked to the window. The city stretched before her, a grid of artificial light. Somewhere out there, real people were sleeping, dreaming, waking up next to someone they loved. Emma pressed her forehead against the cold glass and realized she didn't remember the last time she'd felt anything true. The zombie state had become so comfortable she'd ceased to notice she was already dead inside.

Buster rubbed against her ankle, insistent. Emma looked at her reflection—hair matted, eyes hollow—and made a decision. She sat back down, opened a new email, and typed her resignation. Then she called her ex, not to beg, but to say she was finally ready to become human again.