Corporate Welcome Simulation v1.0.1 (Beta) - The Biscuit Knew the Protocols. You Did Not.

You cough. Not convincingly. Not with dignity. But with intent.

You attempt remorse. It arrives somewhere between “I’m sorry” and “please don’t report me to Facilities”.

You open your mouth.
You begin to speak.
This is your first mistake.

The words arrive in the wrong order. Bits of half-remembered seminar jargon, apology-adjacent phrases, and something about “team cohesion through biscuit diplomacy”. You are both too formal and not nearly formal enough.

Corporate Head tilts slightly. One of his drawers yawns open. It creaks in disappointment. You feel that creak in your spine.

Panicking now, you rummage through the nearby filing cabinet labelled FORMS: URGENT TO PETTY. You grab the nearest one. It’s... unfortunate.

Form D.I.S.P.O.S.E - 77-C: Declaration of Intent to Use Office Shredder for Corpse Reduction
Lime green.
You know, deep in your bones, that Corporate Head despises lime green. HR has exactly six approved colours. Lime is not one of them.

You hold it up anyway. A desperate gesture. The universal pose of someone about to be made redundant by blade.

Corporate Head raises the guillotine. Slowly. Reverently. A hum of paper doom fills the air.

Then
A sound.
A small, determined rustle.

The pink wafer moves.

Sticky with purpose, it slides from your sleeve and makes its way across the laminate floor. Determined. Noble. Lightly dusted with sugar and resolve.

With the efficiency of an overachieving intern, it slaps down Form B.I.S.C.U.I.T - 009:
Breach Involving Suspicious Confectionery Under Intimate Terms
Triplicate.
Properly initialled.
Correct blush-pink tone (Pantone 246-C). Flawless.

Not done, the wafer follows it up with Form B.R.E.A.K - 102-A:
Biscuit-Related Emotional Attachment Known
Signed by you.
Also signed by the wafer.
You don’t recall doing that, but here we are.

And finally, with the kind of casual drama only sugar can pull off, it glides forward and drops a folded Post-it into Corporate Head’s top drawer.

Silence.

The guillotine lowers. Not in defeat. In respect.

Corporate Head reads the note.

He stiffens.

There’s a hiss, low and metallic. Somewhere between printer jam and betrayal. His drawer-face twists. Then swivels.

Across the room, Bourbon straightens suddenly. Crumbs fall like guilt.

“I HAVE NEVER TOUCHED YOUR STAPLER,” it cries, voice cracking, already backing toward the fridge.

Corporate Head explodes into movement. Guillotine raised. Papers flying. A fury of office ethics and betrayed trust.

The lights stutter. The mist recedes.

The staff room resets itself with a reluctant sigh.

Fluorescents buzz back to life. Colleagues blink into view, already halfway through their third complaint about the coffee.

The biscuit tray is untouched.
Unaware.
Unwitnessed.
All except one.

The pink wafer sits beside the kettle. Propped on a napkin like it’s being honoured. Or dried.

You’re about to process that when a card drops into your lap.

To Employee 4067,
Congratulations on your engagement to the wafer.
Please submit Form R.E.C.E.P.T.I.O.N - 410 to reserve a meeting room for the ceremony.
Try not to lick anything else without supervision.

Yours in Compliance,
CH

You glance at the wafer.

It twinkles.
Possibly winks.
Possibly flexes.

You are unsure who proposed.

Too late to question it now.

So.
What now, fiancé?