Corporate Welcome Simulation v1.0.1 (Beta) - You Licked It. It Liked It. HR Is Involved.

You lean in. Slowly. Hesitantly. With the kind of creeping dread usually reserved for replying-all to an email thread you weren't meant to be on.

You don’t mean for it to be weird.

It is.

Your tongue meets wafer. It’s dry. Then not. It sighs, just slightly. You feel it more than hear it. A fizzing warmth rises up your spine like someone poured tea directly into your nervous system. The wafer does not resist. It leans in. Affectionate. Damp.

There is a moment.
It stretches.
It lingers.
It judges.

You have made contact, in the biblical sense, with a snack.

Somewhere deep in the staff room’s walls, a faint ding sounds. It is not celebratory. It is not congratulatory. It is the kind of ding that happens before a printer catches fire.

The tray glows faintly. A reddish blush. The pink wafer vibrates, gently, and adheres to your sleeve. It is now yours. For better. For worse. For meetings that will not end.

Overhead, the fluorescent lights stutter, cough once, and go out. Emergency lighting kicks in with all the energy of a deflated balloon. A low klaxon grunts. Not a warning, just... disappointment. From above, the ceiling exhales a fine mist that smells like old toner, panic, and lemon cleaning fluid.

The west door swings open. Of its own volition. Of course it does.

Through it steps Corporate Head.

You’d look him in the eyes, if he had any. He does not. His head is a filing cabinet. Four drawers. All slightly ajar. All packed to the brim with brittle HR reports and misplaced wellness surveys. You see your name on at least three forms before the red ink blurs from the humidity of sheer shame.

In his hands he drags something heavy. Wooden. Metallic. Rusted in places you didn’t think could rust. It is a paper guillotine, the old kind, the kind used back when safety guidelines were just a suggestion and fingers were optional.

He stops.
Paper flutters like dead moths. One lands by your shoe.

You read it:

Employee 4067
Incident: Inappropriate Biscuit Engagement
Filed by: Bourbon (Disgruntled. Detailed.)

From behind you, a biscuit crunches. Loudly. It is not the wafer.

The pink rectangle on your sleeve shivers, then nestles closer. It’s brave. Or delusional. Possibly both. You wonder if it dreams.

Corporate Head reaches for the top drawer of his face. Slowly.

You chose to lick the biscuit.
Now HR is choosing disciplinary action.