Work Text:
It’s just a job, he liked to tell himself.
And at the same time, it was far more than just a job. It was his everything. He was consumed by tasks, crises, putting out fires, and above all – being a cog in the machine. That was, after all, the charm of big corporations.
It wasn't that he was a nobody at VoxTek. Long ago, he’d been promoted to the personal assistant of the CEO himself, which was no small feat. A true leap in his career. He had gone from an invisible corporate rat to being noticeable and, more importantly, recognized.
Sometimes he wondered if he even liked the job. Not that he was in any position to choose, but luckily, his boss couldn't read minds yet. Yet. So for now, he was safe within the confines of his own thoughts.
The door to Vox’s office closed behind him with surprising lightness, considering the weight of the situation he’d just left inside. He leaned against it, took a deep breath, and started down the cold corridor. Yes, the boss was definitely having a moment. It wasn't that Ethan could always predict it, but some moments were… more readable than others. Number one on that list: the pre-recorded commands.
The boss likely didn’t know that Ethan knew. It wasn't that he’d figured it out right away, either. He only started to suspect something when he realized he’d heard those words somewhere before. After that, it was just a matter of positioning himself correctly to catch the reflection of the media player on the boss's face. He never said a word; he never even breathed a hint of it. He was simply aware of when the boss was rattled and took it into account.
“Ethan? Still here?” a cheerful voice chirped as the elevator doors slid open in front of him.
Inside stood a couple, entwined so tightly it left little to the imagination. He recognized them; they worked for Mr. Valentino, so he only saw them from time to time.
“Is he ever not at work?” the other half of that tangle of limbs added mockingly.
“I’m sure he is, sometimes!”
A quiet sigh escaped him as he clutched the damp documents tighter to his chest. He stepped into the elevator, standing as far away from them as possible.
“I was just leaving,” he muttered under his breath.
Actually, he didn't know why he’d even spoken to them. Lying, on top of that. He wasn't sure if they even heard him, but then again, maybe he’d already stopped listening to them. He had no desire for interaction right now.
When the elevator came to a halt with a soft chime, the couple stepped out, leaving him alone. The next floor was his destination—one of the levels dedicated to Vox’s employees. This was where administration and accounting were housed.
He knew these corridors like the back of his hand, but not because his own tiny office sat at the end of one of them. He had started his journey in these very hallways when he first joined VoxTek years ago. He paused by a glass partition and scanned the vast open space. Despite the late hour, many were still hunched over their desks. The glow from their monitors lit up their faces, turning them into grotesque caricatures of night-time wraiths. Slumped, with dark circles under their eyes and surrounded by piles of empty energy drink cans. They probably wouldn't leave until the end of the week, and it was only Tuesday.
Sometimes he remembered it as if it were yesterday. Even now, he could point out his old desk among the endless rows of identical workstations. Just him, a monitor, and the rhythmic clacking of the keyboard.
“Attention, VoxTek employees! An announcement from the CEO will be broadcast shortly. I repeat, shortly…” A metallic female voice from the speakers didn't get to finish the thought.
At that exact second, every monitor displayed the face that everyone knew, yet no one had ever truly seen. The CEO of this establishment—none other than Vox himself.
“Darlings!” he began, his tone almost joyful, but as the screens crackled, everyone knew this wasn't an announcement about new benefits. “One of you had enough spare time to browse through files vital to the company's operations. And so much time, in fact, that the content of those files was altered.”
Vox paused. Whispers, quiet questions, and terrified gasps rippled through the room. A faint smirk played on his lips, revealing that the boss was drinking in those sounds like a master symphony.
“My dears… I will find out eventually. My suggestion? Confess before I do,” he finished, and this time, the chatter escalated far beyond whispers.
The scent of panic filled the air. Some began to cry, others started packing their things in a frantic rush, while a few crawled under their desks, muttering feverishly to themselves. Vox couldn’t have been happier, sowing chaos among the ranks
Ethan looked around. Finally, slowly, and a bit unsure of the gesture, he raised his hand. His palm was slightly clammy from gripping his mouse too hard.
“It was me, sir… Boss,” he hesitated, unsure of how to address the CEO; he’d never thought about it, assuming the need would never arise. “I’m the one who changed those files.”
In a split second, the entire room went dark, every light extinguished. A heartbeat later, everything returned to normal. Or rather, the "normal" from before the announcement: every computer was back to displaying the spreadsheets and documents they had been working on. As if by magic, the people calmed down; the rhythmic tapping of keyboards and clicking of mice filled the air once more.
It wasn't until he turned back to his own monitor that he jumped in surprise. His screen was the only one still displaying Vox’s face.
“To my office. Top floor,” the boss said coldly.
“But my keycard doesn't have access to—”
“Get. To. The elevator,” he hissed. “Now.”
And then, his monitor went completely black. No spreadsheets returned; it simply died, leaving Ethan to stare at his own pathetic reflection.
He smiled to himself at the memory. He stopped leaning against the wall and continued down the hallway. His footsteps echoed through the space, which was mostly deserted at this hour. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t that people here worked without breaks. Perhaps depending on what their contracts said, but those were usually unfortunate exceptions or extreme workaholics for whom work was its own reward, rather than a general rule.
The moment he stepped into the breakroom, the conversations died down. It only took a second for the employees there to scan him with their eyes before returning to their talk, this time in whispers.
“Is he always here?” asked a young employee, to whom certain things were clearly still new.
“No… well, often, maybe almost always, but not always,” another reassured her, waving a hand as if there was nothing to worry about.
He knew he had his supporters and his detractors. He was, after all, the assistant to the CEO himself; who knew if he was still on their side or just the boss’s lapdog? There was always that grain of uncertainty.
He gave them a silent nod—he wasn’t a complete prick, after all—then reached for a company mug to make some coffee. He was going to need it today; of that much, he was certain. He glanced at the snack machine, but nothing looked appealing. You could eat, as long as you paid for it.
When he first started as an assistant, he didn’t really know how to be one. He had to learn everything from scratch, but he felt that, finally, something in his life actually interested him and presented a real challenge. One of those challenges was deciphering the boss’s moods; another was managing his diet. Vox easily neglected that aspect of functioning, but you couldn't just remind him of it directly. Over time, Ethan had learned and developed a few good tricks.
The "abandoned sandwich" method was one of the simplest and most effective. Yet even that always drew objections and arguments; the boss always had something to add, usually claiming it was preposterous to suggest he could have forgotten something. Not today, though. Not a word. It was almost as if he’d actually believed he’d just left his food in the conference room. He must have been shaken, but Ethan couldn't recall anything specific that might have caused it. And that meant his own personal demons were haunting him today.
“Do you think if I try hard enough, Vox will take me on as an assistant too? I’m way sexier than that fish-face,” the shift in kitchen gossip snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Don’t even joke about it, the guy is practically untouchable. I don’t know how he did it.”
“Maybe he slept his way to the top? I mean, there’s nothing special about him,” came the conclusion—one he almost felt like agreeing with, but he’d stopped engaging in rumors about himself a long time ago.
The quiet hum of the coffee machine signaled that his drink was ready. He grabbed the mug and walked out, leaving the whole crowd behind. How does one actually become the boss’s assistant? He wasn’t sure he could answer that, even after all these years.
That day, exactly as Vox had predicted, the elevator suddenly granted him access to the top floor. He had a moment to re-evaluate his life choices, though they seemed irrelevant now. Standing before the doors, he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and tried to relax his shoulders. To no avail.
Finally, the doors slid open automatically, revealing an office that was truly cavernous. And it had windows. Down below, they didn’t have windows.
Vox was sitting at his massive executive desk, feet propped up on the surface. He was rocking slightly in his chair, seemingly oblivious to the world around him.
“You know I can’t, I’m busy,” he muttered. It was strange in itself that his voice wasn’t raised.
“Busy, my ass. Try doing something other than Excel for once,” a voice snapped.
He immediately recognized Velvette; no one could sound quite so beautifully disappointed in you as she could.
“This is import—” Vox caught a glimpse of the door out of the corner of his eye and sat up straight.
“Wait, he’s here.”
“Vox, don’t you dare hang u—” she threatened, but he had already cut the connection and stood up with a burst of energy.
He rounded the desk with a spring in his step. Now that Ethan saw him in the flesh, he could compare the image to the cardboard standees of the boss scattered throughout the building. He’d always assumed they were an exaggeration, but Vox was substantial. Not like the cardboard Vox, but tall. Lean, though his shoulders were indeed broad. He stood straight as a needle, yet gave the impression of being relaxed, as if the posture was etched into his muscle memory rather than forced.
“You’re here,” he began, suspiciously cheerful. “Come in, come in, don’t be shy,” he encouraged, as if he weren't inviting him into a lion’s den.
He paced across the office and poured himself a whiskey from a nearby side table. The amber liquid looked like it cost a year's worth of Ethan’s salary; he didn’t even want to guess the price of the glass. Vox took a sip, practically purring with satisfaction.
“I am. Yes. That’s how it turned out,” Ethan nodded slightly.
Vox turned to him, the glass never leaving his lips. Perhaps it wasn't every day that anyone else’s voice was heard in this office besides his own.
“Ah!” with a sweeping gesture, he returned to his desk. “Forgive my surprise; I assumed you’d run for it, and maybe I’d get to release some hounds after you,” he added with a hint of genuine disappointment. “You don’t want to know what would have happened then.” The glint in his eye was dangerous.
“I suspect I wouldn’t. And though I can only guess, I’d rather not find out,” Ethan mumbled, unsure whether to look at the walls or the boss.
Vox raised an eyebrow. It lasted only a second before a wide, screen-filling grin broke across his face.
“Well, well! Not only devious and ambitious, but with a sense of humor too!” he concluded, perching on the edge of the desk. Even now, he towered over Ethan.
“Ambitious?” Ethan was surprised the word even left his mouth.
Of all the labels Vox could have slapped on him, that one caught him off guard the most. He had never thought of himself as ambitious.
For a moment, they remained in silence—something Ethan didn't take as a good sign. Was the boss waiting for an apology? Is that why he was quiet? But what was the point of apologizing for something he had done with full intent?
“Those files you mentioned… I made two backups. I only applied the changes to one of them. The original remains untouched,” he explained instead of apologizing.
“I know,” Vox replied curtly, taking another sip of his whiskey. “But it sounded much more dramatic coming from me, don’t you think?”
He tilted his head. Thinking back, yes—the way the boss had mentioned files "vital to the company's operations" made it sound like a total catastrophe. Very dramatic. Much more so than "but it was just a copy."
“Actually, yes. Definitely more so.”
Silence fell again. Whatever was going to happen, he wanted it over with. If Vox killed him, he’d just respawn in a few hours and have the time docked from his pay. If he didn't kill him, he had tasks waiting, and no certainty whether his work hadn't been truly destroyed by the boss’s little power surges. Either way, his day was a wash.
Then, Vox’s claws tapped rhythmically against the desktop.
“You like being in control, don’t you?” He scrutinized Ethan as if calculating something, though Ethan wasn't sure what.
He didn’t answer. Did he like being in control? That was actually a good question. He never felt like he had any control. Over anything in his life. It was just a matter of gliding from one day to the next.
“You have ambition. You tried to improve my old files with new formulas, even though it wasn’t in your job description. And they weren't even half-bad improvements,” Vox continued, his tone as calm as if he were reciting a grocery list. “You want to grow; you filed a request for a transfer to another department.” He picked up a small stack of papers. “Do you have a name?”
“Ethan, sir,” he answered so automatically that it was only when the boss nodded that he realized he’d given an answer.
“Ethan…” he repeated, as if weighing the word, testing how it sat on his tongue. “That’ll do.”
He stood up energetically again. From that strange moment of almost-contemplation, they returned to the showmanship everyone at the company knew.
“Congratulations, Ethan! You’re being promoted to my personal assistant,” he announced grandly, and Ethan was certain he could hear a fanfare coming from the speakers somewhere.
What a comedy, he thought, shaking his head at the memory. And that was it. He got the promotion. To assistant. It came with a new contract, of course. More restrictive, claiming nearly everything he had, but offering entirely different possibilities in return. He hadn’t hesitated longer than it took to read the text. Perhaps the boss hadn't been wrong in his assessment after all.
He slowly opened the door to his new office. He turned on the desk lamp, set his coffee down carefully, and dropped the documents onto the surface. He sank into the chair and spun around a few times before stopping to look out the window.
“I have one condition to start with,” he’d said then, holding the pen just above the signature line. “I want to work by a window.”
The city pretended to sleep. Ethan knew he wouldn't be going to bed anytime soon, and even then, he’d probably just nap on the couch in the corner.
Perhaps it was everything, he thought, turning back to his documents.
Perhaps he even liked it.