Making her laugh again the way she did when she saw the rat—that surprised, genuine sound that escaped before she could trap it behind her professional mask.
Making that persistent wrinkle disappear from between her eyebrows, the one that seems permanently carved there from what I suspect are years of dealing with incompetent colleagues and impossible deadlines.
Making her look at me with something other than that carefully maintained professional courtesy, that polite mask she wears like armor against the world.
Making her see me as something more than just another problem to be managed, another variable in her endless calculations, another item on her overwhelming to-do list.
These are my new goals. My true mission.
The CEO can wait.
The next morning, I arrive early.
This is unusual for me. I prefer to arrive exactly when required, not a moment sooner, because time spent in fluorescent lighting is time stolen from life.
But today I have a mission.
I spent all night hunting in the building's basement, where the maintenance humans warned me not to go. They said there were rats. Big ones. A whole nest of them living in the old storage area.
To me, this sounded like an opportunity.
To them, it sounded like a problem to be solved with poison and traps.
Humans make everything complicated.
I solved it the direct way. The honorable way.
The way that involved my hands and quick reflexes and the satisfying crunch of a successful hunt.
And now I have a gift.
A large rat, freshly caught, still warm. It is an excellent specimen. Good size. Clean kill. No damage to the pelt.
In my tribe, this would be a worthy offering. A demonstration of hunting prowess. A gift that says "I can provide. I am strong. I notice your needs and address them."
In this office building, I am about to learn, it means something very different.
I find Orla at her desk, already typing, already frowning at her screen, already wearing that expression that says she has been awake for hours and has already had three cups of coffee and at least one small crisis.
She looks up when I approach, her sharp eyes flicking from her screen to me with that immediate, assessing calculation she does. The kind of look that says she has already categorized my interruption, assigned it a priority level, and scheduled exactly how long she will allow this interaction to take.
"Good morning, Thraka. I hope you read the email I sent about today's quarterly review meeting. We need to discuss the?—"
I present the rat.
Hold it out to her like a trophy, gripped carefully by the tail so she can appreciate its full size and excellent condition.
Like treasure pulled from a dragon's hoard.
Like the valuable, thoughtful, deeply meaningful gift it is.
My chest swells with pride. This is a good rat. The best rat. The kind of rat that proves I am a capable provider, a skilled hunter, a male worthy of her attention and respect.
"For you, Little Manager. I solved the rat problem in the basement. This was their leader. Very fierce. Fought well. You should be proud."
She stares at the rat.
Stares at the rat again.
