The Working Dead

Chapter One: "Sonic the Comptroller"

(SONIC'S POV)

My name is Sonic and I'm the fastest Junior Comptroller in Station Square.

I have no idea what that means.

All I know is I sit in a cubicle eight hours a day trying to make half-an-hour's worth of work last all day long and I'm surrounded by the most insufferable gaggle of stupidity to ever walk on two legs and put on a work tie. Single, no aspirations other than to not die in a fire, and I'll be damned if I'm making a new pot of coffee.

Currently, I'm standing in the Break Room, staring at the last cup of coffee. DAMMIT! Why me? Always me! The rules are the rules. It's immortalized in a Post-it note above the Coffee maker: "LAST PERSON TO EMPTY THE COFFEE MACHINE MUST MAKE A FRESH POT"

It's 7:35am. Stardate 21949434-what-the-hell-ever. I don't know what date it is. But it's Monday. Piss on Monday. Currently I'm on the Fifth floor of Robotnik Industries: a massive corporate conglomerate in which I am employed. Fifth Floor is a glaring maze of half-empty cubicles, with the other half-filled with useless, faceless dicks just like me. Except the girls, because most of them are bickering harpies with big tits trying to climb high enough in the Corporate ladder to get face time with a company executive long enough to flash some cleavage and hopefully win themselves a sugar-daddy.

We are an eclectic bunch of morons, I will admit that; A mass of bickering, thieving, whoring, dishonest, back-stabbing assholes.

And I reign as jackass supreme.

Piss on this coffee. I'd piss in the coffee if it weren't for the fact that my boss has a habit of catching me with my dick in my hands. Funny that there is a file of the times I've somehow had to whip out my junk at work, but in truth there's no easy explanation. There was that one time the toilets clogged and all I had was a flowerpot and Sally just had to walk around the corner. She doesn't understand what it's like to have to piss really REALLY badly. Mainly because she's so uptight that her urethra's shrunk to the size of a pinhole, so she doesn't actually use the bathroom but once a month. Why else would she look like she's perpetually constipated? There were more times, but hell I can't think without a cup of coffee.

I'm torn to shreds inside (Hey, that'd make a great song title). I WANT a cup of coffee. I NEED a cup of coffee. But I don't want to make a fresh pot. This is because our coffee maker was made in some kind of alternate universe where simple tasks are accomplished in the most complex and asshole manner possible. The process you have go to through in order to make a new pot of coffee involves the kind of complexity involved in organ removal. I'd rather chew raw coffee grounds.

I might do that.

"HEDGEHOG!"

That shrill, nails-on-a-chalkboard sound is the voice of my boss-one of about five hundred people-Sally Acorn.

I poke my head out of the Break Room, my gaze going down the side of the Cubicle maze and saw the stern figure of her standing just outside the door to her corner office. See, the Fifth Floor is one massive cubicle farm aside from the walkways lined up next to each wall. Each corner has an office for one of our eight thousand supervisors. I think. There's so many chefs in this kitchen, the only thing it ever produces is Bullshit Stew with a side order of narcissistic rage.

Someone bumped my shoulder. I turned and saw Antoine the Douchebag. His real last name is unpronounceable French gibberish, so I just call him what he is: an insufferable douchebag. He turned and looked at me with his nose turned up. Basically Antoine is too high and mighty to do anything normal, no he does everything better than you and has to make sure you know it. Like his coffee. It isn't just coffee, no; it's imported finely ground French export from the highland hills of Douchebag-vania, where all the douchebags squeeze their grounds in their ass crack or something.

"Sonique," He starts in his high-pitch womanly voice "Are you to not be hearing Sally calling you?"

Christ, he didn't speak the English language so much as he chewed it up and spit it out.

"Yeah, Ant. I heard her." I tell him, "And I'll be down there just as soon as I..." Oh shit. If I tell him I plan on getting the last cup of coffee in the pot, he'll force me to make the next pot. "As soon as I...check the fridge."

I sauntered over to the fridge and my hand wavered. The fridge was a compacted box of nightmare fuel. It was stuffed with lunches that had been left there and never retrieved. It was so disgusting that I was sure if I opened it, the CDC would declare the entire building a hazardous waste zone. I didn't use the fridge. No one did. The last person who did hadn't been seen since.

I cracked the door to the fridge, my eyes looking inside the mouth of madness. A glowing light presumably from the flames of Hell emerged. An otherworldly voice from inside bellowed at me in a black tongue that had been long forgotten on Mobius:

"ZUUL!"

I shut the door immediately and turned back to Antoine, who was sipping his damn coffee (which he made in his own coffee maker he hid somewhere on the floor). He even had a saucer for it. WHO DID THAT? He was no better than me. Hell, we even had the same color tie today. In fact, I might be wearing his tie, I think I swiped it from his tie rack in his cubicle when he wasn't looking.

"So then you are not to be wanting the fridge? Are you not wanting this last cup from the pot?" He asked.

My cup was empty. So why else would I be holding it? "It's for an emergency." I said, "In case I need to pee in something and the bathroom is locked or whatever."

"Oh." Antoine accepted my answer. Why, oh WHY, is that kind of thing not uncommon with me? Why have I lost count of the times I've had to pee in something that wasn't meant to be peed in? My freeform peeing days were done, dammit! Stop mocking me!

"HEDGEHOG! NOW!"

Our intercom system didn't work overhead, so Sally had to scream at who she wanted. If I waited any longer, I'd get in real trouble. Maybe. I've been constantly threatened with write-ups, but never actually written up, just warned. I sometimes think it's impossible to get fired from here. What have they caught me doing? If it's an offense, I've commited it. What haven't I been caught doing?

Let's see: stealing office supplies (From Antoine), coming in late, trying to leave early without being seen, using foul language (Mostly towards Antoine), belittling other people (like Antoine), sleeping on the job, playing pranks on other people (Mostly Antoine), Being out of dress code as well as simply being out of dress (as in naked), putting metal in the microwave, blaming others for my failures (Antoine again), threatening other people...actually, change that to threatening JUST Antoine. And sex on the job.

Well, what can I say? Our housekeeping employee Vanilla has a balcony so large you could perform Shakespeare on it. That combined with my natural smooth moves and Sally's sixth-sense-like ability to detect when my pecker isn't contained by my boxer shorts resulted in a few awkward scenarios that usually have me telling Sally "This isn't what it looks like."

Sure it might LOOK like I'm plunging into a woman older than me with her skirts around her waist and her legs splayed up in the air...but that's not necessarily what it is.

"Nice cup, Ant." I said, trying to edge my way around him as he stood in the doorway.

"It is not a mere cup, Sonique." Ant huffed, "It is Italian hand crafted from the artisan workshops of Venice."

"How about that. Mine's pretty much the same thing." I said, twirling my mug in my fingers, "It's hand crafted...in China...by a four-year-old being paid two pennies an hour. Isn't it gorgeous?"

The accusation was lost on Ant when I looked down and saw a small hand pouring a carton of milk on his feet. When he looked down and moved his feet, his natural clumsiness taking over and spilling him to the floor. Before he had recovered, I pour the last cup of coffee into my mug and leaped over his fallen form. Coffee and milk mingled together on the floor at his head.

"Nice fall, Ant! Now ya gotta refill the coffee pot!" My partner-in-crime exclaimed, a short little two-tailed fox in a white button-down shirt and an orange tie.

I gave Tails a high-five and walked away from the Break Room scot-free of my coffee making responsibilities. Tails was my best bud, my all-time most favorite person in this dump. He was the office intern, which means he wasn't paid, which means he did a lot of dubious side jobs to earn money so he could intern. What he did on the side to earn money was a vast and various list of things he apparently had no problem doing: from pulling bank heists to selling inhalants that made your eyeballs bleed to male prostitution.

I'm kidding, but I hope that last one isn't true.

"That pompous shit-stain needs his ass kicked." Tails said, "I knew you needed saving, so I pulled an old trick from my juvie days. Pour milk at their feet, then smash them in the head with something. When the guards arrive, I tell 'em he slipped and I was just about to help him up. Man, I miss juvie. Best part about being in prison: people expect you to do bad things so why not do it?"

"I forgot about that." I chuckled as we walked together, "What were you in juvie for?"

"Murder."

"Oh." Don't question it, "Who?"

"I tell you what." Tails said, tucking his hands into his pockets, "They'll never tell me to pick up my room again...ever."

Tails is cool. He's laid back, easy going, and always up for whatever. If I told him I had some shady shit going down, he'd help me with no questions asked. The only thing he wants from me in the world is to be a good wingman and get him into some pants. His prison time made him realize he wasn't picky when it came to genitals, so his sex life is a lot like him: whatever comes his way. He's funny, a sharp little guy to hang with, but damn if he don't freeze up around the girls and guys. I've been trying to find a suitable chick for him to hook up with, but the girls around here are all a lousy bunch of C-words.

Speaking of which.

"Yo, Tails, I gotta catcha ya later." I said as I approached Sally's corner office. "Boss wants me."

I turned to look. Tails had been walking beside me during our walk to Sally's but he was gone. Tails had a really good knack for managing to detect and disappear when trouble or supervisors were almost upon us. If he disappeared, it meant you needed to get scarce and quick. But I couldn't escape this fate.

I pushed open the door to her office and found Sally in her slim, powder-blue power suit sitting in her office. She favored blue, said it was her favorite color. Coulda fooled me. I'm blue all over and she treats me like shit. What a world.

Short, rust-colored hair, eyes as blue as my quills, and a set of slim curve made Sally quite a girl to look at. When she's not yelling, her normal speaking voice has this really sultry tone to it. She's athletic, she's smart, and if you got into a fight, you get the sense she's the person you'd rather have on your side. Too bad it was offset by her character. How can I put this delicately?

She's a bitch.

Not just a bitch, but a corporate PC-enabled, follow-the-rules-or-else kind of bitch. Nothing was ever good enough for her. She hovers over everyone, cracking her whip like a dominatrix. Sally's the kind of pretty girl who could screw up a wet dream. I couldn't even crank it while thinking about her because even in my spank bank she's an over-controlling tight-ass. I tried to have a wank-off with her as the central figure. I won't go into detail, but it involved a lot of spanking and whipping. Even then all I could envision was her telling me it wasn't a good enough job, so I eventually kicked her in front of a moving train and brought someone else a little nicer into my head.

Here she was, hunched over paperwork like a gargoyle. "Have a seat." She barked.

I thought about standing because I liked being a contrary, argumentative asshole, but I'd been standing up long enough. I sat down and took a sit of my coffee. Blech. Rancid bottom-of-the-pot crap. I sure hoped Antoine made another pot before I was done in here.

"Sonic, we have to talk about your job performance." She said.

A moment of silence passed between us.

I started to get up, "Well, that should cover everything then."

"Sit down, Sonic." She barked.

Oh, that barking got on my nerves. But my meager paycheck was like a miniature penis: it might be small, but I still needed it. I sat down. I was used to Sally's orders and talks by now. I used a trick I called Phasing Out. It was easy, I just refocused my eyes on the background and suddenly Sally was an indecipherable blur of brown-and-blue in my vision. Her voice was a distant buzzing, like the symptoms of tinnitus or like when your power goes out at night and all your hear is a loud NOTHING.

"HEY! DON'T PULL THAT STARING INTO NOTHING CRAP! PAY ATTENTION!"

Crap, she'd caught on. She knew I wasn't paying attention because I wasn't being a smartass.

"I know your not paying attention because you're not being a smartass." She snapped.

I sighed, "Look, Sal, can we cut to the chase? I got a lot on my plate." HA! Yeah right. Every day I have forty minutes of work that I manage to stretch out into eight hours. The only thing on my plate right now is getting back to Knothole and figuring out how I can piss away eight hours without looking like I'm obviously not working.

"I don't get you, Sonic." Sally sighed, lacing her fingers together. "You're a fast and efficient Comptroller."

"So are you." I said. It wasn't a lie. Sally worked hard. In fact, that was the most conflicting thing about interacting with Sally. This whole company is bullshit, a rigged Corporate ladder that you only scale by paying the right person or sucking the right dick. And here was Sally, our Princess, we called her. Sally was the only person I knew who was genuine about her job. She really thought if she worked hard and did good job that she'd be up the ladder in no time. She tried so hard to do right by her job and all I did was give her shit.

And then I remembered what a bitch she is.

"I've got a job for you, Sonic." She said. "In spite of your past work ethic violations, I'm assigning you a subordinate."

I blinked. "A what?"

Sally's eyes lifted and her cold bitch smile came to life. "I want to show you how hard it is to do what I do. For just once, I want you to appreciate what it's like to be the supervisor, the bad guy, the cloud that rains on everyone's parade, and all those other things you say about me behind my back-including the ones I cannot repeat here."

Dammit, she always knew what he said about her. Somehow, she hadn't fired him in spite of all those things. Oh well.

"You're making me a supervisor?" I sat up in shock. Oh God, here it came. He had to work even more with Antoine. Or maybe he'd have to supervise Blaze, that neurotic cat with the weird habit that had her licking things or sticking them in her mouth. Or maybe the mail girl, Marine, who never shut the hell up. Or, God forbid, Robotnik's daughter, Maria. She gave him looks as if she wanted to skin him alive just so she could see what was underneath.

Sally pressed the intercom and said, "Bunnie, send the new hire to my office."

Bunnie was the secretary-oh, excuse me, Administrative Assistant-that worked, technically, for Sally's boss, Snivley. But in the end, Bunnie did whatever someone asked her. She was sassy, southern, and had legs that just wouldn't stop along with the kind of boobs guys like me only get to dream about. She wore tight blouses, tight, small skirts, and surprisingly acted like she didn't have the body of a porn star. But she would lick the floor clean with her tongue if you asked her nicely enough. She was a doormat, the worst kind.

"This one isn't a doormat." Sally said.

I shook my head. How did Sally always know what I was thinking?

"So no funny business. No making her fetch you coffee, no making her do your work, and above all: do NOT stick your finger in her buthole."

Ah yes, the "Bunnie's Butthole" Incident. The culmination of a series of increasingly embarrassing and ridiculous requests we around the office inflicted upon Bunnie. I crossed my arms, "Jeez, I only did that to Bunnie once and I said I was sorry."

"You shouldn't have done it to begin with!" Sally cried.

"I couldn't help it! She says 'yes' to anything you ask her! I was just kidding, I didn't think she'd let me do it."

"Then WHY, when she said 'yes', did you DO IT?" Sally asked, the veins in her forehead bulging.

A moment of quiet passed as I contemplated the answer. Actually, her question was valid, but for the life of me I had no good answer. So, for once, I told Sally the truth: "Because she let me do it."

Sally sighed, her head falling down and hitting the desk in surrender. Sonic scratched his chin, "Waitaminute, Sal. Who isn't a doormat? Who are you talkin' about?"

A soft knock came at Sally's door and her head came up with a piece of paper sticking to her forehead. She tore it off and yelled, "COME IN! uh...I mean, please come in."

The door opened and I watched as a diminutive female hedgehog with soft pink quills entered. She wore a simple white-button blouse and a knee-length skirt that matched her quill colors. Very conservative. Not like me. I'm a damn slob and I know it. My shirt was never tucked into my slacks and my tie was always just a little bit loose, sleeves always rolled up. I never wore my blazer. Why bother? Who am I impressing?

She carried a small manila folder with her and gave me a short appraisal look as she sat next to me. She wore her quills in a downward fashion, a cute look for her. In fact, her picture was probably next to the word 'cute' in the dictionary. She was cute, every inch of her. I gave a short, purely man's appraisal (small rack, minimal curves, cute face, would totally bang after a few drinks) and then looked back to Sally.

Sally smiled at him, but it wasn't sweet. It was the kind of smile a woman gives to the man who abused her as she watches him lowered into a car grinding machine. It was the devil's smile.

"Sonic, this is Amy Rose, our new Comptroller."

"Waitaminute!" I cried, "I thought I was a Comptroller. What're you doing? Bringing in my replacement?"

"What?" Sally barked, "NO! Sonic, you're our Junior Comptroller. I'm a Senior Comptroller. That's why I'm your boss. And she's not replacing you, I promise."

"So then what is she?" I asked. "Junior Jr. Comptroller?"

"Actually, she's the Junior Comptroller now. You've been reassigned as Junior Comptroller Coordinator to better suit your duties as Amy's supervisor."

"Re-assigned?" I balked at that particular bullshit-sounding title, "Does that mean I get a raise for more duties?"

"Ha ha ha heh heh heh…eh" Sally laughed, a hearty thing that came from a dark place in her heart, "Oh Sonic. Anyway, she'll be sitting near you so you can stay close and supervise when needed. Amy, Sonic will show you the ropes. Sound good?"

I stared at Sally with a blank look and an open jaw. She gave a little wave. Meeting over. I rose, contemplating my life as a new layer of corporate bullshit was draped over my already undead zombie corpse as it went about the daily motions. With a brush of a hand, I was suddenly outside the office with a new employee on my arm.

Great. Just great.

I looked at my coffee cup. It was full of cold coffee. I hadn't even taken a sip. I was tired, hungry, and wanted nothing more than to crawl under my desk and nap until the lights went out. Oh well, might as well make the most of a bad situation.

I poured my cold coffee out into Sally's potted plant by her door and handed it to Amy, "Here. Go grab me a fresh cup of coffee and get one for yourself, too. When you get back, I'll introduce you to the gang."

Amy took my mug and eyed the outside of it, reading aloud, "Keep calm and Get MILF'd? What does that even mean?"

"It means go get some coffee so we can make it through our shitty day." I sighed.

"I'm pretty sure Ms. Acorn said-"

I pinched the bridge of my nose and groaned, "Look, Amy? It's gonna be a long day. I haven't slept a wink cause I binge-watched on a whole season of Army Wives last night, the bus I rode had a crazed maniac spewing anarchist propaganda for an hour, and on top of it all I didn't bother eating the brekafast I bought this morning because that new Taco Bell breakfast waffle looks like the Devil's labia, so I threw it out. It's gonna be a looooong day and it's gonna be even longer without coffee for both of us. So quit staring, get us some coffee, and when you get back I'll get you settled into your cubicle in Corporate Hell."

Amy blinked, her eyes cast downward for a moment, "This...uh...this isn't at all what I thought it would be."

I just flashed her a wink and said, "Don't worry, Amy. You don't have to be an asshole to work here. We'll train you."

Amy just gave me a sad little look as I killed her soul. As she walked off, head down and dejected, I said, "Welcome to the Working Dead."

Author's Note: Sonic's POV worked well for this chapter, but I'll be returning to third person in the next chapter. I may use it when I need to do someone's POV in the future. Hope you enjoyed this little slice of corporate life comedy. Let me know what you think and I'll see you next chapter, when we get to meet the gang.