Mantis

She had an insectoid skull, ant-like, in the shape of an upside down teardrop. She wore her hair up. Her eyes were large and far apart on her face. Taut skin and a high, receding hairline reinforced this aesthetic. In front of a white plate full of bright green salad leaves she sat alone in a booth beneath a lurid white light. The small cafeteria was quiet, and empty. It wasn't quite lunch time yet. Beside her food was a small paperback book wrapped in a dirty, old looking cover. The woman's jaw moved mechanically as she stared off and brought the food to her mouth with a long silver fork. Her hands seemed excessively pale, almost glowing. Her forearms were thin and sharp and, if they had been green, would have looked like the arms of a praying mantis. Occasionally someone would hurriedly walk by, moving between buildings to different floors and offices, trying to finish up any remaining work before lunch time. Everyone that saw her thought she looked rather lonely, sitting there in her prim black dress and shiny black shoes. All around her things started to slowly chatter; the clinking of dishes, the shuffling of feet, the sound of cooks working and moving about the kitchen, the subtle crescendo of conversation.

The building was old but newly renovated. The walls on the fifth floor were paneled with reclaimed driftwood, lending them an elegant, rustic look that was subtle yet showy. Lots of workplaces were doing this now, refinishing and refurnishing, reinvesting, to conjure a sense of wealth and worth. Companies in this part of the country were so prosperous they couldn't spend money fast enough. They threw expensive parties on Friday's, fully catered with beer, liquor and wine. On every floor were makeshift bars stocked with all varieties of top shelf whiskey, bourbon, and gin. Refrigerators bookended each hallway and were stocked with cold craft beer. Lavish spending took place to adorn the common areas with comfy modern couches and plush chairs. Some wondered whether this was a prudent way to invest in the company. "Y'know, you'd think they'd take all that money and use it to increase salaries, to pay better wages, to expand healthcare for menial workers." The common rebuttal was, and always will be, "we're looking into it."

The more knowing among them whispered in back rooms, behind closed doors:

"So much energy is dedicated to keeping up with appearances. People do this. And because companies are made of people, companies do this, too. Instead of sportcars and high fashion, it's risky acquisitions and arrogant product decisions. It's insidious and wasteful and narcissistic."

"Insecurity masquerading as strength."

"Misplaced ambition has a tendency to hijack sensible discretion. It cripples and warps foresight."

Outside the building the company physically alters its environment. It displaces people. The neighborhood slowly gentrifies. Minorities are pushed out. So are the poor. The rich move in. Bars close down, boutiques too. High end cafes and restaurants replace vacant storefronts and housing costs begin to soar. All of this sparks tension in the streets. The city’s poorer inhabitants grow resentful of what the new people represent. Slowly, a war begins.