VOLUME III: 48 – Lunch Table

Lunch came in labelled boxes.

Salmon, chicken, vegetarian. One with extra sides marked Basil (no mayo) in suspiciously elegant handwriting. Weaver had color-coded the labels to match our name tags. Of course he did.

"Mine says ‘Spicy,’” Jules announced proudly. “Let’s gooo. My stomach’s not ready but I am.”

We ate around the same glass conference table like a group project no one volunteered for. Rika had stepped out to take a call. Weaver disappeared to “coordinate manager logistics,” which bought him ten minutes of peace and a Matcha Boba from the staff fridge.

Sasha had already unwrapped his entire meal like it owed him money. “Why is the chicken grilled and fried?” he asked, delighted.

Amy was halfway through hers with surgical precision. “Protein optimization. Probably calculated for sustained energy over a four-hour session.”

“Cool,” he said, chewing loudly. “Tastes like ambition.”

Basil picked at their fruit with the quiet grace of someone composing a poem in their head. “I think this kiwi just unlocked a memory from 2007.”

Jules slapped a packet of spicy mayo onto her box like she was interrogating it. “I’m gonna eat this entire thing and probably cry, but that’s okay. Pain is a flavor.”

I hadn’t touched mine. Just stared at the little paper napkin under the utensils. It had a motivational quote printed on it: "A full stomach fuels a full heart."

Noah nudged my box closer. “Eat. You get weird when you’re hungry.”

“I’m always weird,” I muttered.

He tilted his head. “Then eat before you monologue about it.”

I caved. Took a bite of the teriyaki tofu and immediately hated how good it was. The betrayal of deliciousness during a corporate identity crisis.

Amy leaned back, still chewing, and pointed her fork like antennae. “Okay. Real talk. What’s everyone’s concept gonna be? Like, are we doing animals? Lore? Anime trauma backstory? Or just something trendy?”

“Hot,” Sasha said instantly, mouth full of rice. “Like ‘set the world on fire’ hot.”

“That’s not a concept,” Amy said.

“It’s a mood,” Sasha offered, dreamily.

Amy blinked. “I take it back. None of you are allowed to pick your own branding.”

“I actually have a concept,” Amy continued, very pointedly. “But I’m not sharing it yet. Professional boundaries.”

Sasha gasped like that was scandalous. “Ma’am, this is lunch, no one's after your agenda.”

Basil twirled a carrot ribbon with their fork. "Mine has a garden. And a mirror. And too many eyes.”

We all stared.

“Wait,” I said. “Is your concept just Basil Fanart?”

Basil gave a soft smile. “Ideally.”

Sasha grinned. “Mine should be loud, feral, emotionally unavailable but extremely marketable.”

Amy scribbled something in her notebook with the intensity of a legal intern preparing cross-examination. “We need to go over tone cohesion later.”

Noah had been quietly eating until now. “Mine’s simple,” he said. “Something calm. Steady. A little sporty. Maybe a touch of mythology.”

“Greek god vibes,” Jules said, nodding like she approved.

“I was thinking more... less,” he said.

“And you?” Basil turned to me, gentle but curious.

I froze, tofu halfway to my mouth.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. "But I think I'll know it when I hate it a little less.”

Amy looked up like she wanted to write that down.

“Solid benchmark,” Noah said, offering me his mini pudding cup. “Here. Victory snack for surviving morning slides.”

I took it and mumbled, “Wait, you have pudding, and I dont?”

“Just my luck,” he said.

In the hallway, footsteps returned. Rika peeked in, polished as ever.

“You'll meet your managers in fifteen minutes,” she said. “Wrap up and get ready.”

Sasha tossed a napkin over his shoulder like a cape. “Time to blow someone's mind."

Jules saluted. “Ma’am yes ma’am!”

I stared at my mostly full lunchbox.

It was beginning. Whatever this was, it was beginning.

And I was still hungry.