This week I decided to start a new segment on the Odyssey where I share several short stories I've written. I hope you enjoy!

At the corner of fourth avenue, there lies an impressionable building. Towering over the scattered shops and unrecognizable businesses nearby, the large corporation was hard to miss.

At the very top of the building lied a circular office, separate from the rest of the structure. Made up of a marble floor and large glass windows, the room was furnished in complete extravagance. With two sofas and a chandelier above the grand desk, the office embodied power and sophistication.

Perhaps the only thing greater than the grandeur of the room was the man who owned it. From his perfectly fitted white suit to his suede shoes, the CEO could accept nothing less than perfection. Everything in the room had its purpose and it's place, save for a single picture frame sitting on the corner of his mahogany desk. He noticed the emptiness in the office from the lack of personal items. His previous assistant had given the frame to him as a gift, yet he had never bothered to replace the black and white photo with a real picture.

The CEO, always hungry for more success, required the best, even if it was at the expense of his workers. Craig, his latest assistant, knew this law better than anyone else. After three months of working with the man, Craig was beginning to lose all faith. No matter what he did, it was never enough, never good enough to please his insatiable judgement. To his boss, Craig was always late, even if he was half an hour early. If he stood at the door, coffee ready in hand, his boss would just brush by him, criticism already spitting out of his mouth, leaving Craig with no choice but to clench his teeth and accept the verbal abuse.

“Why don't you just quit already?” his boss sneered, “do you honestly think you’ll last any longer than the others?”

“Well, Mr. Dean,” Craig replied hesitantly, for every word spoken in front of his boss had to be chosen carefully, “that’s the plan.”

The man snorted in response, pushing past the younger man.

“Come on, Ken. The faster you move, the faster I can get on with my life.”

“It's Craig,” the assistant replied weakly. Struggling to keep a grip on the teetering mountain of files, he moved quickly and efficiently, all the while cursing the tight-lipped, unyielding man he was forced to work for.

Sometimes, the mild-tempered man wondered why he didn't just leave this all behind and become another mark on Mr. Dean’s list of failures. He wished he could say it was determination that kept him there amongst the forced smiles and coffee stains, but in reality he knew it was the status of the position that kept its cruel claws latched onto him. Just like many of the other employees who worked within the modern day nightmare, Craig knew what it meant to have the company’s name behind yours. Singlehandedly built from Mr. Dean’s calloused hands, Tin Tech was a global leader in all things robotics and computers. To anyone else, just the opportunity to walk into the building was an immense honor, not to mention working directly under the tech god himself, Samuel Dean.

"Oh yes, and what a truly amazing experience it’s been," Craig thought bitterly to himself. If only everyone got to see the devil behind the porcelain mask.

As the day drew to an end, Craig left the office with a stiff farewell and Samuel Dean found himself alone at last. Mr. Dean left the building and rushed home, ignoring everyone's attempts at communication, as he was grateful to be away from the miserable people he called his subordinates.

When he got there, he breathed in the familiarity of his stainless home. He made his way to his room, weaving through familiar hallways and passing closed doors to empty rooms. When he finally arrived, he quickly changed into more comfortable attire before exiting the mansion and beginning his afternoon jog. Feeling the air pump through his aging body relaxed him, and if it wasn’t for all the people still outside at this time, this would probably be his favorite part of the day.

Mr. Dean ran past busy parents and screaming children until he reached a crosswalk.

While the signal light obviously screamed "don’t walk," a young girl, clearly interested in the phone clutched between her manicured fingers, began to move forward.

“Hey, kid, you see that hand on the other side of the road? That means stop moving,” he spoke, irritation rising when the teen rolled her eyes.

“So what? There aren't any cars here anyways,” she shook her head, continuing to walk until she was halfway across the road.

Suddenly, a distant screech was heard as an expensive car came racing down the street. Vaguely reminding him of the own model sitting in his garage, he watched as it came barreling down the road, heading straight for the girl.

Not giving it a second thought, the man sprinted across the road, pushing them both out of the way. Even after the car zoomed out of sight, the girl stayed clutched onto him, tears streaming down her face.

“Get off me,” he grunted, forcing her to let go of his freshly ironed shirt. Reaching down to pick up her shattered phone, which was ironically of his brand, he handed it back to her before continuing on his jog.

The next morning, Mr. Dean felt a shift in the atmosphere of the workplace. Suddenly people dared to meet his glance, even nodding at him as if they were friends. As he walked past the receptionist, she quickly moved to grab his arm, preventing him from escaping to his office.

Clearing her throat, she smiled bashfully at him, “Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to say how brave it was for you to do that.”

“Do what?” he asked, deadpanned.

"Who even hired this strange woman? I've never seen her before," he thought to himself while waiting for the receptionist to explain what she had meant. It wasn’t until had she walked away without a response that Mr. Dean had realized he had spoken out loud.

Shrugging off the strange encounter, he continued on his way, the confrontation already sent to the back of his mind. As he did his usual morning rounds, more and more people began to act strangely. It seemed like his workers grew bolder, as a few even stopped to wave at him, leaving only when they received an icy glare.

Upon arriving at his office, Mr. Dean stormed into the room, ready to snarl at his assistant who he knew would be waiting by the office door for him, freshly brewed coffee in hand. When he found out that that was not quite the case, his anger nearly reached a tipping point.

“Where the hell is Kevin?” he spit, shouting into the empty room. Almost as if he knew he were being summoned, Craig walked into the room, a large bouquet of flowers and a small stuffed bear in his arms. As if that weren’t enough, the giant smile that adorned his assistant’s face made him sick to his stomach.

“Good morning, sir! It’s actually Craig, but I’m sure you already knew that,” he chirped, unceremoniously dumping the gifts into his boss’s arms.

“The whole office pitched in to get you these-” Craig began to speak, but he was quickly interrupted by the sound of shattering glass as the vase of roses hit the floor.

“What. Is. Going. On?” he seethed, throwing the stuffed bear across the room.

“If you wanted a different gift you could have just said so,” Craig said calmly, used to the older man’s aggressive outbursts, “you could have at least said thank you.”

“Who said you could speak back to me?” he retorted, “who said anyone could speak back to me? Why is everyone suddenly acting like I won’t fire them on the spot?”

At the mention of getting fired, Craig paused in his cleaning. Turning back to look at his boss, he wrung his hands nervously before looking anywhere else but into his eyes.

“W-we just thought, after saving that girl and all...” Craig trailed off, letting an uncomfortable silence fill the room.

“What girl?” Mr. Dean asked, exasperated. Why did everyone keep bringing up a girl?

“You know, the one you saved in the video.”

Pulling out his phone, Craig looked up a video creatively titled CEO of Tin Tech Saves Little Girl, the thumbnail even containing a picture of his head photo-shopped onto Superman’s body. As soon as Craig pressed play, the scene sprung into action. Despite the shaky camera angle, you could clearly make out his figure as he dove towards the young girl, pulling her out of harm’s way. There was no mistaking that it was him when the cameraman zoomed into his expressionless face. Finally, the video depicted the girl weeping safely in his arms, conveniently ending before it showed him pushing her away.

Furious that someone had recorded the entire affair, Mr. Dean paced across the room. Analyzing the situation, he knew the best way to address it was to face the problem head on. After all, there was no way he could continue living in this modern day nightmare.

“Crayon, go call an emergency meeting on the 12th floor, make sure to stress that fact that it is mandatory. Whoever doesn’t show up is fired, effective immediately.”

“Crayon, really?” Craig muttered, “Why would you even think-”

“Now,” he hissed, storming out of the office.

As soon as everyone was gathered on the 12th floor, Mr. Dean moved a chair to the center of the room, standing on top of it so everyone was sure to see him.

Mr. Dean cleared his throat. The room quickly quieted down, everyone eager to hear him speak.

“I understand by now some, if not all, of you have seen the video of me online.”

At his words, an enormous cheer filled the room. Whoops and hollers resonated through the CEO, confirming his worst fears.

“Quiet down!” he barked, staring down his employees, “you all misunderstood me. This is not something I will tolerate; your attitude towards me is unacceptable. We are NOT going to socialize in this building. We are here to work. You do not wave at me in the office. You do not smile as I walk by. This is not your home, you get paid to work. If you need me, you talk to Craig first. Do not walk into my office, unless it is an emergency and you are dying on the floor.”

Silence filled the room as the occupants reacted. Some were angry and some hung their heads in shame, but Mr. Dean had never felt more liberated. Stepping off of the chair, he reveled in the way people stumbled away from his path. This was the way things were supposed to be; they were his employees, not his family. They were beneath him and he owed them nothing.

At the corner of fourth avenue there lies an impressionable building, within it an even lonelier man.