Wonderland, Inc.

Bob Henderson was beginning to get very tired of sitting in the reception area, and of having nothing to do except flip through the same corporate brochures he’d already memorized during his interviews: once or twice he had peeped into his phone, but it had no new emails or notifications in it. "And what is the use of a welcome packet," thought Bob, "without at least some Wi-Fi login information?"

So he was considering, in his own mind (as well as he could, for the hot coffee and early-morning nervousness made him feel simultaneously alert and sluggish), whether the pleasure of making a good first impression was worth the awkwardness of asking the receptionist again about his onboarding manager, when suddenly a thin man with stark white hair rushed past the reception desk.

There was nothing particularly remarkable in that; but Bob did think it a little odd to hear the man mutter to himself, "Oh dear! Oh dear! I’m terribly late for a very important meeting!" Moreover, when the man pulled an iPhone, an Apple Watch, a tablet, and a small paper planner from various pockets, checking each in rapid succession, Bob’s curiosity sparked to life.

"Excuse me," Bob called after him, but the man continued his harried pace.

As Bob watched, the white-haired man dropped something - a company ID badge on a lanyard. Without thinking, Bob stood to retrieve it, intending to return it to its owner. The badge displayed a professional headshot of the nervous man alongside the name "Harvey White, Executive Assistant to the Executive Team."

"Sir! You dropped your—" Bob called, but Harvey had already disappeared around a corner. The receptionist seemed oblivious, focusing intently on her computer screen.

Clutching the badge, Bob hesitated only a moment before following. After all, the man might need this to get back into secure areas, and Bob had nothing better to do while waiting. He turned the same corner Harvey had, finding himself in a sleek hallway with frosted glass walls bearing the stylized "W" logo of Wonderland, Inc.

"Mr. White?" Bob called, his voice echoing slightly in the empty corridor.

At the end of the hallway, a door was just closing. Bob jogged toward it, pushing through just in time to see Harvey’s white hair bobbing away down another corridor. This hallway was different—darker, with recessed lighting and walls painted a deep blue.

As Bob pursued Harvey through a labyrinth of increasingly unfamiliar passages, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was straying too far from reception. "I should probably just give this to security," he thought, but something compelled him forward. Each section of the building had a distinctly different design scheme - modern glass gave way to industrial concrete, then to something resembling a tech startup’s idea of a creative space, complete with hanging chairs and nonsensical motivational phrases stenciled on the walls.

Progress Is Circular! one proclaimed.

Failure Is Just Success In Beta! insisted another.

Bob turned another corner and spotted Harvey slipping into what appeared to be a service elevator at the end of a maintenance corridor. The doors were beginning to close.

"Hold the elevator!" Bob called, breaking into a run.

To his surprise, he made it just in time, slipping through the narrowing gap. Harvey, however, was nowhere to be seen inside the elevator. It was empty.

"That’s strange," Bob murmured, turning to exit - but the doors had already sealed shut with a definitive hiss.

The elevator had no buttons. Where a control panel should have been was a sleek black screen that suddenly illuminated with the Wonderland, Inc. logo, pulsing gently.

"Welcome, Harvey White," came a pleasant automated voice. "Badge scan accepted. Proceeding to requested destination."

Bob looked down at the badge in his hand with dawning realization. The elevator must have scanned it automatically, mistaking him for Harvey.

"Wait, I’m not—"

The elevator lurched downward, cutting off his protest. At first, the sensation was normal, but after a few seconds, Bob realized they were descending much faster than any elevator should. The digital floor indicator began displaying strange designations:

FLOOR L

FLOOR O

FLOOR G

FLOOR I

FLOOR C

Bob steadied himself against the wall, his stomach dropping with the rapid descent. The elevator had glass panels on three sides, allowing views into the building as they descended. But what he saw made little sense.

They passed a floor that seemed to contain nothing but an enormous coffee mug with steam rising from its contents. Another floor revealed rows of cubicles sized for giants, with chairs that could seat three people comfortably. Yet another showed what appeared to be a forest of potted plants with computer monitors hanging from their branches like strange technological fruit.

"This can’t be happening," Bob whispered, pressing his face against the glass.

They passed a floor where employees sat in meetings wearing elaborate animal-head masks. Another where everyone walked in perfect circles around their desks. One floor appeared to be entirely underwater, with workers in business attire wearing scuba gear while typing on waterproof keyboards.

The elevator accelerated further, and the floors began to blur together. Bob felt himself growing lighter, as if the rapid descent was reducing gravity’s hold on him. Papers from his messenger bag began to float upward. His tie drifted up to eye level.

"Is this some kind of practical joke for new employees?" he wondered aloud, trying to make sense of the impossible sights. "Some virtual reality thing, maybe?"

The floors continued to flash by, each more bizarre than the last. One contained only a massive clock with hands spinning backwards. Another held nothing but filing cabinets stretching as far as the eye could see. Bob spotted a floor where employees appeared to be aging in fast-forward, their hair growing and graying before his eyes.

Just as he was beginning to wonder if the elevator would ever stop, the automated voice returned:

"Approaching destination. Prepare for deceleration."

The elevator slowed gradually, then came to a gentle stop with a cheerful ding. The doors slid open.

"Organizational Substructure Level 42. Mind the gap. Have a wonderful day."

Bob stepped out cautiously into a dimly lit corridor that looked nothing like the modern tech company he’d arrived at that morning. The walls were paneled in dark wood, with ornate sconces providing weak, flickering illumination. The carpet was a deep red with an intricate pattern that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles.

The elevator doors closed behind him with an ominous thud. When Bob turned back, there was only a smooth wooden wall where the elevator had been.

"Hello?" he called, his voice sounding oddly muffled, as if the corridor was absorbing sound.

No response.

The hallway extended in both directions, curving slightly so that he couldn’t see far in either direction. Along the walls were doors - dozens of them - of all different sizes and shapes. Some were tall enough for a basketball player, others so tiny they seemed designed for a child. Each bore a small brass plaque with strange department names:

Rapid Growth Team

Downsizing Department

Lateral Movement Division

Strategic Ambiguity Unit

Involuntary Advancement Processing

Bob approached one of the average-sized doors labeled "Orientation & Disorientation Department." He tried the handle, but it was locked.

He tried another door, then another. All locked.

"I need to get back," he muttered, feeling the first flickers of genuine concern. He reached for his phone, but discovered he had no service. Not even emergency calls were available.

At the end of the hall, he noticed a table he hadn’t seen before. On it sat a small laptop, open and powered on, displaying a login screen. Next to it was a company keycard attached to a lanyard, and a small USB drive.

Bob approached cautiously. The keycard had his name and photo on it, though he had no memory of having this picture taken. Below his name was the title "Transformation Catalyst - Paradigm Integration Team." The login screen prompted:

Bob stared at the screen, then at the dark hallway with its numerous doors, then back at what appeared to be his company ID.

"What kind of company is this?" he whispered to the empty corridor as he slipped the lanyard over his neck, pocketing Harvey’s badge for safekeeping.

Somewhere in the distance, a door clicked open.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Bob muttered, his attention drawn to the sound. Following the direction of the noise, he found a door that stood slightly ajar, a soft glow emanating from within. The brass plaque read "New Hire Orientation & Cultural Immersion." Perhaps this was where he was supposed to be all along.

Bob approached the door, which opened wider as he neared it.

He found himself in a cramped room that looked like it belonged to a completely different decade than the sleek headquarters he’d entered that morning. Beige walls, flickering fluorescent lights, and outdated technology filled the space. A projector hummed loudly, displaying a PowerPoint presentation on a slightly crooked screen. The presentation was cycling through slides automatically, with no one controlling it.

The room was unoccupied, save for a large coffee dispenser in the corner labeled "Productivity Fuel - HELP YOURSELF!"

Bob stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. At least this looked somewhat like a normal corporate setting, albeit an outdated one. He approached the screen, hoping to find clues about where he was or how to exit this strange part of the building.

The current slide read: "WELCOME TO THE TEAM! Your Onboarding Journey Begins Now."

It flipped to the next: "SYNERGIZING CROSS-FUNCTIONAL DELIVERABLES IN THE AGILE ECOSYSTEM."

And the next: "LEVERAGING DISRUPTIVE INNOVATION THROUGH STRATEGIC ALIGNMENT OF CORE COMPETENCIES."

Each slide contained similar phrases—technically English, but arranged in ways that communicated almost nothing of substance. The jargon grew increasingly dense and incomprehensible:

"BLOCKCHAIN-ENABLED DIGITAL TRANSFORMATION INITIATIVES FACILITATE OMNICHANNEL CUSTOMER EXPERIENCE OPTIMIZATION WHEN PROPERLY MATRIX-MANAGED ACROSS SILOED BUSINESS UNITS."

Bob squinted at the screen, trying to extract meaning from the word salad. The longer he stared, the more the room seemed to change around him. Was it getting smaller? Or was he growing larger? The ceiling seemed closer now, the walls pressing in.

"This is ridiculous," Bob said aloud, his voice sounding too loud in the small space. "These aren’t even coherent sentences. It’s just buzzwords strung together."

Yet something strange was happening. With each new slide of incomprehensible corporate speak, Bob felt increasingly disoriented. The jargon was seeping into his mind, making it difficult to think clearly. Phrases like "paradigm-shifting value proposition" and "stakeholder engagement frameworks" bounced around his brain.

The room definitely felt smaller now. Bob had to hunch his shoulders to avoid hitting the ceiling. His elbows bumped against the walls when he shifted his weight. Was the room shrinking, or was he expanding? Either option seemed equally implausible, yet one of them was clearly happening.

Stumbling backward to avoid the advancing wall, Bob collided with the coffee station. The large dispenser wobbled precariously. He spun around and lunged to stabilize it, but his now-disproportionate size made him clumsy. Instead of steadying the container, he sent it crashing to the floor.

Hot coffee erupted everywhere, spreading across the carpet with alarming speed. More liquid than seemed possible gushed from the fallen dispenser, rapidly filling the small room’s shrunken presentation area.

"No, no, no," Bob groaned, looking for something to stop the flow. But the coffee kept coming, quickly rising past his ankles. He sloshed toward the door, but found it inexplicably locked from the inside.

The liquid continued to rise—past his shins, approaching his knees. The most baffling part was that the coffee dispenser couldn’t possibly have held this much liquid, yet it continued to pour forth as if connected to an infinite supply.

"Hello?" Bob called out, banging on the door. "Is anyone there? I need some help!"

The only response was the continued droning of the projector, now displaying: "EMBRACING FAILURE AS AN UNEXPECTED LIQUID DEPLOYMENT GROWTH OPPORTUNITY."

The coffee reached Bob’s waist, then continued climbing. The surreal situation might have frightened him more if not for the strangely calming aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the room. It was excellent coffee, he had to admit—much better than the standard office fare.

Just as the liquid reached his chest, the door burst open. The coffee surged outward, carrying Bob along with it into the hallway. The wave of brown liquid spread throughout the corridor, flowing downward to fill a large sunken area at the end of the hall that Bob hadn’t noticed before.

Sputtering and wiping coffee from his eyes, Bob found himself in what appeared to be a flooded conference room. The liquid had settled at about four feet deep, creating a literal pool of coffee. The strange thing was, he wasn’t the only one in it.

Several other bewildered-looking people in business attire were treading coffee around him, all looking equally confused about their circumstances.

"New hire?" asked a thin man with round glasses and a soaked dress shirt, paddling over to Bob.

"Yes," Bob replied, grateful to finally encounter another person. "My first day, actually. I’m Bob Henderson."

"Malcolm Mouse, Accounting," the man replied, extending a dripping hand to shake. "Don’t worry, this happens more often than you’d think. The coffee thing, I mean."

"This happens regularly?" Bob asked incredulously.

"Well, not exactly like this," Malcolm admitted, gesturing around at the coffee pool. "But disorienting first days are standard. Wonderland has a…​ unique onboarding process."

Several other people were swimming toward them now. A woman in a tailored but soaked grey suit was the first to reach them.

"Diana Duck, Legal Department," she said briskly. "I assume someone has already initiated the incident report workflow for this non-standard liquid deployment event?"

Before Bob could respond, an older man with wild white hair and a bow tie joined their cluster.

"Douglas Dodo, Risk Management," he announced importantly. "This situation requires immediate mitigation strategies. I suggest we implement Protocol 27B-6 for unexpected immersion scenarios."

"That protocol was sunset during last quarter’s policy optimization initiative," countered a young woman with a waterlogged tablet she was still attempting to use. "I’m Elizabeth Eaglet from Design. I believe the correct procedure now falls under the Comprehensive Emergency Response Framework, section 12.4."

More employees were appearing from other doors around the sunken area, each dropping into the coffee with varying degrees of grace. Each newcomer introduced themselves with their name and department, then immediately offered a contradictory solution to their predicament.

"We should form a tiger team to address the fundamental cause of the dispenser malfunction," suggested someone from Engineering.

"No, no—that approach won’t float," argued someone from Internal Communications. "This is clearly a communication issue requiring stakeholder alignment."

"I’ve created a Slack channel to track our progress on the coffee mitigation efforts," announced another, somehow still clutching a functioning phone.

Bob watched in amazement as the number of people in the coffee pool grew, all earnestly debating solutions while making absolutely no progress toward actually getting out of the coffee. The corporate jargon flowing between them was almost as abundant as the coffee itself:

"We need to take a holistic approach to liquid dispersal."

"Let’s not boil the ocean here, people—we need quick wins!"

"I’m not seeing enough outside-the-box thinking on our exit strategy."

"Who owns this deliverable? We need a RACI matrix established ASAP."

Malcolm leaned closer to Bob and whispered, "They’ll go on like this for hours if we let them. Watch this—" He raised his voice to address the group: "Perhaps we should schedule a follow-up meeting to deep-dive into potential solutions?"

This suggestion was met with enthusiastic agreement from the group, despite solving nothing about their current coffee-soaked situation.

"Is this some kind of test?" Bob asked Malcolm quietly. "Or a team-building exercise gone wrong?"

Malcolm shrugged, sending ripples through the coffee around them. "In my two years here, I’ve learned that at Wonderland, the line between intentional corporate activities and bizarre accidents is…​ blurry at best. But I’ve survived by documenting everything meticulously."

He pulled a waterproof notebook from his pocket and made a quick entry. "Coffee pool incident, orientation room, February 25th, 10:30 AM," he muttered as he wrote.

"How do we actually get out of here?" Bob asked, gesturing at the coffee they were all treading in.

"Oh, that’s the simple part," Malcolm replied. "We just need to—"

He was interrupted by a sudden whirring sound from overhead. Looking up, Bob saw ceiling panels sliding open and large industrial fans activating. At the same moment, drain plugs opened in the floor, and the coffee began to recede.

"Automated cleanup systems," Malcolm explained. "They kick in eventually. The real challenge at Wonderland isn’t the bizarre situations—it’s surviving the solutions."

As they paddled toward a set of steps emerging from the receding coffee, a stern voice boomed from overhead speakers:

"ATTENTION: UNSCHEDULED COLLABORATION OPPORTUNITY DETECTED. PLEASE PREPARE FOR MANDATORY TEAM ALIGNMENT EXERCISE IN CONFERENCE ROOM C. REPEAT: MANDATORY TEAM ALIGNMENT EXERCISE COMMENCING IN FIVE MINUTES."

Malcolm sighed. "And here comes the 'solution' now. You might want to brace yourself, Bob. Douglas from Risk Management is about to suggest a Synergy Sprint."

"A what?" Bob asked, coffee dripping from his formerly crisp shirt.

"A team-building exercise," Malcolm explained with a grimace. "Wonderland’s specialty. And believe me, getting drenched in coffee will soon seem like the high point of your day."

Sure enough, Douglas Dodo was already making his way toward the nearby conference room, clipboard in hand and an unsettlingly enthusiastic smile on his face.

"Colleagues!" he announced. "This unexpected coffee convergence presents a perfect opportunity for our quarterly team resilience drill! If everyone could proceed to Conference Room C according to their departmental matrix positioning…​"

Bob looked longingly at a door marked "EXIT" across the room, but Malcolm shook his head.

"It’s locked," he said knowingly. "They all are until the exercise is complete. Welcome to Wonderland, Bob. Hope you like running in circles."

The coffee-drenched employees gathered on the steps of the now-drained conference area presented a peculiar sight. They were an odd assortment of professionals—some in formal business attire now stained with coffee, others in the casual tech-company uniform of hoodies and expensive sneakers, all looking equally disheveled and uncomfortable.

Bob observed the unusual assembly while attempting to wring coffee from his shirt sleeves. No one seemed particularly alarmed by the bizarre flooding incident, which struck him as even more unsettling than the event itself.

Douglas Dodo, the energetic Risk Management director, continued organizing people as the last of the coffee drained away. He moved with the confidence of someone for whom chaos was simply another opportunity for process implementation.

"Alright, team! This unexpected hydration event gives us a perfect opening for some spontaneous synergy building!" Douglas announced, consulting a tablet that had somehow remained dry. "First order of business is to get everyone aligned on next steps and simultaneously address our collective dampness."

Bob leaned toward Malcolm. "Shouldn’t we just find some towels? Or maybe a bathroom to clean up?"

"That would be logical," Malcolm whispered back. "Which is precisely why it won’t happen. Watch."

Douglas clapped his hands three times in a rhythm that several employees automatically repeated. "I’m implementing the Synergy Sprint! Our Team Alignment Exercise!"

"But the quarterly team alignment was scheduled for next week," Elizabeth Eaglet from Design protested, still clutching her waterlogged tablet.

"Ah!" Douglas raised a finger triumphantly. "That’s precisely the kind of siloed thinking this exercise was designed to disrupt! The schedule was merely a placeholder for optimal engagement opportunity identification!"

Elizabeth looked skeptical but decided not to argue further and simply nodded.

Douglas quickly arranged everyone into a rough circle in the center of the room. "The exercise is simple," he explained, though his subsequent directions were anything but. "We’ll move in a clockwise orbital pattern while simultaneously passing these strategy documents in a counterclockwise direction. When the document reaches your original starting point, you advance to the inner concentric circle while maintaining your relative position to personnel on your immediate left, unless they’ve already advanced, in which case you reference your original right-side colleague."

Bob stared blankly. "I don’t understand the—"

"Perfect!" Douglas interrupted cheerfully. "The discomfort of ambiguity is where growth happens! Now, begin!"

Without further explanation, the assembled employees began moving in a circular pattern. Bob reluctantly joined in, following Malcolm’s lead. Someone handed him a thick binder labeled "Strategic Vision Pathways 2025," which he automatically passed to the person on his other side.

"How long do we keep doing this?" Bob asked as they continued their bizarre procession around the room.

"Until Douglas decides we’re done," Malcolm replied. "Last time it was 47 minutes. My record for these exercises is three hours and twelve minutes."

"Three hours?" Bob nearly stopped walking but was nudged forward by someone behind him.

"That was the 'Stakeholder Empathy Marathon.' We had to continually swap roles while completing each other’s performance reviews. Three people were hospitalized with stress-induced migraines."

As they continued their circular movement, Douglas periodically shouted new instructions: "Reverse direction on value proposition exchange!" or "Accelerate timeline deliverables!" or most confusingly, "Diagonal paradigm shift on my mark!"

Each new command sent the group into momentary chaos before they established a new pattern. Documents, folders, and tablets were passed in increasingly complex patterns. Some people carried multiple items, others balanced binders on their heads while typing on phones.

The most baffling part to Bob was that despite the absurdity of the exercise, everyone was participating with what appeared to be genuine effort. Even Diana Duck, who had earlier been complaining about her ruined suit, was now enthusiastically suggesting modifications to the exercise.

"We should incorporate a feedback loop mechanism!" she called out, to murmurs of agreement.

After nearly forty minutes of this inexplicable activity, Bob noticed that his coffee-soaked clothes had indeed dried—though whether from the exercise or simply the passage of time was debatable. Just as his patience was wearing completely thin, Douglas called out, "And…​ optimization complete!"

Everyone stopped moving abruptly, causing Bob to bump into Malcolm.

"Excellent work, everyone!" Douglas announced, beaming as though they’d accomplished something significant. "By my metrics, today’s Synergy Sprint was 31% more efficient than last quarter’s, with a marked improvement in cross-functional integration!"

This declaration was met with scattered applause. Bob looked around in bewilderment as people congratulated each other on their performance.

"What exactly did we accomplish?" he whispered to Malcolm.

"We generated heat through movement and evaporated the coffee from our clothing," Malcolm replied matter-of-factly. "Plus, according to Douglas, we’ve improved our 'alignment quotient,' whatever that means."

"But we just walked in circles passing papers around!"

"Welcome to corporate team-building," Malcolm said with a shrug. "The appearance of productivity often trumps actual results."

Douglas was now standing on a chair, addressing the group. "As is tradition following a successful alignment exercise, everyone receives recognition for their unique contributions!"

From a standard messenger bag with the company logo, Douglas produced a stack of small cards and began distributing them to each participant. When Bob received his, he found it was a cardstock certificate with the Wonderland, Inc. logo and the words "Certificate of Participation: Team Alignment Excellence" printed in an ornate font. Below this was a blank line where Douglas had hastily scrawled "Bob" with a question mark after it.

"These are the prizes?" Bob asked, turning the certificate over to find nothing on the back.

"They go in your annual review file," Malcolm explained. "Technically they’re worth one-eighth of a performance point."

"What’s a performance point worth?"

"No one knows. I have twenty-seven certificates and I’ve never seen any actual benefit from them."

As people admired their certificates, Douglas approached Malcolm. "Mouse! Just the person I wanted to see. The group could benefit from some historical context on alignment exercises. Would you share your expertise?"

Malcolm adjusted his glasses, clearly pleased at the recognition. "I’d be happy to, Douglas. I’ve documented all team-building activities since my arrival at Wonderland." He pulled out his waterproof notebook. "I can provide a comprehensive overview of exercise efficacy and participant engagement metrics."

"Splendid!" Douglas clapped Malcolm on the shoulder, then addressed the group. "Everyone! Take a seat for a special knowledge-transfer session from our resident process historian!"

The employees arranged themselves on chairs and on the steps of the conference area. Malcolm connected his tablet to a large screen on the wall and opened what appeared to be an endlessly long email thread.

"I’ll begin with the origins of our team alignment methodology," Malcolm announced, scrolling through the email chain. "It all started with a message from William Conqueror in Executive Strategy…​"

Bob watched in fascination as Malcolm projected and narrated the email thread. The messages were displayed in a nested format that, due to varying indentation levels and response chains, created a sinuous shape on the screen that remarkably resembled a tail winding down the display.

Malcolm read message after message in a detailed chronology of Wonderland’s team-building evolution. The names and dates blurred together as Bob struggled to follow the increasingly complex corporate narrative:

"…​and then Edwin and Morcar from Mergers and Acquisitions responded with concerns about resource allocation, which prompted our VP of Corporate Development to exclaim 'We’ve found it!'," Malcolm continued, pointing excitedly at the email thread.

"Found it?" interrupted Diana Duck from Legal, who was reviewing documents during Malcolm’s presentation.

"Found it," Malcolm replied irritably. "It’s right there in the email thread."

"I know what 'it' means when I find something in a contract," Diana replied. "It’s usually a liability or a loophole. What did your VP find exactly?"

Malcolm continued without addressing her question directly, scrolling further through the endless email chain. The shape on the screen grew more tail-like with each new indented reply.

Bob tried to focus, but the combination of corporate jargon, unfamiliar names, and the events of the day made concentration difficult. His eyes grew heavy as Malcolm droned on about "cross-departmental synergy initiatives" and "historical alignment precedents."

"Are you paying attention, Bob?" Malcolm suddenly asked, noticing Bob’s glazed expression.

"Absolutely," Bob replied quickly. "You were talking about…​ email…​ protocols?" He felt confused about what Malcolm was actually trying to explain.

Malcolm frowned. "I was explaining the foundational principles of our team-building methodology as established in the Great Reorganization. This is essential knowledge for navigating Wonderland’s corporate culture."

"Sorry," Bob said sheepishly. "It’s been a long first day."

"Perhaps something more interactive would help engagement," suggested Douglas, ever the facilitator. "Malcolm, why not share your personal journey through the ranks? Your historical narrative of advancement strategies?"

Malcolm brightened at this suggestion. "An excellent idea. I’ve documented my career trajectory meticulously." He adjusted his glasses and began a new presentation titled "Strategic Career Advancement: A Data-Driven Approach."

As Malcolm spoke, Bob noticed that the presentation slides were arranged in a peculiar format, with each bullet point indented further than the last, creating another tail-like shape down the screen.

"My advancement through Wonderland’s corporate hierarchy follows a distinct pattern," Malcolm explained, indicating various points on a complex chart. "Each strategic pivot is documented with corresponding metrics and outcome assessments."

The presentation grew increasingly technical, with flowcharts showing Malcolm’s path through various departments and positions. Bob struggled to follow the methodical but convoluted explanation.

"So you transferred from Accounting to Finance and back to Accounting?" Bob asked, trying to make sense of a particularly complex slide.

"No, no," Malcolm said with mild exasperation. "I was in Accounting Operations, then transitioned laterally to Financial Reporting, followed by a strategic repositioning to Accounting Analytics. They’re completely different verticals with distinct KPI frameworks."

"Right, of course," Bob nodded, though the distinction confused him.

"The critical insight," Malcolm continued, pointing to another slide, "was recognizing the correlation between committee participation and promotion velocity. Each additional working group membership increased advancement probability by 7.2%."

As Malcolm clicked to the next slide, Bob noticed a strange chart labeled "Time Investment Allocation" that showed the majority of Malcolm’s working hours spent in meetings and creating documentation, with only a tiny sliver labeled "Core Accounting Functions."

"Wait," Bob interrupted, unable to contain himself. "According to this, you spend more time documenting your work than actually doing your job?"

The room fell silent. Malcolm stared at Bob with an expression of profound offense, as if Bob had said something deeply personal and hurtful.

"Documenting processes is the job," Malcolm replied coldly. "How else would we ensure alignment and continuity? Without proper documentation, we’d have no evidence of productivity or strategic contribution."

"I meant no offense," Bob backpedaled. "I’m just trying to understand the workflow."

"I think you fundamentally misunderstand Wonderland’s operational philosophy," Malcolm said stiffly, closing his presentation with a sharp tap on his tablet. "Perhaps you lack the necessary context to appreciate process optimization methodology."

The tension in the room was palpable. Other employees shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with both Bob and Malcolm.

Douglas quickly stepped in. "And this is exactly why knowledge-transfer sessions are so valuable! Identifying perspective gaps early allows for targeted alignment interventions!" He turned to Bob with a too-bright smile. "We all experience corporate culture shock initially. I still remember my first week—complete disaster! Showed up to a strategic planning session with actual strategies!" He laughed as if this were the height of absurdity.

No one seemed to know how to respond to this, and an awkward silence descended on the group. Finally, Elizabeth Eaglet from Design spoke up.

"Shouldn’t we be getting back to our departments? I have a deadline at noon."

Bob glanced at his watch. It was already 11:45 AM.

"Of course, of course," Douglas agreed. "Let’s reconvene tomorrow for a retrospective on today’s alignment exercise. Same time, same place!"

As the group dispersed, Bob approached Malcolm, hoping to smooth things over.

"Malcolm, I apologize if I seemed dismissive of your presentation. This is all new to me, and I’m still learning the ropes."

Malcolm sniffed primly but seemed slightly mollified. "I suppose your perspective is understandable given your limited exposure to proper corporate protocols. I can forward you the first batch of emails in the thread to provide better context."

"That would be…​ helpful," Bob replied, trying to sound enthusiastic.

Before Malcolm could respond, they were interrupted by a familiar sound—the rapid pattering of footsteps and the electronic beeping of multiple devices. Harvey White, the executive assistant Bob had followed earlier, rushed into the room, even more frantic than before.

"Late, late, terribly late!" Harvey muttered, barely glancing at the assembled employees as he hurried through. "The quarterly projections meeting started six minutes ago! The executive team is waiting!"

As quickly as he had appeared, Harvey vanished through a door on the far side of the room.

"Should we follow him?" Bob asked, remembering how his pursuit of Harvey had led to this strange journey in the first place.

"Follow an executive assistant during projections week?" Malcolm looked horrified at the suggestion. "Absolutely not. That’s the fastest way to get pulled into high-visibility accountabilities with zero preparation time."

But Bob’s curiosity was already piqued. Something about Harvey’s urgent manner and the mention of an executive team meeting stirred his interest. While Malcolm was distracted gathering his presentation materials, Bob quietly slipped away toward the door Harvey had used.

"I’ll just take a quick look," he told himself. "What’s the worst that could happen?"

The door through which Harvey had disappeared led to yet another corridor, this one more polished and corporate than the previous areas Bob had explored. The walls were lined with motivational posters featuring stock photos of diverse people in business attire looking unreasonably excited about graphs and handshakes.

Bob hurried down the hallway, catching glimpses of Harvey turning corners ahead of him. The executive assistant moved with remarkable speed for someone constantly checking multiple devices.

"Mr. White!" Bob called out, hoping to catch his attention. "Harvey!"

Harvey finally paused at the sound of his name, turning around with a harried expression. When he spotted Bob, his eyes widened in what appeared to be recognition, though Bob was certain they hadn’t formally met.

"Mary Ann! There you are!" Harvey exclaimed, rushing back toward Bob. "Where have you been? I’ve sent seventeen calendar invites, twelve Slack messages, and four high-priority emails!"

"I’m not Mary Ann," Bob began to explain, offering Harvey’s badge. "My name is—"

"No time for identity crisis!" Harvey cut him off, gratefully taking his badge and clipping it to his lanyard. "The executive team needs the Q4 analytics report for the projections meeting that started"—he checked his Apple Watch—"eleven minutes and forty-three seconds ago! Regina is going to have someone’s head for this delay."

"But I don’t have any analytics report," Bob protested. "I just started today."

Harvey stopped abruptly, looking Bob up and down with newfound suspicion. "Are you certain you’re not Mary Ann from Data Analysis?"

"Positive. I’m Bob Henderson. I was supposed to start as a Project Coordinator today, but somehow arrived…​ here." He gestured vaguely at their surroundings.

Harvey’s expression cycled rapidly through confusion, alarm, and then resignation. "Well, you’re wearing a company badge, so you must belong somewhere." He squinted at Bob’s ID. "Transformation Catalyst? That’s a new one. HR keeps optimizing our organizational nomenclature without proper stakeholder notification."

He checked his devices again and made a split-second decision. "Doesn’t matter. You’re here, and I need those reports. You can access Bill Lizard’s workstation and pull the files—he’s out at a vendor meeting until 2:30."

"I really don’t think I should—"

"Here," Harvey interrupted, swiping his own badge through a card reader on the wall. A panel slid open, revealing a computer terminal. Harvey quickly typed a series of commands. "I’ve granted your badge temporary access to the analytics department. Get the Q4 reports from Bill’s computer, bring them to Conference Room E—that’s the Executive Suite, north wing, second floor."

"But I don’t know how to—"

"Just log in with the guest credentials on the sticky note under his keyboard, navigate to the shared drive, and find the folder labeled 'ExecReady.' The files are called Q4_Analytics_Final_FINAL_v7_ACTUAL_FINAL.xlsx and RegionaldataQ4_complete_USE-THIS-ONE.pptx." Harvey recited this without taking a breath.

Before Bob could protest further, Harvey was already rushing away. "Fifteen minutes late now! I’ll stall them with the coffee service delay tactic. Do NOT make me use the printer malfunction excuse again!"

With that, he disappeared around a corner, leaving Bob holding his newly authorized badge and feeling more confused than ever.

"I should just find my way back to reception," Bob muttered to himself. But curiosity—and the fact that he was thoroughly lost—pushed him to follow Harvey’s instructions. Perhaps helping retrieve these reports would lead him to someone who could properly orient him.

Using the badge, Bob passed through a series of security doors, each leading to increasingly specialized department areas. He passed the "Future Forecasting Unit" where employees stared intensely at what appeared to be crystal balls displaying stock charts. Next was the "Retroactive Planning Division" where staff were busily editing documents dated with timestamps from the previous quarter.

The signs grew more specific and unusual as he continued: "Hypothetical Outcome Visualization," "Narrative Adjustment Team," and most puzzlingly, "Department of Redundancy Department."

Finally, Bob reached a door labeled "Quantitative Analytics and Data Interpretation Division (QADID)." He swiped the card and entered a dimly lit room filled with cubicles so small they resembled hutches more than workspaces.

Each cubicle had a nameplate, and Bob moved through the maze until he found one marked "William Lizard, Sr. Data Interpreter (Junior Grade)." The space was barely large enough for the desk it contained, with a chair that had to be pushed fully under the desk to allow the occupant to enter or exit the cubicle.

Bob squeezed himself into the tiny space, his knees bumping against the desk as he sat down. The cubicle walls seemed to press in on him from all sides, lined with printouts of incomprehensible data charts and a small whiteboard covered in mathematical formulas.

The computer was still running, displaying a screensaver of the Wonderland, Inc. logo bouncing around like a DVD player icon. Bob moved the mouse, revealing a login screen. As Harvey had mentioned, there was indeed a sticky note under the keyboard with guest login credentials.

Bob typed in the username ("guest_user_417") and password ("P@ssw0rd!23456_TEMP_d0NT_ch@nge") and pressed Enter. The system whirred to life, opening directly to a desktop cluttered with hundreds of folders and files with names like "IMPORTANT_BACKUP_OLD" and "DELETE_AFTER_REVIEW_2019."

"How am I supposed to find anything in this?" Bob muttered, opening the file explorer to search for the shared drive.

He navigated through an increasingly complex folder structure:

Each subfolder contained dozens more folders with similar naming conventions. Bob’s frustration grew as he clicked through the byzantine structure. When he finally found what appeared to be the right location, he discovered seven different files with nearly identical names to what Harvey had specified, each with different modification dates and version numbers.

Unsure which was truly the latest version, Bob decided to open several files to compare them. He clicked on three Excel files and two PowerPoint presentations one after another. The computer, which appeared to be several years old, struggled under the sudden workload. The fan began to whir loudly.

Bob waited as the files slowly opened. When they finally loaded, he was confronted with spreadsheets containing thousands of rows of data and presentations with hundreds of slides. The computer slowed to a crawl as he attempted to switch between them.

"This is impossible," he muttered, clicking on yet another file in hopes of finding the correct one.

A warning message appeared:

Bob tried to close some of the files, but the computer had become unresponsive. Each click seemed to open another application rather than closing the existing ones. Soon the taskbar was filled with open programs and dialog boxes.

The fan noise increased to a concerning whine. The screen began to flicker. Bob felt panic rising as the computer struggled under his commands. The system couldn’t handle the volume of data he was trying to access.

Another warning appeared:

"No, no, no," Bob groaned, desperately clicking the cancel button. Instead of resolving the issue, this triggered a cascade of new error messages. One particularly ominous dialog box flashed red:

The computer froze completely, displaying only the error message and a progress bar labeled "Collecting incident data for security analysis."

Bob sat back in the too-small chair, a sense of dread washing over him. He’d been at the company for only a few hours and had already triggered a security incident.

Suddenly, the cubicle was filled with the sound of an alarm—not a building-wide emergency alarm, but rather the distinct notification sound of multiple phones receiving the same alert one after another. From beyond the cubicle walls came the sound of rapid movement and urgent voices.

"Section 12 breach!"
"Unauthorized access in QADID!"
"Workstation 27B reporting anomalous activity!"

Bob peeked over the cubicle wall to see several people in matching polo shirts with "IT RESPONSE TEAM" printed on the back hurrying in his direction. They moved with the coordinated precision of a tactical team, each carrying tablets and equipment bags.

Ducking back down, Bob considered his options. He could try to explain the situation—that he was new and had been sent by Harvey—but given how strange everything had been so far, he wasn’t confident that would help. He could make a run for it, but he had no idea how to exit this maze of departments.

Before he could decide, the response team arrived at Bill Lizard’s cubicle. Two team members, who Bob noted were remarkably efficient in their movements despite their small stature, peered over the wall at him.

"Unauthorized user detected," announced one, pointing a tablet at Bob like a weapon.

"Initiating containment protocol," said the other, speaking into a headset. "Subject is in the premises. Repeat, subject is in the premises."

A third responder, taller and thinner than the others, pushed his way to the front. "I’m Pat, IT Security Lead. Identify yourself and explain your presence at this workstation."

"I’m Bob Henderson," he explained, showing his badge. "I just started today. Harvey White asked me to retrieve some files for the executive meeting, but I think I’ve crashed the system."

The team exchanged skeptical glances.

"A likely story," said Pat. "Why would Harvey send a new hire to access sensitive analytics data?"

"He thought I was someone named Mary Ann," Bob explained, realizing how absurd it sounded.

Pat spoke into his headset. "We need Bill Lizard from Analytics. Emergency override on his vendor meeting."

Within minutes, a thin, nervous-looking man with perpetually darting eyes and quick, precise movements hurried into the department. His alarmed expression intensified when he saw the state of his cubicle and the assembled response team.

"My workstation! What’s happening?" Bill asked, his voice rising in pitch.

"This individual claims Harvey White authorized him to access your system," Pat explained, gesturing at Bob.

Bill looked at Bob with growing horror. "That’s impossible! No one touches my data models. The normalization parameters are extremely delicate!"

"I was just trying to find the Q4 reports," Bob explained.

"Q4 reports?" Bill’s expression shifted from horror to confusion. "Those aren’t due until next week. We’re still in Q3."

A chime sounded, and one of the IT responders held up a tablet. "Incoming video call from Executive Suite."

Pat nodded grimly. "Put it on screen."

The largest monitor in the department lit up, displaying a video call with Harvey and several serious-looking executives visible in the background. Harvey’s face went pale when he spotted Bob.

"You’re not Mary Ann," he said, stating the obvious.

"That’s what I was trying to tell you," Bob replied.

A woman with a severe haircut and an aura of absolute authority moved into frame beside Harvey. "What is the meaning of this interruption? We’ve been waiting for those reports for twenty-three minutes."

"Regina Heart, CEO," Pat whispered to Bob.

Harvey was attempting to explain the situation. "A case of mistaken identity, Ms. Heart. I thought this was Mary Ann from Analytics, but it appears to be a new hire who somehow gained access to—"

"Incompetence!" Regina interrupted. "This is exactly the kind of disorganization that undermines our market position. Where is Bill Lizard? He’s responsible for those reports."

Bill stepped forward nervously, moving into view of the camera. "Here, Ms. Heart. But the reports aren’t actually due until—"

"Excuses! I want those figures in five minutes or someone will be seeking employment elsewhere!"

Bill turned away from the camera and attempted to access his frozen computer. "The system’s completely locked up! All my data models for the Stakeholder Dashboard, my projections, my beautifully normalized data tables!"

He tapped frantically at the keyboard with no response. "IT needs to undo whatever he did," Bill said, gesturing dismissively at Bob who was still visible in the background of the call.

Pat signaled to his team. "Total workstation reset. Priority level one."

One of the IT workers produced a device that looked like a cross between a tablet and a defibrillator. "Clear the workspace!"

Everyone stepped back as they applied the device to the computer tower. There was a brief electronic whine, and then all the lights on the computer went out.

"System purged," announced the IT worker. "Initiating remote backup restoration."

Bill looked back at the camera with rising panic. "Remote backup? But that’s from yesterday! I’ll lose all of today’s work!"

"Collateral damage," Pat said unsympathetically, still in view of the call. "Security protocols take precedence over data preservation."

As the IT team worked to restore the system, the executives on the call began side conversations, adding to the chaos. Bill’s frustration visibly mounted as he turned his attention to Bob. "Who authorized you to access my workstation? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The normalization algorithms take hours to calibrate!"

"I’m sorry," Bob said sincerely, awkwardly addressing both Bill and the executives on the call. "Harvey thought I was someone else, and—"

"Harvey!" Bill’s indignation found a new target. "Always rushing, never confirming identities! This isn’t the first time his carelessness has disrupted my work."

Harvey, still on camera, began a stammering defense. "I apologize for the confusion, but we still need those Dashboard analytics for the strategy session!"

"The Q4 Dashboard analytics don’t exist yet!" Bill retorted. "We’re still compiling Q3 data!"

"Then what about the reports you sent last week labeled Q4_preliminary?" Harvey demanded.

"Those were templates! They contain no actual data!"

As the argument escalated on the video call, Regina Heart’s expression grew increasingly thunderous. Bob stood awkwardly in the background, wondering if he could slip away unnoticed.

His movement caught Regina’s eye. "You!" she snapped, pointing directly at Bob through the screen. "The impostor! What department are you actually from?"

Before Bob could respond, Bill interjected, "He claims to be a new hire, but he’s carrying high-level access credentials. It’s highly suspicious!"

The call devolved into accusations and counter-accusations. Bob tried to explain himself several times but was talked over repeatedly. The executives argued about security protocols, reporting timelines, and departmental responsibilities, completely ignoring Bob’s attempts to clarify the situation.

In the midst of this chaos, the system restoration completed with a cheerful chime. Bill’s computer rebooted, but instead of the expected desktop, it displayed a message:

Bill let out a wail of despair that momentarily silenced the ongoing argument. "My models! My beautiful data models!"

His anguished cry somehow cut through the video call chaos. Everyone fell silent, staring at the devastated analyst.

"I had three weeks of work on that system! Unreleased dashboard projections and AI enhancement models that weren’t backed up yet!" Bill’s voice rose in pitch as his professional life flashed before his eyes. "The quarterly dashboard strategy depends on those models!"

On screen, Regina Heart’s face transformed from anger to something far more dangerous: cold calculation.

"Bill," she said with unnerving calm, "are you telling me that crucial company projections were stored locally on your machine without proper backup protocols?"

Bill’s face went pale. "I…​ I was going to upload them to the secure server tonight…​"

"That’s a direct violation of data security policy 5.7.3," Regina stated flatly. "Perhaps you need time to review our information management protocols."

"No, please, I can recover the data! I just need—"

"This discussion is over," Regina interrupted. "HR will contact you regarding next steps."

The executives began dropping off the call one by one, leaving only Harvey, who looked both relieved that attention had shifted away from him and horrified at the unfolding career catastrophe.

"Bill, I’m so sorry," Harvey began, but Bill angrily disconnected the call, plunging the department into uncomfortable silence.

All eyes turned to Bob, who stood frozen in the middle of the analytics department, surrounded by the IT team and a shell-shocked Bill Lizard.

"I think," Bob said carefully, "I should probably go now."

"Yes," Pat agreed tersely. "You should."

As Bob edged toward the exit, Bill sat motionless in his chair, staring at the error message with the thousand-yard stare of someone witnessing their career implode.

Bob felt terrible. "For what it’s worth, I really am sorry about your data. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Bill didn’t respond directly, but muttered to himself, "Three weeks of modeling…​ gradient descent algorithms fine-tuned to perfection…​ validation sets hand-crafted…​"

Pat ushered Bob toward the door. "I’d recommend finding your way back to HR for proper orientation. And perhaps avoiding the executive floor for…​ well, forever."

In the corridor outside the analytics department, Bob took a deep breath, trying to process everything that had happened. He’d been at Wonderland, Inc. for less than a day and had already been mistaken for someone else, crashed a critical system, and potentially cost someone their job.

"I need to find my way out of here," he decided, looking up and down the hallway for exit signs or directions to reception.

To his surprise, as he turned around, he noticed a door directly across the hallway with a small placard reading "ORIENTATION THIS WAY" with an arrow pointing inward. He was certain the door hadn’t been visible when he’d first entered this corridor.

With few other options and a strong desire to escape the aftermath of the analytics department disaster, Bob followed the sign, hoping it would lead him back to some semblance of normalcy. What he found instead was a door labeled "IT Director - Marcus Denton" surrounded by a haze of what appeared to be vapor.

Bob hesitated, hand poised to knock. After the chaos he’d just caused in one department, was it wise to approach another? But the sign had pointed this way, and perhaps an IT Director could help untangle the mess he’d found himself in.

Before he could decide, the door swung open on its own, revealing a dimly lit office filled with gently swirling clouds of vapor.

"Enter," said a languid voice from within, "I’ve been expecting you."

The IT Director’s office was unlike anything Bob had seen in the building so far. The space was unusually designed with server towers creating a maze-like interior. The blue glow of multiple monitors provided the primary illumination, giving the room an otherworldly atmosphere.

Bob found Marcus Denton perched on an extremely tall ergonomic chair that had been extended to its maximum height. The IT Director was lanky and pale, dressed in a black turtleneck and designer jeans that contrasted sharply with the corporate dress code Bob had observed throughout Wonderland, Inc. Marcus was vaping continuously, creating clouds that swirled gently around his elevated workspace.

Instead of welcoming Bob or offering assistance, Marcus looked down at him with an expression of detached curiosity. "Who are you?" he asked simply.

"Hello," Bob ventured after an uncomfortable silence. "I was directed here by a sign in the hallway. I’m new, and I’m trying to find my way back to orientation or HR."

Marcus continued to stare at Bob, taking another pull from his vape pen. Finally, he spoke in a languid voice that somehow conveyed both boredom and intensity.

"Who are you?" he repeated, emphasizing each word as if Bob had failed to understand a simple question.

"I just told you—"

"No," Marcus interrupted, "you provided a label and a corporate designation. That’s not identity. That’s taxonomy." He leaned forward slightly. "Let me be more specific: Who are you on our network?"

Bob paused, unsure how to respond. "I don’t think I’ve been fully onboarded to your systems yet."

Marcus tapped briefly on one of the many keyboards arranged around his elevated workspace. Screens flickered to life, displaying scrolling data.

"Curious," he murmured. "According to our systems, 'Bob Henderson' has been accessing our network for the past three weeks. Seventeen unique logins across twelve different subsystems, including multiple queries about the Dashboard project’s data architecture." He looked down at Bob with renewed interest. "Are you certain today is your first day?"

"Absolutely positive," Bob replied, increasingly unsettled. "My offer letter specified February 25th as my start date. Today."

"Yet our digital onboarding template for your profile was initialized on February 3rd. Your virtual identity has been active for some time." Marcus continued scrolling through data screens. "You’ve already established quite a digital footprint within our systems."

"That’s impossible," Bob protested. "I haven’t accessed any Wonderland systems before today."

"The logs disagree," Marcus replied calmly. "Perhaps a better question is: What is the relationship between you, the physical entity standing before me, and the digital identity that has been operating under your credentials?"

Bob felt a chill despite the warmth of the server-filled room. "Are you suggesting someone has been using my identity within the company before I even started?"

Marcus took another long pull from his vape pen, the tip glowing blue. "I’m not suggesting anything. I’m merely highlighting a discrepancy between physical presence and digital footprint." He exhaled, the vapor forming shapes that almost resembled question marks before dissipating. "Identity is fluid in the modern enterprise. Digital, physical, professional—these are merely facets of a fractured whole."

Bob struggled to make sense of this philosophical tangent. "Look, I think there’s been some kind of mix-up. I applied for a Project Coordinator position, received an offer letter, and showed up today as instructed. Anything happening before that wasn’t me."

"Intriguing," Marcus replied, sounding genuinely interested for the first time. "A case of digital identity preceding physical instantiation." He tapped more commands into his keyboard. "Your situation is anomalous. But then, anomalies often reveal systemic truths."

More screens illuminated around Marcus’s elevated workstation, displaying what appeared to be Bob’s entire employment application, along with his social media profiles, credit score, and what looked disturbingly like his private browsing history.

"What are you doing?" Bob asked, alarmed at the invasion of privacy. "How do you have access to all of that?"

"Standard digital footprint analysis," Marcus replied as if it were obvious. "We maintain comprehensive profiles on all employees—past, present, and potential. Your digital shadow extends far beyond what you perceive."

He rotated one of the screens to show Bob a complex diagram that appeared to map his entire online presence, including services Bob didn’t even remember signing up for.

"This is—this is invasive," Bob stammered, taken aback by the comprehensive surveillance.

"Privacy is an antiquated concept," Marcus said with a dismissive wave. "Data flows freely within the modern corporate ecosystem. The real question is not what we know about you, but what you know about yourself."

He descended slightly in his chair—though still remaining well above Bob’s eye level—and fixed him with a penetrating stare. "So I return to my original query: Who are you?"

There was something in his tone that made the question feel profound rather than repetitive. Bob found himself genuinely considering how to answer, beyond the obvious responses of name and title.

"I’m someone who values clarity and purpose," Bob said after a moment. "I’m detail-oriented but also see the big picture. I’m adaptable but not to the point of losing my core principles. I believe in honest communication and—" He stopped, feeling ridiculous having this existential conversation with an IT Director perched on an absurdly tall chair. "I’m just trying to make sense of this company and find my actual position."

Marcus nodded slowly. "An adequate response. Most new hires simply repeat their LinkedIn profile summary."

He tapped a few more keys, and one by one, the screens displaying Bob’s personal information went dark.

"Your confusion is understandable," Marcus continued in his languid tone. "Wonderland operates on principles that often appear counterintuitive to outsiders. The organizational structure is non-Euclidean. Reporting lines form Möbius strips. Departments exist in quantum superposition."

"That doesn’t make any sense," Bob said, his patience wearing thin. "A company can’t function that way."

"Yet here we are," Marcus replied with the faintest hint of a smile. "Functioning, after a fashion." He took another pull from his vape pen. "The question becomes not whether it makes sense, but how one navigates such a system."

Bob sighed. "That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out. How do I navigate back to somewhere familiar? How do I find my actual position? How do I make sense of all this?"

"The answers to those questions depend entirely on what level of access you wish to maintain," Marcus said cryptically. He reached into a drawer and produced two identical USB drives, one white and one black. "Corporate navigation is a matter of permissions and restrictions."

"What are those?" Bob asked, eyeing the drives suspiciously.

"Options," Marcus replied. "The white drive contains administrative credentials—elevated access that will allow you to move freely through most of our systems and physical spaces. The black drive contains restricted credentials—limited access that provides security through obscurity."

He held one drive in each hand, extending them toward Bob. "One will expand your presence within Wonderland. One will contract it. Choose according to your nature."

Bob looked between the two drives skeptically. "And I’m supposed to just choose one without knowing the consequences?"

"All choices have unknown consequences," Marcus replied. "That’s what makes them interesting."

"Can’t you just give me directions to HR or reception?"

"I could," Marcus conceded, "but that would merely address your immediate circumstance, not your fundamental situation." He continued holding out the drives. "Choose."

Bob weighed his options. The white drive might give him access to find answers, but could also lead to more trouble like what happened with Bill’s computer. The black drive sounded limiting, but might keep him out of further chaos until he could make sense of things.

After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for the black drive.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Most choose expanded access without consideration of the responsibilities it entails." He withdrew the white drive and handed Bob the black one. "A choice that reflects caution rather than ambition. Noted."

Bob pocketed the USB drive. "Now will you please tell me how to get back to reception or HR?"

"That information is no longer relevant to your trajectory," Marcus said, returning to his full height on the elevated chair. "Your selection has determined your path forward."

"What does that mean?" Bob asked, frustration evident in his voice.

"It means," Marcus explained while typing commands into his system, "that you have chosen a path of observation rather than intervention. The restricted credentials will guide you accordingly."

A door on the far side of the office, which Bob hadn’t noticed before, slid open with a soft hiss.

"That exit will lead you to your next destination," Marcus said, already turning his attention back to his screens. "One piece of advice before you depart: in Wonderland, the distinction between advancing and retreating is often illusory. Sometimes to go up, one must first go down. Sometimes to grow larger, one must first become smaller."

"That’s not advice," Bob protested. "That’s a riddle."

"Is there a difference?" Marcus asked without looking up.

Bob could see that further conversation would be futile. He moved toward the open door, USB drive clutched in his hand.

"One last question," Marcus called as Bob reached the threshold. "What is your primary function here at Wonderland?"

Bob turned back with a frown. "According to my offer letter, project coordination."

"No," Marcus shook his head. "According to your digital footprint analysis and algorithmic role alignment, your primary function appears to be pattern recognition and systemic anomaly identification."

"I don’t know what that means," Bob admitted.

Marcus gazed down at him thoughtfully. "It means you see inconsistencies that others have learned to ignore. An unusual quality at Wonderland—both valuable and dangerous." He made a dismissive gesture. "You may proceed."

With no better options, Bob stepped through the doorway, which closed silently behind him. He found himself in yet another corridor, but this one was different—brighter, more modern, with clear directional signs on the walls.

Bob examined the black USB drive in his hand, wondering what restricted access would actually mean for his journey through Wonderland, Inc. He located a nearby computer terminal mounted on the wall and, after a moment’s hesitation, inserted the drive.

The screen immediately displayed a map of his current location with a highlighted path. According to the map, he was now on the opposite side of the building from where he had started, in an area labeled "Product Development & Implementation."

Bob removed the drive and pocketed it, somewhat relieved to finally have some clarity about his location. Following the indicated path, he moved through the corridor with growing confidence. The signs and directions were straightforward, the architecture normal. Perhaps he had finally reached a more sensible part of the company.

As he turned a corner, Bob came upon a door labeled "Product Management Suite." From inside, he could hear raised voices—someone was clearly being berated in harsh tones. Bob hesitated, not wanting to walk into another uncomfortable situation, but the mapped path led directly through this department.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The Product Management Suite was not what Bob expected. Instead of the modern, collaborative space suggested by the hallway outside, he found himself in a chaotic open office that hadn’t been renovated since the early 2000s. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and the air was thick with tension.

In the center of the space stood a woman in an impeccably tailored suit, her silver hair styled in a severe bob, designer glasses perched on her nose. She was leaning over the desk of a harried-looking young man, pointing aggressively at his monitor while berating him in rapid-fire corporate speak.

"These metrics are completely unacceptable!" she snapped. "We need to leverage our core competencies to drive synergistic growth in our KPIs! Where’s the hockey stick projection I requested?"

"I’m trying, Ms. Duchess," the young man replied, frantically clicking through spreadsheets. "But the user testing suggests that adding fifteen new features before launch might negatively impact adoption rates."

"Testing!" she scoffed. "Since when do users know what they want? We’re innovators! Visionaries! Add the features!"

Bob hesitated in the doorway, reluctant to interrupt what was clearly an unpleasant conversation. Before he could retreat, the woman’s head snapped up, her piercing gaze locking onto him like targeting software.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Are you from Finance? Did Karl send you to spy on my department?"

"No, I’m Bob Henderson. I’m new," he explained, showing his badge. "I was just passing through on my way to—"

"Frances Duchess, Chief Financial Officer," she interrupted, straightening to her full height. "But everyone calls me Frankie." She narrowed her eyes. "Transformation Catalyst? Is that another one of Regina’s invented positions that will drain my budget?"

"I don’t actually know," Bob admitted. "There seems to be some confusion about my role."

Frankie made a dismissive noise and turned back to the young man at the desk. "Peter, show our new colleague what you’re working on. Perhaps a fresh perspective will help you understand why your approach is completely wrong."

Peter looked up with the desperate expression of someone searching for any distraction from their current torment. "Of course, Ms. Duchess. I’d be happy to walk through the Dashboard interface design."

Frankie checked her watch. "I have a budget optimization committee meeting in two minutes. I expect to see revised projections when I return." She pointed at Bob. "You. Make yourself useful. Tell him why his design lacks ambition."

Before Bob could respond, Frankie had already started walking away, firing off emails on her phone as she moved. She paused at a desk near the door where a young woman was adding data to a presentation.

"Those quarterly forecast slides need to be ready in fifteen minutes!" Frankie called over her shoulder as she disappeared through the door.

The atmosphere in the room seemed to lighten the moment she exited, as if everyone could finally exhale. Several product team members visibly relaxed, though Peter continued staring anxiously at his screen.

Bob approached Peter’s desk, feeling somewhat obligated to follow through on Frankie’s directive, even if he had no intention of criticizing the poor man’s work.

"I’m sorry about barging in like this," Bob said. "I’m actually just trying to find my way around the building."

"No apology necessary," Peter said, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Any interruption of Frankie’s micromanagement is welcome." He gestured to a chair beside his desk. "I’m Peter Porkus, Senior Product Manager for the Stakeholder Sentiment Dashboard."

Bob took the offered seat, noticing that Peter’s desk was cluttered with energy drink cans, protein bar wrappers, and multiple devices displaying various metrics and dashboards. Three monitors showed different aspects of what appeared to be a product interface, while a fourth displayed an ever-updating series of graphs and numbers.

"What exactly is this Dashboard?" Bob asked.

Peter brightened at the question, seemingly grateful for the opportunity to talk about something other than growth projections. "It’s our flagship product—a revolutionary user-centric system designed to transform digital engagement paradigms through immersive interface modalities and seamless integration of—"

"Sorry," Bob interrupted gently. "Could you explain it in simpler terms?"

Peter blinked, then laughed. "Right. You’re new. You haven’t been fully indoctrinated into Wonderland-speak yet." He leaned in conspiratorially. "It’s basically a dashboard that consolidates various business applications into a single interface. It was elegantly simple when I first designed it."

He gestured to a whiteboard covered in red markup. "Then Marketing got involved. Then Sales. Then Executive Vision. Now it’s becoming a bloated monster with features nobody will use. The latest mandate is to rebrand it as 'AI-powered' when there’s barely any actual intelligence in it, artificial or otherwise."

As Peter spoke, Bob noticed activity around the whiteboard as several people from the product team gathered, arguing intensely while adding even more feature ideas to the already crowded dashboard mockup.

"What’s happening over there?" Bob asked.

"Oh, that’s the product enhancement committee," Peter explained with a grimace. "They’re 'spicing up' the Dashboard with additional features before launch."

Bob watched as one person aggressively wrote several new widgets onto the whiteboard, while others argued about whether that was too much or not enough.

"Is that…​ normal?" Bob asked hesitantly.

"For this department? Absolutely. Everyone feels entitled to add their 'special ingredient' to the product, regardless of whether it makes sense or not." Peter sighed heavily. "They call it 'collaborative innovation.' I call it 'death by committee.'"

Another loud disagreement broke out by the whiteboard, with someone shouting, "More engagement drivers! We need stickiness!" while squeezing another feature into an already overcrowded corner of the design.

Peter winced at the commotion. "They’re going to ruin it. The product was perfect in its simplicity, but now…​" His voice trailed off as he gestured helplessly at his screens, where the interface was clearly becoming more cluttered with each iteration.

"Can’t you push back?" Bob suggested. "Explain that adding too many features might harm the user experience?"

"I’ve tried," Peter said, pulling up a document on one of his screens. "Look at this user research. It clearly shows that users want simplicity and reliability. But Frankie and the executive team are obsessed with 'feature richness' and 'competitive differentiators.'"

He clicked through several screens showing the product’s evolution. What had started as a clean, intuitive interface had gradually morphed into a cluttered dashboard overflowing with buttons, toggles, panels, and pop-ups.

"Every day it gets worse," Peter continued, a note of genuine distress in his voice. "Every meeting adds three more 'must-have' features. Every executive review demands more complexity disguised as innovation."

As Peter spoke, Bob noticed a woman watching them from across the room. She was leaning against a wall with an amused expression, somehow unnoticed by the arguing committee yet observing everything. When she caught Bob looking at her, she gave him a knowing wink.

"Who’s that?" Bob asked, nodding toward the woman.

Peter glanced over. "That’s Cheri Fisher, the Office Manager. You’ll find her in unexpected places. Don’t mind her—she just watches things unfold."

As if on cue, Cheri pushed away from the wall and strolled over to them. Her movement was casual yet deliberate.

"New blood in Product Management?" she asked, her gaze fixed on Bob. "How refreshing. Most newcomers don’t find their way to this department so quickly."

"I’m not actually sure I’m supposed to be here," Bob admitted. "I’m still trying to figure out where I belong in the company."

"Aren’t we all?" Cheri replied. "Though some belong nowhere and everywhere simultaneously. It’s all about perspective." She glanced at Peter’s monitors. "Another feature frenzy today? The Dashboard is looking rather…​ robust."

Peter groaned. "It’s getting worse by the hour. They won’t stop adding features."

"Feature creep is the corporate equivalent of kudzu," Cheri observed. "It grows uncontrollably, choking everything in its path, yet everyone keeps planting more because it looks pretty on PowerPoint slides."

Before Bob could respond to this strange metaphor, Frankie Duchess burst back into the department, her face flushed with what appeared to be anger.

"Budget meeting canceled!" she announced to no one in particular. "Apparently Regina decided to restructure the entire financial strategy without consulting the actual CFO!" She stormed toward Peter’s desk, then noticed Cheri and stopped abruptly.

"Fisher," she acknowledged tersely. "Observing again? How fascinating that you always appear exactly where decisions are being made."

"Just passing through, as always," Cheri replied. "Someone needs to witness the process."

Frankie made a dismissive noise and turned her attention to Peter. "Where are those revised projections?"

"I was just explaining our current feature set to Bob," Peter stammered. "I’ll have the projections to you within the hour."

"Unacceptable," Frankie snapped. She thrust a tablet into Bob’s hands. "You. Since you’re a 'Transformation Catalyst,' analyze this financial model and tell me what’s wrong with Peter’s growth projections."

Bob looked down at the screen, which displayed a complex spreadsheet filled with numbers, formulas, and multiple tabs with inscrutable labels like "Q4_RevOps_Forecast_v7_FINAL_ACTUAL."

"I don’t think I’m qualified to—" Bob began.

"That’s exactly the problem with this department!" Frankie interrupted, turning back to Peter. "No one wants to make definitive judgments! No one wants to commit to aggressive targets!"

She leaned over Peter’s desk, pointing at his monitors. "I want to see double-digit growth projections, feature parity plus market differentiators, and a clear path to category domination! Why is that so difficult to understand?"

"But the user research suggests—" Peter tried again.

"Users don’t understand innovation!" Frankie’s voice rose sharply. "We’re creating the future here, not responding to limited imaginations!"

As the argument escalated, Bob noticed the product enhancement team had abandoned the whiteboard and was now huddled in a corner, whispering urgently while occasionally glancing toward Frankie. The Dashboard mockup was now so crowded with features and widgets that the original interface was barely recognizable.

Cheri leaned closer to Bob and murmured, "Might want to step back. This is when things typically get transformative around here."

Before Bob could ask what she meant, Frankie slammed a hand on Peter’s desk, causing him to jump.

"I need to prepare for my meeting with Finance," she declared. "When I return, I expect to see a complete revision of this entire product strategy with aggressive growth metrics. No excuses!"

She thrust a stack of reports into Peter’s hands. "Analyze these competitor features and incorporate all of them into our platform. Every. Single. One."

Without waiting for a response, Frankie stormed out again, leaving a tense silence in her wake.

Peter stared at the reports in his hands, then at his screens displaying the already cluttered product interface. Something in his expression changed—a subtle shift that Bob found difficult to define but impossible to miss.

"Are you okay?" Bob asked gently.

Peter didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice had a different quality—flatter, more mechanical. "Need to assess competitive features. Need to incorporate growth drivers. Need to optimize engagement metrics."

He turned to his computer and began frantically typing, his eyes fixed on the numbers and charts. "Must increase daily active users. Must reduce churn. Must accelerate conversion funnel."

"Peter?" Bob tried again, growing concerned.

Peter continued as if he hadn’t heard, now muttering about "cohort analysis" and "virality coefficients" while inputting data at an alarming rate. His earlier distress about feature bloat seemed forgotten, replaced by a single-minded focus on metrics and growth.

"What’s happening to him?" Bob asked Cheri, who was watching with subtle amusement.

"Same thing that happens to all product visionaries here eventually," she replied with a shrug. "The transformation is complete when they stop caring about the product and start obsessing over the metrics."

"But he was just arguing for user experience and simplicity," Bob protested.

"And now he’s a perfect metrics machine," Cheri observed. "It’s more efficient this way. Products are messy, subjective things. Numbers are clean and unambiguous."

Bob watched in dismay as Peter continued his transformation, now speaking exclusively in KPIs and growth terminology. The human element that had been evident in his earlier conversation was rapidly disappearing, replaced by an almost mechanical focus on quantifiable outputs.

"This can’t be right," Bob said, standing up and backing away from the desk. "There was a person there just minutes ago."

"There still is," Cheri replied. "Just reprioritized. Core humanity is now a background process while metrics optimization runs in the foreground." Her smile remained. "It happens to everyone in Product eventually. Some just take longer than others."

Bob looked around the department, noticing that the other team members shared the same focused expression as they worked on their respective dashboards. No one was discussing user experience or product value—only conversion rates, engagement statistics, and growth projections.

"I should go," Bob said, edging toward the door. "I don’t think I can help here."

"Probably wise," Cheri agreed, following him with that consistent smile. "Unless you’re interested in a similar transformation. Wonderland is always looking for more metrics-focused professionals."

"No, thank you," Bob said firmly. "I prefer to maintain my…​ perspective."

"How refreshing," Cheri remarked. "Most new hires don’t resist the transformation so explicitly. You’re an interesting anomaly, Bob Henderson."

As Bob reached the door, he glanced back at Peter, who was now surrounded by other team members, all speaking rapidly in metric-focused jargon, their expressions unnervingly similar.

"Does anyone ever change back?" Bob asked. "After they become…​ like that?"

Cheri’s expression changed almost imperceptibly—the first shift Bob had witnessed. "Not that I’ve observed. Once the transformation happens, it tends to be permanent." She tilted her head curiously. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"Of course it does," Bob replied. "It’s like watching someone lose their identity."

"Or gain a new one," Cheri countered. "Perspective, as I said. In Wonderland, transformations happen constantly. The question is whether you recognize them for what they are."

With that cryptic statement, she turned and walked away, disappearing between two cubicles as Bob exited into the hallway. He found himself facing a corridor he hadn’t noticed before.

Taking a deep breath, he walked toward a door labeled "Marketing Department - Timothy Hatter, Director." From behind the door came the sound of animated voices and the clinking of cups, as if a meeting or gathering was in progress.

Bob checked his watch. It was 3:30 PM, though it felt like he’d spent only a short time in the Product Management department. He hesitated, wondering whether to continue his exploration of Wonderland, Inc. or to redouble his efforts to find an exit.

The voices from the Marketing Department grew louder, accompanied by what sounded like off-key singing. Curiosity once again overcame caution. After all, how much stranger could things get?

With that dangerously naive thought, Bob approached the door and knocked.

After knocking twice with no response, Bob cautiously pushed open the door to the Marketing Department. The scene that greeted him was simultaneously familiar and bizarre—a large conference room dominated by an oval table, but one that appeared to extend much further than the room’s dimensions should allow.

The table was cluttered with laptops, tablets, coffee cups, half-eaten pastries, and stacks of papers that looked untouched. A presentation was frozen on the screen at the front of the room, displaying a slide titled "PARADIGM-SHIFTING BRAND EVOLUTION STRATEGY (DAY 42)."

Three people sat at the far end of the table despite there being at least twenty empty chairs. They were engaged in what appeared to be an intense discussion, complete with animated gestures and occasional bursts of strained laughter.

"Excuse me," Bob called out, but none of them seemed to notice his entrance.

He walked further into the room, taking in more details. Every wall clock showed exactly 4:59 PM, despite his watch indicating it was now closer to 3:45. Scattered around the room were numerous empty coffee cups, some looking quite old based on the dried residue inside them.

As Bob approached the occupied end of the table, he could finally make out the conversation.

"—which is why I maintain that cross-platform synergistic messaging requires disruptive innovation in our omnichannel strategy!" declared a man in a blindingly colorful suit and a bow tie that appeared to be made of actual blinking LED lights. His wild hair stood in all directions, and he wore at least three Bluetooth earpieces—one in each ear and a third inexplicably clipped to his eyebrow.

"But we’ve already pivoted our core messaging framework six times this quarter," replied a frazzled-looking woman with nervous, twitchy movements. She was surrounded by multiple phones that kept buzzing, each time causing her to jump slightly. "The press release has been rewritten seventeen times, Timothy!"

"Details, details, Marcia!" the man—presumably Timothy Hatter, the Marketing Director—waved dismissively. "Brands are living entities! They require constant nourishment through strategic repositioning!"

The third person at the table, a young woman who appeared to be in her early twenties, was slumped forward with her head on her laptop keyboard, apparently asleep. Neither of the others seemed to find this strange.

Bob cleared his throat loudly. This time, all three looked up—even the sleeping intern, who jerked awake with a snort, leaving a keyboard imprint on her cheek.

"We have a visitor!" Timothy announced with exaggerated delight, as if Bob were a long-lost friend rather than a stranger. "Come in, come in! Are you from the Brand Perception Analytics team? We’ve been waiting for your segment input!"

"No room! No room!" Marcia contradicted anxiously, gesturing at the nearly empty table. "The agenda is already overcapacity!"

"I’m not from Analytics," Bob explained. "I’m new to the company. Bob Henderson." He gestured at his badge. "I was just—"

"New?" Timothy’s eyes lit up. "Perfect! A fresh perspective is exactly what this ideation session needs!" He pointed to a chair. "Sit! Sit! We’re just getting to the good part!"

"I’ve been here since 9 AM," mumbled the young intern, rubbing her eyes. "Is it still Tuesday?"

"It’s Monday," Bob said gently. "February 25th."

The intern looked genuinely confused. "But we started this meeting last Tuesday…​"

"Time is subjective in strategic planning sessions, Dora," Timothy declared, tapping his multiple watches. He was, Bob now noticed, wearing at least five of them on each wrist, all showing different times. "We exist in a deadline-fluid paradigm."

"I really just stopped by to ask for directions," Bob tried again. "I’m trying to find my way back to the main reception or HR."

"Directions? We’ve got plenty of those!" Timothy laughed uproariously at his own joke. "North, south, east, west, up, down, inside-out! Marketing is multidimensional navigation of the consumer psyche!"

Marcia abruptly stood, gathering her devices. "We need to shift positions! Optimization requirement!"

Without explanation, everyone—including Dora, who moved as if on autopilot—stood up and moved one seat to the right. Timothy gestured impatiently for Bob to take Dora’s vacated seat.

Not seeing an alternative that wouldn’t seem rude, Bob sat down. "What exactly is this meeting about?"

All three looked at him as if he’d asked why water was wet.

"It’s The Meeting," Dora said, as if that explained everything.

"The perpetual alignment summit," Marcia added, checking all her phones in rapid succession.

"The never-ending story of brand evolution!" Timothy spread his arms dramatically. "We’re currently on slide 39 of 2,394, though we frequently loop back to earlier concepts when experiencing strategic clarity deficits."

Bob glanced at the presentation screen, which still hadn’t changed. "How long has this meeting been going on?"

The three exchanged glances.

"What day did you say it was?" Timothy asked, squinting at his collection of watches.

"Monday. February 25th," Bob repeated.

Timothy consulted a comically large calendar on the wall. "Then we’re on day…​ 37 of the Q1 Marketing Strategy Synergization Summit."

"Thirty-seven days?" Bob asked incredulously.

"Is that a long time?" Timothy seemed genuinely puzzled. "Time moves differently in Marketing. We’re temporally disruptive."

"It’s because we broke Time," Dora said matter-of-factly, then immediately dropped her head back onto her laptop and appeared to fall instantly asleep.

"Broke time?" Bob echoed, wondering if he’d misheard.

"A most unfortunate incident," Timothy nodded solemnly. "We were preparing for the Heart Rebranding Campaign launch last year—or was it next year?—when we attempted to move a deadline."

"We didn’t just move it," Marcia interjected, twitching as another phone buzzed. "We attempted to eliminate it completely through temporal reorganization."

"Time didn’t appreciate our disruptive approach," Timothy continued. "Now all our meetings exist in a state of perpetual progression without conclusion."

"That’s…​ not possible," Bob said carefully.

"And yet, here we are!" Timothy gestured around the room. "Eternally strategizing, forever ideating, continuously aligning!"

Marcia leaned toward Bob conspiratorially. "The clocks haven’t moved since The Incident. We’ve tried replacing them, but they all freeze at 4:59 PM. It’s always almost time to leave, but never quite time."

"Have you considered just…​ ending the meeting?" Bob suggested. "Standing up and walking out?"

All three stared at him in horror.

"End a meeting without actionable next steps and comprehensive stakeholder alignment?" Marcia clutched her collection of phones to her chest as if Bob had suggested something obscene.

"Without a properly formulated go-to-market strategy with full channel penetration planning?" Timothy looked physically pained by the thought.

"Without completing the deck?" Dora had awoken again, her expression aghast.

Before Bob could respond, Timothy clapped his hands. "Coffee break! Rotate positions!"

Once again, everyone stood and moved one seat to the right. Bob, baffled but not wanting to appear difficult, followed suit.

"But there’s already coffee on the table," he pointed out, gesturing to the numerous cups.

"True, but no one ever drinks it," Timothy explained, settling into his new seat. "It’s a symbolic caffeine ritual representing our perpetual state of almost-productivity."

Bob noticed that all the pastries on the table were similarly untouched despite looking stale. "Does no one eat, either?"

"Can’t eat until the meeting concludes," Marcia said, arranging her phones in a semi-circle around her new position. "It’s in the agenda. Item 2,347: 'Celebratory sustenance upon strategic alignment achievement.'"

"But if the meeting never ends…​"

"Precisely why we’re always so energized!" Timothy beamed, though Bob noticed the deep exhaustion behind his manic expression. "Nothing motivates like perpetual anticipation of conclusion!"

Dora mumbled something incoherent, her face once again pressed against her keyboard.

"What was that?" Bob asked.

Timothy waved dismissively. "Dora occasionally offers brilliant insights in her semiconscious state. Last week—or perhaps it was tomorrow—she provided the naming convention for our new Dashboard while sleeptalking."

"We implemented it immediately," Marcia added. "Though we’re not entirely sure what it means."

Timothy suddenly focused intently on Bob. "Why is a whitepaper like a webinar?"

"I…​ don’t know," Bob replied, taken aback by the non-sequitur.

"Exactly!" Timothy seemed delighted by this response. "No one does! Yet we produce thousands of both annually!"

"That doesn’t make any sense," Bob said.

"Welcome to marketing," Marcia responded dryly, then jumped as three of her phones buzzed simultaneously. "Potential PR crisis brewing on social media! Someone used our brand name in conjunction with an unflattering emoji!"

Timothy leaned toward his multiple Bluetooth devices. "Deploy the sentiment adjustment team! Activate the positive engagement protocols!"

"Is that really necessary for an emoji?" Bob asked.

Both stared at him as if he’d suggested canceling Christmas.

"Brand perception exists in a quantum state of perpetual vulnerability," Timothy explained gravely. "One misplaced emoji can collapse the entire wave function of consumer confidence."

"We once lost 0.03% market share when a celebrity used our competitor’s product in an Instagram story background," Marcia added, furiously typing on multiple devices. "Never again."

Bob was beginning to feel disoriented by the conversation, which seemed to swirl around actual meaning without ever quite landing on it. He decided to try a different approach.

"Could you at least tell me what Wonderland, Inc. actually does as a company? What products or services does it offer?"

The question was met with stunned silence. Timothy and Marcia exchanged confused glances.

"What Wonderland does?" Timothy repeated slowly, as if the question were in a foreign language.

"Yes," Bob pressed. "What’s the core business?"

"Well, we…​" Timothy began, then frowned. "That is to say, our primary value proposition centers around…​"

"Our mission statement clearly defines our business as…​" Marcia attempted, then faltered.

Dora mumbled, "We make the things that do the stuff for the people who need the solutions."

"Exactly!" Timothy pointed enthusiastically at the intern. "Couldn’t have said it better myself! We’re solution providers in the experience economy!"

"But solutions to what problems?" Bob persisted.

"All problems!" Timothy spread his arms wide. "And problems yet to be discovered! We’re pre-solving future challenges through proactive innovation engineering!"

Bob realized he wasn’t going to get a straight answer. "I think I should probably continue trying to find my way out."

"But you can’t leave now!" Marcia protested. "We haven’t gotten to your segment of the presentation!"

"I don’t have a segment," Bob reminded her. "I’m not even supposed to be in this meeting."

"Everyone has a segment," Timothy insisted. "That’s the beauty of inclusive stakeholder engagement!"

He clicked a remote, and the presentation finally advanced to a new slide titled "FEEDBACK FROM UNDEFINED CONTRIBUTORS WITH UNCERTAIN RELEVANCE TO CORE OBJECTIVES."

"See?" Timothy gestured proudly at the screen. "Your slide!"

The slide was completely blank apart from the title.

"I don’t have any feedback to contribute," Bob said apologetically. "I still don’t understand what you’re planning for the Dashboard."

Timothy’s expression suddenly shifted, becoming uncharacteristically serious. "Have you tried turning it off and on again?"

"What?" Bob was confused by the abrupt change of topic.

"Your perception," Timothy clarified, tapping his temple. "Sometimes you need to reboot your conceptual framework to achieve synaptic disruption."

"I don’t know what that means," Bob admitted.

"It means," Timothy leaned forward, "that you’re trying to understand Wonderland through conventional corporate logic. That’s like trying to smell the color nine. You’ll never grasp the essence until you abandon the constraints of traditional business coherence."

There was an unexpected depth to this statement that caught Bob off guard. For a brief moment, Timothy seemed almost lucid despite his bizarre appearance and manner.

The moment was shattered when Marcia suddenly shrieked, "Social media crisis escalating! The emoji has been retweeted!"

"All hands on deck!" Timothy shouted, leaping to his feet. "Deploy the meme countermeasures! Initialize hashtag defense protocols!"

"I’ll prepare statements for sixteen different platforms," Marcia declared, gathering her phones.

"I’ll create diversionary content," Dora added, suddenly fully awake and typing furiously.

The three moved into what appeared to be a well-rehearsed crisis management choreography, completely forgetting about Bob as they activated what they called their "perception protection pyramid."

Bob took advantage of the chaos to quietly stand and edge toward the door. As he reached it, he heard Timothy call out, "Wait! You haven’t defined your action items!"

"I’ll circle back on that," Bob replied, using their own corporate-speak against them.

This response was met with approving nods.

"Excellent deferment strategy," Timothy commended. "Very marketing of you."

"We’ll add you to the follow-up meeting series," Marcia added, tapping on one of her devices. "Only 347 sessions scheduled so far."

"Looking forward to it," Bob lied, backing through the doorway.

As he closed the door behind him, he caught one last glimpse of the bizarre trio: Timothy standing on his chair proclaiming something about "paradigm-shifting content strategy," Marcia simultaneously engaging with what appeared to be six different crisis communications channels, and Dora once again fast asleep on her keyboard despite the commotion.

Bob exhaled deeply once the door was shut, leaning against the wall of the hallway. Each department at Wonderland seemed stranger than the last, and he was no closer to finding his way out of the building or understanding his role within the company.

"Time is broken," he muttered to himself, remembering Timothy’s bizarre explanation. It couldn’t possibly be true, and yet…​

His contemplation was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps and animated voices approaching from around the corner. Bob straightened up, hoping it might be someone who could finally provide sensible directions.

Instead, he saw a large group of people in formal business attire, all following a woman whose imperious bearing and severe expression immediately commanded attention. Even from a distance, the atmosphere of fear she generated was palpable—employees practically pressed themselves against the walls to make way for her.

"The quarterly review begins now!" she announced in a voice that brooked no disagreement. "Anyone not present on the south lawn in three minutes will be terminated immediately!"

Bob recognized her from the video call in the Analytics Department—Regina Heart, the CEO of Wonderland, Inc. And she was heading straight toward him, followed by what appeared to be the entire executive team.

With no time to consider his options, Bob did the only thing that seemed rational in that moment: he slipped through the nearest door, which happened to be labeled "Roof Access - Authorized Personnel Only."

Finding himself in a stairwell, he quickly climbed up, hoping to avoid the CEO and her entourage. When he emerged onto the roof, he was surprised to find a vast, manicured space that looked more like a formal garden than the top of a building.

And even more surprisingly, it was filled with people setting up what appeared to be some kind of performance review event.

The rooftop of Wonderland, Inc. had been transformed into an elaborate corporate garden, complete with manicured hedges trimmed into shapes of ascending bar graphs and topiary sculptures of business icons giving thumbs up. A large banner stretched across the entrance: "QUARTERLY PERFORMANCE OPTIMIZATION EVENT: EXECUTE OR BE EXECUTED."

Bob stepped cautiously onto the lawn, staying close to a large hedge to avoid immediate detection. The roof was far more extensive than seemed physically possible given the building’s dimensions from outside. It stretched across the entire building footprint, with different sections designated by signs such as "Revenue Acceleration Zone" and "Productivity Enhancement Arena."

In the center of this corporate Wonderland, a large group of employees in formal business attire were frantically setting up what looked like game stations, though with distinctly corporate elements. People rushed about with clipboards and tablets, occasionally colliding with each other in their haste.

Near one of the stations, Bob noticed three employees on their knees, hunched over what appeared to be large presentation boards. They were frantically changing numbers on charts with correction fluid and markers.

Curious, Bob edged closer to observe them.

"Hurry up, Steve!" one of them whispered urgently. "She’ll be here any minute!"

"I’m going as fast as I can, Tina," replied Steve, a young man whose company polo shirt was already stained with marker ink. "These quarterly results are impossible to make look good."

"Just keep adding growth indicators," said the third employee, whose name tag read "Frank." "Change the red downward arrows to green upward ones."

"But the numbers clearly show a twelve percent decline," Frank protested.

"That’s why we’re calling it a 'strategic revenue reallocation' instead of a 'loss,'" Derek explained, splashing green ink over a particularly alarming red section. "It’s all about narrative framing."

"But won’t Regina notice we’ve changed the data?" Steve asked nervously.

Tina and Frank exchanged alarmed glances. "Keep your voice down!" Tina hissed. "And of course she’ll notice. She notices everything. But she’d rather see manipulated positive data than honest negative data."

"What happens if she realizes we’ve altered the presentation?" Steve persisted.

"Last quarter, the analytics team showed actual numbers without 'enhancements,'" Frank said grimly. "Three of them were fired on the spot. The fourth was transferred to the Siberian satellite office."

"We don’t have a Siberian office," Steve pointed out.

"We do now. Just him, in a shed, with a laptop that can’t connect to the internet."

Steve gulped audibly and redoubled his efforts to improve the data visualizations.

Bob was about to retreat when one of them spotted him. All three froze like deer in headlights.

"Who are you?" Tina demanded, quickly hiding the correction fluid behind her back. "Are you from Internal Audit?"

"No, I’m new," Bob explained, showing his badge. "Just started today. I’m trying to find my way around."

The three employees visibly relaxed.

"Well, you shouldn’t be up here," Frank said, though without hostility. "This area is restricted during quarterly reviews."

"I was trying to avoid—" Bob began, but was interrupted by the sound of an electronic fanfare blasting from speakers around the garden.

"Too late," Tina groaned. "She’s coming. May the market forces be in your favor, new guy."

Before Bob could retreat, a procession emerged from the other end of the rooftop garden. First came a line of employees in matching gray suits, carrying tablets and digital displays with charts and graphs. They marched in perfect synchronization, their faces expressionless as they formed a pathway for the executives behind them.

Behind the tablet-bearers came various executives in ascending order of apparent importance, each with a larger entourage than the last. Bob recognized Harvey White scurrying alongside a particularly stern-looking woman. From the way others cleared a path and cast nervous glances her way, Bob assumed she must be a senior vice president or higher in the corporate hierarchy.

Finally, Regina Heart herself appeared, radiating an aura of absolute authority. She wore a crimson power suit with subtle heart-shaped buttons, and her expression suggested she was perpetually disappointed with everything and everyone around her. Beside her walked a milder-looking man in a navy suit who seemed to be trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible while still keeping pace with Regina.

"That’s Karl Heart, the COO," Frank whispered to Bob. "Regina’s husband. He tries to moderate her…​ enthusiasm for terminations."

The procession moved toward the center of the garden where a raised platform had been set up, allowing Regina to survey her corporate domain. She stepped onto it and began scanning the assembled employees with the calculating gaze of a predator assessing potential prey.

"The First Quarterly Performance Review of 2025 will now commence!" announced Harvey, his voice quavering slightly despite his attempt at ceremonial gravity.

Regina’s sharp eyes suddenly fixed on the area where Bob stood with the three employees and their doctored presentations.

"What is happening there?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the garden. "Why aren’t those revenue projections on display yet?"

Tina, Derek, and Frank scrambled to lift their boards, revealing charts with hastily altered numbers showing improbable growth across all metrics.

Regina descended from her platform and strode toward them, the crowd parting before her like the Red Sea. She examined the presentations with narrowed eyes.

"Who is responsible for the Southeast region data?" she asked in a dangerously calm voice.

Steve raised a trembling hand. "I am, Ms. Heart."

"And you believe that region showed twenty-six percent growth after last quarter’s fifteen percent decline?"

"Well, the, um, strategic initiatives and, uh, synergistic market approaches have—" Steve stammered.

"You’re fired," Regina stated flatly. "Clear your desk by noon."

"But—" Steve began.

"Did I stutter?" Regina’s voice remained eerily calm. "You. Are. Fired."

As Steve slunk away, Karl stepped forward and whispered something in Regina’s ear. She waved him off irritably but then called out, "Human Resources will contact you about outplacement services. We’re not monsters."

Karl gave a small, relieved nod before retreating back to a safe distance.

Regina’s gaze then fell on Bob. "And who is this? I don’t recognize this employee."

"Bob Henderson, ma’am," he replied, trying to project confidence. "I started today."

"First day and already at the executive quarterly review? Either impressively ambitious or woefully misdirected." She examined his badge. "Transformation Catalyst? That’s not a real position."

"I believe HR created it last month during the reorganization," Karl offered gently. "Part of the Paradigm Integration Team?"

Regina frowned but seemed to accept this explanation. "Very well. Since you’re here, you might as well participate. Everyone present must demonstrate their value to Wonderland."

Before Bob could protest, Harvey approached with a tablet. "The performance review activities are ready to commence, Ms. Heart."

"Excellent." Regina turned to address the assembled crowd. "Today, each of you will demonstrate your ability to hit your targets under changing market conditions. Success means continued employment. Failure…​" She let the implication hang in the air.

Employees were directed to various stations throughout the garden. Bob found himself assigned to a section labeled "Agile Adaptation Assessment," along with about a dozen other nervous-looking staff members.

Each participant was given what appeared to be a corporate mini-golf putter, although they barely resembled normal golf clubs. These "Strategic Implementation Tools" had been over-engineered with unnecessary features—ergonomic grips designed by the UX team that were actually uncomfortable to hold, slightly off-balance weighting for "optimal kinetic energy transfer," and handles covered in corporate terminology and usage instructions. What should have been simple golf putters had been improved into near-uselessness.

"Welcome to the Corporate Performance Golf Assessment," a coordinator explained, gesturing to what Bob now realized was an elaborate miniature golf course spread across the lawn. Each hole featured different corporate-themed obstacles and was labeled with business objectives like "Market Penetration" and "Synergy Optimization."

"The objective is simple," the coordinator continued. "Navigate your Opportunity Sphere through the course and into the Achievement Holes. Your score directly impacts your quarterly evaluation."

"What’s the correct hole sequence?" asked a participant beside Bob.

"That depends on your assigned department’s quarterly focus," the coordinator replied. "Check your badge for your current strategic imperative."

Bob looked at his badge, which now displayed "Innovation Pipeline Expansion" in small letters that definitely hadn’t been there before.

"The course will open momentarily," the coordinator announced. "Remember, this is a performance assessment with direct implications for your quarterly evaluation."

Harvey blew a whistle, and suddenly the lawn was chaotic activity. Employees struggled with their unwieldy putters, attempting to guide their Opportunity Spheres toward the appropriate holes. The task was nearly impossible—the over-engineered putters made simple shots difficult, the putting surfaces were subtly uneven, and most confusingly, staff members under Regina’s direction kept rearranging the course obstacles.

"Pivot to digital transformation!" Regina shouted. "Course reconfiguration for cloud-based initiatives!"

This caused a mad scramble as employees tried to redirect their efforts toward newly prioritized holes. Bob watched in amazement as perfectly normal business professionals desperately struggled with the absurd challenge, their faces showing genuine fear of failure.

Bob’s own attempt was disastrous. The grip on his putter rotated slightly when he applied pressure, causing his swing to veer off-center and sending his Opportunity Sphere rolling into a water hazard labeled "Sunk Cost Repository."

Regina prowled the course, occasionally stopping to observe someone’s performance with a critical eye. "You call that market penetration? You’re fired!" she declared to one unfortunate manager whose ball had gone into a sand trap. "Your customer retention strategy lacks commitment! Fired!" she announced to another whose putt stopped short of the hole.

After each declaration, Karl would hurry over to the devastated employee and whisper something that seemed to moderate their despair. Bob overheard him telling one, "Just go to HR tomorrow. She always reconsiders half of these by morning."

As Bob struggled to retrieve a new ball from the coordinator, he noticed Harvey approaching with obvious anxiety.

"You’re wanted at the executive challenge area," Harvey informed him, glancing nervously over his shoulder at Regina. "The CEO has taken a specific interest in your performance as a new hire."

"But I don’t even know what I’m doing here," Bob protested.

"None of us truly does," Harvey replied with a hint of unexpected insight that made Bob look at him with new interest. Then, returning to his usual flustered state: "Just come quickly before she notices a delay!"

Bob followed Harvey to a more elaborate section of the lawn where Regina stood waiting with several executives. This area had larger gateways and was decorated with premium-looking corporate swag—branded water bottles, deluxe notebooks, and ergonomic stress relievers.

"Henderson," Regina acknowledged him curtly. "As a self-proclaimed 'Transformation Catalyst,' show us how you would transform our approach to cross-departmental alignment."

She handed him a putter that was even more absurdly over-engineered than the previous one—featuring multiple grip sections labeled for different "power scenarios," weighted with "precision balance technology," and branded with motivational corporate slogans along the shaft that actually distracted from the task.

"Complete the Paradigm Shift hole," she commanded, pointing to a particularly elaborate setup where the hole itself rotated on a motorized platform while mechanical obstacles continuously moved across the putting green.

Bob awkwardly gripped the overcomplicated putter, fully expecting to fail spectacularly. By sheer luck, when he attempted a gentle tap, the ball made contact with the small section of the putter head that wasn’t covered in "impact enhancement technology," sending it on an unlikely trajectory that navigated all the obstacles and rolled perfectly into the hole just as it rotated into position.

A stunned silence fell over the group.

"Did…​ did he just achieve paradigm transformation on his first attempt?" one executive whispered to another.

Regina’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Beginner’s luck," she declared. "Or perhaps…​" Her voice turned accusatory, "…​insider knowledge of our proprietary performance metrics?"

"I assure you, I have no idea what’s happening," Bob said truthfully.

"A likely story!" Regina’s voice rose. "No one achieves paradigm shifting without at least four planning sessions and a dedicated task force!"

Karl diplomatically intervened. "Perhaps Mr. Henderson simply has a natural talent for transformative thinking? Isn’t that why HR created the position?"

Regina seemed unconvinced but was distracted by a commotion elsewhere on the lawn. "What now?" she demanded, striding away to investigate.

Bob exhaled in relief at her departure. Harvey gave him a look that seemed equal parts impressed and concerned.

"You’ve attracted her attention," Harvey warned. "That’s rarely advantageous for one’s career longevity."

"I’m beginning to realize that," Bob replied, watching Regina fire two more employees for failing to properly "leverage cross-platform synergies" with their pointers.

As the chaotic performance review continued around him, Bob noticed a familiar face watching from beneath a decorative tree. Cheri Fisher leaned casually against the trunk, observing the scene with that same knowing smile he’d seen earlier. She beckoned him over with a subtle gesture.

Bob glanced around to ensure no one was watching, then quickly made his way to the tree.

"Enjoying the quarterly performance theater?" Cheri asked, her smile widening as their eyes met.

"This is insane," Bob replied quietly. "People’s careers depend on their ability to hit stress balls with floppy sticks?"

Cheri considered this for a moment, her eyes tracking Regina across the lawn. "You’re seeing only the surface," she said. "Regina doesn’t actually care about the game. She’s watching how people react to impossible demands and shifting targets."

Bob watched as an executive desperately tried to please Regina by contorting himself into an uncomfortable position to hit a target, only to have her change the rules mid-attempt.

"That’s…​ actually more disturbing," Bob admitted.

"Is it?" Cheri tilted her head curiously. "In a way, it’s the most honest thing that happens at Wonderland. Everywhere else, the absurdity is disguised as rational business practice. Here, at least, the arbitrary nature of corporate success is made explicit."

Bob considered this perspective. "I suppose there’s a certain transparency to it. But why does everyone put up with this? Why don’t they just quit?"

Cheri’s expression shifted to something more knowing. "Golden handcuffs, Stockholm syndrome, and the sunk cost fallacy—the holy trinity of corporate retention. Most have been here so long they’ve forgotten there are other ways to work."

Their conversation was interrupted by Regina’s voice booming across the garden: "The market conditions have shifted! All previous metrics are obsolete! New targets will now be distributed!"

This announcement caused visible distress among the employees, many of whom had just begun to make progress with the previous set of goals.

"The review seems to be entering its chaotic crescendo phase," Cheri observed. Her expression grew serious as she glanced toward the security personnel by the exits. "If I were you, I’d consider making a discreet exit before Regina’s final evaluation round. The termination rate typically peaks in the third hour."

"How do I get out of here?" Bob asked, eyeing the stairwell door, which was now guarded by two security personnel.

Cheri glanced around, then leaned closer. "There’s a service elevator behind the 'Exceeding Expectations' topiary," she said quietly. "Not many people know about it."

"Thank you," Bob said sincerely.

"Don’t mention it," Cheri replied with a slight nod. "I’ve worked here long enough to know all the back doors and workarounds. Some of us need to maintain our independence to survive in this environment."

With that, she slipped away, moving through the crowd with remarkable ease, nodding to people who seemed surprised to see her, as if she rarely appeared at these events.

As Bob pondered what Cheri had told him, a commotion erupted across the lawn. Regina had discovered Tina and Derek’s manipulated data presentations.

"These growth projections have been falsified!" she bellowed, her face turning almost as red as her suit. "The Southeast region is clearly underperforming, yet these charts show record growth!"

"We were just trying to present the data in the most favorable light," Tina attempted to explain.

"Fired!" Regina declared. "Both of you! And where is Steve? He’s fired again!"

Karl whispered something to her.

"Fine," Regina amended. "Demoted to the data integrity verification team, which I am creating this instant specifically to verify the integrity of all future presentations!"

Taking advantage of the distraction, Bob slipped away toward the topiary Cheri had mentioned. He found the service elevator tucked discreetly behind an enormous shrub shaped like a businessman giving two thumbs up. The doors opened at the press of a button.

Bob stepped inside, grateful to escape the bizarre performance review. As the doors closed, he caught one last glimpse of the corporate garden: Regina pointing accusingly at a terrified executive, Karl quietly damage-controlling behind her, and employees desperately trying to hit their moving targets with impossibly floppy pointers.

The elevator began to descend. Bob leaned against the wall, exhausted by the day’s increasingly strange experiences. According to his watch, he had been at Wonderland, Inc. for approximately seven hours, yet had witnessed more corporate absurdity than in his entire previous career.

"I need to find a way out of this place," he muttered to himself.

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened to reveal a quiet, dimly lit corridor. A sign on the wall indicated he was in the "Legacy Systems Archive."

As Bob stepped out, he heard a familiar voice from down the hall—a melancholy tone that stood out from the manic energy he’d encountered throughout most of the building.

"…​and that’s when we realized that stakeholder engagement wasn’t just a metric, but a philosophy," the voice was saying. "Of course, that was before the Great Reorganization of '19. Things were different then. More…​ authentic."

His curiosity piqued, Bob followed the voice to a door labeled "Institutional Memory Preservation Unit." Inside, he found an older employee in a vintage company polo shirt speaking to an attentive man in a loud, pinstriped suit who Bob didn’t recognize.

"Ah, a visitor!" the man in the suit announced upon seeing Bob. "Perfect timing! Morris was just explaining how Wonderland’s corporate culture evolved. Essential knowledge for anyone trying to navigate this place, wouldn’t you say?"

The older employee—presumably Morris—turned to Bob with a wistful smile. "Always happy to share the history with someone who might actually appreciate it. Come in, young man. Let me tell you about the old days at Wonderland, when corporate education meant something."

Bob hesitated at the threshold, uncertain about getting drawn into yet another strange encounter. But after the chaos of the performance review, this quiet room seemed almost welcoming. And perhaps understanding Wonderland’s past might help him navigate its bizarre present.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

The Institutional Memory Preservation Unit was unlike any other part of Wonderland, Inc. that Bob had seen. While the rest of the building featured modern, sterile spaces with motivational slogans and cutting-edge technology, this room was a corporate time capsule. Wood-paneled walls held framed newspaper clippings and vintage company advertisements. Glass display cases contained obsolete office equipment—typewriters, fax machines, and early mobile phones the size of bricks. The lighting was warm rather than fluorescent, and comfortable chairs had replaced the ergonomic monstrosities found elsewhere.

Morris sat in a worn executive chair that had clearly been custom-fitted to his frame through decades of use. He was a round-shouldered man with thinning gray hair and kind eyes that looked perpetually on the verge of tears behind thick glasses. His cardigan—an item Bob hadn’t seen anywhere else in the building—bore a faded Wonderland logo from some previous branding era.

"Gregory Griffin," the man in the pinstriped suit announced, extending his hand to Bob. "Head of Sales Enablement. And this is Morris Turtle, our longest-serving employee and keeper of corporate lore."

Gregory was all vigor and volume. His pinstriped suit was several shades brighter than would be considered professional in most offices, and his booming voice seemed calibrated to fill boardrooms. He sat forward in his chair, constantly fidgeting as if impatient for his turn to speak.

"Sit, sit!" Gregory insisted, gesturing to an empty chair. "You’ve arrived at precisely the right moment. Morris was about to explain Wonderland’s legendary professional development program!"

Morris smiled wistfully. "The Corporate Advancement Curriculum. Not like today’s microlearning modules and gamified training platforms. We had real mentorship back then, real skills development."

"Morris here was one of the original employees," Gregory told Bob. "Started back when the company was just three people in a garage."

"Well, not a garage," Morris corrected gently. "It was a renovated bank building. And there were seventeen of us initially. But yes, I’ve been with Wonderland longer than anyone still employed here."

"How long exactly?" Bob asked, genuinely curious.

Morris sighed deeply. "Forty-seven years, eight months, and…​" he checked his watch, which Bob noticed had both digital and analog displays, "fourteen days."

"That’s impressive," Bob said. "You must have seen a lot of changes."

"Changes?" Morris’s eyes grew distant. "I’ve witnessed seven complete company reinventions, twenty-three rebranding initiatives, thirty-eight reorganizations, and fifty-two shifts in our 'core business focus.' The only constant at Wonderland is inconstancy."

"And success!" Gregory added boisterously. "Don’t forget our spectacular market dominance!"

"In what market exactly?" Bob asked, hoping to finally get a straight answer about what Wonderland actually did.

Morris and Gregory exchanged glances.

"It’s…​ evolved over time," Morris said carefully. "We began as a humble office supply company. Then pivoted to business services. Then enterprise solutions. Then digital transformation consultancy. Then platform ecosystem enablement."

"And now?" Bob pressed.

Morris shrugged. "The current official designation is 'cross-vertical innovation accelerator with proprietary disruption methodologies,' but that’ll change by next quarter, I’m sure."

"Fascinating history," Gregory interrupted impatiently. "But tell him about the education program! The curriculum! The corporate schooling that made Wonderland legendary!"

Morris’s expression brightened. "Ah, yes. The Corporate Advancement Curriculum. Nothing like today’s half-hour webinars and self-guided e-learning."

He stood and moved to a glass cabinet, retrieving a binder labeled "Employee Development Matrix - 1986." Opening it reverently, he showed Bob a complex chart with interconnected boxes and arrows.

"Every new employee went through a comprehensive developmental journey," Morris explained. "We called the fundamental courses the Four Ms: Minuting, Memoing, Mailing, and Meeting."

"Like reading, writing, and arithmetic?" Bob suggested.

"Precisely!" Morris beamed at Bob’s understanding. "Minuting was the art of recording meeting discussions while tactfully omitting politically damaging comments. Memoing covered the delicate balance of conveying information while avoiding accountability. Mailing taught proper corporate communication hierarchies—who to include, who to CC, who to BCC, and most importantly, who to strategically exclude."

"And Meeting?" Bob asked.

"That was the crown jewel," Morris said with genuine nostalgia. "A sixteen-week course on conducting effective meetings, including advanced techniques like the False Consensus, the Strategic Derailment, and the Career-Advancing Insight Attribution."

"I mastered that last one particularly well," Gregory interjected proudly. "Once claimed credit for an idea three seconds after someone else suggested it. No one even noticed! Got promoted the following week."

"The curriculum then branched into specialized disciplines," Morris continued, turning pages in the binder. "The Arithmetic of Business: Addition of Resources, Subtraction of Costs, Multiplication of Requirements, and Division of Blame."

"Don’t forget Distraction Management!" Gregory added. "I was the department champion three years running. Could completely derail any project review in under sixty seconds."

Morris nodded. "Then came the advanced corporate sciences: Reorganization Theory, Buzzword Etymology, Strategic Ambiguity, and my personal specialty, Historical Revisionism."

"Historical Revisionism?" Bob asked.

"The art of reframing past corporate failures as strategic stepping stones to current successes," Morris explained. "Absolutely essential for quarterly shareholder presentations. I once transformed a catastrophic product launch that cost millions into a 'valuable market insight acquisition initiative' that 'laid the groundwork for our current strategy.'"

"He’s being modest," Gregory declared. "Morris could make a complete corporate disaster sound like a stroke of genius! Remember the Metaverse Immersion Platform debacle of 2022?"

Morris winced. "We don’t talk about that one."

"Why not? Your revisionist framing saved at least three executive careers!"

"Some failures exceed even my revisionist capabilities," Morris admitted sadly.

He returned to his chair, the binder resting in his lap like a cherished photo album. "After completing the standard curriculum, employees could specialize in advanced disciplines. I chose Corporate Anthropology with a concentration in Legacy Protocol Preservation."

"I went into Sales Mythology and Competitive Exaggeration," Gregory said. "Graduated top of my class."

"I believe it," Bob said, unable to keep a hint of amusement from his voice.

Morris turned to another section of the binder, revealing photographs of employees in what appeared to be a classroom setting, all wearing identical Wonderland polo shirts and earnest expressions.

"Each Friday, we’d gather for Narrative Alignment sessions," he continued. "We’d practice describing our job functions in increasingly abstract terms until even we didn’t understand what we did anymore."

"I remember those!" Gregory laughed heartily. "Started as 'I sell business services to medium-sized companies' and ended as 'I facilitate paradigm-shifted value propositioning through strategic relationship architecture to drive cross-platform synergistic outcomes in the mid-market heterogeneous enterprise continuum.'"

"That was the goal," Morris nodded, a tear forming in the corner of his eye. "Total linguistic obscuration of actual job function. The true mark of corporate advancement."

"What happened to this program?" Bob asked. "It sounds…​ comprehensive."

Morris sighed deeply, the sound of a man who had witnessed the decline of something he truly valued, however unusual it might seem to outsiders.

"Budget optimization," he said bitterly. "The Great Efficiency Revolution of 2003. All instruction was digitized and reduced to bullet points. Sixteen-week courses became thirty-minute webinars. Deep skill development was replaced with 'just-in-time learning' and 'microcompetencies.'"

Gregory shook his head solemnly. "A travesty. You can’t teach Strategic Ambiguity in a microlearning module. It’s an art form that requires nurturing."

"That’s why we’ve lost our way," Morris lamented. "Today’s Wonderland employees can’t properly obscure a simple business function to save their lives. Ask them what they do, and some will actually tell you in plain language! Can you imagine?"

"The horror," Gregory agreed, though with a wink to Bob that suggested he found Morris’s traditionalism somewhat amusing.

"It seems like Wonderland has changed a lot," Bob observed.

"Changed?" Morris clutched the binder tighter. "It’s unrecognizable. We once had principles—confusing, contradictory principles, but principles nonetheless."

He stood again, moving to a wall display featuring a faded mission statement in an ornate frame. "Our original ethos: 'To systematically facilitate exceptional synergies while maintaining strategic alignments.'"

"What does that actually mean?" Bob asked.

"Nothing!" Morris declared, as if this were its greatest virtue. "That was the beauty of it! It could mean anything or nothing, depending on what was expedient at the moment. Perfect corporate flexibility."

Gregory nodded appreciatively. "Not like today’s mission statements with all their specific commitments to sustainability and social responsibility. How do you pivot away from that when the market changes? No wiggle room at all."

Morris returned to his chair, visibly tired from the emotional journey through corporate history. "The current training program is just a shadow of what we once had. New hires now get a one-hour orientation video and access to a learning portal no one ever visits."

"Which explains why you’re wandering around looking lost," Gregory said to Bob. "No proper corporate educational foundation!"

"I do feel particularly unprepared for whatever Wonderland is," Bob admitted.

Morris leaned forward, suddenly earnest. "It’s not too late for you. I could teach you the old ways. The proper techniques of corporate advancement."

"I…​ appreciate the offer," Bob said cautiously.

"First lesson would be Selective Listening," Morris continued with growing enthusiasm. "Essential for surviving meetings where direct questions might result in unwanted accountability."

"Followed by Responsibility Diffusion," Gregory added. "I taught that module for years. Could make a project failure so thoroughly distributed that even the person who caused it would join in blaming an abstract market force."

"Then Strategic Visibility Calibration," Morris said, warming to the topic. "Knowing precisely when to be seen by executives and when to become mysteriously unavailable."

The two older employees began outlining an increasingly elaborate curriculum, each trying to outdo the other with ridiculous-yet-familiar corporate skills. Bob listened with growing fascination as they mapped out what amounted to a master class in corporate game-playing and politics.

"—and by week twelve, you’d be ready for Advanced Blame Deflection," Morris was saying, his eyes shining with nostalgic fervor. "I once redirected accountability for a failed product launch to a weather pattern in the South Pacific. Got a commendation for 'environmental awareness' while my colleagues were reassigned."

"Impressive," Gregory acknowledged. "But can you top my Reverse Accountability Maneuver of 2011? Turned a missed deadline into a promotion by convincing leadership that only by advancing to senior management could I ensure such delays never happened again."

"That’s nothing compared to—" Morris began, but stopped suddenly, his enthusiasm deflating like a punctured balloon. "But what’s the point? The old ways are dying. Soon no one will remember when Wonderland was…​ well, not normal, exactly, but consistently abnormal in ways we understood."

His melancholy was so genuine that Bob felt a surprising surge of sympathy, despite the peculiarity of what Morris was lamenting.

"How did Wonderland end up this way?" Bob asked gently. "It seems like there’s no actual business happening here—just meetings, performance reviews, and corporate rituals."

Morris and Gregory exchanged knowing glances.

"You’ve noticed that, have you?" Morris said, sounding both impressed and saddened. "Most new hires take months to see through the activity to the emptiness beneath."

"Wonderland was once a real company with real products," Gregory explained, his bombastic tone subdued for the first time. "But somewhere along the way…​"

"We forgot the business and became a self-sustaining system of corporate processes," Morris finished. "Meetings about meetings. Reports about reporting. Performance reviews of performance review processes."

"But how does the company make money?" Bob asked, the question that had been bothering him all day.

Morris smiled sadly. "An excellent question that no one can definitively answer anymore. There are departments that process payments and investments, but where the money ultimately comes from? It’s become something of a corporate mystery."

"My theory is that we’re actually an elaborate tax write-off for some larger entity," Gregory offered. "Or possibly a sociological experiment."

"I maintain we’re still selling something somewhere," Morris countered. "But the layers of management and matrix reporting have obscured it even from ourselves."

He closed the binder with a sense of finality. "Whatever the truth, Wonderland continues. The quarterly reviews happen. The paychecks clear. The reorganizations come and go. And long-timers like me gradually fade away."

"You’re not actually fading away," Gregory pointed out practically. "You’re retiring next month with a generous pension."

"That’s not the point," Morris said with mild irritation. "I’m making a metaphorical statement about institutional memory and corporate evolution."

"Ah, sorry. Carry on with the poetic lamentation then."

Morris turned to Bob with sudden intensity. "The real question is: what will you do now that you’ve glimpsed behind the corporate curtain? Most choose to play along, collect their paychecks, and never speak of the fundamental emptiness at Wonderland’s core."

"I’m not sure yet," Bob admitted. "I still need to figure out what my actual job is supposed to be—or if I even have one."

"If you have a badge and an email account, you’re real enough to Wonderland," Gregory said with a philosophical shrug. "The rest is just details."

"Speaking of details," Morris said, glancing at a complex scheduling chart on the wall. "It’s almost time for the Mandatory Morale Event in Celebration Plaza."

"The what?" Bob asked.

"Mandatory Morale Event," Gregory repeated. "Regina insists on company-wide gatherings after quarterly reviews to 'restore team cohesion' after her firing spree."

"Which usually means awkward team building exercises followed by forced socializing over lukewarm appetizers," Morris added.

He stood up with a grunt, his joints protesting after so long in his chair. "I’d invite you to join us, but as a new employee, you’d be expected to participate in the Traditional Newcomer Showcase."

"Which is?" Bob asked warily.

"Each new hire must perform a corporate-themed talent or recite company values in the form of an inspirational poem," Gregory explained. "Established by Regina to 'quickly identify team players and cultural fits.'"

Bob’s expression must have conveyed his thoughts, because Morris nodded sympathetically. "It’s certainly a unique tradition."

"Is there any way to avoid it?" Bob asked.

Morris and Gregory exchanged looks.

"Well," Gregory said thoughtfully, "there is one group exempt from mandatory events. The Conference Call Coordination Team."

"They’re perpetually on calls with international offices," Morris explained. "Regina exempted them after several embarrassing incidents of overseas clients overhearing team-building chants."

"How do I find them?" Bob asked.

"Down the hall, third door on the left. Look for the sign that says 'Global Engagement Synchronicity Hub,'" Morris directed. "Though I should warn you, they’re somewhat…​ particular about their protocols."

"Thank you," Bob said sincerely. "For everything. This has been enlightening, despite being about a corporate education program that’s quite unlike anything I’ve encountered before."

Morris smiled, the melancholy lifting slightly from his features. "Sometimes consistent patterns become their own kind of clarity, even when those patterns might seem unusual to newcomers."

"Before you go," Gregory said, reaching into his jacket pocket, "take my card. If you survive your first week at Wonderland, I may have a spot for you in Sales Enablement. We could use someone who sees through the nonsense."

Bob accepted the business card, which was printed on unusually thick stock and seemed to change color slightly when tilted—a needlessly premium feature that somehow perfectly represented Gregory’s character.

"And this," Morris added, removing a small, worn notebook from his cardigan pocket. "My personal glossary of Wonderland terminology with translations into plain English. Forty-seven years of corporate doublespeak decoding. Might help you navigate the linguistic labyrinth."

"I couldn’t take this," Bob protested. "It must be valuable to you."

"I’ve memorized every entry," Morris assured him. "Besides, my corporate journey is nearly complete. Yours is just beginning. Consider it the last lesson from the old curriculum: Strategic Knowledge Transfer."

Touched by the gesture, Bob carefully pocketed the notebook. "I look forward to our paths crossing again as I continue to navigate Wonderland."

"At Wonderland? Likely," Gregory laughed. "Though perhaps under different circumstances, if you’re lucky."

As Bob turned to leave, Morris called after him. "Remember—when the monthly BPE report comes due, claim you’re on the TPX taskforce! No one knows what it is, but everyone’s afraid to admit it!"

With this final piece of cryptic advice, Bob left the Institutional Memory Preservation Unit and headed down the hall in search of the Conference Call Coordination Team. He walked with slightly more confidence than before, Morris’s notebook a reassuring weight in his pocket.

The hallway was quieter than most areas of Wonderland, with fewer motivational posters and more actual informational signage. Bob found the door marked "Global Engagement Synchronicity Hub" and was about to knock when he heard multiple voices speaking in the strangely formal cadence of people on a conference call.

"Can everyone hear me?"
"If you’re speaking, we can’t hear you."
"I think you’re on mute."
"Who just joined?"

Bob recognized the familiar rhythms of corporate conference calls—a strange dance of technology and human awkwardness that somehow functioned as business communication. He knocked softly and entered.

The Global Engagement Synchronicity Hub was unlike any conference room Bob had ever seen. The space was dominated by an oval table surrounded by twenty identical chairs, each equipped with a headset, multiple monitors, and an array of devices that looked like specialized conference call equipment. The walls were covered with digital clocks displaying different time zones, and a giant world map was marked with pins and strings connecting various global locations.

Most striking, however, were the people. Eight employees sat around the table wearing identical navy blue blazers with the Wonderland logo, all engaged in what appeared to be different conference calls simultaneously. Each person had developed a unique system for managing their technology—one woman operated three different headsets at once, another had arranged six smartphones in a fan pattern, while a man with extraordinary dexterity typed on two keyboards simultaneously.

None of them acknowledged Bob’s entrance. They were all speaking in the peculiar cadence of conference call participants—a strange mixture of exaggerated politeness, awkward pauses, and occasional bursts of forced enthusiasm.

"Sydney, are you still on the line?"
"Can everyone see slide fourteen?"
"Let’s circle back to Emmanuel’s point about synergistic integration vectors."
"I think someone has background noise. Can everyone please mute?"

At the head of the table sat a thin, intense woman with an elaborate headset system featuring multiple microphones and a custom interface panel on the desk in front of her. She alone noticed Bob and gestured for him to approach, all while continuing to speak into one of her headsets.

"Absolutely, Jakarta team, we’re fully aligned on the strategic imperatives for Q2. One moment please." She pressed a button, then addressed Bob in a whisper: "Conference call clearance level?"

"I don’t have one," Bob admitted. "Morris and Gregory sent me. They said you might be able to help me avoid the Mandatory Morale Event?"

The woman’s eyes narrowed. She pressed another button on her console. "Hong Kong, I need to place you on a brief hold. Urgent protocol situation." Then back to Bob: "Morris sent you? Verification code?"

Bob hesitated, then remembered the notebook Morris had given him. He quickly flipped through it and found an entry: "Conference Call Access Codes - Tell them 'The whitepaper needs finalization before the Tokyo market opens.'"

"The whitepaper needs finalization before the Tokyo market opens," Bob recited.

The woman’s demeanor instantly changed. "Acknowledged. I’m Sylvia, Conference Call Coordination Director." She pointed to an empty chair. "Take position seven. Global Financial Services alignment call starting in three minutes."

"But I don’t know anything about financial services," Bob protested quietly.

"Irrelevant. No one on these calls actually exchanges meaningful information," Sylvia replied matter-of-factly. "Ninety-seven percent is ritual communication and status signaling. The remaining three percent could be handled in a two-line email."

She handed him a headset and a laminated card titled "Conference Call Protocols & Essential Phrases."

"Study this. You’ll be representing Alastair from the EMEA division who’s out with a scheduling conflict. Just follow standard response patterns and you’ll be fine."

Bob examined the card, which contained entries like:

Opening Rituals

Mid-Call Maneuvers

Emergency Exits

As Bob was reviewing these phrases, the room suddenly transformed. The individual conversations ceased simultaneously, and all participants sat straighter in their chairs. Sylvia pressed a series of buttons on her console, and a multiscreen display at the front of the room illuminated to show video feeds from at least twelve different locations around the world.

"Global Financial Services Alignment Call commencing," Sylvia announced in a completely different voice—crisper, more authoritative. "Please signify presence when called. Tokyo?"

"Tokyo present," came a response from the screens.

"Singapore?"
"Singapore present."
"Sydney?"
"Sydney present and aligned."

The roll call continued through time zones moving westward around the globe. Bob watched in fascination as the team operated with military precision, nothing like the chaotic corporate behavior he’d witnessed elsewhere at Wonderland.

When all locations had checked in, Sylvia nodded to the woman on her right, who stood and approached the center of the room. To Bob’s surprise, the entire team rose and formed a circle around the conference table. Sylvia gestured urgently for Bob to join them.

"Welcome to the quarterly Global Alignment Sequence," the standing woman announced. "Before we begin substantive discussions, we will perform the traditional Conference Call Quadrille to ensure optimal communication synchronicity."

"The what?" Bob whispered to the man beside him.

"Just follow along," the man muttered back. "It’s a ceremony to establish the communications hierarchy. Mess it up, and someone in Singapore gets offended and withholds their market data."

Sylvia dimmed the lights and pressed another button on her console. A gentle electronic melody began playing—a corporate version of hold music with an actual beat. The team began moving in a precise pattern around the table, each person stopping at different positions to address specific screens.

"Singapore, do you copy our transmission?" called one member.
"Transmission confirmed, London," came the response.
"Would you join our data exchange?" asked London.
"We would be pleased to participate," replied Singapore.

The team continued their choreographed movement while reciting what seemed to be scripted exchanges with the international offices. Bob tried to follow along, stepping where others stepped, but quickly became disoriented by the complexity of the pattern.

"EMEA representative, your acknowledgment is required!" Sylvia suddenly called, staring directly at Bob.

All movement stopped. Everyone looked at him expectantly, including the faces on the screens.

"I, uh…​" Bob glanced desperately at his protocol card but found nothing applicable.

The man next to him subtly opened his notebook and showed Bob a page where someone had written "QUARTERLY PROJECTIONS CONFIRMED."

"Quarterly projections confirmed!" Bob announced with as much confidence as he could muster.

A visible wave of relief passed through the room, and the dance continued. Bob was guided through the steps by subtle pushes and pulls from the other participants, gradually learning the basic pattern of the Conference Call Quadrille.

The ceremonial exchange grew increasingly complex. Sometimes two people would address the same screen simultaneously, performing what they called a "Dual Validation Sequence." Other times, the entire team would freeze while a single member performed a "Priority Override Notification" to a specific global office.

Most intricate was the "Data Transfer Formation," where team members arranged themselves in shapes that represented various data flow patterns, each person articulating their "input-output expectations" to corresponding international counterparts.

Throughout it all, the screens showed international teams performing similar movements in their own conference rooms, creating a global choreography of corporate communication.

Just when Bob thought he was getting the hang of it, Sylvia called out, "Transition to Breakout Sequences!"

The team immediately split into smaller groups, each huddling around different sections of the table. Bob found himself pulled into a group with Sylvia and two others, facing a screen showing Tokyo and Sydney.

"Now," Sylvia whispered to Bob, "you’ll need to recite the EMEA quarterly alignment statement."

"I don’t know it," Bob whispered back in panic.

"Check your email. Alastair always sends the script."

Bob looked down and was startled to see a tablet at his position displaying an email inbox. Sure enough, there was a message from someone named Alastair containing a script for today’s call. He quickly scanned it and found the section labeled "Quarterly Alignment Statement."

"Sydney and Tokyo," Bob read from the script, trying to match the formal tone others used, "EMEA confirms harmonization of fiscal projections within acceptable variance parameters. Bilateral data exchange protocols remain activated at tier one priority."

The representatives from Tokyo and Sydney nodded seriously, making notes. One responded, "APAC acknowledges EMEA harmonization confirmation. Variance monitoring will continue on established cadence."

"Well done," Sylvia murmured approvingly. "Now for the Monthly Retroactive Perspective."

Bob located this section in the script. "Retrospective analysis indicates forward momentum on key initiatives despite headwinds in the continental market. Aggregate performance metrics demonstrate resilience within anticipated fluctuation boundaries."

Again, this seemingly ritualistic language was received with nods of understanding and appreciation.

"It’s all just formality, isn’t it?" Bob whispered to Sylvia during a moment when the others were discussing something amongst themselves.

"Of course," she replied without taking her eyes off the screens. "But it’s essential protocol. Every region must perform the dance and exchange the phrases. The actual data gets shared in emails before and after the call."

"Then why have the call at all?"

"Tradition. Hierarchy. The cultural alignment of global teams." She adjusted her headset. "Plus, everyone gets to claim 'international alignment' activities on their weekly productivity reports."

The breakout session concluded, and all groups returned to the main circle. The Conference Call Quadrille resumed, now with additional complexities that Bob couldn’t begin to follow. He was passed from position to position around the table like a human baton, each time facing a different screen and being prompted to recite another portion of Alastair’s script.

Occasionally, someone would introduce a "communication disruption" by pretending their connection was failing or claiming they couldn’t access shared documents. This would trigger a predefined "Troubleshooting Sequence" where specific team members would offer solutions in a particular order.

"I’m not seeing the latest version," announced a man representing Chicago, clearly following a script.

"Have you refreshed your browser?" asked Tokyo.

"Let me try that," Chicago replied, pausing precisely five seconds. "Still not seeing it."

"Check your VPN connection," suggested London.

"That seems to be the issue," Chicago confirmed after another five-second pause.

"Problem resolution achieved," Sylvia noted formally. "Returning to primary sequence."

This elaborate performance continued for nearly forty-five minutes. Bob grew increasingly confident that no actual business was being conducted—this was corporate theater, elaborately staged across multiple continents.

Finally, Sylvia announced, "Approaching sequence conclusion. Prepare for Final Global Alignment Affirmation."

The team formed a perfect circle around the table, each facing outward to a different screen. On Sylvia’s mark, each person recited their assigned line:

"Tokyo confirms alignment with global directives."
"Singapore acknowledges unified strategic intent."
"Sydney validates cross-regional synchronization."

When Bob’s turn came, he read from his script: "EMEA affirms commitment to collective objectives."

The proceedings concluded with Sylvia leading what could only be described as a corporate chant, with each global office joining in sequence:

"Will you, will you, will you, will you align with the plan?
Will you, will you, will you, will you meet our demands?
The quarterly goals are waiting on the dashboard to view,
While distant offices labor in time zones old and new.
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you execute the strategy?
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you achieve the KPIs?"

Each office responded in turn with the same chorus, creating a global round of corporate recitation that was simultaneously ridiculous and hypnotic. Bob found himself joining in by the final verse, caught up in the strange energy of the ritual.

When the call finally ended and the screens went dark, the room transformed again. The formal postures dropped, and the team immediately resumed their individual calls as if the elaborate performance had never happened.

"That was…​ impressive," Bob said to Sylvia, removing his headset. "And completely baffling."

"The Conference Call Quadrille is our most important tradition," she explained while simultaneously reconnecting to her Hong Kong call. "It maintains the cohesion that Wonderland is a unified global entity rather than separate regional operations that happen to share the same logo."

"Does anything real ever get discussed in these calls?"

"Occasionally, by accident," Sylvia admitted. "But we have protocols to ensure any actual information is quickly buried under clarification requests and action item assignments."

Bob shook his head in wonder. "And you do this every day?"

"The full Quadrille is quarterly, but we perform simplified versions daily. The Global Engagement Synchronicity Hub conducts an average of 217 international calls per day, totaling approximately 643 hours of conference time."

"That’s more hours than there are in a day," Bob pointed out.

"Precisely why we need a dedicated team," Sylvia replied with professional pride. "Through strategic overlapping and parallel call dynamics, we maximize global communication theater while minimizing information transfer risk."

Before Bob could respond, Morris and Gregory burst into the room, looking agitated.

"They’re coming!" Gregory announced. "Regina sent security to conduct a sweep for Mandatory Morale Event absentees!"

Sylvia immediately pressed a series of buttons on her console. "Initiating Protocol Seven. All stations activate emergency calls."

The team responded with practiced efficiency, each member immediately connecting to new calls and speaking with increased urgency. Within seconds, the room was filled with the sound of intense business discussions.

"Bob, quick," Morris urged, "put your headset back on and pretend you’re presenting quarterly data to Auckland."

Bob complied just as the door opened again to reveal two security guards with "EMPLOYEE ENGAGEMENT ENFORCEMENT" badges. They surveyed the room with suspicious eyes, focusing on Bob.

"New guy," one guard noted. "Confirmed attendance status?"

"Critical financial data transfer to APAC region," Sylvia responded without looking up from her screens. "Time-sensitive multi-billion dollar transaction window. Region-specific regulatory compliance requirements."

The guards exchanged uncertain glances, clearly intimidated by the barrage of important-sounding phrases.

"Interruption could trigger Section 5.3 of the International Financial Communication Protocol," Morris added gravely, having picked up a random headset to appear part of the team.

"Regina specifically mentioned security exceptions for time-sensitive international communications," Gregory reminded them with authority.

The guards retreated a step. "We’ll…​ note his exemption in the system," one muttered before they backed out of the room.

Once they were gone, the team immediately returned to their normal call cadence. Morris and Gregory sighed with relief.

"That was close," Morris said. "The Mandatory Morale Event is in full swing. Regina has already fired three people for insufficient enthusiasm during the company cheer."

"The Conference Call Quadrille was magnificent, by the way," Gregory told Sylvia. "I was watching on the executive feed. The Tokyo-Frankfurt handoff was particularly elegant."

"We’ve been practicing the new sequence for weeks," Sylvia acknowledged with modest pride.

"Bob performed admirably for a first-timer," Morris observed. "Quick adaptation to corporate procedures is a rare skill."

"Speaking of adaptation," Gregory said, checking his watch, "we should get moving. The all-hands announcement is in thirty minutes, and we need to be strategically positioned near the rear exits."

"All-hands announcement?" Bob asked.

"Regina’s addressing the entire company about a potential crisis," Morris explained. "Something about intellectual property theft. Rumors are flying that someone has stolen product ideas directly from her personal innovation journal."

"That sounds serious," Bob said.

"At Wonderland, product idea theft is the highest crime," Gregory nodded solemnly. "Especially when the ideas allegedly come from Regina herself."

"The accused is supposedly Victor Hartman, the VP of Product," Morris added in a hushed tone. "They’re saying he’ll face a public trial during the announcement."

"A public trial? For stealing ideas?" Bob couldn’t hide his surprise.

"Regina has a flair for the dramatic," Gregory explained. "Last quarter she made the Social Media Director stand trial for 'hashtag treason' after a campaign underperformed."

"What happened to him?" Bob asked.

"He now runs our North Dakota customer support outpost. Alone. In a former storage closet."

"We should go," Morris urged. "When Regina goes into full accusation mode, it’s best to be inconspicuous and have clear access to exits."

"You’re welcome to join our team anytime," Sylvia told Bob as they prepared to leave. "You have natural talent for corporate communication rituals."

"Thank you," Bob replied, unsure whether this was a compliment he wanted.

As they left the Global Engagement Synchronicity Hub, Bob found himself being swept along with Morris and Gregory toward a large atrium where employees were gathering in growing numbers.

"Just stay behind us and try to look simultaneously engaged and invisible," Morris advised. "If Regina makes direct eye contact, immediately look down at a device as if receiving an urgent message."

"And whatever happens," Gregory added with unusual seriousness, "do not volunteer information or draw attention to yourself. Regina is at her most dangerous when hunting for co-conspirators."

The atrium was filling rapidly with employees from all departments, their faces showing varying degrees of anxiety and forced neutrality. At the front of the space, a stage had been set up with what looked disturbingly like a witness stand and judge’s bench.

"Is that an actual judge’s bench?" Bob whispered to Morris.

"Corporate surplus," Morris whispered back. "Regina bought it when the FedCorp bankruptcy auction happened last year. Said it would 'enhance the gravitas of performance improvement discussions.'"

A hush fell over the crowd as Harvey White appeared on stage, looking even more nervous than usual.

"Ladies and gentlemen, colleagues and stakeholders," Harvey announced, his voice quavering slightly, "please direct your attention and engagement metrics to our Chief Executive Officer, Regina Heart, who will address a matter of critical importance to Wonderland’s intellectual property portfolio."

The crowd’s anxiety was palpable as Regina Heart stepped onto the stage, her crimson suit almost glowing under the spotlight. Her expression was one of controlled fury, and in her hand, she carried what appeared to be a journal with a heart embossed on the cover.

"Intellectual property," she began, her voice cutting through the silence, "is the lifeblood of innovation. And someone"—her eyes narrowed as she scanned the crowd—"has been stealing mine."

Bob felt a chill run down his spine, not from the accusation itself, which seemed absurd, but from the absolute conviction with which Regina delivered it and the genuine fear it provoked in everyone around him.

As Regina began detailing the alleged theft, Morris leaned closer to Bob and whispered, "Whatever happens next, remember—you’re just a new hire who knows nothing. Absolutely nothing."

The trial of Victor Hartman, VP of Product, was about to begin.

The atrium had been transformed into a corporate courtroom with disturbing efficiency. The judge’s bench stood imposingly at the front, flanked by a witness stand on one side and what appeared to be a defendant’s box on the other. Behind these formal fixtures, a large screen displayed a PowerPoint slide titled "INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY THEFT RESOLUTION PROCEEDINGS (CONFIDENTIAL - LEVEL 9 CLEARANCE)."

Employees filled every available space, arranged by department and seniority. The executives occupied the front row on plush chairs that looked suspiciously like jury boxes, while middle management crowded the center section in standard office chairs. Lower-level employees stood at the back, many craning their necks to see over the heads of others.

"This is madness," Bob whispered to Morris as they positioned themselves strategically near an emergency exit. "Is an actual trial really happening?"

"Regina’s Corporate Adjudication Events are a Wonderland tradition," Morris explained quietly. "Quasi-judicial proceedings for everything from missed targets to inappropriate refrigerator usage."

"Last quarter, the entire Accounting department was put on trial for 'conspiracy to commit pessimistic forecasting,'" Gregory added. "Three received suspensions, and one was reassigned to the basement archive."

Regina stood at the center of the stage, her crimson suit seeming even more vivid under the spotlight. She held her innovation journal with the protective reverence one might give a sacred text. Karl Heart hovered nearby, his expression suggesting he was mentally calculating potential severance packages.

"Bring in the accused!" Regina commanded.

Two security guards escorted Victor Hartman, VP of Product, to the defendant’s box. Victor was a tall, polished executive whose usually confident demeanor had been replaced with barely contained anxiety. His tailored suit still looked immaculate, but his tie was slightly askew—the first sign of disarray Bob had seen in an executive appearance since arriving at Wonderland.

Harvey White scurried to the center stage, carrying a tablet. "Order in the proceedings!" he called out unnecessarily, as the room was already deathly silent. "The Case of Heart versus Hartman will now commence!"

He tapped his tablet, and the screen behind him changed to display an organizational chart with Victor’s position highlighted in alarming red. "Victor Hartman, Vice President of Product Strategy and Innovation, stands accused of Class One Intellectual Appropriation—specifically, the theft of conceptual property from Regina Heart’s Personal Innovation Journal, volume twelve, section four, paragraphs seven through twenty-three."

Regina approached the podium. "The evidence is irrefutable. My quarterly ideation session on March 3rd produced a revolutionary concept for a 'Stakeholder Sentiment Visualization Dashboard with Integrated Feedback Loops.'" She held up her journal dramatically. "The very next day, Mr. Hartman conveniently presented an identical concept in the Executive Strategy Review, claiming it as his own breakthrough thinking!"

A collective gasp swept through the audience, though Bob noticed several employees exchanging skeptical glances.

"That sounds like a basic user feedback dashboard," Bob whispered.

"Shh!" Morris cautioned. "At Wonderland, the obviousness of an idea is inversely proportional to the credit claimed for conceiving it."

Harvey tapped his tablet again, and the screen displayed side-by-side comparisons of two nearly identical product concept diagrams. "Exhibit A: The CEO’s original concept. Exhibit B: The suspiciously similar proposal from Product Development."

To Bob’s eye, both appeared to be standard dashboard wireframes with slight cosmetic differences. The only substantial distinction was that Regina’s version featured small heart icons as rating buttons, while Victor’s used standard star ratings.

Victor stood in the defendant’s box, posture rigid. "If I may present my defense—"

"The accused will wait to be called upon!" Regina interrupted sharply. "We will follow proper adjudication protocols!"

Karl approached Regina and whispered something in her ear. She nodded reluctantly.

"We will now hear witness testimony," Regina announced. "Call the first witness."

Harvey consulted his tablet. "The proceedings call Timothy Hatter, Marketing Director."

Timothy bounded onto the stage with his characteristic energy, multiple Bluetooth devices still attached to various parts of his head. His outfit today included a tie that periodically displayed scrolling LED text reading "INNOVATIVE DISRUPTOR."

"Mr. Hatter," Regina began once Timothy was settled in the witness stand, "did you attend the Product Strategy meeting on March 4th?"

"Indeed, indeed!" Timothy confirmed. "A most synergistic convergence of cross-functional thought leaders!"

"And did Victor Hartman present a concept for a Stakeholder Sentiment Visualization Dashboard?"

"He most certainly did articulate a conceptual framework for a multi-modal engagement quantification interface with sentiment analysis capabilities!" Timothy’s hands flew wildly as he spoke, nearly dislodging one of his headsets.

"Would you characterize this concept as revolutionary?" Regina pressed.

Timothy hesitated for a microsecond. "It embodied certain transformative elements within the established paradigm of user-centric feedback mechanisms."

Regina’s eyes narrowed. "That wasn’t my question. Was it revolutionary?"

Timothy’s eyes darted nervously between Regina and Victor. "In the context of our current product ecosystem, it represented a meaningful evolution of existing—"

"Just answer the question!" Regina demanded.

"Revolution is a spectrum rather than a binary state!" Timothy blurted out, sweat beading on his forehead. "Disruptive innovation exists on a continuum of incremental to paradigmatic recalibration!"

Regina sighed in frustration. "The witness is clearly attempting to obfuscate. Step down, Mr. Hatter."

Timothy practically ran from the witness stand, adjusting his multiple devices as he returned to his seat.

"Call the next witness," Regina commanded.

"The proceedings call Marcia Hare, Public Relations Manager," Harvey announced.

Marcia approached the stand with visible anxiety, clutching multiple phones to her chest like protective talismans. As she took her seat, one phone buzzed, causing her to jump slightly.

"Ms. Hare," Regina began, "did you prepare a press release regarding the new dashboard on March 4th?"

"Y-yes," Marcia confirmed, her eyes constantly checking her phones. "A draft announcement of the new feature was created as per standard protocol."

"And who was credited with the innovative concept in that draft?"

Marcia swallowed hard. "The initial draft credited the Product team, as the submission came from their department."

"I see," Regina said coldly. "And were you specifically instructed to credit Mr. Hartman?"

"We follow standard attribution protocols based on project submission forms," Marcia explained, visibly uncomfortable. "If there was an attribution error—"

"So you admit there was an error?" Regina pounced.

"I didn’t say that!" Marcia protested. "I simply meant that if proper credit should have gone to you, then—"

"So you acknowledge that proper credit belonged to me?" Regina interrupted triumphantly.

Marcia looked desperately toward Karl, who gave her a subtle nod of encouragement. "Our process follows the project documentation," she said carefully. "If the original concept originated elsewhere, our attribution would be updated accordingly."

"Convenient ambiguity," Regina remarked. "You may step down."

As Marcia hurried back to her seat, Regina turned to the audience. "I find it remarkable how reluctant my leadership team seems to be about acknowledging the obvious theft of intellectual property."

She gestured to Harvey, who tapped his tablet. The screen changed to display a dashboard mock-up with Regina’s name prominently watermarked across it.

"This is my original concept, documented in my innovation journal and timestamped in the Wonderland Ideation Repository," Regina declared. "Yet somehow, Mr. Hartman presented an almost identical concept as his own work the very next day."

She turned to the executive row. "Shall we hear from Technical Services about the timestamp records?"

A nervous IT manager halfway stood, then immediately sat back down. "The, uh, timestamps are valid according to system records," he stammered.

"There we have it," Regina said with satisfaction. "Technological confirmation."

From his position near the back, Bob leaned toward Morris. "This is rather elaborate for what appears to be a standard dashboard concept."

"It’s not about the dashboard," Morris whispered back. "It’s about control and credit. Regina believes all good ideas should either come from her or be attributed to her."

"But surely some of these executives will stand up to this?" Bob wondered.

Gregory shook his head. "The last VP who challenged Regina’s claim to an idea now manages our paper clip inventory in a windowless office."

The proceedings continued with several more witnesses, each carefully navigating Regina’s leading questions while trying not to explicitly contradict her or throw Victor completely under the bus. The testimony grew increasingly convoluted as executives attempted verbal acrobatics to avoid making definitive statements.

Finally, Regina turned to Victor. "The accused may now present his defense."

Victor rose with dignity despite his precarious position. "Thank you, Ms. Heart. I categorically deny stealing any intellectual property. The dashboard concept I presented was the culmination of six months of user research conducted by my team, with development work dating back to November of last year."

He gestured to the screen, where Harvey reluctantly displayed a series of dated design documents and meeting notes.

"As these records show, we’ve been iterating on this concept since Q3 of last year," Victor continued. "The similarity to your journal entry is coincidental—unsurprising given that sentiment analysis dashboards with AI integration are an industry standard feature."

A murmur spread through the crowd at the mention of AI integration. Regina’s expression darkened further.

"Are you suggesting," she said dangerously, "that my groundbreaking innovation was somehow…​ unoriginal?"

Victor paled slightly but held his ground. "I’m stating that great minds often reach similar conclusions when addressing the same problems. Our research indicated users needed better feedback visualization, and both of us independently recognized that need."

"A convenient explanation," Regina scoffed. She turned to Harvey. "Present the written evidence."

Harvey tapped his tablet once more, and the screen displayed an email thread. "Exhibit C: An email from Mr. Hartman to his team dated March 3rd, the same day as Ms. Heart’s journal entry."

Regina read from the highlighted portion: "'I just had a revelation about how we could improve our dashboard. Let’s discuss tomorrow.'" She looked up triumphantly. "A 'revelation' on the exact same day I documented my concept!"

"That’s completely circumstantial," Victor objected. "The email doesn’t specify what the revelation was—it could have been about any aspect of the dashboard we’d been working on for months."

"The timing is suspiciously convenient," Regina insisted. "How do you explain that?"

"Corporate synchronicity," Victor replied. "When multiple people are focused on the same business problems, parallel thinking occurs. It’s not theft—it’s convergent innovation."

This seemed to resonate with some audience members, who nodded in agreement. Regina noticed and quickly changed tactics.

"The Personal Innovation Journal in question was stored in my private office," she countered. "How would you have known about my concept unless you had somehow accessed it?"

Victor looked genuinely confused. "I had no knowledge of your journal entry. As I’ve shown, our team has documentation proving the concept’s ongoing development for months."

Regina turned to the audience dramatically. "I propose a different theory. Someone on Mr. Hartman’s team—or perhaps Mr. Hartman himself—gained unauthorized access to my office, viewed my Innovation Journal, and passed along the revolutionary concept, allowing him to suddenly have a 'revelation.'"

Bob whispered to Morris, "Does she really believe this conspiracy theory?"

"Whether she believes it is irrelevant," Morris replied quietly. "The accusation itself serves her purpose—reinforcing that all innovation should flow through her."

Regina continued building her case, each allegation more elaborate than the last. The dashboard concept had evolved from a simple feature into "groundbreaking intellectual property critical to Wonderland’s competitive differentiation."

Finally, she turned to the executives in the front row. "The evidence has been presented. The coincidence is too precise to be accidental. Mr. Hartman clearly appropriated my intellectual property and claimed it as his own. As per Wonderland’s Intellectual Property Protection Protocol, section 72.3, such an offense is grounds for immediate termination and potential legal action."

Karl stepped forward, speaking for the first time during the proceedings. "Before a determination is made, perhaps we should hear from Mr. Hartman’s team about the dashboard’s development timeline."

"An excellent suggestion," said Victor gratefully.

"Unnecessary," Regina countered. "The evidence speaks for itself."

"But due process requires—" Karl began.

"Due process has been observed," Regina interrupted firmly. "We’ve seen the timestamps, the email, and the suspicious similarity of the concepts."

She addressed the executive row. "I call for a decision. All those who agree that Mr. Hartman misappropriated intellectual property, raise your hands."

There was an excruciatingly tense moment where no hands moved. Regina’s gaze swept across the executives, who squirmed uncomfortably under her scrutiny. Slowly, reluctantly, hands began to rise—first from those most dependent on Regina’s favor, then gradually others who clearly feared being the odd ones out.

From the back of the room, Bob noticed that none of them would meet Victor’s eyes. The VP of Product stood straight-backed but resigned, watching his colleagues choose political survival over truth.

"The decision is near-unanimous," Regina declared, ignoring the few hands that had remained defiantly down. "Victor Hartman is found responsible for intellectual property theft."

Karl again whispered something to Regina, who nodded curtly.

"However," she continued, "in recognition of Mr. Hartman’s years of service to Wonderland, the penalty will be reduction in rank rather than termination. Mr. Hartman is hereby demoted to Director of Legacy Product Maintenance, effective immediately."

Victor’s face remained impressively stoic, though the penalty was clearly severe.

"This matter is concluded," Regina announced. "Let this serve as a reminder that at Wonderland, we take intellectual property very seriously. All innovations should flow through proper channels." The unspoken implication—that "proper channels" meant Regina herself—was lost on no one.

As the crowd began to disperse, Bob noticed an unusual commotion near the front of the room. Dora, the perpetually sleepy intern from the Marketing Department, had approached the stage and was speaking animatedly to Karl. Despite her typically drowsy demeanor, she appeared fully alert and insistent.

"What’s happening there?" Bob asked, nodding toward this unexpected development.

Morris followed his gaze. "That’s odd. The intern speaking up during an Adjudication Event? Unprecedented."

"And potentially career-ending," Gregory added grimly. "Contradicting Regina immediately after a judgment is corporate suicide."

They watched as Karl listened to Dora with increasing interest, then reluctantly approached Regina, who had been gathering her materials to leave. Whatever Karl said caused Regina to freeze, then slowly turn toward the intern with a dangerous expression.

"This doesn’t look good," Morris murmured. "Poor kid. She must be new enough not to understand the unwritten rules."

To everyone’s surprise, Regina didn’t immediately dismiss Dora but instead appeared to be listening, her expression cycling between disbelief and anger. After a brief exchange, Regina suddenly addressed the departing crowd.

"One moment!" she called, her voice cutting through the noise. "It appears we have new information regarding the dashboard concept."

The exodus halted instantly, employees freezing in place as if suddenly paused in a corporate version of musical statues.

Regina’s voice was tight with barely controlled fury. "It seems that neither I nor Mr. Hartman originated the dashboard concept. According to Ms. Mouse from Marketing Internship Program, the initial idea was presented in an intern brainstorming session in October of last year."

A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd. Regina held up a hand for silence.

"Ms. Mouse claims to have documentation proving that her team developed a prototype of the sentiment analysis dashboard as part of their Q4 innovation project, which was submitted to both the Product team and Executive Review Committee."

Victor looked as shocked as everyone else. "I never received any such submission," he protested.

"Nor did I," Regina added coldly.

Karl checked something on his tablet, then whispered to Regina again. Her expression darkened further.

"It appears," Regina announced with evident distaste, "that the intern team’s proposal was filed under 'Junior Innovation Initiatives' and marked for 'Future Consideration' by the Submissions Review Committee."

The implications hit the room like a thunderclap. Both Regina and Victor had essentially reinvented a concept already developed by interns—a concept that had been bureaucratically buried in Wonderland’s labyrinthine approval processes.

"This matter requires further investigation," Regina declared. "The judgment regarding Mr. Hartman is temporarily suspended pending review of this new information."

With that, she swept off the stage, Karl hurrying behind her.

The atrium erupted into frenzied conversation as employees processed this shocking development. Victor remained on stage, looking simultaneously relieved at his temporary reprieve and disturbed by the revelation.

"Did that intern just save Victor’s career?" Bob asked incredulously.

"Temporarily," Gregory replied. "Though she may have sacrificed her own in the process."

"Actually," Morris mused, "this might be the one scenario where Regina backs down. Being wrong is bad, but being shown to have the same idea as an intern is far worse in her mind. She’ll want this entire incident forgotten as quickly as possible."

They watched as Dora returned to her seat, seemingly unaware of the corporate earthquake she had just triggered. Timothy and Marcia converged on her immediately, their expressions a mixture of horror and admiration.

"We should go," Gregory advised. "When Regina retreats to reconsider, it’s best not to be visible during the cooling-off period."

As they moved toward the exit, Harvey’s voice came over the speaker system: "All employees, please return to your departments. Regular activities will resume in fifteen minutes with the Team Synchronicity Exercise!"

A collective groan went up from the crowd.

"Perfect timing for our escape," Morris said, quickening his pace. "The post-adjudication confusion combined with mandatory team building creates optimal conditions for a clean exit."

They had almost reached the door when Harvey appeared in front of them, looking even more harried than usual.

"Henderson!" he exclaimed, spotting Bob. "There you are! Regina wants to see you immediately."

Bob felt his stomach drop. "Me? Why?"

"Something about being a neutral observer since you’re new," Harvey explained breathlessly. "She’s assembling an ad-hoc committee to review the interns' dashboard submission, and she wants someone with 'fresh eyes and no political affiliations' to participate."

Morris and Gregory exchanged alarmed glances.

"That’s…​ quite an opportunity for a first day," Morris said carefully.

"Or a perfect setup for a scapegoat," Gregory muttered under his breath.

"Conference Room A, five minutes," Harvey instructed before rushing off to deliver more summonses.

"What do I do?" Bob asked, genuinely concerned. "I know nothing about dashboards or intellectual property policies."

"That might actually be your salvation," Morris said thoughtfully. "Regina likely wants someone she can influence who has no preexisting loyalties. Just act impressed by her insights and avoid any definitive statements."

"And if directly questioned, develop a sudden coughing fit," Gregory advised. "Works every time."

As Bob reluctantly headed toward Conference Room A, he wondered how his straightforward first day at a new job had evolved into this corporate theater of the absurd. Between Regina’s kangaroo court, Victor’s public humiliation, and the shocking intern revelation, he had witnessed more drama in a few hours than in his entire previous career.

"Conference Room A is on the third floor, east wing," Morris called after him. "Just follow the trail of anxious executives!"

Bob nodded his thanks and headed toward the elevator, Morris’s notebook of corporate translations tucked securely in his pocket. If he was going to survive this bizarre turn of events, he would need all the Wonderland wisdom he could get.

As the elevator doors closed, he caught a final glimpse of the atrium. The judge’s bench was being quickly disassembled, while employees reluctantly gathered for the resumption of mandatory team building. Above it all, the large screen now displayed a single message:

"INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY ADJUDICATION: TEMPORARILY SUSPENDED.
MANDATORY TEAM BUILDING: PARTICIPATION NON-NEGOTIABLE.
REGULAR CORPORATE ACTIVITIES: CONTINUE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE."

Conference Room A bore the unmistakable tension of an emergency executive meeting. The large oval table was surrounded by anxious faces, with Regina Heart at the head, her crimson suit somehow even more intimidating in the confined space. Karl sat to her right, looking weary, while Victor Hartman occupied a chair noticeably further from Regina than his VP status would normally warrant.

Most surprising was the presence of Dora, the intern, who sat uncomfortably at the far end, clutching a tablet and looking as though she deeply regretted her moment of courage. Several other executives filled the remaining seats, their expressions carefully neutral—the corporate equivalent of prey animals trying to avoid drawing a predator’s attention.

Bob slipped into the room as quietly as possible, but Regina immediately fixed him with her penetrating gaze.

"Henderson. Finally. Take a seat." She pointed to an empty chair directly across from her. It was, Bob realized with dismay, the worst possible position—fully exposed to Regina’s scrutiny with nowhere to hide.

"As I was saying," Regina continued once Bob was seated, "this situation requires immediate resolution. We have three conflicting claims to the same intellectual property: my original concept, Mr. Hartman’s alleged independent development, and now this…​ intern submission."

She said "intern submission" with the same tone someone might use for "toxic waste spill."

"Since Mr. Henderson is new to Wonderland and has no existing allegiances," Regina continued, "he will serve as our neutral evaluator. Henderson, your task is simple: review the evidence and determine the true originator of the Stakeholder Sentiment Visualization Dashboard concept."

Bob felt all eyes turn to him. "I appreciate your confidence," he began cautiously, "but I’m not sure I’m qualified to—"

"Your application indicated experience with project analysis and process evaluation," Regina interrupted. "Those skills are precisely what’s needed here—an objective assessment of the timeline and documentation."

Bob had no recollection of emphasizing such skills in his job application, but contradicting Regina seemed unwise. "I’ll do my best," he conceded.

"Excellent. Let’s begin with the intern submission," Regina said, nodding to Dora. "Ms. Mouse, present your evidence."

Dora tapped nervously on her tablet, and the large screen on the wall displayed a presentation dated October 17 of the previous year. "This was our Innovation Challenge project," she explained, her voice surprisingly steady despite her evident anxiety. "Our brief was to identify pain points in customer feedback collection and propose solutions."

She advanced through several slides showing research, user interviews, and finally a prototype dashboard design that was unmistakably similar to both Regina’s and Victor’s concepts.

"We submitted this to the Junior Innovation Portal on November 3rd," Dora continued. "According to protocol, it should have been reviewed by both Product Development and the Executive Committee within thirty days."

One of the executives leaned forward. "Where did your team initially get this concept?"

Dora hesitated, glancing nervously at Regina. "We…​ we used Wonderchat during our brainstorming session. We gave it a prompt asking for dashboard ideas to visualize customer feedback, and it generated the basic framework. We then refined it based on actual user needs."

A cold silence fell over the room. Regina’s expression froze somewhere between disbelief and horror.

"You’re saying," Regina said slowly, each word precisely measured, "that this supposedly revolutionary concept came from our in-house chatbot?"

"We used it as a starting point," Dora clarified. "But yes, the sentiment analysis visualization with real-time feedback loops was in its response to our prompt."

Victor looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I never received this submission," he repeated from earlier. "The Junior Innovation Portal reports to HR, not Product."

Karl checked something on his tablet. "According to the system logs, the submission was received and routed to Initial Screening, where it was categorized as 'Promising But Premature' and placed in the Quarterly Review queue."

"Which means it entered administrative limbo," one of the other executives muttered.

Regina shot him a sharp look before turning back to Dora. "Why didn’t you follow up when you received no response?"

"We did," Dora replied, gaining confidence. "Three times. We received automated responses saying our submission was 'In Process' and would be 'Escalated to Appropriate Stakeholders in Alignment with Strategic Priorities.'"

Several executives winced at this familiar corporate non-answer.

Next, Victor presented his evidence—a comprehensive documentation trail showing progressive development of dashboard concepts dating back months. His team had indeed been working on similar functionality long before Regina’s journal entry, though their version had evolved through multiple iterations.

Finally, Regina presented her documentation—primarily her innovation journal entry with its timestamp and several follow-up notes expanding on the concept.

"The core innovation here," she insisted, "is the integration of sentiment analysis with real-time response channeling. That specific combination was my breakthrough."

Bob studied all three presentations carefully. To his eye, they represented variations on the same basic concept, with Regina’s version distinguished mainly by its heart-shaped interface elements and Victor’s by its technical feasibility. Dora’s intern team had, in fact, proposed the fundamental approach first, though with less polished execution.

"Mr. Henderson," Regina prompted, "your assessment?"

Bob took a deep breath. This was clearly a political minefield, and Morris’s advice to remain noncommittal seemed wisest. Yet something about the absurdity of the situation—the territorial squabbling over a dashboard design, the bureaucratic burial of good ideas, the performative corporate theater—made it suddenly difficult to play along.

He had spent less than a day at Wonderland, Inc., yet had witnessed more dysfunction, waste, and absurdity than in his entire previous career. The sheer disconnection from productive reality had passed from amusing to frustrating to genuinely concerning.

"Based on the documentation," Bob began carefully, "it appears that the intern team was first to formally propose the core concept. Mr. Hartman’s team independently developed similar functionality through their ongoing product work. And Ms. Heart’s journal entry, while containing some unique interface elements, represents a convergent solution to the same problem."

The room went silent. Bob had just done the unthinkable—he had failed to declare Regina the rightful originator.

Regina’s eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you misunderstood the evidence," she said, her voice dangerously quiet. "My concept clearly represents a paradigm shift in approach."

"With respect," Bob replied, feeling a strange confidence growing within him, "a sentiment analysis dashboard is a standard business tool. The implementations vary in details but share the same fundamental purpose and structure."

"Are you suggesting my innovation is…​ common?" Regina’s voice had dropped to an icy whisper.

The other executives were staring at Bob with expressions ranging from horror to reluctant admiration. Victor sat perfectly still, as if movement might attract predatory attention. Dora looked simultaneously terrified and vindicated.

"I’m suggesting," Bob continued, unable to stop himself, "that multiple people at Wonderland independently reached similar conclusions because it’s an obvious solution to a common problem. The real issue isn’t who thought of it first, but why good ideas get trapped in bureaucratic processes regardless of their source."

Karl sucked in a sharp breath. Regina’s face flushed to match her suit.

"You clearly don’t understand how innovation works at Wonderland," she said, rising slightly from her chair. "Perhaps your position isn’t a good fit after all."

"Respectfully, Ms. Heart," Bob replied, standing as well, "I don’t think anyone understands how innovation works at Wonderland—or if it works at all. From what I’ve seen today, this company is so preoccupied with meetings about work, reviews of work, and disputes over credit for work that no actual work ever gets done."

The statement hung in the air like a corporate blasphemy. Several executives audibly gasped. Victor unsuccessfully tried to disguise a smile as a cough. Dora’s eyes widened to their fullest extent, possibly for the first time since her employment began.

Regina stood fully now, her presence seeming to expand until it dominated the room. "Mr. Henderson, you are hereby—"

"Let me guess," Bob interrupted, feeling a strange sense of liberation. "Fired? Demoted? Reassigned to paper clip inventory in North Dakota?"

"Bob," Karl warned quietly.

But Bob had reached his breaking point—the tipping point where the fear of corporate consequences was outweighed by the absurdity of it all.

"This entire company is nothing but a collection of buzzwords disguised as a business," he continued. "In the hours I’ve been here, I’ve yet to see a single person doing anything that creates actual value. It’s all corporate theater—ritualistic performances where the script is written in meaningless jargon and the only goal is avoiding blame while claiming credit!"

As Bob spoke, something strange began to happen. The conference room seemed to shift around him—the walls becoming less solid, the executives' faces blurring slightly at the edges. Regina’s voice sounded increasingly distant as she demanded his badge and declared his employment terminated.

"You can’t fire me," Bob realized suddenly, "because I don’t actually work here. My position doesn’t exist. This entire company might not exist in any meaningful sense. You’re all just corporate roles pretending to be people, following scripts instead of thinking, moving papers from one desk to another and calling it productivity!"

The room was definitely changing now—the solid corporate environment giving way to something less substantial. The executives' business attire seemed to shimmer, revealing glimpses of organizational charts and business cards underneath. Regina’s crimson suit appeared to be composed of hundreds of overlapping policy memos, all stamped with her signature in red.

"You’re nothing but a stack of business cards!" Bob declared.

With those words, the conference room dissolved entirely. The executives, Regina, the furniture—all of it began swirling around Bob like papers caught in a wind, business cards and PowerPoint slides and meaningless charts all flying through the air in a corporate cyclone.

Bob felt himself falling, or perhaps rising—the sensation was ambiguous as the entire Wonderland, Inc. headquarters collapsed into corporate confetti around him.

Then, suddenly, silence.

Bob opened his eyes to find himself sitting in a perfectly normal reception area. Sunlight streamed through large windows, illuminating a clean, professional space with the Cornerstone Enterprises logo displayed on the wall. A young receptionist looked at him with mild concern.

"Mr. Henderson? Are you alright?" she asked. "You seemed to drift off for a moment there."

Bob blinked, disoriented. "I…​ yes. Sorry about that."

"No problem at all," she smiled. "Your onboarding manager will be with you in just a few minutes. First day nerves are completely normal."

Bob looked around, confirming that he was indeed in the reception area of Cornerstone Enterprises—the company he had actually accepted a job with. Not Wonderland, Inc. There was no Regina Heart, no Corporate Adjudication Event, no Conference Call Quadrille.

"Did I fall asleep?" he asked, embarrassed.

"Just a little catnap," the receptionist assured him. "You’ve only been waiting about fifteen minutes. Reception can be a bit too comfortable sometimes."

Bob checked his watch—9:15 AM. His entire Wonderland adventure had been nothing more than an elaborate dream during a brief doze in the reception area, waiting for his real first day to begin.

Yet it had felt so vivid, so detailed in its corporate absurdity. He could still picture Regina’s imperious expression, Morris’s melancholy nostalgic musings, and Timothy’s multiple Bluetooth devices.

A door opened, and a friendly-looking woman approached. "Bob Henderson? I’m Jennifer Li, your onboarding manager. Sorry to keep you waiting—our morning status meeting ran long."

Bob stood to shake her hand, suddenly hyperaware of corporate language. "No problem. Status meetings are important," he replied, searching her expression for any hint of Wonderland-like absurdity.

But Jennifer just smiled normally. "Let’s get you set up. We’ll start with a quick tour, then handle the paperwork, and introduce you to your team before lunch."

As they walked through Cornerstone’s offices, Bob was relieved to find everything refreshingly normal. People were engaged in actual work rather than endless meetings about work. The organizational structure seemed logical, the corporate mission clear, the workplace culture professional but pleasant.

"And this will be your desk," Jennifer said, showing him to a perfectly reasonable workspace in an open office area. "Your team lead, Mark, is excited to have you join the project coordination group."

"That is my actual position, right?" Bob asked before he could stop himself. "Project Coordinator?"

Jennifer looked slightly puzzled. "Of course. Just as we discussed in your interviews and specified in your offer letter. Is there a concern?"

"No, sorry," Bob said quickly. "Just confirming."

Later, as Bob sat through a straightforward orientation presentation, he found himself examining everything for signs of Wonderland-like dysfunction. But there were no endless meetings about meetings, no corporate theater, no absurd hierarchies or nonsensical processes. Cornerstone was simply a normal company conducting normal business.

During a break, Bob struck up a conversation with another new hire.

"How’s your first day going?" he asked.

"Good so far," she replied. "Though I’ve already been invited to three different meetings tomorrow. Hopefully they don’t take up the whole day."

Bob felt a momentary chill. "What kind of meetings?"

"Oh, standard stuff. Project kickoff, team introduction, systems overview. Nothing too exciting."

Bob nodded, relieved. Normal meetings with actual purposes. Not a Conference Call Quadrille or Mandatory Morale Event in sight.

As the day progressed, however, Bob couldn’t shake the lingering effects of his dream. He found himself noticing things he might otherwise have overlooked—the occasional use of buzzwords in company materials, a few inefficient processes, meetings that could have been emails.

During lunch, he overheard fragments of workplace conversations that suddenly seemed loaded with potential Wonderland tendencies:

"Let’s circle back on that after the stakeholder review…​"
"We should align our messaging across platforms…​"
"The executive dashboard needs more visual impact…​"

None of these were unusual in a corporate environment, but now Bob heard them differently—as warning signs, early indicators of potential corporate absurdity that could, if left unchecked, eventually evolve into full Wonderland dysfunction.

By late afternoon, as Bob completed his first-day paperwork, his manager stopped by.

"How’s everything going, Bob? Getting settled in okay?"

"Yes, thank you," Bob replied. Then, unable to resist: "Quick question—what would you say is Cornerstone’s approach to innovation? Specifically, how do ideas move from conception to implementation?"

His manager looked thoughtful rather than offended. "That’s actually a great question for your first day. We try to maintain clear pathways for ideas, regardless of where they originate. There’s a formal submission process, but we also encourage direct conversations. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious about the culture," Bob said. "In some companies, good ideas get lost in bureaucracy or claimed by executives."

His manager laughed. "We’re not perfect, but we try to avoid that kind of dysfunction. Ideas should be evaluated on merit, not source."

Bob felt a weight lift from his shoulders. "That’s refreshing to hear."

As the workday ended and Bob prepared to leave, he passed the reception area where his strange dream had occurred. The receptionist gave him a friendly wave.

"Successful first day?" she asked.

"Very," Bob confirmed. "Though I had the strangest dream while waiting this morning—an entire alternate corporate reality where everything was absurdly dysfunctional."

She laughed. "Anxiety dreams about work are the worst. Last week I dreamed I had to take minutes for a meeting conducted entirely in interpretive dance."

Bob smiled, but as he left the building, he couldn’t help reflecting on his Wonderland experience. Though just a dream, it had felt meaningful—a concentrated, absurdist version of real corporate dysfunctions he’d encountered throughout his career.

Perhaps, he thought, the true value of his Wonderland adventure was as a warning—a symbolically rich catalog of corporate pathologies to recognize and avoid. The meaningless jargon, the bureaucratic mazes, the political gamesmanship, the emphasis on appearance over substance—all were real dangers in any organization, just exaggerated to surreal proportions in his dream.

As Bob walked to his car, he made a silent promise to himself: to remain vigilant against Wonderland-like absurdities in his real corporate life, to prioritize meaning over ritual, productivity over politics, and clarity over jargon.

And if he ever encountered a CEO who demanded that all good ideas be attributed to her, or a marketing director wearing multiple Bluetooth devices, or an IT director perched atop an impossibly tall chair dispensing cryptic advice through vape clouds?

Well, then he’d know he had truly fallen down the corporate rabbit hole.

For now, though, Bob was simply grateful to be starting a normal job at a normal company—where meetings had purposes, dashboards tracked actual data, and no one was ever put on trial for stealing ideas that weren’t particularly innovative to begin with.

As he drove home, Bob smiled at the absurdity of his dream and the relief of his reality. Tomorrow would be his first full day at Cornerstone, filled with actual work rather than elaborate corporate theater. He was looking forward to it.

Still, just to be safe, he decided he’d avoid dozing off in reception areas from now on. One trip to Wonderland, Inc. was quite enough for any career.