Chapter 17: Official Onboarding
The air in the NewYou Corporate Orientation Center held a uniform coolness, like the inside of a clean refrigerator. The floor was a polished stone composite that transmitted the faint, steady vibrations of the building's climate systems up through the soles of Erin’s expensive pumps.
She marched smartly, her posture a rigid echo of the corporate siren look Serena’s personal shopper had forced her into. The dress was a sheath of gunmetal grey, cut to suggest curves rather than reveal them, and it constricted her shoulders with every step. Her objective was not the bland welcome kiosk ahead, but the secure sub-level three floors below her feet, where Marcus believed the Black Book’s access node was housed.
“Erin Ortega for onboarding,” she said to the receptionist, her Romanian accent clipped.
The woman’s smile was a biometric trigger, perfect and meaningless. “Your escort will be right with you. Please stand on the marked circle for a quick scan.”
Erin complied. A ring of pale blue light ascended from the floor, passing over her body. It registered the pressure of her clothes, the thermal signature of her skin, the false identification chipped into her new corporate badge. A soft chime approved.
“All set!” The receptionist chirped.
From a side door marked ‘Employee Wellness & Integration,’ a woman emerged. She was short, her figure soft where Erin’s was sharp. Red hair curled around a face dotted with faint freckles. She wore a bright yellow blouse tucked into a high-waisted, wide-legged trouser—corporate playful. Her neck, exposed by the open collar, was a smooth column of skin that caught the overhead lights. Erin’s gaze fixed on the gentle throb of the carotid artery beneath the surface.
“Hi there! I’m Judy.” The woman’s voice was warm, with a slight huskiness. She offered a hand. Her grip was firm, the skin of her palm dry and warm. “I’ll be your guide today. Welcome to NewYou.”
Judy’s eyes traveled up Erin’s frame, a slow inventory from shoes to hair. The smile on her lips changed. It lost its generic welcome and gained a specific, intimate curve. Her eyes, a warm brown, held a spark of recognition, as if she and Erin shared a secret joke about the sterile room and its procedures.
“They didn’t oversell you in the briefing notes,” Judy said, releasing her hand. “Corporate siren suits you. A lot.”
“Thank you,” Erin said. She kept her voice neutral, but something in Judy’s presence—the warmth of her, the vibrant pulse under her skin—was a distraction. A pleasant one.
Judy hooked a tablet under her arm. “Let’s walk and talk. Your day is structured, but I’m here to smooth the edges.” She led Erin away from the lobby, their heels tapping a syncopated rhythm on the stone. Judy’s shorter stride meant Erin had to slow her pace. “Morning is NewYouHire orientation. Foundational stuff. History, culture, the ‘You in NewYou’ speech. It’s a drone, but mandatory. Then lunch in the cantina—on the company, of course. After that, mandatory compliance training. Data security, ethical modification boundaries, non-disclosure protocols. Real snoozer. Then a dinner with some division heads. A chance to network, look impressive. And finally, you and I have a scheduled exit session. Just us. We go over your questions, your feedback. Onboarding believes in continuous improvement. Your opinion matters to us.”
They reached a bank of elevators. Judy pressed the call button. The metal doors reflected their images: Erin, tall and severe; Judy, a splash of color beside her.
“It sounds comprehensive,” Erin said.
“Oh, it is,” Judy said, her eyes meeting Erin’s in the reflection. “We aim for a seamless integration. Every step is measured. Every experience is curated.” The elevator arrived with a soft thump of displaced air. The doors slid open. “After all, we want you to feel… at home here.”
The elevator began its smooth ascent. The change in air pressure pressed on Erin’s eardrums. Judy stood close, the heat from her body radiating into the cool, contained space.
“The briefing notes said you had a unique… entry into the company,” Judy said. Her tone was casual, but her gaze was direct.
“A transfer of sorts,” Erin replied.
“From the field to the executive fast-track. That’s rare.” Judy’s smile returned, that same knowing curve. “It suggests hidden talents. I’m looking forward to our exit session. Those are always the most illuminating part of the day.”
The elevator slowed. The doors opened on a carpeted hallway lined with doors. The air here was warmer, dryer.
“Orientation is in here,” Judy said, gesturing to a double doorway. “I’ll be right outside. If you need anything, just signal.” She leaned in fractionally. Her whisper was a warm vibration in the air between them. “And do try to stay awake. The part about synergizing verticals is a real killer.”
Erin nodded and entered the dimmed room, taking a seat among two dozen other new hires. A holographic presenter buzzed to life at the front. But her mind was not on corporate synergies.
It was on the warmth of Judy’s hand. The promising weight of her words. And the delicious, distracting pulse in her neck. The vault in the basement felt very far away, and this curated path, with its final, private session, felt like a door opening to a different kind of mission entirely.
The vault in the basement felt very far away, and this curated path, with its final, private session, felt like a door opening to a different kind of mission entirely.
The morning brief was familiar. Erin felt like she remembered it from a number of MLS sales pitches she attended in her pre-Huntress days. A hologram of a man with excessively white teeth spoke of synergy and human potential. She let it wash over her, focusing instead on the map of the ventilation shafts she’d glimpsed in a maintenance panel on her way in. Each corporate platitude was a beat of time she didn’t have.
Lunch with Judy was more interesting. They sat in a cantina bathed in artificial, vitamin-enriched light. Judy’s neck was positively distracting. The soft skin there moved with her words, and a fine blue vein traced a path beneath her jawline.
She was so emotive, and the way she gestured with her hands—small, precise flicks that became broad, inviting sweeps—made Erin want to bite her wrists. To feel the delicate bones, the rush of life beneath her tongue. She kept her own hands folded in her lap, nails pressing crescents into her palms.
“You’re quiet,” Judy said, spearing a cube of lab-grown chicken. “First-day jitters? Or just planning world domination from cubicle seven?”
“Observation,” Erin corrected, her voice low. She took a sip of water, feeling the cool liquid track down her throat. “This is a system. I am learning its rhythms.”
Judy smiled, a genuine expression that reached her eyes.“Smart. Most people just see the free coffee.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Now, the fun part’s over. Next up is mandatory compliance training. It’s a real snoozer, but very important.”
She wiped her mouth with a napkin, her gaze turning serious. The playful warmth receded, replaced by a professional chill. “NewYou takes compliance very seriously. The rules are the architecture. They hold everything up. Violation of compliance regulations could end your career.”
Judy let that hang in the air between them. The ambient chatter of the cantina seemed to recede. She didn’t blink.
“Or worse,” Erin finished, stating the unsaid thing.
A slow nod. “Or worse. So pay attention. Even if it’s dull. Especially if it’s dull. The boring stuff is where they hide the landmines.” She stood, collecting her tray. The moment broke, and her warmth returned like a switched-on bulb. “Meet me outside Lecture Hall C in ten. Don’t be late. Punctuality is a compliance sub-clause, I’m pretty sure.”
Erin watched her go, the sway of her yellow blouse a bright flag in the sterile room. The warning was clear, but the delivery was intimate. A friend letting another friend in on the real rules. It was expertly done.
It was expertly done, and Erin filed the warning alongside the memory of Serena's cold fingers pressing the ID badge into her hand. Lecture Hall C was a windowless amphitheater. The air felt dead. It carried a synthetic floral scent that was air freshener trying to strangle disinfectant. She took a seat near the back. Judy gave her a quick thumbs-up from the doorway and pulled the heavy soundproofed door shut with a solid thump that vibrated up through the bolted seats.
The hologram activated.
It wasn't a person. It was a large, leather-bound book. A cartoonish face, drawn in shifting golden light, winked from the cover. Musical strings plucked a jaunty, corporate tune.
"Hello, future paradigm shifters!" the Book boomed in a friendly baritone. "Let's talk about your favorite subject! Synergistic compliance!"
The projection danced a little jig. Pages fluttered open. Erin straightened in her seat. Across the aisle, a man in a cheap suit chuckled and adjusted his tie. He looked enchanted.
"-Ensure operational excellence through proactive engagement with the regulatory ecosystem!" the Book sang. Graphs and flowcharts shimmered in the air above it. "-Utilize a shared lexicon for unified action! Words are the architecture of reality! One wrong word collapses the bridge!"
Erin felt a creeping pressure at the base of her skull. The scent in the room. It was familiar. This wasn't air freshener.
It was molecular nanite suspension.
She recognized it. It carried a specific metallic-green overtone that had saturated the mobile lab every time her consciousness had been ripped from Huntress and crammed back into Erin Ortega. A clean, sterile, processing smell. The air in the hall was thick with it. Not for cleaning, but for imprinting.
The moving air was no longer dead. It had a pervasive, intentional weight, carrying the microscopic programming engines directly into the lungs of the thirty new hires. They all sat forward, an identical attentive angle to their spines. Her neighbor's jaw had gone slack. His eyes tracked the dancing hologram with a bright, unblinking fixity.
Erin fought to keep her own expression neutral. She felt a peculiar slickness coat her thoughts. The Book’s words—“paradigm,” “synergistic,” “ecosystem”—no longer sounded like corporate babble.They felt true. Logical.Correct. They felt like the only correct words. She needed to use them. The pressure was a hand inside her mind, smoothing her rough edges into a pleasant, effective shape. Her individual wants were getting fuzzy.
She gripped the cold metal armrest of her chair. The physical sensation of restraint.
This wasn’t a training session. The room was a shared transformation chamber. The hologram was the template. Standard issue corporate worker.Compliant. Eager.Happy. Her own consciousness, still raw and prickly from forty-one forced rewrites, was an irritating splinter against the perfect grain of this collective drone mind.
She looked toward the exit door. She had to move.Now.
Her muscles responded slowly, as if the thick air had become jelly. She stood. Her shoe scuffed the floor. No one turned their head. Their eyes were all locked on the Book, which was now singing about transparency protocols in a cheerful round.
Erin stumbled up the shallow steps. Her steps felt too fast for the environment, disruptive. She pushed the heavy door open with a grunt. It gave way, and she fell into the bright, quiet emptiness of the hallway.
The air here was different. Cleansed. Sharp. She gulped it.
"Whoa, speedy!Done already?"
Judy was there, leaning against the opposite wall. Her smile was amused. That knowing gleam was back. She pushed off the wall. “You missed the best part. The mandatory happiness assessment module. There’s a dance.”
Erin’s head swam. The world tilted. She focused on the vivid point of Judy’s neck, the pulse under soft skin, a grounding real thing in the drifting corporate fog.
“Require hydraulic waste management facility egress point,” Erin heard herself say. The words came out flat, toneless. They clicked in her mouth like plastic tiles.
Judy’s grin widened, a flash of strong white teeth. She tilted her head. “What was that, Ortega? Human, please.”
Erin shook her head, trying to dislodge the perfect, inane phrasing. The correct words from the Book clattered against her own. “I need... a bathroom.”
Judy’s delight was palpable. She stepped closer. The air around her carried her own scent, human and warm. It cut through the last clinging traces of the nanites. “Look at you. ‘Egress point.’ It took for most people. A week of micro-dosing in the cantina air circulators. You just mainlined the full-strength broadcast and your brain’s already formatting the output.” Judy’s fingers circled Erin’s upper arm, her grip warm and strangely supportive. Her thumb brushed a slow circle against the inside of her sleeve. The touch sent a bolt of pure feeling through the numbed static.
“You are a natural,” Judy murmured, her voice dropping to that intimate pitch from the elevator. Her smile was radiant. “You’ll be fully formatted in no time. Certified compliant. Safe.” That last word sat between them.Heavy. “Anyway, sure. There’s plenty of time left in the session. Let’s get you sorted.”
She steered Erin, not toward the nearest restroom sign, but down the long main corridor. Her hand stayed on Erin’s arm, proprietary and firm. “My quarters are closer. And private. Better than the common stalls. Consider it part of the service.”
The corridor stretched, a canyon of corporate white and glossy grey. Their footsteps were small, isolated sounds. Judy leaned in, her voice a hot, private whisper near Erin’s ear, her breath disturbing the fine hair there. “Sometimes the intake calibration is too intense. Makes you a little... fuzzy. Disoriented.” Her fingers squeezed, just a fraction. It wasn’t pain. It was definition. An anchor point. “It’s okay. We walk it off. We clear the head.”
They passed a junction. A glass wall looked down into a multi-level maintenance bay far below, where technicians worked on line arrays. Judy steered her past it, toward a bank of senior staff residential lifts. Her neck was right there, beside Erin's lips. The skin looked impossibly soft.
The lift doors were polished bronze. Judy’s reflection was a small, confident woman leading a beautiful, stunned panther on a very, very thin leash. She pressed the call button. “Almost there. I’ve got water.And quiet. We’ll decompress.” She looked up at Erin, who was staring at her pulse. Judy’s smile didn't waver. "You look thirsty."
The elevator doors shut with a final sound, sealing them in a space the size of a coffin. Judy’s quarters were not down a residential hallway but through an unmarked service door beside the lift, which she opened with a palm scan. The room beyond was not a home. It was a suite for interviews and assessments. A long, low sofa. A wall of monitors, currently dark. A kitchenette with a sink and a single glass. The air was the same recycled chill as the hallways, but here it felt intentional, a contained environment for observation.
“Sit,” Judy said, her voice losing its cantina warmth. It was direct now, an instruction.
Erin sat on the edge of the sofa. The material was cool through the thin fabric of her dress. Her thoughts still felt formatted, slippery, but a raw core of her was sharpening, honed by the sterile silence and the profound wrongness of this curated path. Judy moved to the kitchenette. She filled the glass from a tap. The water made a loud, hollow sound in the quiet room.
Judy walked back and held the glass out. Erin took it. The water was tasteless, a void. She drank it all, the cold liquid doing nothing for the deeper thirst coiling in her gut. She set the empty glass on the low table with a click.
Judy did not move away. She stood over her, one hand coming to rest on her own hip. She tilted her head, and the overhead light traced the line of her throat from jaw to collarbone. The pulse there was a steady, visible beat.
“You keep looking at it,” Judy said. Her voice was a low hum.
Erin said nothing. Her eyes were locked on the blue vein.
“My neck.” Judy took a half-step closer. The heat of her body reached Erin’s skin. “You’ve been staring since orientation. In the cantina. In the hall. You’re staring now.” She bent forward, placing her hands on the sofa back, caging Erin in. Her neck was right there, exposed, offered. The scent of her skin, of her blood beneath, cut through the sterile air like a signal flare. “You look like you want to kiss it.”
Their eyes met. Judy’s brown eyes held no fear. They were bright with a challenging curiosity, and something else—an anticipation, a hunger that wasn’t for blood but for data, for a reaction. For the breaking of a mold.
“Do you want to kiss it, Erin?”
The compliance training words were ash in Erin’s mouth. The formatted phrases dissolved. A deeper syntax, written in her bones and in forty-one cycles of pain, took over. Her hand came up, not fast, but inevitable. Her fingers touched the skin of Judy’s throat. It was as warm as she’d imagined, soft over the firm cord of muscle and the thrilling jump of the artery.
Judy’s breath hitched. She didn’t pull away. She let her head tilt further, a clear surrender. Her eyes stayed open, watching.
Erin leaned in. Her lips brushed the skin. She felt Judy shiver. Then her jaw unhinged with a soft, biological click no human mouth could make. Her retractable fangs slid free, needle-sharp points against warm flesh.
For a moment, Judy looked surprised. Her body stiffened.
Then Erin pierced her.
The fangs sunk in, a precise, piercing pressure. Judy’s eyes flew wide. A short, sharp gasp escaped her, part shock, part something else. Her pupils dilated, swallowing the warm brown of her irises into black pools. The hypnotic venom in Erin’s fangs hit her system instantly.
A moan vibrated against Erin’s mouth, deep and surrendering. Judy’s hands, which had been braced on the sofa, went limp and slid down to grip Erin’s shoulders. Not to push away. To pull closer. Her body arched, pressing her throat more firmly against the pull of Erin’s mouth.
Erin drank.
The blood was hot and rich, a copper vitality that flooded her senses. It was not just blood. It was laden with compounds, a proprietary blend of neuro-peptides and compliance enzymes, the signature cocktail of the Employee Wellness & Integration template. It tasted like honey and the color yellow. It tasted like curated satisfaction and mandatory happiness, and beneath that, a startling, vibrant thread of the woman named Judy, who was sighing now, going pliant and heavy in her arms.
Erin drank deeply, one hand tangling in Judy’s red hair to hold her in place. The fog of the orientation hall vaporized. Her mind cleared, sharpened, hyper-focused. The template blood was a key, a backdoor. Information streamed into her not through data ports, but through her throat. She saw access codes. She saw server paths. She saw the architecture of the local Black Book node, not as a schematic, but as a felt geography, a cold, dark place three floors down.
Judy was murmuring, slurred words lost against Erin’s hair. “Yes… more… it’s in the sub-basement… the vault…”
Erin pulled back. Her fangs retracted. Two neat punctures welled with blood, then sealed over almost instantly, leaving only faint pink marks. Judy slumped against her, breathless, a dazed, euphoric smile on her face. Her eyes were glassy, her pupils fully blown.
“The key,” Erin said, her own voice rough, richer.
Judy whispered, nuzzling drowsily into Erin’s shoulder. Her words were thick with venom-fueled bliss. “The project architect. The one who built the firewall. He’s here. In the building. He never leaves.”
She went boneless, a warm, trusting weight. Erin lowered her onto the sofa. Judy reached for her, a weak, grasping motion, her template-perfected blood singing with forced contentment and utter, programmed surrender.
Erin stood. The world had crystallized. The thirst was gone, replaced by a cold, electric purpose. She knew where the vault was. She knew it needed two keys. She had just consumed a directory to the second keyholder.
She looked at Judy, who was smiling at the ceiling, tracing the marks on her neck with wondering fingers. The perfect, compliant employee, harboring a map to the corporation’s heart in her very veins.
Erin turned and left the room. The door hissed shut behind her. The corridor stretched towards the elevators, towards Serena, towards a man who never left his post. The taste of compliance blood was a burning roadmap on her tongue.