The rhythmic clatter of keyboard strokes echoed through the vast, sterile office, a never-ending symphony of mechanical keystrokes that blended seamlessly with the low hum of fluorescent lights. The air was thick with the stale scent of burnt coffee and old paper, lingering like a ghost of exhaustion. The rows of cubicles stood like silent sentinels, each identical in its lifeless monotony. The faint clicking of a clock on the wall marked the slow passage of time, each tick a reminder of another second lost to the grind.
Aya Kurose sat hunched at her desk, fingers moving with mechanical precision over the keyboard. Her posture was poor, her shoulders slumped forward, weighed down by unseen burdens. The glow of the monitor reflected in her dull, lifeless eyes, scanning the endless rows of numbers on a spreadsheet. The digits blurred together, exhaustion seeping into her bones, clouding her mind like a heavy fog.
The office was mostly empty at this hour. Most of her colleagues had already gone home, their chairs pushed haphazardly against their desks, jackets missing from their usual hooks. Only a few others remained—fellow overtime workers, trapped in the same cycle. A faint cough from a nearby cubicle, the quiet rustling of papers, the occasional sigh—these were the only sounds that reminded her she wasn't entirely alone.
Her fingers paused over the keyboard. She leaned back slightly, stretching her sore neck. The muscles ached, a sharp tension radiating down to her shoulders. She rolled her wrists absentmindedly, feeling the faint sting of repetitive stress. Her body was breaking down, slowly, surely, and yet she forced it to move, to continue working, because that's all she knew how to do.
A quick glance at the bottom corner of her monitor.
1:47 AM.
She sighed. Another late night. Another empty night.
Her stomach gave a low, pitiful growl, reminding her that she had barely eaten. With slow, lethargic movements, she reached for the convenience store bento beside her keyboard. The rice had hardened slightly at the edges, the fried chicken inside now cold and rubbery. Next to it, a small bag of greasy chips sat half-opened, and a crushed sandwich lay discarded in its plastic wrap. A meal devoid of care, much like everything else in her life.
She picked up a chip and bit down, the crunch loud in the oppressive silence. The saltiness barely registered on her tongue. Food had become nothing more than fuel, a necessity to keep her body moving, but nothing she enjoyed. When was the last time she had a proper meal? She couldn't remember.
As she reached for another bite, a small movement caught her eye.
A tiny black ant, crawling across the pristine white surface of her desk.
She stilled, watching as it scurried aimlessly, its tiny legs moving in frantic, erratic patterns. Lost. Trapped. Alone in a place it didn't belong.
Just like me.
A bitter smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but it never formed. Instead, she sighed and turned back to her screen.
And then—
Pain.
A sharp, unbearable cramp coiled through her stomach, twisting like a serrated knife inside her. Her vision swam, dark spots creeping into her sight. Cold sweat broke across her skin, her pulse thundering in her ears. Her fingers trembled, barely able to press against her aching abdomen.
Something was wrong.
Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled beneath her. Her chair rolled backward with a hollow clatter, her body slumping forward onto the desk. The numbers on the screen blurred further, flickering—or was that her sight failing?
Her heartbeat was deafening now, erratic and painful.
The office lights flickered, the edges of the world dimming. The last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed her was the little ant, still crawling forward, undeterred.
Then, everything went black.
Part 2: The Silent Cage
Aya drifted in darkness.
There was no pain. No hunger. No exhaustion. No walls of an office to keep her bound. Just… silence.
Was she dead?
She tried to move, but something was wrong. Her limbs—did she even have them? A strange weightlessness surrounded her, yet at the same time, she felt confined, encased in something smooth and unyielding. Her world was small. A cage.
She tried to take a breath.
Nothing.
Panic flared, but it was muted, as if something was suppressing her emotions. She was awake, yet not. Drifting in an inescapable limbo. How much time had passed? Minutes? Hours? Days? She couldn't tell.
Her senses were strange. Muted. Wrong. She couldn't smell, couldn't feel the air on her skin. Was she even breathing? Did she even have a mouth?
She needed to get out.
At first, she twitched. A slight push. A subtle movement. Her limbs—or what she thought were her limbs—pressed against the walls. No give.
Again.
And again.
A crack.
It was faint, almost imperceptible, but she felt it. Something had shifted.
Encouraged, she pushed harder. Pressed. Struggled.
Another crack. Louder.
Something wet seeped around her, warm and sticky. Her body shuddered with effort. Tear, claw, break, escape.
Then—
Light.
Blinding, searing, suffocating light.
She tumbled forward, weak and drenched in thick, viscous fluid. The rush of sensation was overwhelming—the cold air against her strange new skin, the wetness clinging to her body, the overpowering assault of unfamiliar scents. Her senses screamed, raw and hypersensitive.
She gasped—or tried to.
What came out wasn't a gasp.
A chittering click.
Her vision adjusted slowly, the world swimming into a blur of colors and shadows. Her body trembled, adjusting, acclimating.
She looked down at herself.
And what she saw was not human hands.
Part 3: Rebirth as the Unknown
Aya's breath hitched—if she was even breathing.
Her body was long, segmented, covered in a thin exoskeleton that gleamed under the dim light. Her limbs—**multiple limbs—**twitched at her command, spindly yet sharp. Her mouth moved instinctively, mandibles clicking together.
No. This wasn't right.
She tried to scream. What emerged was an unnatural, high-pitched chittering.
Panic seized her. She stumbled, her many legs skittering against the damp ground. Her mind reeled, desperately grasping for an explanation.
She had been reborn.
Not as a human. Not even close.
An insect.
A giant one.
Aya Kurose, the forgotten office worker, was no more.
In her place, something new had emerged.