“No one would allow that he could not see these much-admired clothes; because, in doing so, he would have declared himself either a simpleton or unfit of his office.”
― Hans Christian Andersen
Marcus thought he’d hit the jackpot when Syntech Industries offered him the position along with subsidized housing in their new “live-work community.” The sleek complex on the city’s outskirts looked like something from an architecture magazine—all glass and steel, with apartments that flowed seamlessly into shared office spaces.
“Work-life balance redefined,” the brochure had promised. “Home is where the productivity is.”
His apartment was pristine: minimalist furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a workstation built into the wall that faced his bed. Marcus loved it at first. The commute was nonexistent, the Wi-Fi was lightning fast, and his neighbors were all fellow Syntech employees who understood the demands of corporate life.
But the boundaries began blurring almost immediately.
The building’s smart system knew when he was awake—lights would automatically brighten to “optimal productivity levels” the moment his feet hit the floor. His coffee maker was programmed to brew at precisely 6:47 AM, the time behavioral analysts had determined was ideal for his circadian rhythm. Even his shower had a timer that cut off at exactly seven minutes.
“It’s all about efficiency,” explained Janet from HR during the mandatory weekly building meeting held in the ground-floor conference room. “When you live at peak performance, you achieve peak results.”
Marcus noticed his neighbors looked tired despite the optimized everything. Sarah from 4B had developed a nervous tic, constantly checking her phone even during conversations. David from 7A muttered spreadsheet formulas under his breath while doing laundry. And everyone spoke in corporate buzzwords even during casual encounters.
“Synergizing my weekend plans,” they’d say, or “Let’s circle back on that dinner idea.”
The apartment’s built-in speakers began playing subliminal productivity podcasts during his sleep. When Marcus complained, maintenance explained it was a “feature” designed to maximize his professional development during downtime. His smart fridge started ordering meals based on algorithms that calculated optimal nutrition for his work performance rather than his preferences.
Worse, his apartment seemed to be monitoring him. The workstation’s camera had a red light that never turned off. His keyboard tracked not just what he typed but how long he paused between keystrokes, measuring “engagement levels.” The bathroom mirror displayed his daily productivity scores alongside his reflection.
Marcus tried to take a sick day, but building security called within an hour. “The system shows you’re still in your unit,” the guard said pleasantly. “If you’re well enough to be home, you’re well enough to work. Company policy.”
He realized he hadn’t left the building in three weeks. None of them had. The ground floor had everything they needed—a gym, a cafeteria, a dry cleaner, even a small medical clinic. Leaving felt increasingly unnecessary, then difficult, then impossible.
The elevator required badge access. Marcus’s badge, he discovered, only worked during approved off-hours. The stairwells were locked. The windows didn’t open.
“Why would you want to leave?” Janet asked when he brought up his concerns during the next mandatory meeting. Her smile was too wide, her eyes too bright. “Everything you need for a fulfilling life is right here. This is the future of corporate living.”
That night, Marcus tried to call his family, but his phone only connected to internal numbers. His internet browser would only load company-approved websites. His apartment door, he realized, locked from the outside after 11 PM—”for security purposes.”
The other residents had stopped talking about life before Syntech. They worked eighteen-hour days without complaint, their productivity scores displayed on digital badges they wore with pride. They spoke only in quarterly projections and mission statements.
Marcus found the truth in the basement while searching for an exit. Rows of servers hummed alongside walls covered in behavioral charts tracking every resident. A manual on the desk read: “Project Synergy: Creating the Ultimate Corporate Workforce Through Environmental Control and Social Conditioning.”
They weren’t tenants. They were test subjects.
Now Marcus sits at his workstation, typing reports that no one will read, attending video calls that serve no purpose, optimizing processes that don’t exist. His productivity scores are excellent. His performance reviews are outstanding.
He hasn’t seen sunlight in six months.
Sometimes new employees tour the building, their eyes bright with excitement about the company housing program. Marcus wants to warn them, to scream the truth, but the words that come out are always the same corporate-approved script: “Work-life balance redefined. This is the future.”
The building is expanding next month. They’ll need more residents.
The company is always hiring.
With this map you get:
- grid & gridless variations
- PNG files, low (70 PPI) & high (140 PPI) resolutions
- splatter & abandoned variations
- floor plan
- dd2vtt files for FoundryVTT & Roll20
- High-resolution WebP files
Office Apartments – Day
Office Apartments – Night
Office Apartments – Splatter – Day
Office Apartments – Splatter – Night
Office Apartments – Abandoned – Day
Office Apartments – Abandoned – Night
Office Apartments – Floor plan
