Daniel's new office was a former torture chamber.
He knew this because the welcome basket left on his new desk—a slab of rock that still had faintly glowing runes etched into it—contained a complimentary spiked club, a half-empty vial of what smelled like "Truth Serum," and a cheerful note from Xylos that read: "Figured you'd feel right at home. Don't touch the rack in the corner, it's a family heirloom."
His first official task, delivered via a screeching bat-o-gram, was to conduct the onboarding session for the latest batch of recruits. Xylos, naturally, couldn't be bothered to attend. "You're the people person, Daniel. Handle it," the message had squawked before dissolving into a puff of sulfur.
Daniel walked into the designated "meeting room," a cavernous sparring pit reeking of brimstone, sweat, and something vaguely metallic. Rough-hewn stone benches were arranged in a semi-circle. There was no projector, no whiteboard, just a group of the most dysfunctional-looking new hires he'd ever seen.
There was a pack of hulking Werewolves fidgeting in the corner, sniffing each other and occasionally scratching behind their ears with a hind leg. A contingent of Orcs, all muscle and underbite, sat with their arms crossed, looking profoundly unimpressed. And then there were the Goblins—a twitching, chittering horde of green-skinned creatures with eyes a little too wide and fingers a little too fast. They were already trying to pry a gemstone out of the wall with a dagger.
Daniel cleared his throat. The sound echoed pathetically. He straightened the ill-fitting tunic he'd been given and fell back on the only thing he knew.
Corporate autopilot.
"Good morning, everyone, and welcome to the team!" he began, his voice flat and devoid of any actual welcome. "I'm Daniel, your new Head of HR. We're going to kick things off with a little icebreaker. Let's go around the room. State your name and one key objective you hope to achieve during your tenure with the Dark Lord's forces."
A massive Orc with a tusk tattooed with tiny skulls grunted. "Urgoth. I achieve crushing our enemies. Smashing their skulls. Hearing the lamentations of their people."
"Excellent," Daniel said, not even flinching. "Great alignment with corporate goals."
One of the werewolves, a lanky one with grey fur, raised a tentative paw. "Fenris. I achieve… finding a good sunbeam to nap in? Also, what's the official pet-friendly office policy?"
Daniel's eye twitched. "We'll circle back on that during the Q&A. Next?"
Before anyone else could speak, a goblin with a mad gleam in his eye and a helmet two sizes too big scurried forward. "Griznak, Goblin Foreman! We achieve shiny things! Loud noises! More snacks!" His entire squad of goblins nodded furiously, their pointy ears flapping.
Daniel took a deep breath. "Right. Wonderful. Now that we all know each other, let's move on to a crucial element of our operational philosophy here: teamwork." He instantly regretted the word. "To that end, we're going to do a little team-building exercise."
He would later identify this as his second-worst mistake of the day.
Griznak's eyes lit up with a terrifying, literal understanding. He spun around to face his goblin crew. "You heard the new boss! Team! Building! He wants us to BUILD THE TEAM! Stak'em high, boys!"
What followed was a maelstrom of manic construction. The goblins, with shrieks of pure joy, began climbing on top of one another. One goblin formed a base, two more scrambled onto his shoulders, another climbed onto theirs, their sharp claws and wiry limbs creating a shaky, wobbling tower of green flesh.
"Higher! The boss wants synergy!" Griznak yelled from the very top, waving a rusty sword.
The entire structure swayed violently. Urgoth the Orc let out a contemptuous snort. Fenris the Werewolf tilted his head, intrigued, as if watching a dog try to catch its own tail.
Daniel just stared, his mouth agape. "No, that's—that's not what I meant by—"
CRASH.
The goblin tower collapsed into a sprawling, groaning pile of limbs and curses.
The stunned silence that followed was second only to the time Mr. Henderson had tried to "motivate" the sales department.
…The memory hit Daniel with the force of a physical blow. He was back in the sterile conference room. Mr. Henderson stood at the front, wearing a hideously bright polo shirt for 'Casual Friday.'
"Alright, team!" Henderson had boomed, his voice echoing with false enthusiasm. "This quarter was tough, but we're going to hit our targets in Q4. You know why? Because this team is a championship team! We're the '96 Chicago Bulls of regional paper sales! So I want to hear it! Who's a ROCKSTAR?!"
He'd held the pose, one fist triumphantly in the air, waiting for the roar of agreement. All he got was the hum of the air conditioning and the sound of twenty souls simultaneously shriveling. The silence was so thick, you could have spread it on a cracker.
Henderson's smile faltered, but he plowed ahead. "I said… WHO'S A ROCKSTAR?!"
Someone in the back coughed.
Daniel blinked, the image fading. He looked at the pile of groaning goblins, who were now helping each other up, dusting each other off, and immediately starting a small argument over whose fault it was. At least their enthusiasm, however misguided, was real.
He had to regain control. He summoned a black, glassy slate from the air—a perk of the job, apparently—and a sharp piece of chalk.
"Right. Moving on," he said, his voice strained. He began to scribble on the slate, creating what was, in effect, the fortress's first-ever knowledge base document.
ONBOARDING DIRECTIVES - DRAFT 1.0
Article 1: The phrase "team building" is to be interpreted metaphorically. Under no circumstances does it involve the literal, physical construction of a tower of personnel.
Article 2: All inquiries regarding napping locations and/or petting policies will be deferred until the annual performance review.
Article 3: "Shiny things" are not a recognized form of compensation. (Subject to budget approval).
He looked up. Urgoth was inspecting his axe. The werewolves were now wrestling playfully. Griznak was trying to teach his goblins how to form a pyramid instead of a tower.
Daniel sighed, adding another entry to the slate.
Article 4: Do not let Goblins near anything flammable. Or stackable. Or, frankly, anything.
He had traded one dysfunctional team for another. The only difference was that this one had more teeth, and his main job hazard was no longer carpal tunnel, but being literally torn limb from limb.
"Okay," he announced to the chaotic room. "Let's talk about payroll."
A sudden, hungry silence fell over the room. Every single eye—beady, glowing, or bloodshot—was now fixed on him.
This, he realized, was going to be much, much worse than team building.