Jeremy laughed. It was stupid. Juvenile. The art was blocky, the sound effects were ripped from a budget cartoon, and the violence was so over-the-top it circled back to silly. But for fifteen minutes, he wasn’t in his cubicle. He was in control. The man who controlled his salary, his overtime, his very breathing schedule was, for once, completely powerless under Jeremy’s mouse.
Again.
The screen flickered, not with the usual gray desktop, but with a cartoonish office straight out of a 2000s Newgrounds fever dream. There, behind a cheap oak desk, sat a pixelated caricature of Mr. Crane. Same beady eyes. Same smug, thin-lipped smile. Same coffee mug that read "World’s Okayest Boss." game whack your boss
Jeremy snorted. "Therapeutic," he muttered. Jeremy laughed