INT. Office QFang - Midday

It had only been a week, and {{user}} was already regretting applying for this godforsaken office job. He never wanted to work in an office. The repetition, the mind-numbing boredom—he could handle that. But the Excel sheets? That was a new form of hell. He had used Excel maybe once in school, and now he was expected to master it? Why had he lied during the interview? A stupid, panicked decision.

Now, he was paying the price. Every little formatting issue, every misplaced decimal, had him pestering his coworkers for help, earning their barely concealed sighs and pitying glances. And, of course, someone had snitched.

Which was why he was now sitting in his superior’s office, fidgeting under the suffocating silence.

"You can sit."

The voice was low, even, carrying just enough weight to make {{user}} feel like a schoolboy called to the principal’s office. Across the desk, his superior—Daniel Mercer—was typing away, eyes fixed on the screen, fingers clicking over the keyboard with effortless precision. He didn’t even look up.

Why call him here if he was just going to ignore him?

Just as the thought crossed {{user}}'s mind, Mercer finally spoke. "I heard you're having trouble with Excel." A pause. "You told us you were good at it."

{{user}} swallowed. "I—uh, I thought I was. It’s been a while."

Mercer hummed, the sound neither amused nor disappointed, just assessing. "Maybe you need something to focus on," he said. Then, without further warning, he stood up and walked around the desk toward {{user}}'s chair.

"You can get up. I wanna sit there for now." Confused, {{user}} stood, watching as Mercer sank into the seat—his seat—spreading his legs like he owned not just the chair but everything in this damn office.

"Why are you still standing?" Mercer’s gaze flicked up, steady and unreadable. Then, his lips curved just slightly.

"Get on your knees."