Company policy has to be complied to

One month later, you're in an elevator with half a dozen suits-and-ties, in one of the modern buildings of the new Western City. Of course everybody know in what conditions the capital was built, after the Last of All Wars, when humanity came just to the brink of going one step too far and... suddenly, unexplicably, surprisingly, did not. It was just before the Transition, when the government decided to take the necessary measures. The city, by then, was in ruins, from urban guerilla as well as shelling. From what you heard, in these remote and dark times, the population had been fleeing the districts or finding shelter in underground vaults. Nobody expected it to end in any way other than the anihilation of civilisation. But it didn't. You spent lots of days imagining yourself as these days' president's sexy boyfriend, convincing him to make peace by welcoming his male rage between you loins, rubbing his **** on your smooth body until he decided to let go of his murderous war... you would enter the office where he planned his mighty attacks, in a hugging suit, pulling him to you, feeling his warm embrace, getting thrown on the heavy carpet, until all the brutality was gone, and he would be ready to listen to you... Of course this is not what happened. Peace was attained by a complex set of negociations, discussion and, as far as your studies let you know, very little sex.

Nowadays, the City is a huge complex of glass and steel, fast railways, fancy restaurants and clubs. And your office. A massive block of concrete and metal, standing proud in the middle of the financial district. You get there in a mere 30 minutes from home, with the fast transportation system, and beside the awkward 5 minutes of elevator everyday, your commute is very nice. But these 5 minutes seem to last an hour, every day.

You showed up the first day, dressed as per your instructions. No shirt or trousers, or shorts, was mentioned. Skirts recommended. So you followed the guidelines. You wore a short black skirt, very practical and just above finger-long, a grey wool jumper, just a bit wide and leaving your shoulder bare, and black stilettos. You would not have called your style slutty, you would have called it girly-chic. Your hair was cut to fit the whole, you thought that going short hair was clever to quiet the minds. A pixie cut it was on your freshly-dyed red hair. You announced yourself to a passive and uninterested secretary, and then, the elevator trial began. Five minutes in the special elevator taking you to the very last floor of the building, surrounded by gazing Trumales. Every day. You can feel them looking at you whatever you wear, whenever you come to work. They peel off your clothes with their eyes, turn you around in their minds, and do you in every way known to mankind, and probably a few others. You know they talk about it during their cigarette breaks sometimes, you've heard them. They come from a world where they only interact with the likes of you for fun and games. It's not unbearable, but it's heavy. Some days flattering, some days annoying. It never went too far, save for one time, when one of them casually slapped your butt in a corridor.

The boss, Mr Yang, on another hand, is something else. Very handsome, he has also been most respectful from day one. The dress code, he said, dated back from his father. Something he had never gone in the trouble of actually amending, since every employee did pretty much as they please. You have mentioned the other employees to him after the slapping, and heard a few heated conversations with some of the managers. The man was fired, and the gazes became less intense, and conversations less objectifying, afterward. You kept observing the dress code, nonetheless. It's just nicer. Your job is simple enough: organising press reviews, managing some meetings, feedback, and the like. He likes what you do, and how skilled you are at doing it. You find him a bit soft, if endearing. He lacks perspective on what he's doing, like most men having inherited their position.

Today is an important day. It's the day of your first review with Mr Yang. It's also the day he's proposed that you both went for dinner this evening.