The itching was unbearable.
It started at the hands. And then the feet.
The skin tingled at first. But it quickly flashed to an unbreakable burning that seemed as if a wildfire had been set at the bones which had spread to each individual hair.
Speaking of bones…
Oh, God, the bones. The tip of every finger felt as though it'd been smashed with a hammer. It wasn't some dulling pain like what you'd experience from walking around an office all day. It wasn't like banging your shin on a table or even dropping an iPad on a bare toe. It was like ten hammers to ten fingers. And another ten to the toes.
Sharp, piercing pain stabbed every nerve from the inside and undulated outward to skin that would have been better were it boiled off. But was it boiling off? No. Instead it glowed red and burned like fire ants trying to chew their way to freedom.
Then the muscles. As if the bones being pulverized, and skin set ablaze weren't bad enough.
Maybe it started with the muscles?
Maybe they started contracting and that was what shattered the bones. And they were tearing away from ligaments and that;was what made the skin feel like ten thousand matches stuffed into a hot dog thrown into a campfire.
The muscles were pulled so tightly that they snapped the legs. And then, of course, the arms just popped like twigs.
The popping sounds of bones were nauseating.
It's a strange sound. Like a muffled pop of a twig that was wrapped in towels and then stomped on.
But it's an even stranger sound when it's your own bones in your own body. Because you're also feeling the break. And once you feel it you're just waiting for the pain to kick in.
The pain of a broken bone is awful all on its own. It's a dull, pulsing alarm from a piece of infrastructure that's been forcibly disconnected. It sort of beats at you as if you were the timpani in an orchestra of pain.
Digits shattered. Limbs snapped. Skin expanded and then contracted — all while hair was growing. The whole body screamed.
Nerves?
Nerves.
That's what it was!
Nerves were…growing. They shot out of the spine into the flesh. They had been shifting around in the body. As if the tiny fingers of tiny spirits were violently yanking a nerve this way or that with no regard for each other or the body in which they worked.
The nerves were where it started.
They'd started moving first. That was the tingling conflagration that had percolated outward to every part of the body. It was definitely the nerves where it began.
It sort of makes sense that it would start with the nerves: Nerves control muscles. And muscles connect to bones. So you would need to rearrange nerves and bones so you could rearrange muscles and skin. And once you adjust the skin, then you can deal with the hair.
The pain was unimaginable. It's completely beyond anything anyone could ever conceive. It's all of the injuries from an ER on the Fourth of July rolled into a single meat suit.
And you want that translated into which
language,
Tisha
asked.
That was an example. Just…something obscure and
poorly
documented.
What's wrong with Latin? Latin has been a standard
for this stuff for
ages. We should do Latin. Nobody even speaks it anymore. It's perfect for this.
Google Translate and ChatGPT are what's wrong. There's an
automatic free translator for hundreds of languages. And then there's the LLM crap. They're able
to make these ‘AIs' that are built on the entirety of the internet.
So if it's got any sort of meaningful presence on the internet, they'll be able to easily translate it in just a few seconds. The business doesn't want it to be easily translated — just technically possible. Remember…
Right right. I remember. The whole Voynich
thing,[1]
Tisha sighed.
Higher ups are still salty about that
one.
[2]
Yeah yeah. Obscure. Poorly documented. Minimal
internet presence,
Tisha
paused as a thought noodled and swirled. Wait, what was wrong with Aramaic. That's obscureish,
right?
No. Ugh. Look: No western and no
Middle-Eastern languages. If it had a writing system three thousand years ago they don't want
it.
And when do they need
this?
Monday.
Are you literally shitting me right now? Monday
‽ I'm going to
have to work the weekend!
Others in the office quieted and moved more slowly so as to eavesdrop.
Why Monday? What is so important that I have to work
the weekend,
Tisha
asked.
Product pushed an update without consulting Operations.
And
then they got a conversion before Operations had a chance to pull it for review. Legal is mad as All
Hell about it.
Yeah. Because Product is always doing some crap that
gets us in
trouble. Can't Legal yank
it for
non-compliance,
Tisha asked in a desperate hope to find a reason to avoid working the weekend.
Legal approved it. Apparently Product did a decent job
for
once and there
wasn't anything wrong. They said it's compliant. We have no reason to pull it
down.
I'm supposed to find an obscure-yet-translatable
non-European-non-Middle-Eastern
language. I have to learn it. I have to manually translate it. And because my
manager is out I then have to build a corpus, train a model, and have it review
the translation because I don't have my editor.
Which means I have to make my own revisions to get to
a final draft.
No — not just a final draft!
I have to turn it over to Typography and then review
the
type-setting,
Tisha furthered
the complaint with more volume, because some genius in
management decided to merge Typography with Quality Assurance and then thought it'd be a
good idea to let the brand new department do a
work retreat. But not before deciding that I had the
bandwidth to take over for them!
Tisha gestured at stacks of documents. One was
labeled,
Type-setting
another urgent type-setting
and then a third, Critically Urgent Do This First
type-setting
.
Tisha swivelled and pushed the rollerblade-wheeled
office chair to the other
end of the cubicle in order to gesture with both hands at a mountain of papers. This stack was marked by
a
yellow post-it note that read Needs Quality Assurance
. Tisha finally asked, are you
noticing any patterns here?
Outside of the complaints?
PAPER. They're still using a paper system. In
2026. Meanwhile we're using not just
computers but a ticket system complete with a KANBAN
BOARD while those dipshits are on a paper-and-post-it-note system from
1978!
[3]
Right. Yeah. We're gonna work with them when they get
back.
So…Monday? Nine
AM? Product will really appreciate it. And once
it's in their hands… you know what? Take the week off.
Really‽ The week? So you're getting me a
replacement?
What…no. But you'll feel better.
Ugh.
Oh, before I forget: You forgot to add story points to
the
last few tickets. That makes
it really hard to determine the sprint velocity. So could you please add story
points to this ticket. And don't forget to log those hours,
too.
I am the only one on the whole team right now. I am
the team and
the sprint. WHAT SPRINT VELOCITY! IT IS ME. I AM THE VELOCITY.
Thank you,
the project manager sing-songed.
Tisha extended two waist-high middle fingers as the PM walked away.
I'm calling this emergency meeting — err
Sprint
Retrospective — because we really need to find out
who screwed up.
Couldn't be the folks who thought it would be a good
idea to run a new
product without operational review, could it?
Not now, Tisha!
Oh I'm just saying…if we want a
real retrospective, let's go back and
figure out why Product was even
allowed to keep the conversion when Legal hadn't officially reviewed it.
Several heads turned at once to Tisha. They had all been thinking about it. But they didn't have the intestinal fortitude to ask. Operations of course wasn't happy about any of it — but what could they do? They needed Leadership to grow a pair and take it all the way up if anything was really going to improve. Until that time, they kept quiet when they were asked to attend the retrospectives; these meetings never made a difference, anyway.
Tisha, enough! We're going to run this retrospective just
like we would
any other. Got it?
Got it,
Tisha responded with a blank stare
directed at the legion
of
middle managers lining both sides of the conference table.
Tisha chewed another piece of gum with loud smacks.
My understanding is that these meetings are
supposed to
start on a
positive
note?
Yes they are. We uhhh…We usually…ermm.
Tisha had never seen the project manager look nervous before. Usually this absolute pine cone wouldn't skip a beat at a rave to answer a question about basic scrum practices — solely because it was one of the only ways any damned PM in the organization felt useful. These dried-out conifers contributed to overall productivity about as much as a fur tree in a Los Angeles parking lot.
You usually…
W…w…we ask what went well. Like…what
went right. So we
know what we should continue doing.
Ohhh. It's beautiful. More amazing than anything I
could have
imagined.
Of course it is. It's what you asked for.
Is it really made of…the pelt of…
Julian didn't
want to say it. He was almost afraid that if he did that it would snap the world out of existence and
he'd be returned to the world filled with rejection and sadness.
Canis lupus. This particular specimen is of the North
American
variety.
And so I can just…put it on? Right?
Julian
started to wrap the
fur belt around his waist.
Not so fast. First, we have some documents for you to
review.
Julian's computer screen changed. A beautifully designed font faded into view.
We have some terms and conditions we'd like for you to
read
through. We
like to be very thorough.
Julian brushed aside empty soda cans and gently placed the fur belt on his couch. Then he darted over to his computer.
The demon smiled and took a puff from his vape.
Oh, no way! It's written in my second-favorite
language. Do you guys
like…customize these things for us? Because that's really cool if you do,
Julian's
heart swelled with misinterpreted affection.
Only once before had the demon been surprised by a client like this. This was not a great start.The vape's flavor suddenly changed and the demon choked on an artificial strawberry flavor. The demon failed to restrain a gag.
It…what?
It's written in Menominee. It's a critically
endangered indigenous
language. It's a member of the Algonquian family. It's spoken by the,
Julian stopped
himself. He remembered that not everyone cared about his special interests.
The demon regained some composure before speaking. It's
spoken
by
the…
Julian didn't speak.
The demon gesticulated with bubbling irritation. Not just with Julian but with the short notice that had prefaced the entire operation. The vape's shitty synthetic strawberry scent was making it harder to act non-plussed about a client who was excited to read the terms and conditions.
Julian energetically responded from the computer as he began scrolling.
The Menominee people of north-central Wisconsin. Hey,
can I read this out
loud? I want to read it out loud. Ready?
This was going to be miserable.
Ohhh I really like this font. It's like
Papyrus converted to paganism[4]. The
diacritics are sooo cool.
So. Miserable.
And it's red. Like blood red. Ughhh. Sooo cool.
Ugh.
The transformation takes much longer than you'd expect. You read books about it and watch movies that show it being fast. You'd think it'd take five or ten minutes — tops.
Suffice to say, it's more than a bit surprising to discover that the whole process takes an entire evening.
Considering you can't even start the process until sundown, it's no wonder that no one wants to do it in the summer.
It can easily take two to three hours to transform — each way.
And no one ever tells you to go to the bathroom first. Because why would they? So you end up pissing all over some very nice Brazilian walnut hardwood floors you've just had installed.
Why?
Well, it's because you hadn't emptied your bladder and that gets rearranged on you at around the same time you no longer have hands. So you're flopping on the ground like a sea lion who's trying to unbutton its pants after three beers.
So not only are you pissing on the floor but you might actually be pissing on yourself.
When it happens you will hope that once the process is over your memory is somehow wiped of the ordeal. And it makes sense to think this because — after all — if you remember the process in its entirety you'd be tempted to delete yourself from the search history of life before ever doing it again.
But no.
You remember.
You remember trying to awkwardly scoot your pants down as you're pissing directly on them and the floor. And it sort of just kind of pools in your belly because you find out your floors aren't exactly level. Coincidentally, the hair that your body is rapidly sprouting is incredibly absorbent so you're just soaking it right in.
So there you are: a drunken urine-soaked furry quadriplegic who's hoping to never remember the most unforgettable experience of your life.
So the typography was good? That's what we've
got so far? That
the
shapes of the letters themselves was fine? So that's something we should keep doing?
The field officer reported that the client was very
impressed
by
it. Wouldn't shut up about it, in fact,
responded the project manager.
And after an entire hour nobody can think of
anything else that
went
right? Nobody? Are sprint retrospectives usually
this depressing?
Oh, so now management is concerned with
the mental well-being of employees,
Tisha asked.
Not now, Tisha!
the project
manager shouted.
Oh. I'm sorry,
Tisha remorsefully said.
The project manager breathed a sigh of relief.
A quiet fell on the conference room. Everyone was looking down at mostly-blank notepads as a ticking clock filled the silence.
The minute hand ticked into position at the top of the clock.
So now can we talk about your
fuckups,
Tisha inquired with sincerity.
Goddamnit Tisha
All righty. Totally finished. Do I just need to click
I agree?
You
don't need my blood or anything? You know I filled up a solo cup with my blood this week, just in
case. I tried to use my tomahawk but it was too dull so I shoved a chopstick under my toenails
instead. I
hope that's ok because it took forever. Do you want
to see the cup? It's over in the fridge…
Oh ew gross no. Just click I agree
The demon's attention wasn't directed at Julian but rather the bookshelves filled with volumes of Native American materials. The language textbooks were particularly interesting.
They were interesting considering that none of this was mentioned in the in-take form. Not the language books. Not the artifacts scattered about the apartment. Not the stacks of archaeological research papers. None of this was mentioned. The in-take form only mentioned relationship status, race, ethnicity, religious affiliation, and recent browser history. Product is about as useful as a tapeworm in a vegetable farm.
Done. So I'm going to put it on and then I'll be
able to transform
whenever I want.
Is that what the terms and conditions said,
the
demon asked with a wry
smile.
Oh. No. They said that the terms are that I can
change every 28 days under
the
condition that that the terms say they're valid.
But you've got tons of misspellings and grammatical errors.
I mean, you used the animate intransitive for ‘going down' instead of the noun form for ‘moon'.
And you totally missed that the word for ‘moon' also can mean ‘star'. So I can basically change when the first star comes out.
But the wildest thing is how it uses a verb that specifically means ‘making a mistake in another language', instead of the verb that means, ‘speaking incorrectly'!
The demon suddenly felt nauseous. And it wasn't from the strawberry vape. This isn't good. What was wrong with Latin? Or Aramaic?
Ahem. Hold on there just a
minute…
So that means that whoever wrote the contract is
subject to the same conditions
I
am.
The demon took a deep breath and attempted to swallow down a lunch that tasted strangely like pickles.
Tisha smiled. Never had there ever been a better retrospective. Though it seemed like others in the meeting might disagree. The project manager appeared quite frustrated and even panicked.
The senior directors were comparing notes as they whispered with Legal for an excruciating duration. Though, only some felt the excoriation.
Then Legal spoke.
First, let's get the more obvious bits out of
the way: Asking any
employee, salaried or otherwise, to work the weekend — that's supposed to come from that
employee's manager — not the project management office. This is
written in all our
employment contracts.
Tisha, we can't file a complaint on your
behalf. But we
do strongly encourage you to contact HR through
our internal
portal.
Tisha put on a somber face and responded, will do.
Thank you.
Which takes us to the second thing:
Legal seriously thinks you need to add HR to
these,
Legal paused to flip
through pages of notes to find the specific term, ahem. ‘Sprint Retrospectives' in the
future.
Oh Jesus Christ,
several middle managers exclaimed.
Yes. Him specifically,
Legal responded.
Legal flipped through more pages as middle managers murmured complaints about HR involvement.
The project manager's face grew increasingly pallid.
Legal spoke again.
Ok. Now the more serious stuff. Obviously
someone or
someones seriously screwed the pooch,
Legal chuckled and
then
said as an aside, no pun intended,
before finishing the thought, with regard to the
writing of the contract.
Legal turned and made eye contact with the project manager.
We hear what you're saying: You think the
translator
should be
considered the author since obviously they
translated
the contract.
Color briefly returned to the project manager's face.
And yes, there are translation errors. Those
errors which bring validity
into
question were absolutely introduced by the translator.
Legal motioned towards Tisha who showed some unease.
Legal continued, But those errors were made
as a direct result of a breach
of
employment contract that was initiated by the project manager.
Legal waved a hand in the direction of the project manager.
Oh God,
the project manager bleated.
Just wait until He finds out that you made Tisha work
on a Saturday,
the director of project management interjected with disapproval.
Ahem,
Legal said, directing focus to the
end of the long mahogany
conference table.
Legal would find
Translation at fault if Translation had been working under standard hours without being
coerced to breach
contract.
But that is not the case.
And besides that, we also have a problem with the original contract…
But you approved the original
contract,
shouted the project manager.
No we did not. Our chat bot did. Did you notice that little disclaimer at the bottom that said,
Does not replace or represent official Legal review, including approvals.
Everyone in the room looked around at each other with befuddlement.
Jesus…
shouted the director of Product
Development.
…would have read the fine print,
Legal added.
He loooves the fine print,
quipped another director.
Several others laughed in agreement.
Wait! If it doesn't count as Legal
approval
because it was a chatbot, then that means Product can't be at fault either because we used
ChatGPT to write it,
the product owner shouted
triumphantly.
As the product owner punched the air in victory, every head turned; shocked by the confession of using prohibited AI tools. Then they all turned back to Legal.
Huh,
Legal said with a subtle nod before
fishing the original contract
out of a folder.
Legal thumbed through pages.
By any chance was part of your prompt,
Say that the terms are valid but only under the condition that they're valid
The product owner's face turned white.
Y…Yes?
You copied your prompt into the contract.
The director of Product Development turned to face the
fruitless apple tree for an
employee. Seriously? You're not just fucking stupid — You fucked stupid and it gave you
an STD of the brain. I swear to God I think that AI turned into a literal worm, crawled inside
of your
brain, and has been feasting on your entire frontal lobe for the last six months.
Legal scribbled more notes before addressing the product owner directly.
Definitely check with HR about getting
some
HeartGard or another dewormer every
month from here on
out,
Legal added.
Are we finished here? It's been two very long hours,
complained
the Director of Operations.
Almost,
Legal answered. Every dot and
tiddle. You know how it
is.
Operations nodded in agreement.
Quality assurance — QA — is
still out on that work retreat. And we still
need to validate
that the transition process is accurate to the contract's descriptions.
Obviously we can't ask Tisha to do that on account of being promised a week off by the project manager.
Tisha smiled.
So Legal's recommendation is that the project
manager do the QA of the
full transition process.
The project manager froze as the director of Project Management nodded in agreement.
Legal saw the fear in the project manager's eyes
and attempted to assuage
concerns. Relax. You have to document a werewolf transition. And you've got Jira now, so how
bad could it be?
Once you are fully transitioned you experience this insatiable starvation. You crave flesh — any flesh.
And no one tells you how many wild animals have trichinosis. Which is, in fact, a parasitic worm.
And that the medications for trichinosis have a side-effect of diarrhea.
Diarrhea is also a side-effect of Heartgard.
It turns out the transition is the least shitty part of being a werewolf.