Untitled office worker anon

I know I'm not a good person.
Always have known, always will be. Sometimes I remember things from my past, the tiny shit you remember that makes up your childhood. Each and every one of those memories, I cannot  recall a single act of altruism.
Now, until those sex happy mutants arrived, I was a simple office worker. I clocked in, typed out shit to the subtle melody of the central air conditioning, and if I strained, what  Maurice and Claire heard about every other person who worked here and who they're fucking. I felt no kinship among my colleagues, no connection, no motivation to perform better.
Then exactly an year after the portals opened, something changed inside of me. A raw gnawing hunger. At first I wasn't sure what exactly it was, and as the tepid simpleton I was, I tried to pretend it didn't exist.
Slowly, I started noticing things. How Claire's many eyes stuck to my back when I was turned around, instead of the usual two rolling themselves in amusement, how Doris would grin, ears twitching and ask for a foot long with extra meat instead of her cheeks jiggling for a baker's dozen of chocolate chip cookies.
The epiphanic moment struck when I was informed by one of my colleagues, John, I think his name was, confided in me that the smug little shit in accounting got promoted for sleeping with his horny horned boss.
That day, I left early. So my question to fuel and strengthen my hunger began. I wouldn't lie and say I liked it. Poring over the Kamasutra next to a plate of lean meat and vegetables after a twelve mile run would make anyone question their direction.
Finally, Lady Luck opened a window for me. Our boss had been replaced by some bovine woman, as he'd taken an indefinite vacation with a woman he'd met on the subway. Like a man driven, I took the opportunity and slammed a tomahawk missile at the window offered to me.
My income, lain idle for so long, came handy as I bought several tight fitting shirts and trousers, as well as a haircut that seemed ridiculously expensive. Well, then, atleast.
The poor cow didn't know what hit her. That's the funny thing about these creatures. Most of them don't bother with subtlety, whether exhibiting, or trying to understand. Perhaps it's the fact that only one thing remains on their minds at all times. Maybe that's why when a young man, who walks in a cabin of a lonely professional head of department after working hours, wanting to discuss the next performance review walks away with a shining recommendation.
Every.
Single.
Time.
Now I tangle with the real hard asses. Hardy old men and happily married monsters. There's only so many times you can take someone golfing, or buy them the latest Jaeger-LeCoultre.
But there's always one. One of those who thinks she can take on the world, how she can get that beautiful leather chair at the top, all by herself.
They'll always come, and they'll always bend.
I'm a patient man, after all