Jared, our new CEO, is in a meeting room right next to my desk, talking with the notably older and more experienced CFO, John, about how best to communicate to the board the change in leadership. It was a shock to everybody; above all to Jared’s predecessor Dave, who had been in the middle of a conference call when Jared walked into his office and, without ceremony, impaled him with a sword.

When Jared emerged from that bloody scene holding the former CEO’s severed head by the hair, I knew my stock options were toast.

‘Just be up-front that you’re aware of your limitations and that you’re a fast learner, and you’ve inherited a very competent team who are ready to work with you’, John advised.

‘I like it’, Jared agreed. ‘I don’t know the first thing about how to read a profit and loss statement, but I’m decisive, and as of recently, I’m an avatar of the Norse god Odin, so I know a thing or two about winning blah blah team’s all onboard blah blah blah. Yep; honest, and direct. I like it.’

In retrospect I should have seen this whole thing coming months ago. When every new starter gets a tour of the office, they’re shown the great stone mound right by the top of the stairwell with a sword hilt sticking out of the top. A kind of ironic sword-in-the-stone thing which had some metaphorical significance to the company; something about the right team being able to release the innovation that changes the world. I always figured the real reason it was installed was because it looked cool.

Very few employees indulged in attempting to draw the sword. One day, while waiting at the top of the stairs for my uber eats guy to arrive I gripped the hilt and gave it a tug and felt absolutely zero give: the blade, assuming there even was a blade, must have been soldered in-place.

And so, it was especially strange to me when on a couple of late nights with just Jared and I left in the office, I’d see him stand up from his chair, walk over to the sword, and wiggle, tug, and shake the hilt, all to no avail. We were both programmers; I figured his time working the sword was just to let off some steam after a long coding session.

One night, after I stepped out of the office and realised I actually needed to use the toilet, I came back inside and found a cubicle. From the top of the stairwell I heard the unmistakeable sound of steel sliding on stone. Had Jared actually done it? By the time I came out, the sword was still in place and Jared was nowhere to be seen. I figured I was imagining things, and admittedly I was too lazy to climb the stairs to see if the sword had been loosened, so I just left and drove home.

The next day was the day of the ‘leadership transition’. That was about a week and a half ago now. There was a full police investigation and everything but somehow not only had Jared managed to avoid arrest, they didn’t even confiscate the murder weapon. The first thing Jared had done after washing the blood off the sword’s blade in the bathroom was to order an appropriately sized sheath from Amazon, which he has worn around his waist ever since.

Everybody saw the murder happen; there was nothing discreet about it. Jared had just walked from his desk to the top of the stairwell, drew the sword in a single motion, turned around and walked the length of the hallway to the CEO’s office in silence, then got to work.

Of course, when questioned by the police I said I had been glued to my screen the whole time and didn’t see a thing: I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardise my unvested stock options, on the off chance that if this event didn’t tank the business they’d still be worth something.

And given that Jared was now walking around not only as a free man but as the head of the company, I suspect I wasn’t the only witness who had played dumb.

Alex leans over towards me and whispers: ‘I don’t get the Norse god thing: wasn’t the sword in the stone like, wasn’t that king Arthur? In England?’

‘Yeah’, I whisper back, ‘Maybe the Norse have their own version of it?’

Alex googles it and sees there is a Norse version of it, but it involves a sword that’s stuck in a tree rather than a stone. How hard can it be to pull a sword out of a tree? I wonder.

The board meeting rolls around and I’m listening from my desk to make out the discussion. It’s going surprisingly well; there’s very little pushback on Jared as CEO. He’s saying something about re-incorporating in Sweden for tax purposes and if I’m hearing it right I think he’s talking about getting some Swedish government people around to validate his claims to divinity, also for tax purposes. A board member objects that this won’t make Australian resident shareholders any better off and I assume from the ensuing silence that that board member was death-stared into submission.

I do nothing; the best thing for me is to stay in my lane and hope for the best. What could I even do, anyway?

A couple weeks pass. It’s surprising how little has changed since the CEO transition other than the fact that the CEO now walks around with a sheathed sword on his hip. Jared and the CFO are in the board room and rise to shake hands with some tall Swedes who presumably are there to confirm that Jared really was Odin (or an avatar of Odin; whatever it is that Jared keeps insisting).

Alex says to me ‘Get this, if Jared gets his way we’re going to get double-taxed on our options when we sell cos the Swedish government takes their own 40% if this deal gets done’

‘That’s fucked’ I say, eyes still fixed on the board room through the reflection in my monitor.

‘Yeah, that’s fucked’ Alex replies.

I realise I’m clenching my jaw. Has all my work been for nothing, these last few years?

John, the CFO, pops his head out of the board room and says ‘We can’t get this HDMI cable working, can somebody help?’

I immediately rise from my chair, turn around and with a smile say ‘Sure I’ll take a look’.

I walk into the room, introduce myself to the Swedes and walk past Jared to the TV at the end of the table. The HDMI cable’s connected fine. I eye Jared’s hilt sticking out from his chair.

‘TV connection is fine’, I say. ‘Let me check the other end’. I walk toward the center of the table and while passing Jared, I seize the opportunity and grab the sword with both hands and unsheath it to the shock and horror of everybody at the table; except for Jared who kicks back from the table, crushing me against the wall with his chair. I drop to my knees and pathetically swing the sword on my way down to no avail: he’s easily dodged the blade. He rips the sword from my hand and says something Scandinavian before plunging the sword into my guts.

‘Ow’ I say and watch blood spray from my abdomen. In my final breath I see the Swedes exchanging looks of approval. It seems Jared’s impromptu display of prowess is sufficient evidence for them. As for me…

The world goes black and remains black for quite some time. I am confident that I am dead.

In the distance, however, I hear a faint sound. It sounds like a celebration of sorts; lots of clanging and thumping and laughter and yelling. I turn around in the black abyss and see a faint flicker in the distance, which is growing ever larger as it appears to be zooming towards me, or me towards it. And now it’s consumed my entire field of vision and I find myself in a great hall, with endlessly long tables lined with armoured men, drinking, bantering, and clanking goblets with one another in an impressive display of camaraderie.

I’m in Valhalla, aren’t I?

That is fucked.

I approach one of the tables and ask ‘Hey, do you guys speak English?’ but my voice is drowned out in the banter and nobody pays me any mind. I tap one of the huge men on the shoulder and explicitly ask him ‘Hi, do you speak English?’ but he gives me a funny look, then cracks a joke (presumably in Swedish, presumably at my expense) and his circle of friends burst into even more raucous laughter. Then I am, again, forgotten.

I end up walking down the hall looking for anybody who isn’t enthralled by banter and come across none other than Dave, the former CEO. Dave is not only not participating in the banter, he’s looking actively miserable, hunched over a goblet of ale with his eyes down, wedged between two enormous Scandinavian dudes.

‘Hey, Dave! You’re somebody who knows English!’ I yell and catch his attention.

‘Joel?’

‘We both got clocked by the same guy, put ‘er there.’ I shake his hand. ‘So what’s the go here, is everybody speaking Swedish or something?’.

‘Yeah there’s a few different languages but it’s mostly Scandinavian. Not that it matters; it’s impossible to talk to any of these guys, even the ones who speak English have been talking shit in this hall for hundreds of years now and have no interest in conversing with somebody who is comparatively a pipsqueak in the banter game. I’m just waiting until the battle of Ragnarok happens and I can die for good.’

I realise I probably should have started the conversation by asking if he was okay. He is certainly not okay.

Dave continues: ‘I’ve lost my wife and kids and I’m pretty sure by the logic of the Norse afterlife, they’re not going to wind up here when they die so I can’t even look forward to that.’

I barely recognise this version of Dave. He was so inspired and motivating on Earth.

Changing the subject, I ask ‘Do you think Jared’s really an avatar of Odin?’

‘No I do not.’

‘He managed to pull the sword from the stone though right?’

Dave shoots me a look that tells me he is not impressed by my reasoning. ‘That was just a prop I bought thinking it would be cool to pull the sword out once we hit 20M of ARR. There’s a button on the side that releases the sword. Regardless of that, what does that sword have to do with Norse mythology?’

‘Yeah, Alex said the same thing.’

‘I went and asked Odin about it but he wasn’t interested in talking to me’

‘Too busy bantering?’

‘No he actually sits alone, at the end of the hall, but he wouldn’t give me the time of day’.

‘Strange. I’ll see if I have any better luck. I would like to know for sure’

‘Go ahead’ Dave takes a gulp from his goblet, grimaces, hangs his head in defeat, and remarks softly to himself ‘Ale… is… disgusting.’

I briefly consider consoling him over his loss, but to be honest I’m just not that empathetic of a person and I doubt I’d be able to console him in a way that didn’t feel forced, so I start walking down the hall towards the huge figure seated at the end.

‘Joel! My name is Odin, welcome to Valhalla. How can I help you?’

Relieved that Odin spoke English, I respond ‘Hi Odin, I was wondering if you could confirm if Jared, my company’s new CEO, is your avatar? Or if you’re his avatar, or, whatever the right terminology is’

‘It would be news to me if he was’ Odin replies. ‘What would I need an avatar for? All I care about is winning the battle of Ragnarok, I’m not interested in meddling with affairs on Earth.’

‘I see, so he actually is full of shit’

‘Indeed’ Odin responds, nodding deeply.

‘But Norse mythology is real?’

Odin gestures at the hall and replies ‘Evidently’.

‘So it was just a crazy coincidence that the God he invoked actually exists?’

‘Yes’

‘Okay’ I respond. I think for a moment, then broach an uncomfortable topic: ‘Can I ask why you’re being so open with me but you didn’t want to talk to Dave?’

Odin turned his head to fixate on the sad image that was afterlife-Dave. ‘I don’t care for his type. He died a coward’s death.’

‘Then why is he here in Valhalla?’

Odin sighs. ‘The world is changing. Do you think the battle of Ragnarok will be fought with swords?’

I looked around the hall and noticed that most men did have swords at their hips.

‘Yes?’ I answered.

‘Guess again. Technology is advancing rapidly and we are far behind. We need more men with smarts, who are good operators, even if they weren’t built to fight on the front lines. If that means I need to enlist a random Chinese guy who died from Auto-erotic asphyxiation but who was great with math, so be it. All that matters is that we win.’

Oddly specific example, but okay.

I look around the hall more closely and catch some groups of non-Scandinavians conversing with each other, including some clusters of Asians doing shots and laughing.

‘So why does almost everybody here still have a sword?’

‘Because these bastards have been allowed to banter for so long that they’ve lost the ability to do anything else, including firearm training. They’ve reached depths of banter so euphoric and so complex that nothing else even registers to them, even a command from a God. The prophecy says that I will perish in the battle of Ragnarok and the longer I observe this hall the more I come to believe it myself’.

Once again I swallow the opportunity to offer consolation and allow the silence which follows to go uninterrupted.

Odin puts a hand on my shoulder and says ‘Enough about myself. I’m sure you would make a fine warrior at Ragnarok, but it’s not yet your time, you’ll be returning shortly’. He gestures to a basin of water in front of him and in it I see a vision of myself, in a hospital room, having CPR performed on me.

‘Oh fuck, Jared’s probably going to find me and finish the job. What should I do once I’m back?’

‘Call him out as a fraud. Ask him what Odin’s favourite day of the week is’

‘What is it?’

‘Wednesday, obviously.’

‘That is not obvious at all, but okay. And other people know that the right answer is Wednesday?’

‘Yeah’

‘Okay fair enough, thanks’

‘Before you go, Joel’, Odin says, ‘You’re welcome back here any time. What are stock options compared to the glory of battle?’.

I contemplate that for a moment, then dash back to Dave and tell him ‘There’s not much time, I’m about to be resurrected, is there anything you want me to do for you once I’m back there?!’

Dave looks up from his cup and replies ‘Yeah, you can tell that motherfucker Jared that Dave said…’

But it’s too late, I’m yanked back into the black void and then slam into my body in a hospital bed with a genuinely pleasant dose of morphine coursing through my veins.

The doctors and nurses in the room breathe a collective sigh of relief as I open my eyes and gasp for air.

‘That was a close one’ one of the doctors says. ‘You’re very lucky’.

Before I have the chance to respond, the door is kicked open by… Jared. Trailing behind him are the Swedish government reps from before, presumably now comprising his entourage after he convinced them of his divinity.

‘You can’t be in here with that!’ a nurse yells, pointing at Jared’s sword in its sheath.

‘Everybody step aside!’ Jared draws the sword and takes a step back for the lunge.

‘You wanna kill me, Jared? Go ahead!’ I blurt. ‘But first, answer me this one question!’

Jared ignores the offer and lunges forward, aiming straight at my head. I dodge to the side, wincing from my wound as I do, and the blade goes straight through the centre of my pillow.

‘WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE DAY OF THE WEEK YOU FUCK-WIT?’

Jared is stopped in his tracks. ‘What kind of question is that?’

‘An obvious one’, one of the Swedes responds. Jared turns around and realises the Swedes all have a look of renewed suspicion on their faces. Jared’s aggression dissipates as he realises he has just been asked a very important question.

‘I don’t know… Monday?’

The Swedes transition from suspicion to outright fury and begin shouting at Jared. Jared absentmindedly drops his sword to the ground and tries to reason with them, just in time to be spear tackled by a hospital security guard.

Feeling much safer, I press for another morphine dose and proceed to pass out.

Fast forward a bit and I’m in an uber to Dave’s funeral, which his wife invited me to given that I was the one who put her husband’s murderer away. Not that he was ever charged for murder; he was extradited to Sweden for divinity fraud which conveniently is such an ancient crime that the punishment is equally antiquated, to the extent that you’d be much better off sentenced for murder.

At the wake, I spot Dave’s wife who recognises me and approaches, saying ‘Joel, thank you so much for coming’.

‘No worries’ I reply. I can see the depth of sadness under the strong face she’s putting on, and start to continue shuffling along but then stop myself. I awkwardly put a hand on her shoulder and say ‘Listen, if it’s any consolation, I saw Dave in the afterlife while I was dead, and he’s doing okay’.

‘Really?’ she asks, astonished. ‘Is he happy?’

‘Yeah, he’s at peace’ I respond. ‘He told me to say that he misses you all but that he’s in a good place and that you don’t need to worry about him’.

She bursts into tears and hugs me. I hesitate, then hug back. Somewhere in the middle of it I notice I’m crying too, which surprises me, because I’m not sad about Dave.

Back at my house later that day I watch the company’s share price tank in real-time on my phone. Alex messages me asking ‘Are you seeing this right now? RIP our options, that’s fucked’

‘Yeah, that’s fucked’ I respond. And although it is fucked, I feel strangely serene about it.

I stare at Jared’s sword which is resting against the wall (nobody cared when I took it for my own). Reflecting back on that moment I think to myself Wednesday… is really not an obvious answer. Like, how is that obvious?

I ask ChatGPT to sign me up to some Swedish language lessons, as well as banter coaching, and to order some ale.

‘Preparing for a holiday?’ it asks.

I pick up the sword and inspect it in the light then respond ‘Yeah, something like that’.