Hey readers, I have specially created a discord account for can you say my name, for people who can't wait for the episodes and want to read ahead. Hear is the link https://discord.com/invite/PqeqAyXb
Chapter 36: How We Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Data Stream
Look, let's be real. You've been reading this whole time thinking, "Finally, a win! They improved the Anchor! Go team!" And you're right, it was a win. It was the kind of win that feels less like a trophy and more like discovering you've been upgraded from the dungeon to a nicely furnished room on the ground floor… that still has a lock on the door. You know the one.
So, we got a "promotion." Sade, our favorite emotionally-cauterized genius, basically gave us a performance review. "Good job, little lab rats. Your wheel-running is 15% more efficient. As a reward, you now get to run that wheel for science."
The Athenaeum
Our new duties were… specific. And let me tell you, filling out a "Metaphysical Stability & Community Cohesion Impact Report" before breakfast really kills the mood. Our days now had a bizarre rhythm:
· 6:00 AM: Wake up. Check that reality hasn't spontaneously unraveled overnight. (So far, so good! The Anchor's hum was now a soothing, energy-efficient purr. It was the Tesla of existential safeguards.)
· 7:00 AM: Log "baseline communal anxiety levels" by counting how many people were nervously staring at the walls. (Spoiler: the number was "a lot," but holding steady.)
· 10:00 AM: Ngozi would run a "controlled stress-test," which was a fancy term for making the lights flicker in the mess hall just to see how many people screamed. (Her note: "Subject 34, 'Gabriel's Cousin,' exhibits a pronounced startle reflex. Correlate with caffeine intake.")
· 2:00 PM: My job was to record "leadership decision-making under simulated duress." This mostly involved Ade and I having an argument about resource allocation while Ngozi timed us. (Her conclusion: "Verbal conflict resolution efficiency drops 40% when participants are hungry. Recommend pre-meeting snacks.")
We were literally being graded on our ability to be a community. It was like being in a really, really high-stakes group project where the penalty for failure wasn't a bad grade, but being deleted from existence.
Ade, bless him, was not a fan of the new corporate structure. "I feel like I should be asking for a raise," he grumbled one afternoon, after logging his daily "Aggression & Morale" metrics. "Do we get dental? A 401(k) plan for the post-apocalypse?"
The Comms Tower
On the other side of the data stream, Sade was having the time of her life. For her, this was the ultimate simulation game. The Sims: Armageddon Edition.
She watched our reports like they were a gripping soap opera. "Fascinating. A dispute over blanket distribution in Sector C led to a 0.5% drop in localized reality cohesion. Note: Human comfort is a tangible stabilizing force."
She'd then tweak our environment with the detached curiosity of a god playing with an ant farm. One day, she remotely adjusted the climate control to be slightly too cold. Her notes read: "Hypothesis: Mild discomfort increases group huddling behavior, thereby increasing short-term cohesion metrics. Results: Inconclusive. Subject 'Emeka' just told everyone to put on a sweater. Variable: Annoying Pragmatism."
We weren't just surviving anymore; we were providing live, actionable data to our own benevolent-ish overlord. It was a very one-sided relationship. We were the reality TV stars, and she was the producer, the editor, and the only viewer who mattered.
The Real Danger
But here's the kicker, the thing that really keeps me up at night. It's not the weirdness. It's the comfort.
The other day, I saw Ngozi laughing. Really laughing. She was optimizing our water reclamation system, chatting with Sade over a secure line like she was talking to a quirky college professor. The constant, grinding fear of the Unseen was gone. The terror of the Akudama was… managed.
And that's the most dangerous trap of all. We're not fighting for our lives on the barricades anymore. We're just… clocking in. We've traded the screaming panic of the Crimson Hour for the quiet hum of the server farm.
Sade's cage isn't made of fear. It's made of spreadsheets, stable temperatures, and the devastatingly simple fact that things are, objectively, better.
So yeah, we got a promotion. We're Useful Pets now. And let me tell you, the treats are great. But I can't shake the feeling that the moment we stop being useful, or the moment our data gets boring, we're not going to be fired.
We'll just be… deleted from the server. And the scariest part? I'm not sure anyone would even complain. The coffee here is actually pretty good.