The apartment was quiet. Only the hum of the old fan filled the room as I shuffled toward the bathroom. My hand instinctively went to the side of my head, still throbbing from the company stairs incident. A small bandage covered the spot where I'd slammed against the tile.
Just as I reached for the door, my phone buzzed. I squinted at the screen.
Mom.
I already knew why she was calling. Her name was filled in as my guardian in the company records — which meant the hospital probably called her about my little mishap. She was the only family I had. My dad died before I was born. At least, that's what I'd been told.
I answered, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Hey, Mom."
"Terrence! Are you okay? I heard about the stairs. That's terrible! Did they check your head properly? Are you dizzy?" Her voice was tense, motherly worry radiating through the line.
"I'm fine, Mom. Really. It's… just a scratch." I rubbed the back of my neck, hoping she wouldn't hear the panic in my voice.
"You're always saying that!" Her voice cracked a little. "Terrence, do you even realize how reckless you are sometimes?"
"I know, Mom. I'm being careful this time, I promise." I ran a hand over the back of my neck, trying to sound casual. "The hospital checked me out. I'm fine. Really."
She took a sharp intake of breath. "Fine? That doesn't sound like you. I know you, Terrence. You're always brushing things off, and it worries me. Are you dizzy? Any headaches?"
"No, Mom. Honestly, nothing. I've been walking around, stretching. Everything's normal."
"You're sure?" Her tone softened a bit, but the worry lingered. "Because I hate the thought of you struggling and not telling me."
"I'm sure. Look, I can handle it. You don't need to worry."
Another pause. I could almost hear her taking a deep breath.
"You always say that," she muttered, almost to herself, "but sometimes I wish you'd let me help."
"I appreciate it, Mom. Really. I'm fine. I promise. Nothing to worry about."
There was a long silence, then finally, softer, teasing, almost with a sigh: "Alright… just checking. So, what about your girlfriend, Sasha? The one you told me about?"
I swallowed.
Okay, fine, I lied about having a girlfriend. And I also lied about it being Sasha Haze. Same Sasha… the one who doesn't notice me, and whenever she does speak to me, it comes out as insults or something much more embarrassing. You know… that Sasha.
"She's fine," I said quickly. "She was even with me at the hospital."
More lies. Of course.
"Good," she said, relief creeping into her voice. "Just… be careful, Terrence. Call me if anything changes, okay?"
"I will, Mom. Love you."
"Love you too. And… don't try to be a hero."
I ended the call, staring at the phone for a moment before slipping it into my pocket. My mom's words still lingered in my ears, a mix of worry and teasing, but now I had to face something more immediate.
I was already at the bathroom door, hand hovering over the bandage. I needed to see it for myself, figure out just how bad the injury really was. Between the stairs, the humiliation at work, and being a corporate nobody, I had to know if this would make things worse… or well, worse.
I touched it lightly.
"Ouch…" I muttered, wincing.
Immediately, the HUD blinked sharply in front of my vision.
> User: Terrence Holt – Head Injury Detected
Severity: Moderate contusion
Impact: Health –10
Impact on Desirability: –0.2
Recommended: Injury resolution required for optimal performance
I froze. The system wasn't commenting, it wasn't joking — it was evaluating, analyzing, and issuing directives. Apparently, my physical state directly affected my overall potential.
A subtle warmth spread across the side of my head. The pain dulled rapidly, then vanished entirely. My fingers hovered over the bandage… and it was gone.
> User Status: Injury resolved
Health restored to 100%
Desirability Score adjusted: 0.5/100
I stared at my reflection. The skin was smooth. The bruise never existed. No bandage. No evidence of failure.
DES hadn't just tracked me — it had corrected me. Every flaw that could hinder performance or desirability… it was already taking care of it.
For the first time, I understood just how far beyond ordinary this system was.
And I realized: this wasn't help. This was transformation. The system wasn't done with me yet. Even here, in the quiet of my apartment I could feel the system tracking, analyzing, preparing. I only could wonder what it had installed for me tomorrow at work.
---
Walking into TitanForge, it was the same as always. The fluorescent lights, the smell of over-brewed coffee, and me… practically invisible.
I made my way to the elevator, head down, trying to keep unnoticed.
And then they appeared.
Sasha Haze. And her "escort" — one of the Marketing team's golden boys, the kind who looked like he could bench-press the office building.
She caught sight of me immediately and her expression sharpened.
"I heard you hit your head on the stairs yesterday," she said, her voice cold, precise. "How much more pathetic can you be Holt?"
The two girls flanking her giggled softly.
Immediately, the HUD activated, sliding information in front of my vision:
> Target Analysis: Sasha Haze
Age: 26
Current Position: Senior Marketing Strategist – TitanForge Communications
Influence: High in Marketing, negligible outside department
System Note: Target authority cannot suppress or nullify user rights to act in accordance with objectives. Emotional intimidation is measurable but does not restrict system-guided responses.
Preparing available countermeasures for target interaction:
Option 1: Ignore target completely. Push elevator button. Maintain composure.
Option 2: Respond verbally with measured acknowledgment. Reinforce boundaries and assert status.
I froze for a heartbeat. My instincts screamed to say something. Anything.
But my body refused. I couldn't speak. Not with Sasha staring me down like I was some spineless prey, and especially not with her escort smirking beside her, daring me to say something. My throat felt like dry cement.
So I did the other thing DES suggested — the obvious choice: I pressed the elevator button and ignored her completely.
Sasha blinked, shocked at the lack of response.
"You're… not even going to answer me?" she asked, incredulous.
I said nothing.
The elevator doors slid open. I stepped forward, but Sasha didn't move.
"I don't want to share the same space with you," she said sharply, glaring at me. Her escort and the two girls from yesterday exchanged amused glances, clearly waiting to see what I'd do.
And I didn't do anything. I simply tried not to make eye contact as the elevator slid closer, my stomach tightening with every inch.
As the elevator ascended, DES updated automatically:
> Objective: Survive First Social Challenge – PASSED
Reward: Daily Income Unlocked – $50/day
Note: Daily Income increases proportionally with user Level
Another line appeared:
> User: Terrence Holt
Level: 1
I stared at the floating numbers. Fifty dollars a day. Not much. But for the first time in years, it was mine. Mine to spend. Mine to control.
And somewhere deep in my chest, the smallest spark of something dangerous and unfamiliar flickered:
Power.
---
To be continued...