I blink at the message.
It doesn't look like the office messenger or any normal system prompt. The text hovers, crisp and impossibly bright. When I tilt my head, it moves with me.
It isn't on my monitor. It's in the air, suspended like some kind of AR overlay. I wave my hand between it and the screen. The letters flicker faintly, but they don't distort.
"What the hell," I whisper.
I rub my eyes, hold them shut, count to three, and when I open them again, it's gone.
Just my imagination. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep. This light probably messes with my brain chemistry. I'm two seconds away from Googling "can fluorescent bulbs cause hallucinations" when a voice cuts in.
"Hey, Cassie, how's the presentation coming?"
I roll my eyes internally at the interruption. Todd. Of course. Manager of Nothing, Destroyer of Peace.
"Almost finished," I lie, not bothering to look up. I don't want him to take my eye contact as an invitation to chit-chat. I hear him walk away a moment later. The presentation has been done for days. It's already scheduled to send automatically at five, perfectly timed for maximum efficiency and minimal effort.
That's how I survive here: by looking busy. Efficiency in all things, including deception.
Not that he'd notice either way. Todd stopped checking my work ages ago. I could slip a cat meme into slide three, and he wouldn't realize until someone pointed it out in a meeting. Then we'd get the shocked-Pikachu face and a lecture about professionalism.
The mental image makes me smile. I tweak a few numbers on the report just for fun, polishing a column that's already flawless. When the figures align, the satisfaction hits like a small, secret high—until I remember no one will ever notice.
No one here ever does.
"Wow," I mutter under my breath, "when did I get so jaded?"
I send a quick update confirming the report's expected completion, then lean back in my chair. Todd's voice drifts from the cubicle behind me.
"Yeah, we need someone to work this weekend. That screw-up in marketing means we have to rewrite the whole thing. Again."
My fingers freeze on the keyboard.
"It's probably gonna be Cassie," he continues, lowering his voice unsuccessfully. "I mean, she doesn't have anyone to go home to. Better her than someone with a family, right?"
The sound of their chairs scraping back makes my stomach twist. They walk off, still muttering but I stop listening.
I stare at my screen until the words blur. Anger bubbles up, sharp and familiar.
Of course it's me. It's always me. I'm the default sacrifice because I don't have kids or a partner or even a pet that can't feed itself. Just me, my microwave noodles, and whatever webnovel I'm obsessed with that week.
I don't mind late nights when they're my idea. When I'm chasing a problem, when I'm making something better. That kind of overtime feels like purpose. This isn't that. This is being voluntold for cleanup duty because I'm convenient. Because no one's waiting for me at home to complain.
I blink hard, trying to clear the sting in my eyes.
And then the words appear again. Floating, glowing, impossible.
❖ SYSTEM MESSAGE ❖
QUEST FAILED:
Avoid Weekend Overtime
I blink twice.
It's back, crisp, clean text suspended in the air.
A projector? A prank? Did someone stick an AR filter on my monitor? I wave my hand through it. Nothing. I touch my face just in case I've somehow put on smart glasses without noticing. Nope.
I shut my eyes and press the heels of my hands against them, waiting for the headache that never comes.
I'm just overworked. Too much caffeine, not enough REM cycles. Note to self: stop reading until 3 a.m. on weeknights.
When I open them again, there's a new message waiting.
❖ SYSTEM MESSAGE ❖
PRO TIP:
Consider reflecting on your life choices.
I exhale through my nose. "Great. Now even my hallucinations are condescending."
Before I can process it further, Todd's voice hits again. "Cassie, can you step into my office for a second?"
I jump. He's smiling that tight managerial smile, the one that means someone's about to get either praised or fired.
My pulse spikes. Maybe this is it. The promotion.
I follow him down the hallway while he chatters about an intern in marketing who "creates more work than they save." I offer the usual noises—mm-hmm, right, I hear ya—like a broken soundboard.
Inside, our regional manager Denise is shaking Ryan's hand. The scene doesn't make sense at first. The lights hum louder. Ryan rubs the back of his neck and avoids my gaze.
"Cassie, great to see you," Denise says brightly. "We wanted to bring you up to speed on a little restructuring."
Her smile is pure PR.
"Ryan's innovative reporting system saved us hours of data processing, so we're promoting him to Senior Analyst. We'd like you to help cover the transition."
The words hit like a slap.
For a stupid second, I don't get it. Ryan doesn't have a reporting system. He barely understood mine after the third walk-through.
Then it lands.
Ryan's reporting system. My reporting system.
My jaw tightens. The room tilts, the buzzing grows, and I feel my pulse in my teeth.
Ryan still won't look at me.
That was supposed to be me. I picture it—Denise's handshake, the congratulations, the pride I was ready to feel. And then it's gone. The last fragile bit of hope I'd been rationing, evaporates.
The last little flame of purpose—snuffed out by my friend.
❖ SYSTEM MESSAGE ❖
QUEST AVAILABLE:
Maintain professionalism
DESCRIPTION:
Congratulate Ryan without using sarcasm.
REWARD:
+1 Model Employee
I stare at the text until it fades at the edges.
"I'm really—" My throat catches. "I'm really happy for you, Ryan."
He blinks, eyes flickering with something like guilt. "Cass—"
"No, really," I cut him off. "I know better than anyone how much you deserve this."
❖ SYSTEM MESSAGE ❖
QUEST COMPLETE:
Maintain professionalism
REWARD GRANTED:
+1 Model Employee
SIDE EFFECT:
–15 Emotional Integrity
My smile feels stapled in place. The one I practiced this morning at the bus stop. My throat burns.
Denise and Todd beam at me for being such a "team player." The phrase makes my skin crawl.
After another round of forced congratulations, I retreat toward the safety of my cubicle. Don't make a scene. Don't make it awkward.
My vision tunnels. The world thrums.
Footsteps approach.
"Cassie, wait." Ryan catches up halfway down the hall and lays a hand on my shoulder. The touch jolts through me with a rush of unwanted contact.
❖ SYSTEM MESSAGE ❖
QUEST AVAILABLE:
Eliminate Rival Ryan
DESCRIPTION:
By any means necessary.
REWARD:New Title Unlocked — Incarcerated
WARNING:HR Violation Detected.
I shrug him off, voice steady. "I have a lot to do, you understand." I say over my shoulder, careful not to look at him. Then I keep walking.
He made his choice. I don't need to hear the excuses, and I definitely don't need to be escorted out for assault.
Back at my desk, I sit. Stare. Try to feel nothing.
I'm not angry. Not even sad. Just empty. Emotionally offline. Like my brain hit a fatal error and decided to stop processing for now.
The office drones with the same indifferent rhythm: printers, chatter, the steady clack of keyboards. Ryan's laugh carries faintly through the partition, warm and familiar, the sound of a friend who doesn't exist anymore.
I can't reconcile it, the man who once invited me to his family's Christmas dinner because he knew I'd be alone, and the one who just took everything I worked for.
I smooth the sleeve of my shirt to hide the tremor in my hand. I don't know that person anymore. Maybe I never did.
I open my email and start going through the latest messages, waiting for the inevitable one from Todd asking if I can "help out" this weekend.
The notification chime rings.
Ding.