The bus ride home was a debrief. The SSD was a cold weight in my pocket. The $50 in my account? Transferred. The mission prompt for my next objective would come. I was certain.
But I needed a status report. I needed to see the machinery behind the change I could already feel humming under my skin.
I stared out the grimy window and muttered, low enough that no one else heard.
"DES. Show me my specs."
The HUD ignited in the twilight:
> System Query: User Baseline (Post-Acquisition)
[Desirability Score: 1.05 / 100]
Core Attributes (Current / Pending Upgrade):
• Physique: Below Average. (Strength: 2/10 → Pending, Agility: 3/10 → Pending)
• Presence: Deficient. (Posture: 4/10 → Pending, Vocal Tonality: 2/10 → Pending)
• Social Metrics: Critically Low. (Charm: 3/100 → Pending, Confidence: 0/100 → Pending)
• Sexual Appeal: Negligible. (Score: 1.05/100 → Pending)
• Genital Size: 3 inches. (→ Pending)
» System Note: Comprehensive physiological & social upgrades are staged and awaiting validation.
» Validation Requirement: Execute one (1) confirmed dominant social interaction.
» Upon validation, all pending attributes will be applied concurrently.
Dominant social interaction.
The phrase wasn't a suggestion. It was a prerequisite. The system had already applied a patch—the calm, the sharper voice, the lack of paralyzing fear—but the full physical upgrade was locked. It required me to initiate. To control. Not to react, but to act.
A strange, cold thrill coiled in my stomach. It wasn't anxiety. It was anticipation.
I was a weapon being loaded, waiting for the trigger to be pulled.
---
The next morning, the Operations floor felt like a different simulation. The noise was the same, but my perception was tuned. I was here to collect data and execute.
Greg glanced up as I passed. "Morning, bud."
"Morning," I replied, my tone flat, offering nothing more.
His thought followed, lazy and predictable:
{This guy's never gonna climb. He's gonna be stuck at the bottom with the rest of the pack.}
Again, I pretended I didn't hear his thoughts. The act was already second nature by now.
The bottom. The place where people are used, not heard. Where you wait for scraps from the top.
Greg's thought wasn't an insult; it was a diagnosis. And I refused the prognosis.
At my desk, I powered on my monitor. To my right, Diana Sanchez was already a blur of focused motion. Brilliant. Isolated. A fortress of competence.
DES activated without prompt, painting analysis over her.
> Target: Diana Sanchez.
Age: 24
Current Position: Data Analyst – Operations Division, TitanForge Communications
Influence Level: Low
Profile: High intellect, zero social patience. Values efficiency over rapport.
Optimal Approach: Utilitarian. Task-oriented communication.
Recommended Action: Acknowledge presence. Use work as context. Do not seek engagement.
A test. A safe, system-approved test.
"Morning, Diana. The vendor data stream is corrupted again," I stated, my voice flat, eyes on my screen.
She didn't look up. "Not my dataset."
Her thought was a razor slice: {Why is he talking to me? Do your job and leave me the fuck alone Holt.}
No social gain. No loss. A neutral outcome. The system didn't punish neutrality. It only rewarded dominance. The lesson was clear: Diana was not a vector for growth. She was scenery.
Growth required a target of opportunity. My eyes drifted to the glass wall of Kelly Thorn's office. She was inside, a silhouette of controlled tension.
Authority. Hidden desire. High influence.
Greg's voice echoed in my memory: Stuck at the bottom.
Climbing required a ladder. Or a rope. Or leverage.
Kelly's secret interest, revealed by DES yesterday, wasn't a personal fact, it was leverage. An emotional pressure point. The system had flagged it for a reason. It was my first assigned resource.
The decision was clinical. This wasn't about attraction or fear. It was about initiating the dominant interaction required to unlock my next upgrade. It was about cementing influence.
I stood and walked to her door. My heartbeat was steady. The chemical calm was operational. I knocked.
"Come in."
Her office was a capsule of suppressed stress. She didn't look up from her screen. "What?"
The old Terrence would have shattered. The new one analyzed. Her tone was a weapon, but her posture was rigid with fatigue. She was guarding something.
DES remained silent, which meant only one thing. This was my move.
"You seemed stressed yesterday," I said, my voice softer, tinged with a careful concern. Just a colleague noticing another. "Everyone just brings you problems. Must be exhausting."
Her head snapped up. Confusion, then sharp suspicion. "Is there a point to this, Holt?"
I took a single, intentional step forward. Not a threat. A slight shift into shared space. A border crossed with plausible deniability.
"The point is, I see it," I said, holding her gaze, my tone dropping to something almost confidential. "You handle everything for everyone, but... nobody checks on you." I let the observation hang, sincere and weighty. "I just wanted you to know... I noticed."
Her breath caught. Just slightly. The professional mask flickered. DES highlighted her spiking heart rate, and the dilation of her pupils.
{He… noticed? …Stop it, Kelly. God, he probably has a girlfriend.}
I didn't wait for her to form a defense. I provided the exit, my voice returning to a professional, helpful tone. "Just wanted to make sure you're alright. I'll be at my desk if you... need anything."
I turned to leave, my hand on the doorknob. Then, acting on an instinct the system had planted but not commanded, I glanced back.
Her eyes were still on me, wide, unguarded.
"And… just so you know," I added, my tone softening again, landing somewhere between a confession and a reassurance. "I'm not seeing anyone. In case… that was ever a question."
I left before she could respond.
The door clicked shut. The corridor was silent. Then, the HUD erupted in a cascade of cool, victorious light:
> Dominant Social Interaction: CONFIRMED.
Target: High-Value Authority Figure.
Outcome: Successful Assertion of Social Initiative.
Reward: Physiological & Social Upgrades Applied.
A wave of warmth, deeper than before, flooded my body. My posture straightened as if pulled by wires. My voice felt resonant in my chest. A sharp, focused energy buzzed in my muscles.
> Strength: 2 → 4
Agility: 3 → 5
Posture: 4 → 7
Vocal Tonality: 2 → 5
Charm: 3 → 15
Confidence: 0 → 25
Social Proficiency: 10 → 25
Sex Appeal: 1.05 → 15
Genital Size: 3 inches → 5 inches. Adjustment Complete.
[Desirability Score: 1.05 / 100] → [Desirability Score: 25 / 100]
The numbers scrolled, a quantifiable transformation. 25. A twenty-five-fold increase from my baseline existence.
I walked back to my cubicle, the world in sharp focus. The hum of the office was no longer noise. It was the sound of a system, and I had just increased my processing power.
Greg was staring at me with a strange look on his face. {Why does he look different?}
I ignored him. I sat down, the new stats a living current beneath my skin.
The bottom was a memory.
Now, I was climbing. And I had just found my first handhold.
---
To be continued...