Rick walked down the damp pavement, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.
The sky above was a dull, miserable grey, perfectly matching his mood. He kicked a crushed soda can into the gutter, watching it rattle down the filthy drain.
He was fuming.
He had just come from a corporate job interview for a junior data analyst position at a mid-tier tech firm.
Despite getting high grades, he did not slack off and prepared aggressively for weeks.
And it worked.
He absolutely nailed the aptitude tests.
He answered every technical question thrown at him without missing a single beat.
And then for the final step, he was sitting opposite the HR manager.
The HR manager was a fat, balding man named Mr Sterling, who had that smug, patronising smile throughout the entire interview.
He kept looking down at Rick's cheap, off-the-rack suit, judging him silently.
Still, Rick thought he had it in the bag.
He was confident that for the first time in his miserable life, he thought his hard work was actually going to pay off.
But then everything went down the drain, the office door swung open without a knock.
A young guy walked in wearing a tailored designer suit, a flashy gold Rolex on his wrist, and a haircut that probably cost more than what Rick was wearing at the moment.
The guy didn't even look at Rick, as he strolled right up to the desk and leaned in front of the manager.
"Hey, brother-in-law," the guy said, grinning lazily, "I came with all the documents you asked for."
Mr Sterling didn't reprimand him for interrupting a formal interview. Instead, the fat manager's arrogant face melted into a warm, welcoming, and submissive smile.
"Ah, perfect timing, Chad. Leave them on the table. We are just wrapping up here."
Hearing him call the manager 'brother-in-law', Rick instantly knew he was screwed.
It was a total cliché, but it was happening right in front of his face.
His perfect grades, his sleepless nights studying, his flawless interview performance... None of it meant a damn thing.
The game was already rigged. Chad was going to get the job simply because the manager was fucking Chad's sister.
Mr Sterling turned back to Rick, his voice dripping with fake, sickening sympathy, "Well, Rick, you have a very impressive resume here. I can see you going a long way in your career.
"We will keep your details on file and let you know our decision by the end of the week."
Rick heard the manager and knew one thing. His phone was never going to ring. It was corporate speak for 'fuck off, you are not getting hired'.
Rick had nothing else to say. He just stood up, grabbed his stuff, and walked out of the glass doors.
'Society is a massive, steaming pile of bullshit,' Rick thought bitterly, walking back to his apartment building, 'The rich protect the rich. The connected protect the connected.'
'And guys like me? We follow the rules, we study our arses off, and we end up as nothing but a bloody stepping stone for some smug prick named Chad.'
'Now I need to go amuse a bunch.'
When he wasn't failing at the real world, he retreated to his dark, cramped bedroom as a faceless game streamer.
'What has become of my life?' he sneered at his own reflection in a dirty puddle. He spent his nights yelling at a monitor, cursing out twelve-year-olds for an audience of thirty-forty bored people.
'Oh, look, a five-dollar donation. I can eat something now,' he mocked internally. It was barely enough scraps and ad revenue to scrape by each month and pay his rent.
'Why is there no miracle in my life?' he muttered to himself.
He turned the corner, his apartment building finally coming into view. It was a rundown brick structure with peeling paint, cracked windows, and flickering streetlights.
All he wanted to do was walk up to his room, lock the door, strip off this suffocating, cheap suit, and load up a game. He wanted to shoot virtual heads and forget about Mr Sterling, Chad, and the failure he was.
But as he approached the front steps, his mood instantly soured even further. While the miracle he hoped for was nowhere to be seen. hi nightmare was waiting for him
Sitting on the cold concrete steps, completely blocking his path, was Emily.
Emily was his childhood friend and a college graduate just like him. They came to the city together to make a life for themselves.
But while after graduating he was busy grinding his ass for a job, from the looks of it, Emily had some other important things in her life.
She was wearing a tight, revealing red party dress that barely covered her thighs. The dress clung to her body like a second skin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Rick stopped at the bottom of the stairs, as his eyes instinctively scanned her figure from top to bottom.
Can you blame him though? It was impossible not to look.
The dress was cut dangerously low, pushing up a very plump, heavy chest for admiration.
As he stood in front of her, he could clearly se her cleavage that were tempting him with the invitation.
Because of the way she was sitting, the dress had ridden up dangerously high, showing off a generous amount of her smooth thighs and the curve of a very perky arse.
Rick immediately felt his cock harden in his pants.
No matter how bad a day he was having, he was a guy, after all, and he hadn't been laid for the last 22 years.
So how can anyone blame him from appreciating the view, and his mind immediately generated the image of grabbing those soft thighs, pushing them apart, and tearing that cheap red fabric right off her body.
But that was where it stopped.
If he had not known her, he might have been a stuttering, blushing mess seeing her like this.
But he had long become completely immune to her charms. He saw her for exactly what she was. A selfish, emotionally draining burden who only used him when things didn't go her way.
If not for the fact that he was her Childhood friends, and her parents asked him to take care of their only daughter, he would have just walked past her.
"What are you doing here, Emily?" Rick let out a heavy, irritated sigh.
Emily finally looked up with her red, puffy eyes.
"Rick..." She sniffled, her voice trembled, "He ignored me."
Rick didn't need to ask who 'he' was.
It was Roy.
The rich, handsome, arrogant star from their college whom she had been obsessing over for years.
"You went to his party," Rick stated flatly. It wasn't a question.
"I bought this dress just for tonight," Emily cried, gesturing weakly to her exposed cleavage, "I spent two hours doing my makeup. I starved myself all week to look good. I thought... I thought tonight he would finally notice me."
Rick crossed his arms, looking down at her coldly, "And let me guess. He didn't."
"He completely ignored me!" Emily wailed, burying her face in her hands, "I walked right past him three times. I spilled a drink near him on purpose."
"But he didn't even look at me. And then... then he spent the whole bloody night flirting with Chloe. Fucking Chloe! Fuck that dumb blonde bimbo!"
Rick felt zero sympathy.
"Chloe has a rich dad and she is in a league way above you," Rick replied not sugarcoating a single word, "You don't have either. Why the fuck would he look at you?"
Emily gasped, looking up at him with hurt, wide eyes, "Rick! How can you say that?"
"Because it's the truth," Rick snapped, his voice hard, "You throw yourself at a guy who treats you like invisible trash, and then you come crying to my doorstep when he picks another hole to plug. I am sick of it."
Emily stared at him, genuinely shocked.
Rick never talked to her like this. He was usually the supportive shoulder to cry on. He was the safe, pathetic backup option who would stroke her hair and tell her she was pretty. How it would be Roy's loss if he did not notice her.
Emily stood up. She swayed slightly on her high heels, almost losing her balance.
"You think I am trash?" she whispered, taking a step down towards him.
"I am not saying anything!"