The thing about feeding on human misery, Darren discovered, was that Seattle provided an all you can eat buffet.
By day three of his new "career," he had developed a system. Not a good system—not one he was proud of, but a functional one. The kind of optimization process that would have made his old project managers nod with approval while his conscience screamed in the background.
He started small, testing variables, Collecting data.
Target Type: Road rage
Location: Intersection of 45th and University
Trigger: Natural (red light, no parking spot)
Yield:$12.00
Notes: Quick harvest. Driver's anger peaked when someone honked. Lasted maybe 20 seconds. Emotional recovery: minimal.
The driver—a middle aged woman in a Subaru—had been perfectly fine until someone in a BMW laid on their horn for a full three seconds, her face flushed, her hands tightened on the wheel. The golden script bloomed above her head, furious and bright.
Darren stood on the corner pretending to check his phone and harvested it.
The cold emptiness hit him but gentler this time, like dipping his hand in ice water instead of plunging his whole body through frozen vacuum. The woman's rage—that entitled prick probably has a trust fund, never worked a real day in his life, my taxes pay for these roads—flowed through him and dissolved.
She deflated, slumped in her seat. The light turned green and she drove away, just another exhausted Seattleite commuting through another gray day.
Darren's phone buzzed: DEPOSIT: $12.00.
He added it to his spreadsheet.
The coffee shop line was even easier.
Target Type: Impatience
Location:Starbucks on Broadway
Trigger: Natural (slow barista, long line)
Yield:$2.50
Notes: Low-intensity emotion. Barely worth the metabolic cost. Need to find higher-value targets.
A guy in a tech company hoodie kept checking his Apple Watch, sighing loud enough for everyone to hear. His tag flickered: [IMPATIENCE: RISING] [$2.50].
Darren waited until the man's frustration peaked, when the barista had to remake someone's order for the third time and harvested.
God this is taking forever I'm going to be late for standup Mike is going to think I'm slacking again why is everyone so incompetent—
The script dissolved, the man's shoulders relaxed and he stopped checking his watch.
DEPOSIT: $2.50.
Darren bought a black coffee with his profits and sat by the window, watching the tags float above every person who passed. Little price markers on human experience.
[STRESS: MODERATE] [$8.15]
[ANXIETY: LOW] [$1.20]
[CONTENTMENT: HIGH] [$0.00]
That last one caught his attention. Contentment was worth nothing. Happiness had no value in the Goldscript Protocol's economy. Only the negative emotions generated yield.
Of course they did.
By afternoon, Darren was back in his apartment, staring at his bank account: $623.23.
Still not enough. Rent was $1,200, he'd made $215 in three days, which sounded impressive until you did the math: he needed to harvest roughly $70 per day just to make rent, and that didn't account for food, utilities or the student loans that were definitely not going to pay themselves.
The daily quests helped, yesterday's "+$25 for three harvests" had been a nice bonus but the yields were too unpredictable, too small.
He needed higher value targets.
His phone sat on the folding table, landlord's number saved in contacts. Victor Chen. A man who owned forty three properties across Seattle and treated his tenants like data points in a portfolio optimization algorithm.
Darren had called him three months ago to report a broken heater. Victor had asked if he was "certain it was broken" or if he was "just being too sensitive to cold." The repair took six weeks.
Now Darren pulled up Victor's number and hesitated.
What he was about to do was different. The road rage, the coffee shop impatience, those were natural emotions he'd just... collected. Recycled, as it were. This was something else.
This was deliberate provocation.
"I'm literally feeding on human misery," the part of him that was still Darren Nova said.
"You're recycling negative externalities into liquid assets," the Analyst countered. "And you need rent money. Make the call."
He made the call.
"Mr. Chen, it's Darren Nova. Unit 307."
"Yes?" Victor's voice had the clipped efficiency of someone who billed in six-minute increments. "Is there a maintenance issue?"
"Actually, I wanted to discuss the rent increase notice you slipped under my door."
"The annual adjustment is in accordance with—"
"It's a 15% increase, Mr. Chen. That's $150 more per month."
"The market rate for comparable units..."
"There's black mold in the bathroom." Darren kept his voice level, professional. "The heater barely works, the window doesn't seal properly. You're charging luxury prices for substandard housing."
A pause. Then: "Mr. Nova, if you're unsatisfied with the accommodations, you're welcome to explore other options."
"Other options?" Darren felt his own anger rising, genuine and hot. "You know the rental market is impossible right now, you're banking on people being trapped."
Above his phone, even though Victor wasn't physically present, a tag appeared in Darren's vision:
[TARGET: REMOTE]
[EMOTION: FRUSTRATION]
[AURIC YIELD: $18.75]
Higher. Significantly higher than road rage or impatience.
"Mr. Nova, I don't appreciate your tone."
"And I don't appreciate being exploited, but here we are."
"If you cannot afford the adjusted rate, I suggest you consider roommates or alternative arrangements. This conversation is over."
[FRUSTRATION PEAKING] [$18.75]
Victor hung up.
Darren harvested immediately.
The cold hit harder this time, maybe because the emotion was directed at him, personal and sharp. Victor's frustration tasted like "entitled millennial thinks he deserves cheap rent in a prime location, doesn't understand basic economics, my insurance costs alone—"
It dissolved into golden particles.
DEPOSIT: $18.75.
Darren sat very still, staring at his phone.
He'd just picked a fight with his landlord, on purpose, to make him angry, So he could profit from that anger.
The numbness settled over him like a weighted blanket.
"I'm the world's worst superhero," he said to the empty apartment. "The Emotional Parasite, my catchphrase would be 'Please be more upset.'"
[OBSERVATION: SELF-AWARE]
[EFFICIENCY NOTE: PROVOKED EMOTIONS YIELD 40% MORE THAN AMBIENT HARVESTS]
[RECOMMENDATION: CONSIDER TARGETED ENGAGEMENT STRATEGIES]
Darren opened his spreadsheet and added the new data:
Yield Comparison:
- Ambient road rage: $12.00
- Ambient impatience: $2.50
- Provoked frustration: $18.75
Conclusion: Manufacturing conflict is more profitable than observing it.
Ethical concerns: Yes.
Financial concerns: Outweigh ethical concerns.
Current rationalization: Everyone gets frustrated sometimes. I'm just... accelerating the process and collecting the byproduct. Like emotional recycling, that's almost environmental, right?
He read the last line twice, then deleted it.
Some lies were too pathetic even for a spreadsheet.
That night, Darren lay on his futon and stared at the ceiling, watching the Goldscript Protocol's UI elements float at the edge of his vision. The system never really turned off, just dimmed, waiting.
His bank account: $641.98.
Days until rent: 14.
Required daily harvest rate: $39.86.
He'd made $28.25 today, not enough. He needed to optimize, scale up, find better targets or better methods or just... be better at making people feel worse.
Somewhere in the apartment above him, a couple was arguing, their voices filtered through the thin ceiling, sharp and frustrated, he could almost see the tags forming above them.
[RESENTMENT] [$??.??]
[BETRAYAL] [$??.??]
Higher value emotions. Complex, multi layered, probably worth three or four times what road rage paid.
All he had to do was go upstairs, Knock on the door. Maybe offer to help, get close enough to harvest when the argument peaked.
Darren rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head.
Not tonight, he'd crossed enough lines for one day.
But tomorrow? Tomorrow the math would still be merciless, and the Goldscript Protocol would still be humming at the edge of his vision, patient and relentless, reminding him that everyone had a price.
Even him.
Especially him.