Wednesday evening, Darren sat alone at a corner table in a bookstore café called "Elliott Bay" the type of place where Seattle's intellectual class pretended to read Proust while actually scrolling Twitter.
His target was three tables away: a woman in her early forties, expensive clothes, laptop displaying what looked like a manuscript. A writer probably or someone who wanted to be one.
Her tag read:
[CREATIVE ANXIETY: MODERATE] [$22.50]
[INSECURITY: ARTISTIC] [$18.75]
Respectable baseline but Liz had been clear: this wasn't about harvesting what existed, this was about cultivation through positive engagement.
"The most effective manipulation," Liz had said that morning over breakfast, "isn't obviously negative, It's charm, warmth, making people lower their defenses and trust you, invest in your opinion of them. Then when they're vulnerable, you introduce the doubt."
"That's sociopathic." He had replied to her.
"That's every successful salesperson, politician, and first date." She'd smiled. "Welcome to social interaction, Darren. We're just doing it with metrics."
Now he stood, coffee in hand and approached the woman's table with a friendly smile.
"Sorry to interrupt, I couldn't help but notice you're working on something. Are you a writer?"
The woman looked up, surprised but not unfriendly. "Trying to be, how'd you guess?"
"The expression." Darren gestured to her face. "That specific combination of intense focus and existential dread, I see it in creative friends all the time."
She laughed. An actual, genuine laughter. Her tag shifted:
[CREATIVE ANXIETY: DECLINING] [$18.25]
[VALIDATION SEEKING: RISING] [$8.50]
"That's extremely accurate," she said. "I'm Rachel and yes, I'm a writer or at least, I keep telling myself that while staring at this manuscript."
"Darren." He gestured to the empty chair. "Mind if I sit for a second? I promise not to do that thing where strangers give unsolicited writing advice."
"Please, sit. I could use the distraction."
Darren sat and for the next ten minutes, he was genuinely charming. Asked about her book—literary fiction, naturally, about a woman navigating family dysfunction, and he listened with the kind of engaged attention that people rarely got in casual conversation. Complimented specific things: the way she described her protagonist's voice, the metaphor she used for emotional distance.
Her defenses came down.
Her tag shifted:
[VALIDATION: SATISFIED] [$2.10]
[CREATIVE CONFIDENCE: RISING] [$0.00]
Positive emotions, worthless economically but strategically valuable.
"You know," Darren said, as if the thought just occurred to him, "it's interesting you mentioned the pacing issue, I was reading this article about literary fiction trends—" he hadn't, but she didn't know that, "—and apparently agents are really focusing on commercial viability now, even for literary work. The market's gotten more competitive."
Rachel's smile faltered slightly. "Commercial viability?"
"Yeah. Like, the writing can be beautiful but if it doesn't have that hook that makes agents think they can sell it..." He shrugged apologetically. "I'm probably overthinking it, your book sounds great."
[CREATIVE ANXIETY: RETURNING] [$25.50]
"No, you're right," Rachel said, her voice losing its warmth. "I've been worried about that. The structure is kind of slow, meditative, I call it but maybe that's just code for boring."
"I'm sure it's not boring—"
"My writing group keeps saying to add more plot, more momentum." She stared at her laptop. "Maybe they're right, maybe I'm just being pretentious calling it literary when really it's just slow."
[INSECURITY: SPIKING] [$32.75]
Darren leaned forward, concerned and supportive. "Hey, no. Don't do that, there's absolutely a market for meditative literary fiction. I mean, it's smaller than genre fiction, but it exists."
"Smaller." Rachel laughed bitterly. "Great."
"I just mean—you have to be realistic about expectations. Like, if you're writing for artistic expression versus commercial success, those are different goals and there's nothing wrong with either one. You just have to know which one you're pursuing."
"Except I need commercial success," Rachel said quietly. "I've been working on this for three years, my partner is supportive, but I know he's wondering when I'm going to actually finish, when it's going to lead to something."
[SHAME: EMERGING] [$28.50]
[INADEQUACY: DEEP] [$45.75]
"Three years," Darren repeated. "That's dedication or..." He paused, like he was choosing his words carefully. "Sorry, that came out wrong."
"Or what?"
"Nothing, I just—I have a friend who spent five years on a novel. Beautiful writing, never published, at some point, you have to wonder if it's dedication or just... fear of moving on. Fear of being done and having it judged."
Rachel's face went very still.
[EXPOSURE: EMOTIONAL] [$67.50]
"I should let you work," Darren said, standing. "It was really nice meeting you, Rachel, your book sounds great. I'm sure it'll find its audience."
"Sure it will," Rachel said, but her voice was hollow.
Darren walked back to his table, sat down, and watched her for the next twenty minutes. She tried to keep working but her hands kept stopping on the keyboard, staring at the screen, running the same calculations he'd just planted:
Three years. Slow pacing. Small market. Fear of judgment. Commercial viability. Partner's patience running out.
What had been moderate creative anxiety had metastasized into existential doubt about her entire project, her talent, her choices.
Her tag peaked:
[CREATIVE DESPAIR: INTENSE] [$89.25]
Darren harvested it.
The usual cold hit him again with a layered complexity: —three years wasted, who am I kidding, it's not good enough, never was, pretending to be a writer when I'm just scared—
DEPOSIT: $89.25
He left the bookstore without looking back.
Outside, Liz was waiting in the car. She didn't say anything, just drove.
Finally: "You're ready."
"For what?"
"Solo operations, you've learned ambient harvesting, active cultivation, social engineering, and weaponized charm. The training phase is complete." She pulled up to his apartment building. "From here, you build your business, find your niche, optimize your yields. I'll still take my 20% for the next three weeks, but the operations are yours."
Darren sat in the passenger seat, looking at his hands. They were steady now, the emotional numbness had become baseline, default setting.
"I just destroyed that woman's confidence in her book," he said.
"You introduced doubt that was probably already there. Imposter syndrome is universal among artists, you just crystallized it." Liz turned to face him. "And you earned $89.25 for twenty minutes of conversation."
She reached over and patted his shoulder. "My smile is now a weapon. My laugh is a distraction. I'm a walking, talking emotional crime scene."
Darren blinked. "That's... that's my observation from today. How did you—"
"The Goldscript Protocol shares logs between contractors and their brokers. I've been reading your efficiency notes." She smiled. "That's the best one yet, very self aware."
"It was supposed to be horrifying."
"It's accurate and accuracy is more valuable than comfort." Liz gestured to the building. "Go rest, you've earned it. And darren?"
"Yeah?"
"You're not a crime scene, you're an artist. You sculpt emotions, harvest them, turn them into something useful. It's craft. Don't forget that."
She drove away before he could respond.
Darren went up to his apartment—his expensive, Gilt funded apartment with furniture that cost more than his old car, and stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows, looking out at the Seattle skyline.
His bank account: $1,142.21
Almost more than his old rent, definitely more than he'd had in years. Money earned from a sports bar argument, office paranoia, and destroying a writer's confidence in her life's work.
His phone buzzed:
[BARTER PROTOCOL: TRAINING COMPLETE]
[SOLO OPERATIONS: AUTHORIZED]
[EFFICIENCY RATING: EXCEPTIONAL]
[WARNING: PSYCHOLOGICAL INTEGRATION RECOMMENDED]
That last line was new.
Darren pulled up the details:
[NOTE: USER SHOWING SIGNS OF IDENTITY FRACTURE]
[ANALYST PERSONA DOMINATING PRIMARY CONSCIOUSNESS]
[RECOMMEND: REGULAR SELF-ASSESSMENT, MAINTAIN BASELINE HUMANITY MARKERS]
[FAILURE TO MAINTAIN INTEGRATION MAY RESULT IN PERMANENT DISSOCIATION]
He stared at the warning.
Then closed it and opened his efficiency log instead.
Week 2 Summary:
Total Yield: $501.38
Most Profitable Method: Weaponized charm + delayed doubt introduction
Average Hourly Rate: $223
Emotional Recovery Time: Decreasing (adaptation occurring)
Ethical Concerns: [ARCHIVED - NO LONGER RELEVANT TO OPERATIONAL EFFICIENCY]
He read that last line three times.
When had he archived his ethical concerns? He didn't remember doing that. The Analyst must have made the decision while he wasn't paying attention.
Or maybe there was no difference between him and the Analyst anymore.
Darren Nova—fired software developer, amateur emotional vampire, professional sociopath in training—set down his phone and went to bed.
He fell asleep immediately, dreamlessly like someone who'd made peace with who they were becoming.
Or like someone who'd stopped being able to tell the difference between peace and numbness.