The morning's success was a quiet hum in my veins. The stats, the income, the shift in my own posture—they were assets. And assets needed to be deployed.
DES provided the next logical protocol as lunch approached.
> Social Consolidation Recommended.
Objective: Integrate with a peer-level group during a non-work activity.
Purpose: Establish social baseline, observe hierarchy, gather interpersonal data.
Suggested Group: Greg (Low Threat), Diana (Neutral/Closed), Timothy (Unknown).
Expected Outcome: Increased social normalization, potential for network expansion.
Unknown?
The label was odd, but it fit.
Timothy was the office enigma. Quiet, preternaturally competent, and dressed with a simplicity that screamed old money. Rumors swirled that he was a board member's son, a silent partner, an heir slumming it in Operations.
Still, it was a mission, not an invitation.
I stood as the clock hit noon and turned to the three of them, who were in various stages of shutting down their work.
"Mind if I join you all for lunch?"
Greg's face split into a performative grin. "Course, bud! The more the merrier."
His thoughts, as usual, slid in a heartbeat later, the real response beneath the performance: {This should be awkwardly hilarious.}
Diana glanced up, her expression the visual equivalent of a system error. She said nothing, returning to her screen. Her thought though, was a silent, dismissive pulse: {Ugh}
Timothy simply finished sliding his notebook into a leather folio. He gave a slight, noncommittal shrug. "Fine by me."
His accompanying thought was as neutral as his tone: {Hmm. He's never asked to join us before.}
We moved as a unit toward the elevators, a loose formation of convenience. The lobby was a zoo of suits and urgency. Our doors slid open, spilling us into the current just as another elevator chimed thirty feet away.
Sasha Haze stepped out, Riley and Grace flanking her like polished shadows. Her gaze swept, locked, and narrowed, like a hunter spotting the prey that got away.
She didn't walk toward me. She adjusted her vector, cutting through the crowd with the precision of a missile. The marble floor between us was her no-man's land, and she was claiming it.
"Holt." Her voice was like a blade, meant to cut and separate me from my group. "You ignored me yesterday."
A sudden quiet dropped over our little patch of marble. Greg froze mid-step. Diana's actually looked up from her phone, now mildly interested in the impending crash. Timothy simply watched.
DES lit up, options stark against her furious face:
> Target: Sasha Haze.
Context: Public reassertion of dominance. Audience: High-value peers (Riley, Grace), your current group.
Recommended Actions:
• Acknowledge & Reframe. "I was occupied. It wasn't personal." (Asserts purpose, denies emotional control.)
• Subtle Dismissal. "I don't see why that should bother you?" (Reframes her anger as irrational. Undermines her emotional leverage. High risk/high reward.)
• Minimal Engagement. A nod, "Okay," and continue walking. (Asserts indifference, denies her the conflict.)
Option 2. Always Option 2. Growth required pressure.
I didn't stop walking. My group instinctively paused half a step behind me, making me the spearhead. I met her Sasha's stare with a blank, but curious expression.
"I don't see why that should bother you?" I asked, my voice even, carrying just enough to be heard by the intended audiences.
The effect was instantaneous.
The words landed like a slap. Her face went through three stages in a second: confusion, comprehension, then rage. A hot blush stained her neck.
"I—You can't just—What gives you the—" The words tripped over each other, dying in her throat. A silent, sputtering fury formed in her thoughts: {The... audacity!}
"Thought so," I said, cutting off her malfunction. The sentence was complete.
To her left, Riley took a half-step forward, her pretty face hardening into a glare aimed at me. Her thought was protective venom: {Who does this nobody think he is?}
To her right, Grace's hand flew to her mouth, but not fast enough to stifle a soft, startled giggle. Her eyes, wide and bright, locked onto me with open fascination. {Oh my god. He just said that. To her face.}
Behind me, Greg's mental voice was a blare of shock: {What the actual hell? Since when does Holt talk back?}
Diana observed, a single, analytical thought forming: {Inefficient, but effective.}
Timothy's reaction was a faint, almost imperceptible upward tilt at the corner of his mouth. His accompanying thought was a cool, assessing note: {Direct. Interesting.}
I held Sasha's seething gaze for one second longer—a visual period at the end of my sentence—then gave a slight, meaningless nod to my group. "Shall we?"
We left them standing there, a monument to a failed ambush. Behind us, the lobby's noise surged back, covering their silence.
As we pushed through the glass doors into the daylight, a system update scrolled, serene and blue:
> Social Dominance Event: CONFIRMED.
Public Assertion against High-Value Target. Successful.
Reward: Social Capital Increased. New Social Data Acquired.
Social Links Updated:
· [Sasha Haze: Hostility → Contested Dominance]
· [Riley: Neutral → Active Antagonism]
· [Grace: Neutral → Intrigue (Low)]
Attribute Adjustment.
Social Metrics:
Charm: 15 → 22
Confidence: 25 → 35
Sexual Appeal: 15 → 40
[Desirability Score: 25 / 100] → [Desirability Score: 33 / 100]
Timothy fell into step beside me as we crossed the street. "That was bold," he remarked, his tone unreadable.
"It was the logical response, "I replied, watching the traffic.
"Logic," Timothy echoed, that faint smirk returning. "A rare currency. Spend it wisely."
He said nothing more, but his final thought, calm and deliberate, hung in the air between us like a shared secret:
{This is getting far more interesting than the quarterly reports.}
We entered the café across the street—the same overpriced pit stop as every other day, but nothing was the same.
The air didn't feel heavy.
Greg's chatter was just background noise. We slid into a booth: Greg and me on one side, Timothy and Diana facing us. Diana was already absorbed in her phone, a wall of pure indifference. Timothy's gaze was calm, observant, resting on nothing and everything.
My reflection in the glass of the pastry case looked back with unfamiliar steadiness. The corner of my mouth tugged up. Not a smile, an acknowledgment.
The game was no longer on my screen. It was all around me. And I was finally learning the rules well enough to break them.
---
To be continued...