Gray stepped onto the 33rd floor of Sly News, struggling to mask his exhaustion. Despite his freshly pressed shirt and meticulously combed hair, his bloodshot eyes and slight limp betrayed him. He forced a smile as he found his desk amidst the buzzing open-plan newsroom.

The office was a frenetic hive, humans and Choronzonites hunched over terminals like worker drones feeding their queen. Hovering holographic ads flickered along the walls, whispering promises of Synthol euphoria and enhanced Thelema boosts, their voices just a decibel below conversational volume. Anxiety permeated the air; the threat of A.I. obsolescence loomed over every journalist like a spectre. For now, the Thelema-powered A.I. assistants worked as tools, but their polymorphic efficiency felt unnervingly alive.

Gray’s arrival barely registered with the crowd, save for his desk neighbours. Kraam, a boneless amphibian Choronzonite, glanced up, his gelatinous skin shimmering faintly under the fluorescent lights. “The man himself! Gray Elvander. Welcome to the hive.” He gestured at the woman beside him. “I’m Kraam. And this,” he gave a toothy grin, “is Becky, your biggest fan.”

Becky, wiry and human, her wild hair barely restrained by a bandana, flushed. “Hi! Love your work—I mean, your voice. Well, both!” She stumbled, her enthusiasm unfiltered and raw.

Gray chuckled, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you both. Been here long?”

“Long enough to question my life choices,” Kraam replied with a lazy smirk. His eyes glinted with something that might’ve been humour—or pity. “They sent you here to recover, huh? Heard you’ve seen the inside of the Choronzone.”

Gray hesitated. “Something like that. Honestly? I can’t recall a thing.”

Becky tilted her head, scrutinising him like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. “You don’t look like the pompous twat I expected. Bit rough around the edges, but it works.”

Before Gray could respond, a deep, croaking voice cut through the chatter. “Elvander!”

Their editor, Loumek, lumbered over, her massive Gorf frame dominating the space. She perched on the edge of his desk, sending a stack of papers fluttering to the floor. Her enormous, unblinking eyes studied him with unnerving intensity.

“Morning,” she croaked. “Rough weekend?”

“Just a couple of beers,” Gray lied, avoiding her gaze.

Loumek snorted, unimpressed. “Listen, this is your clean slate. Management wants you sharp. No Synthol, no distractions. Got it?” Her tone softened, almost imperceptibly. “You’ve got talent, Gray. Don’t waste it.”

He nodded, but her words gnawed at him.

---

Later, Gray wandered through the supermarket on the building’s lower level. Shelves brimmed with synthetic essentials—holographic displays advertising Thelema-enhanced snack packs and pseudo-organic fruits grown in nutrient vats. Gray scanned the aisles mechanically, tossing Ale-flavoured Synthol and toilet paper into his cart.

At the self-checkout, a woman caught his eye.

She was striking—dark, wavy hair spilling over the collar of a tailored coat, her movements deliberate and poised. Her presence exuded quiet authority, but her eyes betrayed something else—an edge of weariness, a depth that pulled Gray in.

“Toilet roll?” she remarked, arching an eyebrow as she scanned her items. “You’d think Thelema tech would’ve solved that by now.”

Gray fumbled, holding up the package like it was a badge of shame. “It’s, uh, not for me. Office supplies. My boss—she’s, um… demanding.”

The woman smirked, clearly amused. “Interesting excuse. And you are?”

“Elvander Gray. Sly News.”

“I know,” she said, her voice smooth but tinged with something cryptic. “Ana Sognozia. We’re scheduled to meet.”

Gray blinked. “You’re… the shrink?”

She nodded, scanning his face as if cataloguing every micro-expression. “We’ll talk soon, Mr. Gray.” Her voice dropped, almost a whisper. “If you’re ready to face the truth.”

As she walked away, Gray turned to his Ai-bot, AL, hovering nearby. “Why didn’t you tell me she was the shrink?”

“I thought it would be fun to see you squirm,” AL chirped cheerfully.

“Well, now she probably thinks I’ve got a thing for bog roll,” Gray muttered, but Ana’s cryptic words gnawed at him.

---

When Gray finally met Ana in her minimalist office, the conversation quickly veered into uncomfortable territory. She spoke not like a therapist but as someone who understood too much.

“Do you dream, Gray?” she asked abruptly.

“Don’t we all?”

“Not here,” she said, leaning forward, her dark eyes piercing. “Not in MMORTIS. Dreams here are… interruptions, fractures in the code. If you’re dreaming, it means something is wrong.”

Gray froze. “What are you saying?”

Ana leaned back, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “I’m saying, Mr. Gray, that I’m a prisoner here, too. And I think you’re starting to wake up.”

---

As Ana’s words echoed in his mind, He’d had a feeling he was in MMORTIS before, but the memory was gone. The world around Gray seemed to shimmer. The edges of objects flickered, breaking into faint fractals before snapping back into focus.

Later, at his desk, he absentmindedly rubbed his forearm—and stopped cold. A small, green leaf sprouted from his skin. He blinked, and it was gone.

Even the newsroom seemed off. Ads plastered on the walls whispered in tones too low to hear clearly, but he felt their words deep in his mind: “Consume. Conform. Obey.”

For a moment, the entire room collapsed into a cascade of shifting polygons. Gray gasped, clutching his desk. When he blinked, it was back to normal.

Kraam glanced over. “You good, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Gray forced a laugh, but his heart raced. He wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

---

That night, as he lay in bed, his Ai-bot AL chirped its nightly shutdown routine. “Sweet dreams, Gray.”

But Gray didn’t sleep. Ana’s voice lingered in his mind.

“Dreams here are interruptions… fractures in the code.”

And for the first time since arriving at Sly News, Gray dared to wonder if MMORTIS was more than it seemed—and if he could escape it.

© Aiwaz 2024