“…We’ve implemented a new AI model that observes your interactions and ranks them on overall sentiment.”

  Greg stared down at the paperwork. A basic graph showed his neutral sentiment at sixty percent, positive at twenty-eight, and negative at twelve. He raised an eyebrow slightly and glanced up at Tom as he continued to talk, but a strange buzzing static filled his ears, almost completely silencing the man.

  Greg had worked at this bank for over a decade. In that time, he’d had a number of complaints about his attitude toward customers, but they’d come from his coworkers more often than not. He’d trained new hires, developed new procedures, and spent most of his time fixing everyone else’s problems. Now, an algorithm decided he spoke incorrectly.

  “Corporate has set a goal for positive sentiment to be above seventy percent for each banker. Obviously, your numbers are much lower than that.”

  “So you’re telling me that because an algorithm doesn’t like the way I speak I’m not getting a raise?” He could hear the lightness in his own voice past the buzz. It was casual and unbothered. Like his decade of work wasn’t slowly circling a drain.

  Tom’s receding hairline bobbed slightly as his eyebrows raised and he briefly turned into Porky Pig. “I—well—no—its.” He dabbed at his forehead slightly and shook his head. “Your statistics are far below the designated floor for your position, so…”

  “That makes sense because this job is horseshit.” The words left his mouth too fast for him to catch. Greg felt his stomach drop out from under him as Tom’s eyes went wide. The sickening feeling fell over him for just a moment, but the cat was out of the bag now.

  Greg casually removed the lanyard from around his neck and slid it across the table. “I’ve worked here for almost a decade. In that time, I’ve surpassed all my peers. I developed most of the procedures we use today. All I got for my contribution was more responsibility. More stress without appropriate compensation.”

  He prodded the paper in front of him with two fingers and spun them around so Tom could get a good look. “You should consider yourselves lucky this neutral sentiment isn’t all negative. It takes every ounce of self control that I can muster not to tell these idiots to go fuck themselves.”

  “That’s incredibly inappropriate, Mr. Norwood. Please sit down so we can..”

  Greg held up a finger to silence Tom and let out a soft, surprisingly calm chuckle. “Not done yet.” Greg flipped to the last page of the document that normally held the amount that would be his annual raise, but this time indicated he would not be receiving one.

  “Take the thirty-seven cents that would have left me complacent enough to sit at this godforsaken job for another year and shove it right up your ass, Tom.” He patted the table a couple of times and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The rest of my credentials are at my desk. I assume you’ll have security there to walk me out?”

  He’d felt good for about fifteen seconds. Right up until reality hit him in the parking lot. No job. No plan. No idea what to tell his girlfriend.

  ###

  He’d had these reservations for weeks, but Los Angeles traffic was a killer. She was already at the table when he arrived, auburn hair catching the warm candlelight. She’d worn the green dress. The one she knew he liked.

  That should have been his first clue.

  “Hey,” Greg leaned around the table and kissed her cheek. She didn’t react. “Sorry I’m late. Crazy day.”

  “It’s okay.” She was twisting her napkin into tight spirals. She only fidgeted when something was wrong. “How was work?”

  The buzzing started again, creeping into his skull. He moved his jaw around in hopes that popping his ears would relieve it before speaking. “It was…I actually need to talk to you about that.”

  “Greg.” Her voice went quiet. “I need to tell you something first.”

  He looked up and saw it in the deep honey-colored eyes. A sad, resolved look that said she’d already decided something, but was contemplating how to tell him still.

  “Oh,” he could hardly hear over of static in his ears. “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry.” She reached across the table but stopped short of taking his hand. “It’s just not working anymore.”

  All the noise around them faded. Clinking silverware, background conversations, the gentle whoosh of a waiter rushing past. All of it became distant. Except her voice. Her voice and that goddamned static.

  “Okay,” Greg said again.

  Watching her face crumple made his heart sink. “That’s it? Just ‘okay’?”

  “What do you want me to say?” The words came out so casual, even though it felt like someone was sitting on his chest.

  “I wanted you to…” She stopped and took a breath. “I’ve been trying to have this conversation with you for months. Months of waiting for you to ask what’s wrong. To notice I’m pulling away. To…do something.”

  “I noticed.” Of course, he had. The texts got shorter. She stayed at the restaurant later and later after work. The way she stopped trying to share recipes with him.

  “And you didn’t say anything.”

  “I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you’d talk about it.” Greg shrugged, but the motion felt wrong. He wasn’t trying to dismiss her, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing it.

  Her eyebrow rose, and she laughed. It was not a happy sound. “That’s the problem. That’s always been the problem. You just let things happen to you.”

  “That’s not…”

  “When was the last time you felt something? About anything.” She leaned forward, tears building in her eyes. “Not what you thought. Not a joke. Felt something?”

  Greg opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His brain scrambled for an answer. When was the last time?

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “See?” Autumn’s voice cracked. “You can’t even answer that.”

  “I’m not good at that stuff.” It felt pathetic even as it came out of his mouth. “You knew that when we started dating.”

  “I did.” She nodded. “I thought maybe—I don’t know. You’d get better at it? That we’d grow together?” She wiped her eyes. “You’ve just gotten more closed off.”

  “I’ve been stressed…”

  “You’re always stressed. Work, your knee, your brother, your dad…” She finally took his hand. Her fingers were warm, but the gesture felt hollow. “You never let me in. I’ve been dating a wall for five years, Greg.”

  The buzzing got worse. His vision flickered like an old television, a static filter taking over for just a second before he blinked it away.

  “I think I’m having a stroke.” He muttered.

  “Don’t.” Autumn pulled her hand away. “Don’t deflect.”

  “I’m serious.” He rubbed his eyes as pressure built behind them. “My head is buzzing, and something weird is happening with my vision.”

  She stared at him for a long time, then her expression shifted from sad to tired. “You’re doing it again.’

  “Doing what?”

  “This.” She gestured in his direction. “I’m breaking up with you, and you’re talking about your vision. When your dad died, you joked about it at the funeral. You acted like it wasn’t a big deal when you blew out your knee, even though we both know it destroyed you.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Cry about it? What’s that going to fix?” The words came out harsher than he’d intended.

  “Nothing. It would have been real though.” She looked down at the table with a sad smile. “I never needed you to be fixed, Greg. I just wanted you to let me see you. The actual you.”

  Something deeper than the static cracked in the moment.

  “I don’t know how to do that.” It was the truest thing he’d said all day. He swallowed hard as tears filled his eyes. For a split second her face softened, and he thought maybe he’d accidentally turned this conversation around.

  “I know.” She whispered, tears filling her eyes as well. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out.”

  The silence around them stopped, and he was suddenly painfully aware of his soul being laid bare in front of all these strangers. He had so many questions, but did any of them matter? Do you still love me? Did you ever? Is there a way to turn this around?

  “You’ve made up your mind, so I’m gonna go.” Is what came out instead. He stood and immediately felt sick at his stomach. His hands were shaking, so he shoved them in his pockets.

  “Greg.“

  “What? I mean, what am I supposed to do? Grovel?” He spoke faster, voice going up an octave. “Beg you not to dump me? You’re making out like a bandit here. Getting rid of me is all upside.”

  “Don’t diminish yourself.” Her voice was firm now. “You’re a good person. You’re smart and funny, and when you actually let yourself care about something, you care so much it’s almost scary. Just because I think this is best for both of us doesn’t mean it’s not a loss for me too.”

  Greg snorted. He shouldn’t have. He regretted it immediately, but it came out anyway.

  She didn’t get mad at him.

  Hell, he’d wished she had.

  Autumn stood up from her chair and walked around the table. She pulled his hands out and held them in hers. “One day I hope you can let yourself out from behind those walls. I’ve seen glimpses of it. When you think no one is watching. You sit in that ratty old truck holding your dad’s jacket. When you talk to your brother and I can hear how proud you are even though it hurts you. When you stay up all night helping me perfect that stupid soufflé recipe even though you hate cooking.”

  She lifted up and kissed his cheek softly. Tears streamed down his face, but he didn’t move.

  “You’re capable of so much. You just need to let yourself feel.”

  Greg’s throat felt tight. There were probably things he should say, but his brain was full of static and all he could manage was:

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She swallowed and looked down at their hands. She looked like she was going to say something else, but she gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and let go. “Take care of yourself, Greg.”

  Then she walked away.

  He watched her. His brain told him to run after her, say something real, something that mattered.

  His feet didn’t move, though.

  “Sir.” A waiter approached, looking awkward. “Did you want to order?”

  “Huh?” Greg blinked and looked over at him. “Oh, no..” He pulled out his wallet and handed him a twenty. “Sorry for the trouble.”

  Outside, the cool air hit his face, helping him hold back the threatening tears.

  His phone buzzed. James.

  Hey! I’m driving into town tonight. Can we get a drink?

  Greg stared at the text. Then at his reflection in the screen when it went dark.

  Jinty McGinty’s in an hour He typed back.

  He needed a drink. Or Several. Enough to quiet the buzzing. Drink away the pain, that’s how all the country songs go, right?

  ###

  “You alright, G” James asked as he sipped at his drink.

  “Never better.” The lie tasted worse than the whiskey did, but it was dulling the pain well enough.

  James gripped his shoulder, but Greg tensed. The buzzing was back. Worse now. Like bees had taken residence between his ears, and his vision kept flicking back and forth from that static filter.

  “Maybe you should slow down a little?”

  Greg glared at him. His perfect little brother. The golden child. All the success he was supposed to have with none of the baggage. The one who’d done everything right.

  The guilt swelled over him just for thinking it.

  “Your pulse is way too high, G.” James said, glancing at his watch as his fingers went to his neck. “You might be having a heart attack.”

  “Not having a fucking heart attack.” Greg smacked his hands away and wavered as he stood. “I’m gonna hit the head.”

  He made it across the bar by sheer force of will, his world spinning, static growing thicker.

  The violent buzzing in his head only got louder as the bathroom door closed behind him. He stumbled forward, toes dragging across the black tiles and disturbing a white line of some powder as he grabbed the edges of the sink to brace himself. He could blame the inability to walk on the whiskey…maybe.

  He glanced up at himself in the mirror, his face totally obscured by static. As if whatever was happening to him pitied him enough to stop him from seeing it.

  “You’re fine.” Greg whispered to himself as he splashed water on his face. “This is fine.”

  It wasn’t fine.

  He blinked hard. Painful pressure was building in his sinuses. He wiggled his jaw back and forth a couple of times before a loud pop filled his skull. When he opened his eyes again, the world had gone back to normal.

  Last he checked, people didn’t hallucinate from sinus pressure. Was he actually having a stroke?

  A stall door opened behind him, and Greg turned to look. “Hey, my brother is at the bar. Could you go grab him for me? I think I need to…”

  The man emerged from the stall, black on black suit with a silver tie, his dark hair slicked back, and a briefcase in his right hand. He walked right at him, unusually slow. His gaze assessed him like he were examining a prize winning horse. Every instinct Greg had was telling him to run or scream.

  Then, the other stall opened.

  This time a woman emerged. She wore a white gown with her hair up in an ornate updo. In her left hand, she carried a little harp. Looked like something he’d see at a royal ball, not the dingy Jinty McGinty bathroom.

  “You’re certain this is the one?” The man’s voice echoed in his head. His timbre was warm and smooth, but beneath it he swore he could hear a crackling fire.

  “He’s the one.” Her voice was lighter, but carried that same bouncing vibration. Her words drifted into his ears, clearing the incessant buzzing for a moment.

  “Look,” Greg said, holding up his hands. “I’m not gonna kink shame anybody, but I want no part in whatever you guys are doing?”

  Greg blinked again, and the static filter reclaimed his vision. He squeaked out a scream and backed up into the sink.

  Through the filter, the man’s skin had turned a deep crimson, and the woman’s hair now hovered over her head, radiating blinding light. They’d both somehow lost their clothing in the process. Gone. Like the suit and dress had never existed. They still stalked toward him, though.

  The buzzing got louder the closer they got.

  Greg dug his fingers into the hair over his ears and pulled.

  Anything to get it to stop.

  Then it did.

  His vision cleared. He opened his eyes, and the two nude people were right in front of him. One of their hands on each of his shoulders. Then the pain began.

  The right shoulder first. He could almost smell his skin searing as the long dark fingernails of the red-skinned man dug into him.

  Then the left. It burnt, but in a different way. Like he’d just been dipped into liquid nitrogen.

  He tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn’t open.

  Greg’s eyes slowly went down. Where a harp and a briefcase had been in their hands were now two matching daggers. Enormous and ornate, looking like they were carved from the bones of some mythical beast.

  They started to chant something in a language he didn’t recognize.

  The daggers rose suddenly and simultaneously, sinking into his gut and lifting up into his chest.