Ethan's apartment had never felt this small.
He'd spent the last four hours trying to remove the system interface from his phone. Factory reset—didn't work. The app reappeared the moment it powered back on. He'd tried smashing the phone against the wall, but his hand had frozen mid-swing, muscles locked like invisible strings held him in place. The system's voice had echoed in his head: "Destroying tools won't destroy truth."
Now the phone sat on his coffee table, screen glowing with that impossible interface.
[EMPATHY SYSTEM]
Time Until First Assignment: 68:42:17
The countdown ticked down with mechanical precision. Sixty-eight hours until... what? The system hadn't explained what "experiencing a career" actually meant. Would he be teleported somewhere? Possessed? Transformed?
Ethan poured himself a whiskey. His third. The alcohol wasn't helping.
His laptop was open to LinkedIn, where his profile still proudly declared him "Product Development Lead at Meridian Tech." Past tense now. HR had sent the termination letter an hour ago. Effective immediately. No severance. Possible legal action for intellectual property theft.
Marcus Chen had posted an update: "Grateful to Meridian Tech for believing in my work. Excited to announce my promotion to Senior Algorithm Developer."
Forty-three likes already. Sarah had liked it. So had Mason.
Ethan slammed the laptop shut.
His phone buzzed. Not the system this time—an actual text. Unknown number.
Unknown: You can't run from this, Ethan. Trust me, I tried.
His hands tightened around the glass. "Who is this?"
The typing indicator appeared, then stopped. Then started again.
Unknown: Someone who finished the program two years ago. The system let me contact you because you'll need guidance. This isn't punishment, Ethan. It's reconstruction.
Ethan: This is insane. It's not real. Someone hacked my phone.
Unknown: Check your left wrist.
Ethan looked down. His breath caught.
There, on the inside of his wrist where nothing had been an hour ago, was a mark. Not a tattoo—it seemed to shift and pulse beneath his skin like liquid silver. Numbers glowed faintly: 0/∞
He rubbed at it frantically. It didn't smudge. Didn't fade. It was *inside* him.
Unknown: That's your completion counter. Zero careers finished out of infinity possible. But you'll only need to complete the ones tied to your transgressions. For me it was 31. For you...
Ethan: How many?
Unknown: The system showed you the list. How many names were there?
Ethan pulled up the transgression log with shaking fingers. He'd been too panicked to count earlier. Now he expanded the full list.
Marcus Chen. Jamie Rodriguez. Chen Wei. Sarah Kim. Margaret Monroe.
He kept scrolling.
The delivery driver he'd cut off—hospitalized with a broken arm, lost his job during recovery.
The barista he'd screamed at for getting his order wrong—she'd quit that day, dropped out of college.
A homeless veteran whose cardboard sign he'd photographed and mocked on social media—the post had gone viral, destroying the man's dignity.
Name after name. Faces he barely remembered. People who were apparently more than background characters in his story.
59 total entries.
Ethan: Fifty-nine? I have to do fifty-nine careers?
Unknown: If you complete them correctly, yes. If you fail any, they repeat with increased difficulty until you learn the lesson. I failed "Retail Worker" three times before I understood.
Ethan: This is illegal. Kidnapping. I'll go to the police.
Unknown: Try it. I did. The officer couldn't see my phone screen. Couldn't see the mark. The system only reveals itself to the chosen. Everyone else will think you're having a breakdown.
Ethan stood abruptly, grabbed his jacket. He wasn't going to sit here and accept this insanity. There had to be someone who could help. A doctor. A lawyer. *Someone.*
He was halfway out the door when his phone buzzed again.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
Warning: Attempting to interfere with the program will result in immediate activation of your first career assignment. Current countdown: 68 hours. Interfere again: 0 hours.
Do you wish to proceed?
Ethan's finger hovered over his phone. Every instinct screamed to keep going, to fight this. But something in that message—the clinical certainty of it—made him stop.
What if it was telling the truth? What if his first "career" started right now, unprepared, with no idea what to expect?
He stepped back inside. Closed the door.
Unknown: Smart choice. Use the 72 hours. The system gives you this grace period to prepare mentally. To start understanding who you hurt and why.
Ethan: I don't even remember half these people.
Unknown: That's the problem, isn't it? You moved through the world like they were NPCs. The system will make sure you never forget them again.
Ethan: Who are you?
Unknown: Someone who was exactly like you once. Arrogant. Blind. Cruel without meaning to be. The system fixed me. It'll fix you too. Or break you trying.
Unknown: One more thing—the careers aren't random. Your first assignment will be the person you wronged most recently who's still alive and accessible. Check your log. Who's at the top?*
Ethan looked. The list wasn't chronological—it was ordered by some other metric he didn't understand. But the first name made his stomach drop.
1. Jamie Rodriguez - Dismissal, demeaning treatment, hostile work environment. Status: Active. Severity: Moderate. Connection: Direct.
The intern. The one he'd sent for coffee this morning.
Ethan: What does "experiencing her career" mean?
Unknown: Exactly what it sounds like. Good luck, Ethan. You're going to need it.
The contact went offline. When Ethan tried to call the number, it was disconnected.
He sat in silence, staring at Jamie's name. He'd barely noticed her existence for six months. Didn't know where she lived. What she cared about. Whether she had family or dreams or fears.
She was just... the intern. A tool. Disposable.
The system interface shifted, displaying new information:
[FIRST ASSIGNMENT PREVIEW]
Career: Executive Assistant / Intern
Subject: Jamie Rodriguez, 24
Your Role: You will experience one week of her daily life, responsibilities, and treatment by others. You will feel what she feels. Understand what you failed to see.
Preparation Suggestions:
- Research the role's demands and challenges
- Reflect on your treatment of service workers
- Consider what you never asked her
Failure Conditions:
- Refusing to complete assigned tasks
- Maintaining arrogant attitude toward "subordinate" work
- Failing to recognize your own behavior in others
Success Conditions:
- Complete one full week in role
- Genuine recognition of harm caused
- Meaningful amends to subject
Time Remaining: 67:23:41
Ethan's mouth was dry. One week as an intern. Doing grunt work. Being dismissed and ordered around by people like... people like him.
His phone rang. His mother again. For the first time in three years, he answered.
"Ethan?" Her voice was fragile, older than he remembered. "You actually picked up."
"Mom." His voice cracked. "I... I got your emails."
Silence. Then: "It's about the nursing home. Shady Pines is closing down. They're moving residents to different facilities. I need you to—"
"I'll handle it." The words came out before he could stop them. "I'll come by tomorrow. We'll figure it out together."
More silence. "Are you... are you okay, sweetheart? You sound different."
Ethan looked at the transgression log. Margaret Monroe - Abandonment. Severity: High.
"I'm not okay, Mom. But I'm going to try to be better."
When he hung up, the system interface pulsed once.
[OPTIONAL PREPARATION TASK COMPLETED]
Reconnecting with Margaret Monroe: +10 Readiness Points
Current Readiness: 10/100
Note: Higher readiness reduces first assignment difficulty. Continue preparation for optimal results.
Ethan stared at the notification. The system was... rewarding him? For calling his mother?
He pulled up Jamie's LinkedIn profile. Twenty-four years old. Berkeley graduate. Degree in Computer Science. Should have been qualified for developer positions, not fetching coffee.
Her most recent post was from this morning: "Sometimes you take jobs just to pay rent. Dignity sold separately."
Posted one hour after he'd snapped at her.
Ethan felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest. Not quite guilt—he'd never been good at that. But something close. Recognition, maybe. That she was a real person. With thoughts. Feelings. A life he'd casually made worse.
He opened a new note on his phone and started writing:
Things I never asked Jamie:
- Her actual name (got it wrong constantly)
- Why she took an internship below her qualifications
- What her career goals were
- If she was okay
The list felt pathetic. Six months working fifteen feet away, and he knew nothing about her.
His phone buzzed one final time before he tried to sleep.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
Your first career begins in 65 hours. Rest while you can, Ethan Monroe. The person you were dies soon. The person you'll become starts with humility.
Outside, thunder rumbled again. Ethan pulled the covers over himself and closed his eyes, knowing sleep wouldn't come.
In sixty-five hours, he'd understand what he'd done to Jamie Rodriguez.
He had a feeling understanding was going to hurt.