Ethan woke up at 5:15 AM still in Jamie's body.
For a moment, he'd hoped it was over. That he'd open his eyes and be back in his own apartment, his own life, the nightmare finished.
But the water-stained ceiling was still there. The traffic noise. The aching muscles from yesterday's shifts. And when he looked at his hands, they were still small and unfamiliar.
Day two.
His phone alarm blared. Coffee shop shift at six. Again.
He dragged himself out of bed and caught his reflection in the mirror. Jamie's face stared back—exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, the look of someone running on empty.
This was what she'd looked like every day at Meridian Tech. He'd never noticed.
***
The coffee shop shift was worse than the first.
Derek was in a mood. He snapped at Ethan for the milk being steamed wrong, for taking too long with orders, for breathing too loudly. Or at least that's what it felt like.
You're on bathroom duty today, Derek announced during the morning rush.
I cleaned them yesterday—
Do I look like I care? Someone vomited in the women's room. Clean it.
Ethan felt his stomach turn. Are you serious?
Dead serious. Gloves are under the sink. You have five minutes before customers start complaining.
The bathroom was as bad as threatened. Ethan cleaned it, gagging the entire time, wondering how many similar messes he'd created in his life without thinking about who had to fix them.
When he emerged, Derek was already annoyed.
Took you seven minutes. That's coming out of your break.
I don't get a break?
Not anymore.
***
The shift ended at 1 PM. Ethan had made forty-three dollars before taxes. His feet were numb. His back screamed. He had two hours before the retail shift started.
He bought a dollar menu burger with some of yesterday's tips and ate it on a bench outside the mall. It tasted like cardboard but his body needed calories.
The system interface pulsed:
[DAILY SPENDING TRACKED]
Coffee shop earnings: $43.00
Food: -$3.47
Bus fare: -$2.50
Remaining: $37.03
Days until rent due: 10
Rent cost: $1,800
Current total savings: $377.43
Projected earnings before rent due: $743.00
Shortfall: -$679.57
EVICTION PROBABILITY: 94%
The math was brutal and precise. No matter how hard Jamie worked, the numbers didn't add up. Two jobs. Sixty hours a week. Still not enough.
Ethan had spent six hundred dollars on a watch last month without thinking twice.
***
The retail job was at a clothing store in the mall. Designer brands. The kind of place Ethan used to shop.
The manager was a woman named Patricia. Mid-forties, perfectly styled hair, the artificial smile of someone in customer service management.
You're Jamie, right? First day?
Second day overall, but first day here.
Patricia looked him up and down with barely concealed judgment. We have a dress code. Business casual. That outfit is...
It's all I have, Ethan said quietly. Jamie's wardrobe consisted of three outfits total. All thrifted. None business casual.
Patricia's smile tightened. I see. Well, try to look presentable. We represent the brand. First impressions matter.
She handed him a nametag and a stack of clothes to fold.
The work was mind-numbing. Fold shirts. Refold shirts that customers had unfolded. Organize by size. Reorganize when people messed it up. Smile at everyone. Greet every customer within ten seconds of entry.
Welcome to Lumineux, how can I help you find something today?
Most people ignored him. Some offered fake smiles. A few looked through him like he was part of the fixtures.
Two hours in, the door chimed.
A man walked in. Mid-thirties. Expensive suit. Bluetooth earpiece. Talking loudly on a phone call.
Ethan's blood went cold.
The man looked exactly like him. Not physically—but the attitude, the posture, the aura of someone who'd never been told no. The walking embodiment of entitlement.
The man browsed the shirt section, still on his call, pulling items off shelves and dropping them on the floor when they didn't interest him.
Ethan watched, frozen, as his past self played out in front of him.
Patricia appeared at his elbow. Help that customer. High-value prospect.
Ethan approached carefully. Excuse me, sir? Can I help you find—
The man held up one finger without looking at him. The universal sign for shut up, I'm on the phone.
Ethan waited. The man continued his call, laughing about some business deal, completely ignoring Ethan's existence.
After two minutes, Patricia hissed from across the store: Engage the customer!
Ethan tried again. Sir, I'm happy to help you find—
The man finally looked at him. Looked down, really. His expression was pure annoyance.
Can you not see I'm on a call?
I apologize, I just wanted to—
Look, I'll let you know if I need something. Until then, give me space.
The dismissal was casual. Effortless. The way you'd swat away a fly.
Ethan felt something crack inside his chest.
This was him. This was exactly how he'd treated Jamie. Treated every service worker he'd ever encountered. The same tone. The same casual cruelty disguised as being busy or important.
The man continued browsing, leaving a trail of unfolded clothes. He pulled a shirt off the rack, examined it for five seconds, and tossed it on a chair.
Ethan followed behind, refolding. Cleaning up the mess.
Just like Chen Wei had cleaned up after him at Meridian Tech.
The man finally selected three items and walked to the counter. Ethan moved to ring him up.
Do you have this in medium? The man held up a shirt.
Let me check. Ethan went to the stockroom, searched through boxes, found the size. Brought it back.
The man was on another call. Didn't acknowledge him.
Ethan waited.
And waited.
Three minutes passed.
Finally, the man ended the call. He looked at the shirt Ethan was holding.
Actually, I don't like that color. You have it in navy?
We only have it in black and gray.
Then why did you waste my time getting it?
You asked for—
Forget it. Just ring up these three.
Ethan scanned the items. Total came to three hundred seventy-four dollars.
The man handed over a credit card without looking up. Already on another call.
The card declined.
Ethan's stomach dropped. Excuse me, sir? Your card was declined.
The man's expression darkened. Run it again.
Ethan ran it again. Declined.
This is ridiculous. The man snatched the card back. Your machine is broken.
I can try a different—
Do you know who I am? I have platinum status. That card has a fifty-thousand-dollar limit. Your cheap equipment is the problem.
Patricia appeared instantly. Is there an issue?
The man launched into a complaint. The incompetent employee, the broken card reader, the waste of his valuable time.
Patricia turned to Ethan with ice in her eyes. Did you insult this customer?
What? No, I—
He clearly implied I can't afford these items, the man said smoothly. Very unprofessional.
I didn't say that, Ethan protested. His card just—
Step into the back, Patricia said quietly. Now.
The man smirked. Good. You should train your people better.
In the stockroom, Patricia's professional mask dropped.
You just cost us a high-value customer.
He lied! I never—
I don't care. The customer is always right. You embarrassed him. That's unacceptable.
His card was declined twice. That's not my fault.
Everything is your fault when you're in uniform. Patricia crossed her arms. You're done for today. Go home.
But I need these hours—
I said go home. I'll decide tomorrow if you still have a job.
Ethan felt the walls closing in. This job paid minimum wage. He'd worked two hours. Seventeen dollars before taxes. And now it was gone.
Just like he'd fired Jamie on a whim. Just like he'd destroyed her income without caring about the consequences.
***
Outside the mall, Ethan sat on the same bench and stared at nothing.
The system interface appeared:
[EMPATHY PROGRESS: 95%]
You have experienced your own cruelty reflected back. You understand now what it feels like to be powerless, invisible, disposable.
Final lesson approaching.
His phone buzzed. A text from Patricia:
After reviewing camera footage, I've determined you followed protocol correctly. The customer's behavior was inappropriate. You're not fired. Shift tomorrow at 3 PM.
Relief crashed over him. Then confusion.
Another message appeared, this time from the system:
The customer's card wasn't actually declined. I made that happen. I needed you to experience false accusation, public humiliation, and the fear of losing everything over something beyond your control.
Just like you made Jamie experience when you blamed her for your failures.
Do you understand now?
Ethan closed his eyes. Tears ran down Jamie's face.
Yes, he typed back to the void. I understand.
[EMPATHY PROGRESS: 100%]
Lesson learned. Career assignment concluding.
Tomorrow morning, you will wake as yourself. But you will never forget what you learned.
Jamie Rodriguez deserves your amends. Make them count.
***
Ethan spent his last evening as Jamie in her apartment.
He looked through her belongings. The Berkeley degree framed on the wall. The shelf of programming books. The journal where she'd documented every job rejection, every financial setback, every moment of invisible suffering.
One entry from two months ago made him stop:
Today my boss called me Jessica again. I've worked there for four months. Four months and he doesn't know my name. I don't think I've ever felt more invisible. Sometimes I wonder if I died, how long would it take for anyone to notice?
Ethan read it three times.
Then he picked up his phone and opened his banking app. The real one, from his real life somehow accessible through the system.
He transferred five thousand dollars to an account labeled JAMIE RODRIGUEZ - EMERGENCY FUND.
It wasn't enough. Money would never be enough. But it would cover her rent. Buy her time. Give her breathing room to find real work.
The system interface pulsed:
[ADDITIONAL TASK COMPLETED]
Monetary amends without being asked: Genuine
But remember: Money is not empathy. Action without understanding is empty.
You now have both.
Ethan lay down in Jamie's bed for the last time.
He thought about Ryan walking past him without recognition. About Derek's casual cruelty. About the customer who'd treated him like furniture.
He'd been all of them. Every single one.
His eyes grew heavy.
The system's final message appeared:
When you wake, you will remember everything. Let it change you.
Career 1 complete.
58 remain.
Sleep now, Ethan Monroe. Tomorrow, you begin again.
***
Ethan closed his eyes.
And when he opened them again, he was staring at his own ceiling.
His hands were his own. His body familiar. Back in his apartment.
But nothing felt the same.
He sat up slowly and looked at his wrist. The mark had changed:
1/59
One career down. Fifty-eight to go.
His phone showed messages from Jamie:
I don't know what you did or how you did it, but thank you. The money will save my life. Literally.
And then:
But don't think this makes us even. You have a long way to go.
Ethan smiled through tears.
She was right.
He had fifty-eight more lessons to learn.
And for the first time in his life, he was grateful for the education.