[Let's break up]
That was it.
Two years of my love life, gone before I had even managed to brush my teeth.
I stared at the phone screen, waiting a few seconds for Maya to type a follow-up like "just kidding" or "ignore that," but the message didn't change.
She had dropped those four words to ruin my Tuesday and vanished.
I dragged myself out of bed and checked my banking app, hoping rock bottom might have a hidden basement.
It did: $5.07.
'Fuck this.'
Splashing cold water on my face, I met my reflection in the mirror, black hair, six feet tall, a decent build, I used to think made me a pretty good catch.
Right now, I was just a tall, broke, newly single guy who was already fifteen minutes late for a job he hated.
The rest of the day became a speed run of misery.
I sprinted to work while chewing on a piece of dry leftover bread, dodging angry pedestrians, only to get cornered the moment I stepped through the doors by my half-bald manager.
"Ten percent cut from your earnings today," he said, tapping his watch with open smugness.
"But sir-" I tried arguing that I made minimum wage and the cut would leave me starving by Thursday, but he waved me off like an annoying fly.
By the time I clocked out at 4:30 PM, my feet throbbed and I was mentally rehearsing ways to finish shaving the rest of his head while he slept.
I entered my cramped apartment, kicked off my worn-out shoes, and jumped onto the bed.
Checking my phone one last time, I clung to the foolish hope that someone might actually care about my existence today.
[Inbox: 0.]
"Please," I muttered to the cracked ceiling, "someone make my pathetic life a little better."
Knock. Knock.
'Eh?'
I lifted my head from the pillow.
I never got visitors; my landlord usually just slid angry notes under the door to avoid speaking to me.
The knocks came again, louder this time.
I walked over and pulled the door open, expecting a pushy insurance salesman, but instead found a woman who looked as if she had stepped straight out of a corporate photoshoot and into my dingy hallway.
Thin professional glasses suited her face, and dark hair was tucked neatly behind her ears.
Her tailored business suit hugged her curves with perfection, the fabric shifting subtly as she moved and hinting at a restrained sensuality that felt entirely too distracting for a Tuesday afternoon.
'I definitely did not remember Maya looking anything like this.'
"Leon?" she asked, her voice steady yet carrying a faint, almost amused tilt as she studied me.
"Yeah, that's me."
She took one long look, scanning from head to toe, her gaze lingering a fraction of a second on my chest before locking onto my eyes.
"You registered on our platform earlier today."
"Platform?" I started pushing the door closed.
"Look, lady, I'm really not in the mood for a sales pitch right now."
"Dicktator."
I froze mid-sentence.
Oh, right, that highly questionable website I had clicked on out of boredom during lunch.
I never imagined it was real.
Who even names a company that?
"May I come in?" she asked, already stepping forward, so I had no choice but to move aside.
"Uh, yeah, I guess." Suddenly, the unwashed dishes in the corner and the laundry piled on the chair felt painfully obvious.
Her heels clicked softly across the cheap floorboards as she entered, carrying a faint scent of expensive vanilla and fresh rain that wrapped around me.
"I'm here to verify a few things," she said, scanning the messy room without a trace of disgust, an impressive display of self-control.
"What kind of things?"
"You."
"Like a test?" The situation grew weirder by the second.
"Yes. Pass it, and your five-dollar bank balance will no longer matter." A tiniest smirk touched her lips.
I dropped my arms.
"How do you know my balance?"
"That's irrelevant right now. Are you up for the test?"
I hesitated, wondering if this was an elaborate scam to harvest organs, but then again, no one could profit much from a guy who owned five dollars and half a loaf of bread.
"Okay," I said, standing a little taller.
"What do I need to do?"
She adjusted her glasses with one manicured finger. "Stand straight."
I rolled my shoulders back and puffed out my chest. She typed rapidly on her digital pad while murmuring, "Height acceptable. Build below optimal, but recoverable."
"Are you seriously rating me in my own living room?" I frowned, thinking indignantly that I did push-ups, thank you very much.
"Yes," she replied without hesitation, stepping closer until the warm vanilla scent surrounded me completely. She tilted her chin up to meet my face. "Eye contact."
Her dark eyes held a strange magnetic pull, and for a moment the small room felt charged with physical pressure, as if she were reading every embarrassing thought I had carried through the day.
"You're nervous," she noted, never breaking that gaze.
"I'm not nervous," I lied.
"You definitely are."
We stood in silence while I fought the urge to let my eyes drift lower.
Finally, she nodded.
"Good."
"How is that good?"
"Nervousness indicates awareness," she said softly, a trace of warmth slipping into her tone, "and awareness can be refined with time."
I stared at her, trying to decide if she was human or some advanced android.
"You talk like a robot."
A small pause, then that faint smirk returned.
"I don't like to talk unnecessarily with players."
She stepped back, breaking the tension, and tapped her screen.
"Initial assessment complete."
"That's it? For the whole test?"
"For the first stage, yes." Her expression softened just a fraction. "You meet the minimum threshold. However, you have been marked as exceptional."
"Exceptional? Based on what exactly?"
She tucked the pad under her arm and glanced toward the hallway. "You will receive further instructions shortly."
She turned to leave.
"Wait," I called, stepping forward.
She paused with her hand hovering over the doorframe and looked back over her shoulder. "It is a selection system," she said softly, holding my gaze, "for individuals who are actually wanted."
Wanted. The word landed strangely, foreign to everything I had experienced today.
"And you have already been chosen."
The door clicked shut behind her. I stood there, wondering if lack of calories had finally made me hallucinate the entire encounter.
Then my phone buzzed.
A new app had installed itself on my home screen without permission, its golden icon shaped suspiciously like a stylised penis beneath the name Dicktator.
And then notifications started appearing one by one:
[Verification Complete.]
[Compatibility: Exceptional.]
[Ranking Initialisation in Progress...]
"Welcome, Leon."