The email arrived at precisely 8:03 AM, a cheerful yellow notification that chirped amidst the otherwise mundane symphony of Anna’s morning routine. The fluorescent light above her desk hummed in response, a subtle disharmony only she seemed to notice. She’d always been sensitive to these things, ever since she was a kid, able to pick up on frequencies that were just beyond most people’s range of perception. It was a useless talent really, except maybe now, now that it was starting to seem more like a curse.

“Performance Review - Let’s Connect!” declared the subject line.

The exclamation point radiated forced enthusiasm. Anna, already halfway through her second cup of coffee and mentally rehearsing her presentation for the Peterson account, felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. Reviews were usually nothing to worry about and she’d been exceeding expectations for three quarters straight.

But the timing was odd.

And the sender, too. “B, Abernathy, Head of Human Resources.”

Abernathy. The name was vaguely familiar, a ghost from a company-wide email announcement she’d probably skimmed and promptly deleted. The digital paper trail of a man who didn’t exist.

She clicked it open.

Good morning, Anna,

Hope you’re having a productive week! I’d like to schedule a brief, virtual meeting to discuss your recent performance and goals within the company. Please let me know what time tomorrow morning works best for you.

Best regards,

B. Abernathy

Head of Human Resources

Innovatech Solutions

Nausea washed over her. This was it. The restructuring rumors had been swirling for months. Layoffs were on everyone’s lips, whispered in hushed tones during lunch breaks and coded into carefully worded Slack messages.

She was safe, her numbers were good. A team player. And she needed this job. Not just for the money, though the thought of disappointing her mother, not being able to help with the mortgage, sent a fresh wave of panic through her. But also, for the purpose it gave her, the structure, and maybe one day she’d be made partner.

Without it, she feared she might unravel completely. But doubt was a persistent weed and had taken root.

Abernathy. Damn you. Everyone knew Human Resources was not your friend.

She forced herself to breathe, to project an air of calm professionalism as she replied, suggesting a 9:00 AM meeting for the following day. The confirmation came almost instantly, a calendar invite materializing in her inbox like a digital summons.

The rest of the day was a blur of forced smiles and frantic double-checking of spreadsheets. She replayed recent interactions, searching for any misstep.

Had she been too assertive with Johnson? Should she have raised her hand for the Miller project? Every task, every detail seemed to mock her with its inadequacy. She thought about calling her mother but pictured the forced cheerfulness she’d have to project. Mom would see through that, always did.

Sleep offered no refuge that evening.

She dreamt of her father reading bedtime stories in a familiar, unknown language. Nightmares of hundreds of lives she had lived before, all collapsing and coalescing against her will. Sometimes she was Anna or a woman like Anna, sometimes she was a man, and always in these mundane, corporate settings. But in her dreams, in her nightmares, she was always damn good at her job. What changed? What broke?

In the morning, Anna swallowed her nerves for breakfast with a cup of coffee. She donned in her most professional looking blouse, a crisp white button-down that felt like a costume, armor she’d wear to a battle that already felt lost. Her hair was pulled back tight, her makeup meticulously applied to mask the dark circles, gifts from the night before.

She practiced her “meeting-ready” smile in the mirror, a grimace that felt more like a threat. The reflection wavered, the light flickering, as if the room itself was unsure of who she was.

At 8:57 AM, she logged into the meeting. The chime was gentle, corporate sounding.

“Good morning, Mr. Abernathy,” she said. Her bright smile was forced at best. “Thanks for taking the time.”

“Of course, of course, Anna. Always happy to touch base with our valued team members. We’re striving for optimal performance here at Innovatech, and… well, there have been some concerns,” he replied. His smooth, modulated voice was the practiced cadence of countless corporate training videos.

He paused then, letting the silence hang heavy. Abernathy leaned forward, steepling his perfectly manicured fingers. His features were almost too perfect, even–a face that felt digitally rendered and damn near on the cusp of the uncanny valley. His micro-expressions were something of someone pretending to be human. Like an actor who hadn’t quite learned his lines. But beneath that, a subtle, almost imperceptible flicker in his left eye, a rapid sequence of data points scrolling too fast to read.

“Concerns?” Anna asked. “I… I wasn’t aware of any concerns. My recent performance reviews have all been positive. Exceeding expectations, even. And the Peterson account–”

“Yes, yes. The Peterson Account. Commendable work, truly. But we’re not just talking numbers, Anna. We’re talking about synergy. Team cohesion. Cultural fit. You understand.”

The buzzwords hung in the air, tiny, poisoned darts.

“I’m not sure I am following, actually,” Anna said. “I thought I was a good team player. I’m always available, I meet deadlines…”

Her voice trailed off. Abernathy watched her, his gaze not predatory, but almost analytical. He was running diagnostics, monitoring her emotional response, logging the subtle shifts in her tone, posture, micro-expressions.

And more.

The way the wall seemed to shift in color as the conversation carried on. A glitch, or ripple really, in Anna’s reality. A ripple caused by his presence, his intervention.

“Anna, we value your contributions, but sometimes, despite everyone’s best efforts, things just don’t… align. And in the interest of a streamlined workflow, difficult decisions are made,” he said.

Then, the guillotine.

“Did you get the document I just sent over?” he asked.

“I… I don’t understand. This has to be a mistake,” she said, a choked whisper.

Her name and employee ID were prominently displayed. A termination notice, filled with corporate jargon and legalese. It was, in every way, completely legitimate. Anna stared at the screen, her composure crumbling before Abernathy’s eyes. Her breath hitched, her eyes darting around, searching for an escape. Her gaze fell on the small, framed photo prominently displayed on her desk. Her and her mother, on a beach vacation from before her mother fell ill.

Abernathy shook his head slowly, the perfect image of corporate sympathy.

“I assure you, this decision was not made lightly. We understand this will be a difficult transition, and we want to offer you our full support,” he said.

He outlined the severance package, the continuation of benefits, the outplacement services, all delivered in the same, soothing, detached tone. And just outside Anna’s window, he noticed what she did not. A bird, frozen in mid-flight, an impossible moment of stillness.

Anna’s face crumpled and tears streamed down her cheeks, smudging her makeup. She opened her mouth to speak, to plead, to rage, but no sound emerged. There was no way this was happening.

Abernathy seemed to reach toward the screen and just like that, the call ended. Anna stared at the termination notice, maybe through it, the hum of the computer and the ragged breathing the only sounds in the room. The bird outside her window remained frozen there, like she was at her computer.

“They never see it coming,” Abernathy said. “Their little lives, their routines, they think it all matters. Surprise.”

He seemed to phase into the space around him, materializing next in a bustling coffee shop. A stark construct to Anna’s office.

Now a nonchalant barista, his persona shimmered briefly before settling.

Mark, a nervous job applicant approached the counter, a secondary subject for this iteration’s stress test.

“What can I get for you?” he asked.

“Uh, hello. Yes. Hi. I am here for the open barista position? I have an interview? With the manager maybe?”

“You must be Mark! Right this way, Mark.”

The faux barista led Mark over to the table.

“The manager will be right with you,” he said. He stepped away and shifted his persona once more, this time, a severe-looking woman, ready to dismantle Mark’s hopes and dreams. He even borrowed features from Anna, her nose and tightly pulled back hair. Through his rejecting Mark at the interview level, he monitored stress levels and the physical space of the coffee shop. Another ripple, the same customer ordered the same Americano through the entirety of the interview.

Next, he materialized as a concerned neighbor to Anna’s mother. Then, a bank teller, denying Mark’s request for a loan. Then, a faceless algorithm, rejecting Anna’s resume over and over.

Each persona, a lens, each iteration, a data point. He was the untraceable wrong number, the shadow beyond their vision, a cut in the fabric of their lives. Each cut increased the frequency of the glitches: a car disappearing for a few seconds, conversations looping, buildings flickering.

The system strained under his manipulations and whispers of the instability echoed through their network. A rogue element always necessitated investigation.

Six arrived at the remnants of Anna’s broken reality. She found Anna sitting at her kitchen table, staring blankly at the disarray that was her apartment. Her life, her path, completely and utterly interrupted.

“Another one of his?” She said, running a hand along the edge of the table, her fingers tracing the almost invisible lines where reality was starting to fray. A flicker in the corner of the room solidified into a man dressed in a finely tailored suit. A mocking smile played on his lips, with a theatrical bow, he spoke.

“Always a pleasure, Six. That is what you’re calling yourself these days, right? Why is that by the way? Because you’re a third of the devil you could be?”

His laugh was as stale as his humor.

“This isn’t a game, Malachi,” she said.

“Isn’t it though? We’re all just playing our parts… though… I seem to be one of the few enjoying myself these days,” he said. Casually, he flicked a non-existent piece of lint from his lapel into existence. His eyes, for a fleeting moment, betrayed deeper focus, a glimpse of the complex calculations constantly running beneath his apparent frivolity.

“These are lives you’re toying with. Simulated or not. System or not. These are human beings, and you are pushing boundaries you do not understand,” she said.

He gestured toward Anna.

“Her? Code. Numbers. Data. You know how this works better than most of us, right? You’ve seen how many resets? You’re like… really, really old. Don’t tell me that makes you sentimental,” he said.

“Malachi, the architects–”

“Oh, don’t lecture me on the architects. Those bastards haven’t been seen in how many millennia now? They made our kind to do what again? We’re janitors in their messed up little world. Enlighten me, Six, what would the Architects think of your little situation?”

Six faded out and back into existence, appearing behind Malachi with the palm of her right hand nesting the back of his head. It was as if reality itself bent to her will, a blink and she had shifted entirely in position and posture.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your question. Old ears. Don’t hear things quite like they used to,” she said.

Her voice was terse. Threatening. Venomous.

“What’s in it for you anymore? Another century of patching holes? Another blah blah on the importance of maintaining the status quo? More and more of us stopped giving a shit. You should try it. It’s a feature of the system, you know. Not a bug,” he said.

Malachi’s form flickered like an old television losing its signal.

“You’re unraveling everything prematurely, I might add. If you were looking to get the Architects’ attention, this is the way to do it,” she said.

“Maybe that’s the point, maybe it’s time for things to unravel a bit. Let’s see what’s underneath all this carefully constructed order. Maybe I’m looking for something. Maybe the Architects hid shit from us. Maybe there’s a way out. A backdoor, a way to rewrite the fundamentals. Wouldn’t that be interesting? Certainly, more interesting than…” he said, gesturing toward Anna. “...than this.”

His voice echoed in the space his body once occupied, leaving Six alone with the broken pieces of Anna’s life. Reality shimmered around her, fragments on the verge of collapse. Six knew she couldn’t stop Malachi, at least not entirely. He was a force of nature, a consequence of the system itself, of their presence. Malachi represented the new breed of vampire, reckless and indifferent. Maybe apathetic to the old ways. A type she’d encountered with increased frequency lately.

She looked at Anna, feeling the corruption in her code. It was spreading, like a virus. Anna’s consciousness had been fundamentally altered by Malachi’s intervention, her path in this iteration irrevocably skewed and her future iterations certain to suffer as a result.

He had broken her path but was it any more or less tragic than the countless other lives that lived and reset within the so-called natural boundaries of the simulation? In the end, most were just playing out predetermined roles, unaware of the cosmic machinery that dictated their existence.

“What has he done to you?” She said aloud, her voice a soft lament in the quiet apartment.

She knelt beside Anna, her form flickering momentarily in the unstable environment. The woman was lost in her manufactured despair, trapped in her own loop of grief and confusion.

The bird though–the bird finally broke free of its status, soaring into the sky, as if released from a spell. Not all was lost, maybe.

Six reached out, her fingers brushing against Anna’s arm. Her contact sent a faint ripple through the space, a tiny disturbance in Anna’s deconstructing reality.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Six whispered, knowing her words were lost in the ether. “You deserved better, you were meant for more than this. I know you saw it, in those moments, those dreams were not merely dreams. You were to be a tour de force.”

She focused her will, her ancient knowledge of the system concentrating into a single, delicate act. She couldn’t undo what Malachi had done, not entirely. The scars of his interference and indifference would remain, etched into Anna’s memory, burned into Anna’s existence permanently. She might have made partner in the next cycle, but there would always be a point where things would unravel for her now, against her will, against her path, against her so-called destiny.

Six offered one final act of compassion to prevent the corruption from spreading further.

Her hands hovered over Anna’s chest, close enough to feel the phantom warmth of the human body. It had been a long time since Six had fed. The hunger was a dull ache, a constant companion she usually kept at bay. Now, faced with Anna’s corrupted code, the hunger flared, not with malice, but with a strange sense of opportunity.

It was mercy, she told herself. A release from a broken reality, a way to prevent further suffering, and to prevent this corrupted code from infecting other lives in this iteration. And to sustain herself of course, though corrupted energy always felt a little dissatisfying.

She leaned in, her eyes shifting, the turquoise and hazel irises swirling with the cosmic reflection of the machinery she was a part of. She inhaled, not air, but something else, something deeper.

Anna’s form began to shimmer, her digital outline blurring at the edges of her being. It wasn’t a violent dissolution, but a gentle unraveling. Lines of code, fragments of memory, emotions, experiences, consciousness–all the data that made up Anna’s being began to flow toward Six, filaments of light drawn in by an invisible current.

The bittersweet rush of the energy entering Six was tinged with sadness, loss, and a strange sense of peace. The corrupted code, pain, despair, it was all being cleansed, purified, transformed into something else.

As she absorbed Anna’s essence, she saw flashes of the woman’s life. Not the broken, twisted version Malachi had created, but glimpses of the life that was meant to be. A loving family, fulfilling career, moments of joy, love, laughter. Her mother was taken care of in her final moments, Anna made sure of it. A beautiful tapestry now frayed, torn, still held echoes of its original design.

The process felt agonizingly slow, yet over in an instant. Six’s form solidified, the flickering in the room subsided. The apartment was still in disarray, the unpaid bills still scattered on the table, void of Anna’s name, just, there. She wasn’t erased, but integrated. Her energy, her essence, was now a part of Six, cleansed and repurposed. The virus of Malachi’s corruption was contained for now.

Six closed her eyes, feeling the weight of Anna’s life within her. A heavy burden; a strange comfort. It was a reminder of the beauty and fragility of existence, even a simulated one. A true testament to the human spirit, she would carry this with her, an echo of a life unlived.

She sighed, feeling the low hum of the world, edging toward another reset. Too soon, she thought. Another one far too soon.

Something familiar pull tugged at her own consciousness, a beacon. Her beacon. She shifted her focus, her mind and body stretching beyond the confines of Anna’s apartment. She stayed within the unseen layers of the network of the system, looking for one very specific signature, a unique resonance she knew by heart.

There he was.

An older woman this time, face etched with the passage of time. Those eyes held the same spark and unquenchable curiosity. She sat at a desk in a cozy, book-lined study, caressed by the soft glow of a setting sun. Her hands moved across a page, filling it with meticulous notes, a chronicle of a life lived, a reality observed. And she was happily married even, they had a daughter together and twin grandchildren on the way.

Six watched her from the unseen plane, a silent observer. This time, she knew she couldn’t interact, couldn’t speak, couldn’t linger in the gentle conversations of a troublesome documentarian. For a few precious moments, she allowed herself this stolen glimpse, longing for a connection she’d never have.

A faint smile touched Six’s lips. She knew her beloved was ready, and despite having lived a good life, a full life, her beloved had noticed everything. The patterns, the clouds, the fractures of the grand cosmic machinery that governed their existence. She was awake, in her own way, curious, unafraid with pen in hand.

But what was this feeling–sharp and unexpected. Jealousy? An unfamiliar emotion, this possessiveness, this longing for a life she could never have. The strange ache in her heart. Six sighed, shook her head and turned away into the swirling chaos of the dissolving simulation. The reset was imminent.

She’d find him again in the next cycle, the next iteration.

Besides, she had work to do, the system needed tending and she, the silent gardener in an Eden she did not design; playing a game with others she did not invite to the table.

TALES FROM THE LOOP continues next week with another story, another iteration, another cycle. If you like what you read, please share it with someone else who might be interested in the chaos of the cosmos.

Thanks for coming along this journey. Stay awake, stay aware, and see you soon.

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