The busy workplace floor was bathed in a sterile glare from the fluorescent lights humming above. With his head down and his suitcase firmly gripped, John made his way through the tangle of cubicles. A sense of a thousand invisible eyes pressing down on him sent shivers up his spine.Whispers turned into murmurs, which grew louder until they became a faint hum carrying parts of his name. John tensed up and tightened his hold on the briefcase. Though he couldn't quite make out what she was saying, he could tell by the tone that it was mocking and tinged with sympathy. A voice behind a cubicle wall muttered, "There he goes, Mr. Failure himself," the words dripping with a poisonous delight. An further, sardonic voice said, "It's unbelievable he's still here. Due to his terrible suggestion, the firm has been losing money for months." John clenched his jaw and forced himself to continue moving. He was aware of its unfairness. It wasn't all his fault that the client pitch had gone south.

John sounded desperate in his voice. "Mr. Harris, please. I have to keep this job. I'll take any action. Please give me another opportunity."Mr. Harris observed him for one another heartbeat, the tension in the atmosphere sharp enough to pierce. A little grin appeared on his lips, a hint of what may have been laughter. He said, his voice carrying a note of challenge, "Anything, you say?"John took a deep breath. "Yes, in that case, sir. Anything that I am able to do.""Interesting," Mr. Harris said as he leaned back in his seat. In fact, there may be a solution. Next week, we have a group of possible investors that might rescue our business. John, you have to impress them. They must realize that we are a dynamic, forward-thinking business."John felt his heart accelerate. A chance? This could be his chance at atonement. His voice full of fresh life, he said, "And what do you need from me?""I need a project," Mr. Harris said, fixing his eyes on John's. "A project that highlights this

John was startled out of sleep when he heard his alarm clock's incessant buzzing around his flat. It was the day. The day of the potentially career-defining presentation. Feeling an exhalation of tense energy, he tossed off the blankets. His body buzzed with a powerful mix of fear and adrenaline in every muscle. He shaved and washed like a man getting ready for a battle. Choosing a tie had significant symbolic meaning — a striped design represented self-assurance, a subdued blue hue represented professionalism. John, looking dapper in his finest suit, had a glimpse of the John he knew back then, the John who would confidently go into meetings. It was now more important to him to prove his value and win back his lost confidence than it was to simply get a promotion.A glimmer of optimism sprang in his chest as he checked his phone. Sarah's message. "Have a great day, sweetie! Make me proud and knock them dead!" It thrilled him with a false hope, the first really encouraging note she'd

John was having trouble breathing. The smell of cheap beer and treachery permeated the dilapidated flat, casting a dark shadow. Sarah's comments replayed themselves in his head, a never-ending litany of charges and defences. He gazed at them, like a shattered marionette with its strings cut. "This is why you've been so cold to me all month?" With a rasp, he asked, the question falling out like a parched leaf in a windstorm. Sarah said nothing, her eyes darting from him like a housefly gone awry. Her lack of response revealed much and validated his darkest suspicions.Encouraged by Sarah's contemptuous demeanour, Mark advanced, adding an additional layer of brutality to the already exposed injury. "Cold?" he mocked, a sardonic chuckle from his chest. "John, you looked like a solid block! You couldn't even find the energy to have a great evening with your partner, work or no job. My friend, you're as thrilling as a wet sock."John's hands became tight, with his claws penetrating the de

The memories of his near-death encounter were still with John when he woke up, pounding in his mind like a rancid scent. His neck ached, a gentle protest against what had happened that evening. He blinked, and as his eyesight adjusted, the room became fuzzy. A pulsing blue light hovering inches from his face was the first thing that caught his attention. The message was a hologram that was projected straight into his line of sight.A panic sprang throughout his chest. Had there been any brain damage to him? Did the fall cause these hallucinations? Lifting a hand, he swatted at the message as if it were an annoying fly. It shimmered, then vanished. With the room shifting slightly under his feet, he clambered out of bed. With a great craving for fresh air, he staggered towards the window.He followed the message, which lingered obstinately in his vision. The two harsh lines that were presented were "Popularity: 0" and "$0.00." John gazed at it, feeling a chill of fear creep into his g