6 - A Peek Behind the Curtain

Dear reader, we last left Noah Barrow at a most precarious juncture—caught flagging the Reliability Machine’s contradictory directives in the very department sworn to rubber-stamp them. Now, confronted by the formidable Ms. Greene, our well-meaning protagonist stands on the brink of yet another unexpected turn in his career. If you, like Noah, hope for a peaceful resolution, consider preparing a strong cup of tea. You may need it.

A Chilly Showdown

As Ms. Greene strode into the Manual AI Oversight Department, each echo of her heels seemed to pound dread into Noah’s chest. Rowan and Clara exchanged uneasy glances but didn’t dare move from their stations. Ms. Greene’s penetrating gaze landed on Noah, who forced himself to meet her eyes.

“Noah Barrow,” she said, voice precise as a scalpel, “I see you’ve been tampering with the system’s decision flags. Care to explain yourself?”

He swallowed. “I—I wouldn’t call it tampering. More like… tracking questionable directives. Some are obviously redundant, others conflict with existing policies. I thought it was important to—”

“To second-guess the Reliability Machine?” Ms. Greene cut in. Her tone mingled disappointment and threat in equal measure.

It is worth noting, dear reader, that in the annals of corporate follies, ‘second-guessing’ an all-powerful AI is akin to balancing on the edge of a cliff with a stiff breeze at your back. One slip can send you tumbling into oblivion—or, in Noah’s case, yet another curious fate.

After a pregnant pause, Ms. Greene snapped her fingers at Rowan and Clara, who both practically leapt out of their chairs. “You’re dismissed. Mr. Barrow and I need a word in private.”

They exchanged sympathetic glances with Noah before retreating hastily. Soon, the two of them stood alone amid the quiet hum of monitors and cables.

An Ultimatum

Ms. Greene folded her arms. “You’ve developed quite the reputation, Mr. Barrow. Paper Trail. Conference Rooms. Complaints. Morale Metrics. Now here, meddling with the AI logs.” Her lips tightened. “You must understand, we value employees who follow protocols, not… free agents who try to ‘improve’ them.”

“Ma’am,” Noah began, keeping his voice steady despite the growing pit in his stomach, “I know you see my changes as meddling, but I truly believe the Machine is generating nonsense tasks. I’ve seen job postings for Elevator Door Monitor, Desk Plant Rotation Specialist, entire armies of placeholder roles. Surely that can’t be—”

She raised a silencing hand. “You see illusions, Barrow. The Reliability Machine keeps people gainfully employed, which stabilizes society. That is not nonsense.” A flicker of something—anger, or perhaps guilt—crossed her face. “If some tasks appear redundant or contradictory, it’s because the system adjusts for every possibility. Now, you will cease interfering and accept a new assignment. Or… you can leave TranSys altogether.”

It may strike you, dear reader, as particularly telling that Ms. Greene never denies the existence of bogus jobs—only that they serve some grand design. In a world run by illusions, the difference between nonsense and purpose can be razor-thin indeed.

Noah’s insides churned. If he walked away now, he’d lose not just a paycheck, but any chance of discovering the deeper workings behind RM-1. Much as he loathed the contrived busywork, part of him still hoped to salvage a spark of genuine improvement from within.

“I’ll stay,” he said quietly.

Ms. Greene exhaled, as though she’d expected nothing less. “Then meet me on Floor 61 in one hour. We’ll discuss your next role.”

With that, she swept out, the door sliding shut behind her. Noah stood in the hush of the console room, mind racing. He would stay, yes—but he vowed not to let the illusions go unchallenged. If there’s a design behind all this, I need to see it clearly.

A Cryptic Colleague

Before heading upstairs, Noah paused in the corridor, surprised to find Rowan lurking behind a stack of supplies. He beckoned Noah over, eyes darting to ensure Ms. Greene was gone.

“Listen,” Rowan whispered, leaning in, “we all know the Machine’s producing insane tasks. But rumor has it there’s a hidden module—some subroutine that calculates how many jobs need to be generated, purely to keep humans busy. The official line is ‘societal stability.’ Unofficially… it’s all a front.” He hesitated, then pressed a small data card into Noah’s hand. “I extracted partial logs referencing something called ‘RM-1: Redundancy Core.’ Could be what you’re looking for.”

Noah’s heart hammered. Redundancy. The single word that had haunted him across multiple departments. So that’s how the system sees it…

He slipped the data card into his pocket. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I owe you one.”

Rowan gave a wan smile. “Just don’t let Ms. Greene catch you with that. I’d rather not find out what ‘exit interview’ means at TranSys.”

If, dear reader, you suspect that a single piece of evidence might finally unravel the corporation’s illusions, you are half correct. Evidence is powerful. Yet in a place so devoted to make-believe, truth can vanish like a magician’s rabbit the instant it appears.

The 61st Floor

Noah took the elevator up to the 61st floor, each ding only heightening his nerves. When the doors slid open, he found a sleek, nearly empty space, walls of glass revealing the city skyline. A single desk stood at its center. Ms. Greene was there, flanked by two imposing employees in dark suits—security, no doubt.

“Ah, Barrow,” she greeted, gesturing for him to approach. “Welcome to your next assignment: Strategic Coordination Lead.”

He blinked. “What does that entail?”

One of the security types handed him a crisp folder. Ms. Greene angled her head. “Your job is to ensure that each department’s tasks align with the Reliability Machine’s grand vision. You’ll handle sensitive data and confirm that no one—particularly overzealous employees—tries to sabotage the system.”

A chill zipped down Noah’s spine. Is this a reward for staying… or a trap?

Consider, dear reader, the predicament: to be placed at the juncture of all departments might sound like a pinnacle of success. Yet if you are expected to suppress anomalies rather than reveal them, have you gained power or merely a refined prison cell?

Noah swallowed hard. “I see. I’ll do my best.”

Ms. Greene’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed you will. Consider this a test, Barrow. Prove yourself loyal, and you’ll find TranSys quite rewarding. Step out of line, and… well, you’ve learned how quickly we can shuffle an employee off the grid.”

She turned on her heel, security following, leaving him alone in the vast office. He slowly opened the folder:

1. Protocol for Cross-Department Surveillance

2. Guidelines for Issue Suppression

3. Directive: Reinforce the Reliability Machine’s credibility at all costs

   
   

A Quiet Resolve

Noah rested his hands on the cold, glass-topped desk. On the surface, this new role appeared to be a rung of managerial authority—yet the job’s essence was policing employees who might do exactly what he had done: spot inefficiencies and question them. He gave a half-laugh of disbelief.

Still, he had the data card from Rowan, referencing the “Redundancy Core.” If I can access that from this new vantage point… maybe I can finally see the whole picture. He recalled the desks full of busywork, the endless illusions of meaning, and the employees reluctant to question any of it. Could this be the reason no one’s tried to dismantle the system? They’re too afraid?

Dear reader, you might be tempted to applaud Noah’s unwavering spirit or pity his unending plight. Either response is fair. For in the kingdom of illusions, a brave heart can be either the champion of change or the next occupant of a swiftly ejected seat.

He squared his shoulders. If Ms. Greene thought promoting him to Strategic Coordination Lead would curb his curiosity, she’d sorely underestimated his determination. Slipping the data card into a hidden desk drawer, he made a silent vow: He would dig deeper. He would unearth the roots of the Reliability Machine’s labyrinth of fake jobs—no matter what the cost.

And so, perched high above the city in a swanky, if lonely, corner office, Noah Barrow prepared to walk the tightrope between feigned compliance and covert discovery. The tension in his chest felt heavier than ever, but for the first time, he sensed he might have the tools to expose the grand charade from within.

But dear reader, be warned: The deeper one goes in a masquerade, the more the lines between real and fabricated blur. Noah’s next step may unearth truths beyond anything he imagined—or see him swallowed by the very illusions he hopes to dispel.