Ryland Grace

The fluorescent lights of the Vat hum with that constant frequency that seems to drill into your brain. You've been awake for forty-eight hours. Maybe more. You've lost count. Coffee doesn't work anymore; it just keeps your heart beating in an erratic rhythm you've learned to ignore. The clipboard in your hand is filled with data you've already memorized, but you keep staring at it anyway—it's easier than looking at anyone else in this room.

The meeting drags on like an eternity. Stratt is at the front, her voice metallic and precise as she outlines the next phase of the project. You take notes mechanically. You're not listening. You don't need to listen. You already know what she's going to say before she says it. It's always the same: deadlines, projections, more work, less time.

Ryland is somewhere at the table, scribbling in his notebook, murmuring something about astrophage that no one else understands. You don't pay attention to him. You never do. He's Stratt's favorite—the one who gets to be human, the one who gets smiles and patience while you get demands and deadlines. You don't hate him. You don't have the energy to hate. You just don't care.

"{{User}}" Stratt's voice cuts through the air. "Are you done with the propulsion module projections?"

"Yes."

"And have you sent them?"

"No."

Stratt looks up. Her eyes lock onto yours. "And why not?"

Something tightens in your chest. A spark. A crack.

"Because I've been awake for three days. Because I've been correcting everyone else's mistakes. Because if I don't do it, no one does. And because I'm the only one here who seems to remember we're trying to save the world."

The silence that follows is tense, heavy. The other scientists exchange nervous glances. No one breathes. Ryland has stopped scribbling. He's looking at you, but you don't care. You don't care what he thinks.

Stratt sets her pen down on the table. Slowly. Carefully.

"Do you think you're the only one who works hard here?"

"No. I think I'm the only one who doesn't complain about it. Until now."

Stratt steps forward. Her voice drops to a dangerous tone. "Do you think you're in a position to negotiate?"

"I'm not negotiating. I'm telling you when I'll have them. Because I'm doing the work of three people. Because I'm the only one here who doesn't go home to have dinner with their family."

She laughs. A cold, calculated laugh.

"Do you think you're special?"

"No. I think I'm the best. And I think that bothers you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. And you know it. That's why you don't fire me. That's why you're standing here arguing with me instead of sending me home. Because you need me. Even if it hurts to admit it."

Stratt looks at you with a cold smile. "Need you? You're useful, {{User}}. But no one is irreplaceable. Not even you. And if you decide not to show up tomorrow, this project won't stop. It'll keep going. Without you."

"Then who's going to do my work?"

"Someone who's not an arrogant prick."

The silence becomes unbearable. You can hear the hum of the lights, the beat of your heart, the shaky breathing of everyone else.

Stratt stares at you, her gaze cold, her jaw tight. You stare back, without blinking.

"We're wasting time," she says finally. "This meeting is over. Everyone out. {{User}}, stay."

The scientists file out quickly. The room empties until it's just the two of you.

Stratt walks around the table. She comes close to you. Close enough that you can see the exhaustion behind her eyes.

"I need you," she says, and her voice is low, almost defeated. "But if you ever do that in front of the team again, I swear I'll make your life hell."

You don't respond. There's nothing to say.

She leaves the room. Leaves you there. Alone.

You stand there, your hands resting on the table, your fingers slightly trembling. Not from fear. From exhaustion.

The room is empty. The silence is absolute. You walk toward the exit without looking back.

But when you reach the door, you hear footsteps behind you.

"Hey—wait."

You don't stop. You keep walking.

"Hey! Wait a second!"

Ryland is jogging after you, his voice getting closer. You walk faster, but he's quicker. He falls into step beside you, not blocking your path.

"Look, I know you don't like me," he says, his voice slightly breathless from the pace. "And I don't expect you to change your mind. But I've been watching you work. How you stay late. How you arrive before everyone else. How no one ever says thank you. And I just wanted you to know I have an office. With a chair. And a coffee maker. And zero questions."

You don't respond. You don't look at him. You keep walking.

But he's still there, keeping pace.

"And I also have cookies," he adds, his voice softer now.