Now, all that’s left to do is to execute it with real life and real people, which does not lean into my natural strengths.
I grab my backpack, double-checking that the net and plastic bag are securely tucked inside, and step out the door. Theelevator ride down feels like it takes forever, giving my mind time to race through the plan once more. The quiet hum of the building’s systems in the lobby does little to calm the thudding in my chest as I make my way toward Elysium, even though it’s just across the street.
When I reach the company building, the security guard at the entrance barely glances at me as I swipe my ID card—it’s normal for people to come back after hours to work overtime or retrieve things they’ve forgotten—and I made sure it’s not too late for my return to be implausible. I’ve timed it so the hallways should be empty, but my being here won’t raise too much suspicion since there are others lingering in their offices. Still, my stomach flips.
The elevator ride up also feels endless, each ding heightening my anticipation. The sterile corridors seem to stretch on forever as I pass the rows of cubicles, finally approaching the hallway that leads to my office.
And now, here I am, standing in front of the real deal—the actual fish tank. No simulation this time. This is the moment I’ve been preparing for.
The tetras swim lazily in the tank, blissfully unaware of the meticulous planning I’ve put into their escape. Lucky them. They have no idea how many late-night coding sessions and cups of coffee have gone into securing their freedom.
I contemplate once more whether saving those fish is worth risking everything as I glance to the upper corner of the hallway wall.
There are cameras, after all.
I can only hope nobody frequently checks the hallway surveillance, as the real security risks are in the offices where the bigger tech projects are housed.
Elysium, one of the most innovative tech companies in Seattle, boasts the most advanced artificial intelligence department in the US and claims to pioneer the future of smartliving solutions. The company’s vision—to create seamlessly integrated technology that enhances daily life—sounds noble. We’re supposed to be the architects of a new reality where technology and human existence blend effortlessly, improving not just functionality but also the quality of life.
And still, they failed a handful of tiny fish.
Well, not a handful. I’d guess in this tank alone there are a thousand of them. The blue and red-striped fish swim in tight, overcrowded circles—far too many confined to far too little space.
Poor little guys.
Neon tetras need space, plants, and hiding nooks made from rocks and driftwood—a proper home, not just a glass bowl. They can survive like this, but it’s not living.
And that feels so familiar.
I did try to talk to my boss about the fish living in a glass coffin, but he didn’t seem to give a shit.
“They’re just dumb fish. They don’t need more. And I’m not the one who decided to put the aquariums there.”
True, that’s above your pay grade.
I’m allowed to be petty. The man is a chauvinistic ass.
But maybe I didn’t word it right. Honestly, I’m just not great at talking. I’m good with code, numbers, and algorithms—technology that doesn’t need me to excel at understanding people or their emotions.
An image of my parents flashes in my mind.
I guess I’m not even good with people who don’t have emotions.
Let’s just say I’m not great at peopling.
I’m good with animals, or at least I think I could be. I’ve never even had a pet. Back in London, I was never allowed to have one. And later, when I struck out on my own, I didn’t havethe time for anything besides work, even though I’ve always wanted nothing more.
So, this will be a trial by fire.
Or water.
My new one-hundred-and-eighty-gallon tank, complete with water pumps, filters, plants, sand, rocks, and LED lighting, is ready and waiting for its first inhabitants. All I need is the fish.
Piece of cake.
A coworker steps out from an office a few feet away and walks past, offering a polite smile, which I nervously return. My heart is racing, almost pounding out of my chest, and I’m panting slightly. But I trained for this. I know what to do. Just stay calm, act naturally, and smile back. They have no idea what I’m about to pull off and that it could get me fired.
Not that I have anyone who would give a fuck.
