Chapter 20. Emotions Offline

The second hand on the wall clock twitched and froze, as if caught in thick syrup. Time slowed its run, almost stopping, and at that moment my third eye, that inexplicable inner vision that had always saved me in critical situations, rose smoothly to the very ceiling. From that height, I could see the entire scene in the smallest details.

The guard, a bulky man with a perpetually sweaty neck, grabbed my shoulders roughly. His fingers dug painfully into my muscles, shaking me like a rag doll. This was the same guy I had lent spare change to almost every morning when he did not have enough for coffee from the vending machine in the lobby. Now he clearly intended, with visible satisfaction, to drag me across the entire open space and present me to my colleagues like a petty thief caught red-handed.

A little further away sat Miller. My boss. The man for whom I had voluntarily stayed until midnight, polishing his reports to perfection until my eyes began to water from the monitor. Now he watched my humiliation with poorly concealed glee. There was not a trace of sympathy in his gaze, only the cold triumph of a petty tyrant.

Rage boiled inside me. It did not merely burn, it lashed like molten lava, flooding my consciousness. Bloody images flared in my mind. I clearly imagined breaking the guard’s forearms, hearing the dry crack of bones, and then driving Miller’s nasal cartilage straight into his brain with one short palm strike.

I understood that it was wrong. It was a dead end. But the sense of betrayal was so sharp, and the humiliation so viscous, that logic capitulated. Time still dragged on, but I knew it would soon return to its usual rhythm. By that moment, I needed a precise and calculated line of behavior ready.

[Special command: disable emotions for 24 hours]

The decision was impulsive, almost desperate. Possibly even dangerous, but it worked instantly. It was as if a switch clicked in my head, and the entire chaos of feelings went out at once. The anger that had been choking me a second ago vanished. The resentment over Miller’s betrayal turned into empty noise. The thrill of the coming fight disappeared.

My mind became crystal clear, cold, and calculating. There were no longer enemies or traitors, only variables in an equation that required solving. My current state most closely resembled those moments when you launch an old video game, not for the story or achievements, but simply to mechanically pass time by completing repetitive quests.

[Tactical mode] ceased, and the world regained its normal speed.

In the last fraction of a second, I managed to unclench my fists. Krav Maga, which I had trained in, was too brutal for this office. A fight in front of a dozen witnesses using lethal techniques was a guaranteed way to end up behind bars for a long time. I needed something else. Not injury-prone jiu-jitsu.

I jerked my hands sharply, grabbing the clumsy guard’s wrists. Accustomed to simple compliance, he did not expect resistance and lurched forward by inertia. I merely assisted him slightly, using his own weight against him, a basic rule drilled into beginners on the first training session. The guard’s heavy body, unable to stop, collapsed onto the floor, landing directly on his own bulky belly.

Then pure reflexes took over. I dropped onto his back in an instant, pinning him to the carpet, and locked in a tight chokehold. The guard’s face immediately turned crimson, veins bulging on his forehead. He frantically tapped his palm against the floor, the universal gesture of submission. I did not loosen my grip by a single millimeter. This was not a soft training gym, and the rules of sports etiquette did not apply here. There would be no mercy.

After a few seconds, the resistance stopped. The guard went limp under my pressure, slipping into unconsciousness. My cold calculation suggested he would regain consciousness in about thirty minutes. At most, he would suffer mild redness on his neck and a bruised ego.

“What… what’d you do to him?!” Miller’s voice broke into a shriek. He practically pressed himself into his leather chair, his face deathly pale. “Did you kill him?”

“Yeah,” I lied calmly.

In my current coordinate system, a lie was the shortest path to the goal. It was the optimal behavioral model for suppressing the opponent’s will.

“And if you don’t want to join him in the afterlife,” I rose slowly and stepped toward his desk, “give me my money. Right now.”

“Okay, okay! Just don’t touch me!” Miller fumbled with trembling hands in his desk drawer and pulled out a check already filled out in my name. “Here. Exactly two thousand one hundred forty dollars. Your wages for eight days and all unused vacation pay. It’s all there down to the cent, I swear!”

“I know. I counted,” I said, taking the check and giving the amount a brief glance before slipping it into my pants pocket. “It’s better for you if our paths never cross again.”

I turned and left the office. A crowd of curious colleagues had already gathered in the corridor. They stood almost pressing their ears to the door, greedily catching every sound. Before, I would have felt awkward or ashamed. Now, my mind was clear. I did not care at all about their judgmental or frightened looks. These people posed neither a threat nor a benefit to me. Just background.

I left the building calmly, stepped out into the sunlit street, and headed home at an even, almost leisurely pace. No one tried to stop me, no one came after me. On the way, I stopped by the bank and cashed the check without any issues.

So Miller already had a paycheck prepared for me. It looks like a classic scam I read about online. The employer deliberately stalls to avoid paying what I’m legally owed. To get my wages through legal means, I’d have to hire a lawyer and go to court. But the problem is that the legal process would cost me more than the unpaid salary. I wouldn’t even be able to recover anything beyond what I’m owed, since the check was issued properly and on time but just “accidentally” got lost. Employers know this and count on the screwed-over employee deciding it’s not worth the hassle of court and walking away from their pay.

I could’ve asked Danny for help, of course, but that doesn’t feel right. The curator made it clear that the Pentagon handles problems that interfere with my duties. For example, if the police block my access to the portal. Or, like in my case, when I need clearance for special training courses that would help me work more effectively. If I went to the curator to help me get my paycheck back, it would look pathetic: I’m being paid twenty thousand dollars a month just for existing, and I’m worrying about two thousand.

“Tom, I’m home!” my mother’s voice came from the hallway. The rustling of bags followed. “I bought everything fresh for your favorite tacos. We’re having a feast tonight!”

This news did not evoke anything in me at all. No anticipation of a tasty dinner, no warmth from my mother’s care. Even the thought of crunchy tacos that I had loved since childhood left me indifferent. At that moment, I was a biorobot executing basic algorithms to maintain the body’s vital functions. And, most strangely, the absence of emotions did not upset me in the slightest.

Out of scientific curiosity, I conducted a small experiment. I opened a compilation of cute kitten videos on the computer, then turned on the most depressing music from my playlist. The result was zero. No reaction whatsoever. I could just as well have stared at a blank wall.

Evening came unnoticed. There was a knock at the door, firm and demanding. Two uniformed police officers stood on the threshold. The situation began to take an undesirable turn.

“Are you Thomas Ross?” the older one asked, giving me a professionally cold look.

“Yeah,” I replied in an even, toneless voice. I did not even blink. “What’s this about?”

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“Thomas Ross, you’re under arrest on suspicion of robbing Jonathan Miller today at noon,” the officer took out handcuffs from the case.

So Miller had gathered the courage after all. A petty, vindictive bastard. Naturally, my address was in the office records, he had simply handed it over to the authorities to make their job easier. For a split second, a tactical option flashed through my mind: knock both officers out and escape. But logic immediately discarded that scenario. What next? Run from the law until conscription? Extremely inefficient. The military office would hardly welcome a wanted candidate. Besides, leaving my mother alone to deal with the consequences of my fight with the police was irrational. That meant I had to go to the station and resolve the issue legally.

“Let me change my shoes,” I pointed at my house slippers. “Don’t want to get them dirty in a cell.”

“One minute,” the officer snapped. “And don’t try anything stupid.”

I replaced my slippers with sturdy, practical lace-up boots. Intuition suggested I would not be released quickly.

“Who are you?! What are you doing?!” Mom rushed into the hallway, nearly waving the frying pan she still held in her hand. “What do you want from my boy? He didn’t rob anyone! Go find real criminals!”

“Mom, it’s okay,” I forced something resembling a smile. It came out fake, but it should be enough for her. “It’s a misunderstanding, I just need to go and clear things up. If I don’t come back in 24 hours, call Danny. Tell him where I am.”

I strongly disliked the idea of dragging my supervisor into this mess. The last thing I wanted was for the Awakened Corps to learn about my issues with the police. It was a last resort.