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Helper 99

I watch her on the monitors. Surveillance always makes me feel like I’m half therapist, half voyeur and mostly a professional creep. Occupational hazard, I guess.

She’s cautious at first. She hesitates by the trash can, glancing toward the break room door twice before making her move. Amateur hour. If she’s aiming for subtlety, she should have known better. We’re always watching.

I lean forward, zooming in on the screen, enhancing resolution until the scene feels uncomfortably intimate. She fishes the crumpled note out of the garbage. Her expression shifts, that carefully crafted corporate neutrality crumbling into confusion, suspicion, and finally, something sharper. Fear.

A smile tugs at my lips without my permission. The note was from Gillian, of course. She’s getting careless with her resets, the glitches becoming more apparent each day. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Gillian was doing it deliberately—trying, however futilely, to warn her replacement. As if she has any chance of escaping what’s coming.

I pull up her search history next, the feed of her keystrokes flowing across the screen in real time. She’s cautious but thorough, probing carefully into Gillian Martin’s employee file.

Not much she can access, but enough to know something’s off. She hesitates, fingers hovering above the keyboard. The cursor blinks like a heartbeat, waiting, daring her to go deeper. For a second, I almost root for her to keep digging, to break through the firewall.

But she stops herself. Smart. And yet, too late.

I lean back, glancing over my notes from the past few weeks. Her hesitation betrays her more than any query she could’ve typed. She’s connecting dots, picking up threads that don’t lead anywhere good.

He’ll want to know. He’ll pretend irritation, of course. Act disappointed that his newest hire isn’t more compliant.

But I know him better.

He’s not disappointed—he’s intrigued.

With a sigh, I open my messaging app, and start typing my report.

Subject: New Hire—Progress Report

To: Ellis Harrison

She retrieved Gillian’s note from the break room trash. Her behavior indicates suspicion and curiosity beyond acceptable parameters. Caught searching Martin’s employment records. Potential security risk. Suggest immediate intervention.

It’s straightforward enough. But as I reread it, a familiar unease creeps in. She’s not prepared for him. She has no idea what he’s capable of, or how he’ll twist her curiosity to his advantage.

I send the message and wait. His response takes less than a minute, terse but entirely predictable:

Fascinating. Don’t interfere. Monitor and report back. Prepare a reward for her. Make her feel valued .

My jaw tightens as I read his reply again. He’s predictable in his unpredictability. Always playing chess with real people, maneuvering them like disposable pawns. I should know—after all, I’ve been on this board longer than anyone.

I turn my attention back to the monitor. She’s still there, sitting stiffly at her desk, her gaze fixed on nothing. She feels watched, even if she doesn’t consciously know it yet. I remember that feeling—before I gave up fighting it. His attention is a drug, intoxicating and lethal in equal measure. He’ll give her exactly enough validation to feel special, just enough rope to think she’s free. She’ll tighten it herself, convinced it’s a lifeline, never noticing it’s a noose.

Poor thing. She thinks finding that note was a clue, a step toward answers. She doesn’t understand yet that he is always three moves ahead, and every step she takes only draws her closer to a fate she won’t see coming until it’s far too late.

I lean closer to the screen, watching her carefully fold Gillian’s note and tuck it away, unaware of the trap snapping shut around her.

Welcome to Shergar Corp.

I wonder if she’s ready for what’s coming.

Because once he’s set his sights on you, there’s no escape.