Chapter 4

The diner was a blur of greasy counters and tired faces.

I worked double shifts, then triple, my body aching, my mind numb.

The System Prompts kept a running commentary.

System Prompt: Subject Ashton is actively sabotaging Subject Ethan's efforts. Anonymous complaint lodged with diner management regarding 'employee hygiene'. Negative review posted online alleging 'rude service' by Subject Ethan.

I scrubbed harder, smiled wider, and ignored the manager's suspicious glances.

I sold my guitar to a pawn shop for a fraction of its worth. The textbooks went next.

Each dollar was a small victory against the crushing weight of the deadline.

Dave, the diner owner, was a decent guy. He'd known me for a couple of years, knew I wasn't a troublemaker.

He saw how exhausted I was, how desperate.

"Ethan, you look like hell, kid," he said one morning, as I was clocking out after a 16-hour shift.

He slid a hundred-dollar bill across the counter. "An advance. You look like you need it."

A flicker of warmth, of hope. Maybe I could actually do this.

System Prompt: Minor positive intervention detected. Threat level: Low.

Then Dave's phone rang.

He listened, his face growing pale. He glanced at me, then looked away.

"Yeah, Mr. Henderson. I understand. No, no trouble at all."

He hung up, avoiding my eyes.

He pushed the hundred-dollar bill back towards his side of the counter.

"Sorry, Ethan. Can't do it. Orders from... a business associate of your father's. Said you were bad news. Threatened to pull his investments if I helped you."

The hope vanished, replaced by a cold, familiar dread.

System Prompt: External support neutralized. Parental control reasserted. Sabotage successful.

Mr. Harrison's reach was long. Ashton's malice, even longer.

There was no escape from their game.