Tuesdays always felt like Groundhog Day with more wires. I sipped what might've once been coffee and stared at the cortical stim array like it owed me money. The neurons in dish seven were being little bastards today--no response to the low-frequency patterning and barely a blip from the midrange burst.
I adjusted the amperage again, half-watching the waveform scroll across the monitor, half-listening to the soft hum of the lab. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the same three monitors blinked in their never-ending screensaver cycle, and someone across the hall was having an extremely passionate argument with the vending machine.
Typical.
I rubbed the back of my neck and scrawled a few quick notes into the tablet. Marcus had reorganized the labeling system--again--color-coded like we were in a preschool rather than a Level 4 cognitive neuroscience lab. Every time I tried to find the protein data logs, I had to hunt through a rainbow mess like I was solving a puzzle box designed by a toddler with a glitter fetish.
A warm hand settled on my shoulder.
I stiffened--barely. Just enough to notice. Just enough to catalog it.
"Hey, Doc," came a familiar voice from behind me. "You're looking focused. I like that."
Marcus Vale. Lab assistant. Ex-military, supposed data wiz, and definitely a little too touchy. He leaned in like he was inspecting my screen, but I could feel him watching me more than anything.
"Hi, Marcus," I said, keeping my voice level. "Do you need something?"
He smiled, all teeth and effortless confidence. "Just checking in. You've been here since, what, 7 a.m.? Your brain's gonna short-circuit if you don't let it cool down."
"I pace myself," I said, not bothering to turn. "And you're hovering."
He didn't move. I could hear the smirk in his voice when he said, "Yeah, but you're fun when you're all intense like this. Cute, even."
I blinked once. Slowly. Then turned to face him, raising one brow in the most professional don't-start-with-me expression I could muster.
"Neuroscience isn't a dating app, Marcus."
He held up his hands, stepping back like I'd pulled a scalpel on him. "Whoa, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt the genius in her natural habitat."
I sighed and turned back to my monitor, already done with the conversation. "Then maybe don't."
He lingered a longer, probably waiting for me to crack a smile or make a joke, but I didn't.
Weird guy.
Annoying, too. But not threatening, I told myself. Just another overconfident man trying to play flirty genius in a room full of actual scientists.
I adjusted my glasses, the pair I always wore when I needed to focus. They were more than just a style choice--they were my constant, my anchor to the world of facts and figures. They helped me think, helped me analyze.
God, I was a little too into analysis sometimes, wasn't I?
I smiled softly to myself, pushing that thought aside as I clicked through the next round of data points. As a neuroscience PhD, I was used to operating in this space. My world had always been one of logical thought, study, and precision. I'd always been the responsible one, the one who had to make sure everything was in order, especially when it came to my work.
Of course, my work wasn't exactly easy, but it was everything I had ever dreamed of. This was my field. I was a part of something big, pushing the boundaries of the mind.
If only I could say the same about my personal life.
I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. It was a little messy today--probably from my constant habit of pulling it into a ponytail and forgetting about it halfway through the day. I guess there were worse things to be known for than having a constant "mad scientist" look. At least it matched my tendency to get lost in my research.
But personal life? Well, that was more complicated. I wasn't exactly the most outgoing person. I'd always been more comfortable with research than with people. It wasn't that I didn't want relationships or anything. It just... never seemed to work out. I had tried dating a few times, but I'd always felt a little out of sync with everyone else. Maybe it was my work schedule, or maybe I was just... different.
And now, Marcus was turning into a problem.
I had met him in the lab. He was always around--he worked for one of the higher-ups, but was mostly in the background, doing various jobs. He'd started nice enough. A little too nice, maybe? Always helpful, always eager to chat when I was up for it.
He'd occasionally drop little compliments, and at first, I thought it was just him being friendly. But then he started doing things that felt a little more... intentional. He'd touch my shoulder a little too often when passing by, or lean in just a bit too close when talking about something.
Not that it bothered me... too much. I mean, I was used to the men in my field acting a little... overly familiar. I'd gotten used to that, too. Sometimes, I even found it flattering. He was, after all, an attractive guy--tall, fit, the barest hint of a beard.
But still, there was something off about the way he looked at me. Sometimes it felt a little... predatory? It wasn't overt--just a lingering gaze or a comment that seemed to linger a little too long, making my cheeks flush despite myself. He was starting to get on my nerves, with his constant need to be around me, or talking to me, or touching me, anything.
"Hey, Emilia," Marcus' voice cut through my thoughts.
Fucking speak of the devil. He was still here?
I turned to find that he still hadn't left my office, his usual smile in place. Something in the way he stood there--his posture a little too relaxed, his eyes a little too focused on me--made my stomach do a strange flip.
"Yes?" I said, trying to keep my voice calm, professional. "Can I help you?"
"Just wanted to see if you wanted some coffee," he said, lifting the steaming mugs he was clutching. "I just made them."
I hesitated for a second. I hated giving him a reason to think I owed him. Plus, letting him give me things wasn't exactly sending him the message that I wasn't interested.
On the other hand, I really wanted some more coffee.
"Sure," I said, offering him a smile. "I could use a drink."
He handed it to me gently, making sure to not spill.
"Thought you'd like it," Marcus said with that casual little half-smile of his. "Hazelnut, right?"
"Thanks," I muttered, distracted. My data set was being fussy again, and the sim models were refusing to cooperate.
I took a sip. A little sweet, but that was normal for the stuff he made. He always overdid the sugar. It was kind of annoying, actually. Or maybe not. Maybe it was... actually kind of nice? Comforting. I didn't usually feel this mellow after just one sip, but I'd been running on fumes all day. My head hurt. My thoughts were skipping like scratched vinyl.
"You alright?" Marcus asked, leaning over my shoulder, just a bit too close. Again.
I opened my mouth to snap something snarky, but it came out soft. "Mmm... yeah. Just... hazy, I guess."
He didn't move away. "That's probably because you've been overclocking your brain for six hours straight. You need to take breaks, Em."
"I take breaks," I mumbled, even though that was technically a lie. My fingers hesitated above the keyboard. The simulation code I'd been writing just looked... messy. Squiggly. Like hieroglyphs.
"You know," Marcus said, and his voice dipped into that low, reassuring timbre he always used when he was trying to be persuasive, "if you want to do something useful with your afternoon, I've got that new interface prototype ready."
I blinked up at him. "The VR one?"
"Mm-hmm." He smiled wider. "It's not just visual anymore. Added in audio loops. A little haptic feedback. You'd be the first to test the upgraded rig. You trust me, right?"
God. I should've questioned that more. But my brain felt slow. Warm. Like it had been wrapped in pink cotton. I nodded before I could really process what I was agreeing to.
"Sure. Fine. Just ten minutes though."
"That's all I need," he said, and it sounded innocent, but also... not.
***
Five minutes later, I was seated in the plush, reclining test chair, the headset cradling my head, soft pads against my temples. He adjusted something behind me--straps maybe?--but I barely noticed. My pulse had gone dreamy. My muscles were loose. That coffee hadn't woken me up. If anything, it had made me feel more tired.
"Alright," he said, brushing my cheek with the back of his hand. "Let's begin calibration. Just relax and watch."
The screen flickered to life. A soft voice began to hum through the speakers.
"Breathe in... breathe out... no need to think... no need to try..."
Colors swirled on the screen--soft pastels, slowly morphing into hearts, kisses, glittery symbols. I blinked, but the shapes were still there when I opened my eyes. So pretty. So sparkly.
"You're safe. You're soft. You're so... so good when you don't think."
My lips parted. My chest rose and fell, slowly. I tried to ask Marcus what the hell this was--what was with the tone, the... weirdly sensual visuals?--but my mouth didn't cooperate. I just sighed. And then giggled. Just a little.
That's weird, I thought. Why did I giggle?
Marcus's voice buzzed into my earpiece. "Good girl. Just focus on the colors. Don't think. You're doing so well."
A jolt went straight through me. Not fear. Not confusion.
Pleasure.
A soft, warm clench deep in my core. I gasped.
What was that?
"Let's see how you respond to Layer Two," Marcus murmured.
"Good girls don't worry. Good girls don't ask questions. Good girls smile when their thoughts float away..."
Something clicked. My thighs squirmed. My lips curved into a small, vacant smile.
I should've said something. Should've stopped it. Should've fought.
But I just... giggled again.
And the screen got brighter.
And my brain got lighter.
***
Marcus:
***
She didn't even squirm when I strapped her wrists lightly to the armrests.
Just blinked those clever, tired eyes and leaned back like this was any other experiment. That was the thing about brilliant minds--they were predictable. Overworked, overconfident, and easily disarmed with a kind voice and a cup of coffee laced with just the right compound.
I'd waited months, years for this. Calibrated every detail. Her headset molded perfectly to the shape of her skull. The visual pulses tuned to her neural oscillations. The vocal loop--custom-recorded in a soft, honey-slick tone--designed to bypass her analytical filters and talk directly to her limbic system.
The drug I'd slipped her was already working. Fast-acting. A dopamine enhancer paired with a mild GABAergic suppressant. She was still awake, still herself--just slower. Softer. More suggestible. And getting wetter by the minute.
"Let's begin calibration," I murmured, brushing her cheek with a finger. Her skin was warm. Flushed. Good.
I started the loop. The screen flickered to life. A ripple of pastel pink and peach, swirling like oil in water. It looked innocent. It was anything but.
"Breathe in... breathe out... no need to think... no need to try..."
Her lashes fluttered. That sharp glint behind her eyes dulled, just a fraction. I leaned in closer, studying every flicker of muscle across her jaw, her brow, her lips.
Then--there. The first one.
A giggle.
