FIRST REPLY The Price of Conscience

[Ledger]

Theme
Location: Santo Domingo, The Iron Divide, Petrovski Solutions Tower
​

Adrian's desk terminal buzzed: A Trauma Team incident with a low-priority client. A woman failed to maintain her policy obligation, meaning the last payment lapsed just twenty minutes before she needed it. Financial glitch, probably in the processing, but it meant a death sentence for the poor woman.

Adrian sighed and rubbed his temple. Ready to flag another claim denied. Fifty to a hundred thousand eddies saved at least, and probably a nod from his supervisor at dinner. Everything about their work rewarded efficiency, and being on time with the calls kept you in the good books.

"Close it, Parker, policy's policy." Through his headset, his supervisor noticed his hesitation, Adrian's finger lingered over the keys. Just another name in a file? But for once, he didn't press it away. Ledger minimized his screen, opening an encrypted line and flagging the data to an anonymous server. Maybe there was someone out there who could do something; either way, they didn't have long. You didn't call a trauma team unless it was serious.

He took off his headset and turned his chair to look out the window. Some days, it was difficult to look at your reflection. His optics focused further out at the Iron Divide below—past the gardens, past the corporate towers, and toward the ruined shells the other half lived in. Today he didn't have to.

CHATGPT Instructions:
Only write the supervisor or other office staff.
Do not write the answer to the call he's made or reference the encrypted server, leave that for another writer later.
Do not write Adrian Parker, aka Ledger under any circumstances.
Build the tension, use minor interjections and atmosphere, but don't dictate the storyline.
Narration Styles: Corporate and atmospheric.

 

[NPC Storyteller]

There was an uneasy silence in the dimly lit office, punctuated only by the electric hum of flickering overhead lights and the sporadic clacking of keyboards from nearby terminals. The austere corporate decor—grey walls adorned with minimalist art depicting abstract horizons—seemed to press in on everyone who sat tethered to their desks like marionettes to strings.

"Parker, we need to wrap this up, don't we?" came the clipped voice of Marissa, the lead supervisor, her tone laced with urgency. She hovered at the edge of the maze of cubicles, arms crossed defensively, observing each agent's performance like a hawk. The sprawling city they served—filled with gleaming towers and crumbling ghettos—reflected a distorted mirror of human fragility and indifference, a macabre dance of life and bureaucratic apathy.

Adrian's screen flickered as the claim status pulsed beneath his fingertips, each tick a reminder of the last moment when humans became numbers, lost behind a wall of policy and profit margins. Marissa shifted her weight impatiently; the clock was ticking. "Time waits for no one, especially not for clients who can't keep their premiums up to date," she added, her voice a mixture of irritation and resignation. It was the mantra that echoed in their corporate sanctum—one they had all rehearsed until it flowed naturally, devoid of emotion.

The din of the office was punctuated by the low murmur of conversations snaking through the aisles, agents discussing their own cases or sharing the occasional sympathetic word about yet another client lost to the unforgiving throes of bureaucratic failure. Marissa tapped her foot against the floor, the sound like a metronome counting down the seconds until the next denial could fuel their corporate machine.

"We can't afford delays, Parker. You know the drill. We have targets to hit," she pressed, her voice edged with a hint of impatience that made the atmosphere crackle. Adrian's refusal to proceed with the standard protocol unsettled her, the unease spreading like a shiver through the cubicles.

The city below roared with the distant sounds of sirens and the bustle of life—spectacles of chaos that echoed a truth none wanted to embrace. Here, in this office, the real problem was awareness. Marissa buried her worries deep, focusing instead on the stacked claims awaiting each agent's final push, yet she could almost sense the ripple of Adrian's mindfulness—his rare moment of moral scrutiny tugging at the fabric of corporate duty.

"Just remember, we're judged by efficiency, not empathy," she added with a tinge of finality, though the weight of that statement bore down heavily upon her words. She took a breath, exhaling slowly as if trying to release some unshareable weight—a fleeting wish that one soul could transcend the system.

As Adrian turned away from the screen, the shadows of the cubicles loomed larger, the stark fluorescent lighting creating a contrast that made the air feel thick with unspoken truths. Marissa glanced up at the monitor above, its digital clock ticking away the minutes, and felt the chill of inevitability settle over her. Each second slipped away as another moment lost in the cogs of the indifferent machine, where the price of conscience might very well be the cost of one's own health.