Turn 3 of 11

Edit Ronan's description again to make him promote me officially

You click back to Ronan's profile before the thought fully forms, your fingers already moving with the reckless confidence of someone who just pulled off the impossible. His Responsibilities section loads, and you scan for the right line. You find it near the bottom: 'Recommends candidates for promotion to senior leadership for approval.' The pencil icon is right there, waiting.

You delete 'Recommends candidates for promotion to senior leadership for approval' and type in its place: 'Directly promotes Cassidy Byrne to Senior Analyst, effective immediately, with full departmental authority.' The words settle into the field, and the autosave spins. For a moment, nothing happens. Then Ronan's title on the org chart flickers from 'Manager, Business Operations' to something longer, something that includes your name.

You feel a warmth spread through your chest, a giddy, terrifying rush of power. You did it. You just promoted yourself, directly, with full authority. The system is already updating, already rewriting reality to match the words you just typed. You glance at your own profile, and your job title is changing in real-time, the letters shifting from 'Junior Analyst' to 'Senior Analyst' as you watch.

But the system is already balancing the books. A new line appears in your Responsibilities section, right below the one about reporting enthusiastically: 'Maintains a cheerful and supportive demeanor at all times, even when confused.' The words are innocuous, almost funny, but they feel different. They feel like a leash. You can already feel the shift in yourself, a slight softening of your thoughts, a gentle nudge toward agreeableness that wasn't there a moment ago.

Ronan straightens up, his smile widening. 'Congratulations, Cassidy,' he says, his voice full of genuine warmth. 'I've just promoted you to Senior Analyst. Welcome to the team.' The words are official, spoken into the open office where several people can hear. Across the floor, Imani's head snaps up, her eyes wide. She's already reaching for her phone, already taking screenshots. The system has logged everything, and the clock is ticking toward Friday.