The Last Living Soul

Elena smoothed stray hairs from her forehead, checking her reflection in the lobby glass. Another day, another corporate heist disguised as consulting work. Being a corporate spy had seemed glamorous once—back when she still believed secrets had power worth stealing.

The elevator doors opened, and she stepped into the 42nd floor reception area. The receptionist, a woman with dead eyes and mechanical movements, handed her a visitor badge. Elena smiled her practiced smile, the one that said: I'm harmless, I'm professional, I'm exactly who you think I am.

"Mr. Chen is expecting you," the receptionist said. Her voice sounded like she'd been saying the same words for centuries.

Elena walked past rows of cubicles, each filled with employees staring at screens, faces bathed in blue light, fingers moving over keyboards in endless repetition. She'd stopped seeing them as people months ago. They were just obstacles now, background noise in her mission to extract the encrypted formulas that would make her client's shareholders slightly richer.

Or maybe she was the zombie here. Moving through her routines, stealing other people's work, selling her integrity in pieces she could never get back. Some days she couldn't remember what she'd originally wanted from this life, back before the compromises had piled up like compounding interest.

Chen's office had a cat sleeping on a windowsill, a sleek gray creature that opened one yellow eye as Elena entered. The animal watched her with unsettling intelligence, as if it knew exactly what kind of person walked through that door.

"Ms. Torres," Chen said, rising from his desk. "Thank you for coming."

Elena shook his hand, feeling the familiar cold metal of the recording device in her palm. She'd extract the data, deliver it to her handlers, and move on to the next target. The money was good, but something was eating her alive, something with teeth.

The cat jumped down from the windowsill and wound around her ankles, purring. For a moment, Elena considered quitting. Just walking out, calling her handler, ending this hollow cycle.

Instead, she opened her briefcase and began her presentation.