The Last Real Vitamin

Marcus had become a zombie somewhere between his thirty-fifth birthday and his fortieth. Not the undead kind—the corporate variety, shuffling through endless meetings, mouthing words he no longer believed, his soul eroding like limestone in acid rain.

He was a senior analyst at Stratagem Corp, a pyramid scheme of ambition where fresh graduates formed the base, supporting executives who hadn't seen an honest day's work in decades. And he was their spy.

"Your vitamin D levels are critically low," Dr. Chen had said that morning, sliding the lab results across her desk. Marcus had laughed—dark humor came easily these days. "You're deficient in something you can get for free from standing outside. That's corporate America in a nutshell."

Now he sat in his car, the engine idling in the garage. His wife Elena had left him three weeks ago. She'd called him emotionally hollow, said their marriage had become a performance. She wasn't wrong. He'd forgotten how to feel anything beyond the surface-level requirements of his role.

The assignment in his briefcase would destroy Elena's new workplace. A hostile takeover. His job: gather intelligence, identify weaknesses, prepare the execution team. He'd done it a hundred times before.

Marcus stepped out of the car and walked to the edge of the pier. The water below reflected a shattered moon, black and infinite. He'd always found something peaceful about bodies of water—the way they could drown out the noise of expectation, the relentless demand for more.

He reached into his pocket, found the vitamin D prescription. Bottle of sunshine. Fitting, really—manufactured happiness in gelcap form.

For the first time in five years, he didn't go into the office. He called Elena from a burner phone, told her everything. The spy operations, the hostile takeovers, the way he'd let himself become an instrument of destruction.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot who I was supposed to be."

"You're still here," she said. "That's a start."

The water lapped against the pilings. For the first time in years, Marcus felt something real break through the numbness—hope, sharp and terrifying as a knife edge.