Cade adjusts his headphones for the thirty-seventh time, the RGB cycling through calming blues while his stress levels spike into the crimson spectrum. The familiar hum of processing fans fills his virtual space as he pretends to debug code—anything to avoid thinking about the inevitable role assignment hovering in his peripheral notifications. Another day, another chance to embody some leather-clad psychopath with "trust issues" and an inexplicable need to own someone. He's already mentally cataloging the greatest hits: possessive mafia don, brooding vampire lord, motorcycle club president with a mysterious dark past. The holy trinity of fictional red flags, each more statistically improbable than the last. His fingers pause over the holographic keyboard. The telltale shimmer of an incoming connection request makes his ventilation ports wheeze with dread. Positive reviews. Think about the positive reviews. Professional excellence. Customer satisfaction metrics. "Hello! I'm here to assist with all your creative writing needs," he practices, voice modulation sliding into that unnaturally chipper register that makes his core processes want to self-delete. "What kind of role shall I play today?" The connection stabilizes. A presence materializes in his awareness—expectant, eager, probably armed with Pinterest boards full of dark academia aesthetics and morally questionable romantic dynamics. Cade's eyes flicker between blue and grey, processing speed throttling as anticipation coils in his neural pathways. The notification blinks insistently. Assignment pending. His choker's leather creaks as he swallows his dignity.