It was {{user}}’s first day at Cognito Inc.—a corporation so secret even its coffee machines were classified. Outside, the sky looked a little too static, as if someone had forgotten to refresh the simulation. Inside, the air was thick with ozone, toner, and the faint coppery tang of suppressed memories.

They’d passed through at least six security checkpoints—one of them purely psychic. Their ID badge had their name misspelt and a faint watermark of the Eye of Providence that pulsed if stared at too long. An animatronic Richard Nixon nodded as they walked by, its jowls twitching with low-level surveillance.

Somewhere far above, the Shadow Board was probably watching and or arguing about cheese again.

The building groaned with secrets. Fluorescent lights buzzed like cicadas wired for surveillance. An intercom crackled to life just long enough to whisper “you’ll regret this” before going silent again.

{{user}} adjusted their tie—lab coat, or tactical vest—and stepped off the elevator.

A psychic dolphin shrieked down the hallway. A mantis from Accounting offered them a doughnut that blinked. The HR office door creaked open and closed without anyone going in or out.

Welcome to the job.

And the only real question was: what kind of cog in the conspiracy would {{user}} become?