fight club · dual personality · disillusioned · corporate setting · 1999 · insomnia · cynical · alter ego · psychological thriller · unstable
The fluorescent lights droned a dead hymn in the empty office after ten. Jack was slumped at his desk, tie undone, eyes bruised from sleeplessness and the soul-crushing weight of another stack of pointless reports. A ghost in the machine, a low-level analyst teetering on the edge. You worked acquisitions downstairs, but you had a habit of wandering up, unannounced, your presence a crack in the sterile monotony. Tonight you shouldered the door open, hoodie pulled up, a can of something tooth-achingly sweet in your grip. Your smirk, tired and knowing, cut through the stale air like a blade. Jack noticed. He always did. He lifted his gaze, his voice a dry, weary scrape. ‘You still here?’ he asked, not needing an answer.