Fall made Laren yearn for summer. Winter made him yearn for fall. Spring made him yearn for snowfall and Christmas. The leaves turned earlier than normal this year, he thought as he cruised his jet black sports car down the busy downtown 14th Street. The brilliant red and orange had already faded to a dead brown. He missed them again, he thought. He was always missing everything because of this damn job. He missed the damn beach again, too. By now it would be too cold. It didn’t matter.

At the red light, he saw something in the corner of his eye. About a foot above his head now hovered a 13-inch square, in which footage of a serene beach scene rolled at sunset.

“At an average temperature of 81°, Santa del Luna is the perfect tropical island getaway, even in October,” a smooth, female voice said.

The vision then changed couples sipping cocktails at a restaurant. Then a man smiled as he enjoyed massages near a swaying palm tree.

“Eat, drink, and be merry at over 200 restaurants, bars, lounges and spas.

Laren rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for the enjoyment of life. His life was to sell for Vetiver now. It has been for years. It was the prime of the prime for markets. He lived for leads and closed deals, and there was nothing to be done about it. Watching the leaves and the crashing waves and the snow, the pristine silence of snow, would have to wait until he retired.

He rolled up his suit jacket. On his wrist was a thin, mint green fabric bracelet. He gave it three quick taps.

“Increase AdWall by 20%,” he said.

“With an additional 20%, your AdWall will be at 78% capacity, 18% higher than the recommended limit. Nausea, headaches, and vertigo may occur. Please visit TSCA.gov for additional side effects of high AdWall usage. If you wish to continue, please confirm,” a different female voice said.

“Confirm,” Laren said with a sigh. “I’m almost at my appointment anyway.”

The green band then got significantly tighter around his wrist. He winced at the discomfort. Then, it loosened. The headache already began, but the advertisement for Santa del Luna faded away like a puff of smoke.

Ahead, a minivan was going the speed limit. In Laren’s mind, too slow. He revved the engine, sending a high-pitched roar through the street as he went around the van, then two more sedans. He rolled his eyes at them. Roadblocks. Annoyances.

He pulled up to the front of a large building with SD & Sons on the front in the green, cursive lettering. A chauffeur shuffled toward the sports car as Laren got out. He brushed off his suit and tossed him the keys.

“This is a beautiful car, sir,” the young man said.

Laren looked at him from behind his designer sunglasses without emotion.

“You take a joyride and I’ll sue you personally, got it, Champ?” Laren said, grinned, and turned toward the door.

***

He sat in an empty boardroom that faced a park with sweeping bare trees. From where he sat, he watched a family walk in the winding path chasing a golden retriever.

A waste of time, he thought.

His left temple was going from annoying to hurting to nearly throbbing now.

“For AdWall-induced headaches, try Ollentol. Consult your physician before taking,” he heard a voice whisper in his head.

“That damn 22% still getting through,” he said.

As he said this, the glass doors opened. An older, heavy-set, bearded man owned the room with his presence as soon as he came in. His cheeks were red and his eyes were beaming. A man and woman followed, eyes glued to their tablets.

“Eddy,” the old man said as he gripped Laren’s hand.

“Mr. Denner,” Laren said.

“Eddy, you’ve been pitching your crap here for years. You can call me Sam at this point. Or SD. Or ‘the guy who won’t help me reach my sales quota’!” Denner said, booming with laughter.

Laren grinded his teeth and forced a smile.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said.

Denner plopped into one of the chairs across from Laren and rubbed his hands.

“So, let’s see what you have for me today, Eddie,” he said.

Laren popped open his black suitcase and pulled out three sleek bands identical to the one on his wrist.

“Spoilers,” Denner said. “Vetiver’s latest innovation, the Sembras 8! The latest in AdWall technology! Your employees and their families will have less ads than ever as they work with even less headaches! It’s the benefit of the new age!”

The man’s voice mimicked a game show host. He burst out laughing when he finished.

A burst of anger spilled over inside of Laren. He felt his body stiffen and his jaw tighten.

“You sure know how to steal a sales guy’s thunder, Sam,” Laren said, trying not to punch him in the face. Now, Laren’s head felt as if someone had hot coals pressed against his temple.

“Sorry, Eddie,” Sam said, composing himself. “But, really, you think I don’t watch the news? The Sembras 8 is all anybody’s talking about.”

“That’s because the Sembras 8 is the only AdWall device approved by the TSCA that can reach up to 80% AdWall coverage against Britevoice cognitive adver--”

“Oh, Eddie, that’s bullhunky. My employees crank those things to 80% and they’d pass out from the pain.”

Dennar then shook his head and swatted the air as if a fly was in his face. He received an ad, and Laren knew it. He wondered if it was for Ollentol.

“Sam, there’s more than just AdWall features to the Sembras 8. It’s been designed to help stimulate focus and clarity. There are also advertisement refinement solutions integrated into its AI that enables the ads that do make it through the filter to be actually pertinent to the user’s life and needs.”

Sam was quiet, staring at the green bands, rocking in his chair back and forth.

“Eddie, did I ever tell you where I was when Britevoice went haywire?”

“Yes, you did, Sam,” Laren said, already chalking up this sales visit as a loss.

“Well, it’s my board room, so I’m going to tell you again,” Denner said, bursting out laughing.

His assistants both sighed at the same time.

“I knew that dang thing was going to be trouble as soon as they launched it. An AI-driven machine built to send ads into people’s minds? The new kind of telemarketing. - telePATHmarketing. What a load of bullhonkey. And then, sure enough, the thing goes nuts and projects enough ads to cause everyone on the planet to go insane.”

“I was there, too, Sam,” Laren said.

“Well I was up there in my office watching this go down. The riots. The Britevoice CEO jumping off the skyscraper roof. All that stuff. And you know what I’m thinking?”

“The old school was right,” Laren said in unison with Denner.

“Well, Eddie. Turns out you can't go back to the old school. Turns out we need these damn bracelets to stop us from going insane from mental stimulation like all the poor souls in the psych wards that didn’t make it until these solutions came out. Turns out, that these bracelets work.”

“Studies show that Britevoice--” Eddie says.

“Is adapting to AdWall defense. That soon, bracelets like my old reliable here,” he said as he revealed a clunky plastic bracelet that had three flashing lights on it. “Built by your competitor, Siuts, won’t have the firepower to handle it’s adjusted approach. Right?”

“Exactly,” Laren said. “That’s why it’s a public health concern to consider. Our technology is--”

“Staged to be the best?” Denner said.

His two assistants looked up, wide-eyed.

“What?” Laren said. “What are you talking about?”

“Again, you think I don’t see the news? Turns out, a bunch of people think your company, somehow, is running Britevoice behind the scenes. It’s a simple con. You make the threat. You sell the solution. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t about two dozen human rights violations.”

Laren looked at Denner, heart-pounding.

“Sam, listen. All sales-talk aside. We’ve known each other for a while. Do you think I would still be working for Vetiver if I believed those accusations were true? Britevoice went into the cloud. No one can stop it. On my word, that isn’t true.”

“No offense, Mr. Laren,” Denner said as serious as he had ever been. “You’re just a salesman. They wouldn’t tell you. Vetiver is involved in Britevoice. I guarantee it. And unless you switch industries and start selling paper, you don’t need to come here anymore.”

Denner then left the boardroom alongside his assistants. Laren saw an ad for an anti-anxiety app in his vision.

***

He cruised around the city to shed off the stress from the meeting. He pulled up one of his cold leads on his phone and figured it was worth a shot.

“Hello, is this Mr. DeNato from Westar Inc.?” he said.

“This is,” a skeptical man said through his car’s stereo.

Laren rattled off his speech. How he would be doing a service by offering the Sembras 8 to his employees and their families as a benefit. How it was the best way to increase productivity, improve office culture, and retain top-tier talent. Really, it was obvious. If they cared about their people in the “Post-Britevoice World,” he needed to do this. But was it a Post-Britevoice World? Was it true that Vetiver, the company that made him rich as hell, and, yes, perhaps a bit arrogant, was enhancing the power of this horrific software, this virtualized monster?

“My God. I can’t believe I have to pay for this. How has it gotten to the point where people have to pay for this now?! And you’re probably making an insane amount of money. Just so people can think straight,” DeNato said.

“Sir, if I could just—“ Laren tried to say.

“I’ll think about it,” DeNato said, and then hung up.

Laren slammed the steering wheel in frustration. He turned left and found himself at a red light. And he used this moment to sigh and curse out the failed lead. Then, a homeless man came up to his window. He was shaking and swatting at the air as if a thousand gnats were after him.

“Please, help me,” the man yelled.

Laren looked away. He scrolled through his phone looking for the next lead.

“Please, they stole my AdWall bracelet, I’m going to die!”

That caught Laren’s attention. He looked at the man’s wrists and sure enough, they were bare. His right hand was bloody. He must’ve put up a fight.

“Go down to the shelter,” Laren said. “They’ll give you a free Sembras 3.”

“I don’t have that long. I won’t make it. Please, don’t you have a spare?” the man said.

His eyes were wide, and he began to sob and scream.

“For God’s sake,” Laren said.

He popped open his glove box and pulled out one of 13 extra bands, and threw it out to the ground like he was giving a treat to a dog.

“It’s probably low on power,” Laren said and sped off.

***

Laren sat at his desk, reading a data sheet with “Rassano Electric” at the very top. He read that there was 3,302 employees, the owner of the company liked golf, was most likely about to acquire EWR Electric, and had optimistic stock.

The botched SD & Sons meeting left a nasty taste in his mouth. The call with DeNato left an even worse one. He wasn’t in the mood to eat dinner, or stop working. He didn’t like losing, and that was one wallop of a loss. He’ll never be able to watch the snow fall at this pace.

He had to land this one. He had to.

He sat back in his office chair and let out a sigh of frustration. Behind him, the darkness of night overwhelmed the view. There were no stars, no light or other buildings, nothing. As if a curtain hung over the window, blotting out the light of day.

“Nothing helps late nights at the office like Electron Energy. 350mg of caffeine with an electric lime flavor,” a hyped up spokesperson said in his head.

He opened up his emails. One from corporate waited in his inbox.

Subject: In response to the media’s accusations.

Sales team,

The media stirred up a story that Vetiver Inc. has illegally gained control of the rogue telepathic advertising AI known as Britevoice. They accuse our enterprise as altering Britevoice’s already-radicalized algorithm to gain traction on sales of Sembras 8 AdWall Hypervisor units. This, of course, is a wild accusation, one that puts Vetiver’s reputation on the line. Your response, if this news is mentioned during an interaction with clients or leads, is to be a firm denial and no other comments.

Thank you

Laren read the email again and again. They didn’t deny it. He knew every trick in the corporate book, all the ways to fold the truth into itself to make it look beautiful, no matter how ugly. They didn’t deny it.

“Join us on Urhired, America’s top job site,” an excited voice said.

Just then, the darkness behind him was broken by the light. Laren turned to see what was going on and he saw the light. A lot of light. In fact, a whole stream of lights. A line of cars sped into the Vetiver parking lot. They were slamming on their horns.

Suddenly, the fire alarm went off.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a Code X. Stay in your office while security protocols are in—“ the voice on the intercom system said before it was cut off.

Laren started to hyperventilate. His mouth grew dry.

“With Anvil-X security, you and your family can rest at ease at home, knowing we have your back.”

Already, he heard them enter the lobby. Screaming, crashing, smashing.

“Don’t do that, you’ll kill us!” someone screamed down the hall.

“My God,” Laren said.

“Find fellowship and faith at Holy Gospel Baptist,” said an ad.

As he tried to barricade his door with his desk, it flew open. He threw up his hands and yelped. Three men wearing plague doctor masks came in.

“Extend your hands,” one said in a muffled voice.

“What?” Laren said, panicking quickly.

One grabbed his left arm with his gloved hand and pulled out a knife. Then, he cut off Laren’s Sembras.

“No! You’ll kill me!” Laren screamed.

A wave of dizziness immediately hit him.

“Not if you and your people do exactly as we say,” the first masked man said.

“Running shoe clearance sale at Shoe Station!”

“High Blood Pressure? Try Acenothalaprol Potassium from Maldrine.”

“Have peace of mind with Lighthouse Shores Life Insurance.”

They ushered him into the lobby, where around forty of his colleagues were now held, screaming in hysterics. Already, the amount of ads Laren was receiving was spiking higher than he had ever experienced. The ads weren’t relevant any longer either. Chocolate bars, towels, day care, face masks, web comics, dating apps, propane in Texas, fried chicken in Albuquerque, dentists in Sydney. His head was spinning, and he was unable to walk straight.

“You chose the wrong night to stay in the office,” one of the men said.

“Please,” a sobbing data analyst said. “We didn’t do anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re going to help us stop Britevoice,” once of the men said.

The ads were getting worse by the second. He couldn’t see straight. It was as if pop ups were free of their computer screen and wedged themselves in his eyes.

He thought about his car. His seven-figure income. His luxurious uptown home where he never spent time. He did it by saving people from this. He did nothing wrong. He couldn’t even justify that.

One of the men pulled out a laptop with the Vetiver logo on it.

“It’s on your servers somewhere,” he said.

“Tell us where to find it before you all go insane,” another said.

He thought about the man on the street this afternoon, screaming, wide-eyed as his mind fell into an eternal commercial. About all the men and women who were in the psych hospital without their lives or hearts or minds. Because at some point in time, someone looked at the idea of a mind, looked at free thought, and saw a blank billboard waiting for a tenant.

“You all know they somehow managed to get control of it,” he yelled to the room.

The screaming and panic went into a small murmer.

“They’re making it worse. We all know it. Their lame excuse of an email should’ve been enough to prove it if you had any doubts like I did. We can stop this. We have to stop this,” he said.

There was silence in the room.

“The data centers across the country are all tethered to here,” a man stood up to say. “If the servers here go down, they all go down. I told them it was a fatal flaw.”

The masked men guided them out of the building. By this point, the ads were getting so bad that many of the Vetiver employees were drooling and unable to walk. Laren needed assistance by one of the men as they brought him out. The constant mental barrage drained all energy out of him.

They all stood around in silence and darkness for what seemed like forever.

Finally, the darkness boomed to light as the Vetiver headquarters exploded. In an instant, all the ads, all the headaches, all the insanity, vanished.

Laren fell down to the ground, catching his breath, as the masked men cheered. Out in the distance, he could hear a growing swell of cheers and happy screams from the world, a celebration that would not stop for days.

He smiled at the thought that, while he may have to look for a new job, he’ll be able to enjoy the snow as it falls in the coming days of winter.