I want to be clear about something before I start: I am not stupid. I have a graduate degree in data systems management from Meridian Technical Institute. I scored in the ninety-second percentile on the Arcturus aptitude assessment. I was recruited through a competitive hiring process that involved four interviews, a technical evaluation, and a background check that took six weeks. I was offered a position as a Data Reconciliation Specialist III in the Applied Information Management division of Vossen Analytics, a Tier 3 subsidiary of Palladian. My starting compensation was Φ112,000 annually plus benefits, which was fifteen percent above median for the role. I accepted. I was given a desk on the ninth floor of a building in the Circuit district. I was given a computer, a badge, a department code, and a supervisor named K. Orozco whose employee profile contained a name, a title, and a photograph that I now believe was AI-generated.

My tasks appeared in a queue on my workstation every morning at 8:15 AM. They were specific, well-defined, and completely meaningless. Reconcile dataset A with dataset B. Generate summary report. File report to repository. Flag discrepancies for review. The datasets were real — they contained numbers, dates, account identifiers, transaction records. The data looked legitimate. The reconciliation process produced results. The summary reports had findings. The discrepancies I flagged were acknowledged by an automated system that sent confirmation emails from an address that, I later discovered, was not monitored by any human being.

I performed this work for three years. I was reviewed annually by K. Orozco, who submitted written performance evaluations that were complimentary, specific, and referenced work I had actually done. The reviews arrived by email. I never met K. Orozco in person. I requested a meeting four times. Each request was acknowledged and scheduled. Each scheduled meeting was canceled due to "conflicts." I began to suspect in my second year that K. Orozco did not exist, but the performance reviews continued, and my compensation increased by four percent annually, and the work continued to appear in my queue, and I continued to do it.

The building was quiet. That's what I remember most. Not silent — the climate systems hummed, the elevators chimed, the coffee machine gurgled at its appointed hours. But quiet in the way a library is quiet after everyone has gone home. I saw the cleaning crew most evenings. I sometimes passed other people in the hallways — three or four others who worked on different floors. We nodded. We did not speak. I don't know if they were real. I don't know if they were doing what I was doing. I didn't ask because I didn't want to know.

When I decided to quit, I submitted my resignation through the standard HR portal. The system acknowledged receipt. I worked my two-week notice period. On my last day, I returned my badge to the security desk in the lobby. There was no one at the desk. I left the badge on the counter. Three weeks later, I received a login notification from the building's access system: my badge had been used to enter the building at 8:07 AM. It has continued to log entries every business day since. I haven't been back. Someone — or nothing — is still going to work for me.