The Interview

"Please, have a seat. Can I get you some water?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

"Alright then. Let's get started. Your resume is… impressive, Sarah. Head of logistics at a global shipping firm is no small feat."

"Thank you. I enjoyed my time there. Lots of complex problems to solve."

"I can imagine. It says here you managed a team of over two hundred."

"That's right. For the last three years."

"Describe a time you had to make an unpopular decision that benefited the company."

"Of course. In the second quarter of 2024, we had a major supply chain disruption out of the Port of Singapore. The conventional wisdom was to reroute everything through Hong Kong, which would have meant a four-week delay. My team's data suggested a smaller, untested port in Vietnam was viable. It was a huge risk. My superiors were against it. But I made the call. We were only delayed by six days."

"And the fallout?"

"A few sleepless nights, a lot of angry emails for the first 72 hours. And then a very nice bonus at the end of the year. It worked."

"Excellent. You're clearly not afraid of risk. Now, a different kind of question. Imagine a coworker is consistently taking home office supplies. Pens, notepads, nothing major. What do you do?"

"I'd probably have a quiet word with them first. Remind them of company policy. If it continued, I'd have to escalate to HR. It's a small thing, but integrity matters."

"Good. Standard procedure. Now, imagine a different coworker. A historian. They have the ability to alter a minor historical document, say, changing a general's breakfast order on the morning of a key battle. This change, through a butterfly effect, prevents a war that would have killed thousands, but it erases three specific people from existence. They were never born. No one remembers them but you and the historian. Do you report him?"

"...Excuse me?"

"It's a hypothetical. A thought experiment."

"That's… a lot more complicated than stolen pens. I… I don't know. Preventing a war is a massive good. But erasing people? Is that murder? Who am I to make that choice?"

"You're not making the choice. You're deciding whether to report the person who did."

"I... I think I'd need more information. I don't think I could answer that."

"Interesting. No answer is an answer in itself. Let's move on. How do you feel about long periods of isolation?"

"I'm fine with it. In logistics, you spend a lot of time alone with data. I'm self-sufficient."

"I don't mean for a weekend. I mean for years. Decades, perhaps."

"Is that… a component of this role?"

"It can be. Are you married, Sarah?"

"I'm divorced. No children."

"Any family you're close to?"

"My parents passed away a few years ago. I have a sister in Australia, but we're not close."

"Good. That simplifies things. Now, tell me about your dreams."

"My dreams? As in, my career aspirations?"

"No. The ones you have when you're asleep."

"I'm sorry, I don't see how that's relevant to a logistics management position."

"Humor me."

"They're… normal, I guess? Stress dreams about work sometimes. The odd falling dream. Nothing noteworthy."

"Have you ever had the same dream twice?"

"Maybe as a child. I don't think so."

"And the world, Sarah. When you're out and about. Does it feel real to you?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course, it feels real."

"But how do you know? Your brain is just interpreting electrical signals. The taste of coffee, the feeling of rain, the face of a loved one… it's all just data. What if the source of that data wasn't… organic?"

"Okay, what is this job, exactly? The description was for a 'Systems Oversight Director.' It was vague, but I assumed it was about managing complex, dynamic systems."

"It is. The most complex, dynamic system ever created. You've answered everything wonderfully, by the way. Your moral ambiguity, your capacity for isolation, your lack of strong emotional attachments, your very… stable cognitive baseline. You're a perfect candidate."

"A perfect candidate for what?"

"For the job. For my job, to be precise."

"Which is…?"

"Observation. Maintenance. And, in very rare circumstances, intervention. We've found that the system runs best with a human consciousness at its core. A caretaker. Someone to notice the little inconsistencies, the frayed edges."

"What system? What are you talking about?"

"This one. The one you're in right now."

"You mean… this room? This building?"

"Don't be silly. Everything. Your apartment. The traffic you sat in on the way here. Your sister in Australia."

"That's insane."

"Is it? You deal with logistics on a global scale. You know that reality is just a series of interconnected systems. Supply and demand. Cause and effect. We just work on a more fundamental level."

"So you're saying… I'm in a simulation? This is a test?"

"It was a test. It's over now. You passed."

"And if I say no? If I want to leave?"

"That's the part people always struggle with. Leave and go where? This is it. There's no 'outside.' There's just the chair."

"The chair?"

"My chair. The one you're about to inherit. You won't be in this room, of course. That's just a construct for the interview. Your perception will… broaden. You'll see the code. All of it."

"I don't want this. I want to go home."

"Sarah, you are home. Now, there's just the final formality. A simple question."

"..."

"What do you remember about the sky before you came in here today?"

"What? I don't know, it was blue. Overcast. It looked like rain."

"Are you sure? Take your time. What color was it, really?"

"It was blue. Grayish-blue. What does that matter?"

"It's just that… there isn't one. Not anymore. We had to decommission it last cycle to reallocate processing power. It's been a uniform, pearlescent white for three years now. People's memories adapt, of course. The brain fills in the gaps. But a new consciousness… a fresh perspective… that's what we need. Someone who still remembers the blue."

"You're lying."

"Am I? Look out the window."

"There is no window."

"Exactly. Welcome to the job, Sarah."