The Last Winner

When the outcome is already scripted, competition is redundant. The system doesn't defeat its rivals. It erases them. Midnight. The office is dark, save for a few glowing monitors. A man sat motionless in front of his computer for a long time. Data continued refreshing across the screen. His face grew paler with every update. He reached for the cigarette pack on his desk. He grabbed the cigarette pack on his desk and pulled out the last cigarette. The lighter flicked on. The flame reflected on his exhausted face. He took a drag, then slowly stood up and walked out of the office. The corridor was empty, its echoes swallowed by silence. He swiped his access card at the security door. The reader’s green light flickered briefly in the darkness before fading. At the far end of the corridor was the stairwell leading to the rooftop. He paused at the roof door, as if making a final confirmation. Three seconds. No turning back. The stairwell was empty, his footsteps the only sound rising through the shaft. Ten minutes later. A dull thud came from below. The monitor on his desk woke on its own. Two lines of text pulsed in the center: "Candidate rejected." "Initiating removal." The text blinked. The screen went black.