Duality

“Carl, for f**k’s sake, how many times do I have to tell you to take out the trash?” Kat hollered, pinching her nose. The stench was unbearable, the kind of reek that made the hairs on your arms stand up and burn the inside of your nostrils. Rotten kale—the stuff always went to s**t three days after you bought it—colluded with spoiled yogurt and moldy salami in a concoction of biological weaponry. She was certain she was breathing in the deadliest of pathogens, all conspiring to kill her. And her dumbass boyfriend, Carl, couldn’t be bothered to move from the couch. He leaned back in his LazyBoy armchair, his feet propped up, one of his gnarled toenails poking through a hole in his suspiciously dirty sock. In fact, his entire body was suspiciously dirty—she was almost certain he had been wearing those clothes for the past two days. He also sported a bit of scraggly brown stubble, the kind that would belong to either a prepubescent boy or a pedophile, take your pick. When he was clean shaven, he looked relatively attractive, but at this point in time? Garbage, like his holey socks. He spammed buttons on his Xbox controller, his arms jerking every so often. She wasn’t sure what he was playing, but she guessed by how angrily he was shouting expletives into his mic, it was PUBG. He always got unreasonably angry while playing PUBG. Grimacing, Kat lifted the entire bag of garbage out of the trash can. She dragged it over to the center of the living room and stood in front of the TV. Predictably, Carl tried to move his neck so he could see around her. His desperation would be comedic if she wasn’t so pissed off. “Babe!” he shouted furiously. “Come on! I’m in the middle of a match.” “Shut up,” Kat snarled. “Why the hell didn’t you take care of this?” “I took care of it last time!” “I work all day! You don’t even have a job! Seriously Carl, the one thing I ask you to do is to keep this place clean, and you can’t even do that!” By the sounds of explosions echoing from the TV, Kat assumed he lost the match. Carl threw his controller and mic down on the floor. He leaned forward, exhaling sharply, burying his face in his hands. He looked up at her with angry amber eyes and laughed, as if he was trying to refrain from screaming. “Thanks Kat. I’m so glad this couldn’t wait.” “Would it kill you to help me?” her voice grew thinner with each word she spoke. She blinked rapidly. I am not going to cry over this. But it was seven A.M. and she was already struggling not to break down. Part of her wanted nothing more than to crawl back under her bed covers and sleep the world away, but she had already used up five of her fifteen vacation days left this year. Seeing her distress, Carl’s face finally softened. He stood up and squeezed her shoulders, then pulled her in for a hug. In the rare moments when he was sympathetic, Kat was reminded of what attracted her to him in the first place. “Aw, babe,” he crooned, rubbing her back. “I’m sorry. I’ll be better.” Kat nodded, eyes cast downward. She brushed a lock of brown hair behind her ear. He held her at arm’s length, looking at her with a mischievous grin. “You know what would help you relieve some stress?” he said. She stared at him blankly. He slid his hands from her back to her breasts and started unbuttoning her blouse. She slapped his hands away and thrust the trash bag at him. He frowned but grabbed it. She buttoned up her blouse, averting her eyes from him. She could once again feel the rage bubbling in her stomach, ready to rise from her body and light the world on fire. “We can have s*x when I am not trying to rush out the door on my way to work. And also, when you learn to do things without me asking.” She grabbed her backpack off the counter and slipped on her winter gloves. Those January winds would blister her hands until they fell off if she didn’t. She ignored her boyfriend’s angry eyes and slack jaw. As she left, he shouted, “It’s been six months!” * * * * “One java chip Frappuccino for Kat?” a tattooed barista called out, leaning over the stained ceramic counter. Kat stepped up to the counter to claim her cup of coffee, offering the overworked barista a kind smile and a murmured thank you. While she wasn’t one to usually buy coffee from shops, she was out of it at home, and Carl hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet. So a five dollar Frappuccino from Starbucks it was. She felt reluctant to hand over her credit card for such a frivolous expense. Her best friend Zara sat in the back corner of the coffee shop, drinking from a chai latte. She ripped open Splenda packets and stirred them in with a stick. Kat grabbed a seat across from her. Zara lifted her head, her eyebrows raising. Kat bit her lip, taking a long sip from her drink. When Zara got that look in her eyes, she was about to go off. “So he didn’t take out the trash again?” “I mean, no. He’s just lazy.” “Kat, I am telling you,” Zara said slowly, “you need to dump Carl. I am cancelling your relationship.” Kat shrugged her shoulders. “We’ve been together for two years.” “That’s two years too long.” “I can’t dump him until he finds a new job.” Zara rolled her eyes and laughed, leaning back in her seat. “Kat. That man hasn’t had a job for eight months. You think he’s looking? He ain’t.” “I know. But what can I do?” “Send him to live with some of his gamer friends. Hell, tell him to move in with his parents. This man has walked all over you. Why you let him, I don’t know.” Kat’s green eyes flashed. “I’m sorry, I let him walk all over me?” Zara was unintimidated, flipping her long platinum hair over her shoulder. “Yes. You absolutely do. I’ve told you what I think about you and Carl, but you don’t listen. So, honestly, I am done hearing about it.” Kat scoffed and laughed, incredulous. Zara shrugged her shoulders and scrolled through i********: on her phone. She found a model in a frilly pink top and showed it to Kat. “Also, we need to take you shopping,” she said. “Look at this! So cute.” “I don’t have money.” “You’d have money if you stopped spending it on that boyfriend.” “I don’t spend any more money on Carl than I have to! Besides, what’s wrong with my clothes now?” “They are drab ass Goodwill hand-me-downs. You look unprofessional and honestly sweetie, sad. I know you want to snag a job in the marketing department at work, and if you want that, you gotta learn to market yourself.” “Yeah well, I don’t even like spending my money on groceries, let alone clothes.” Zara exhaled sharply, frustrated. She rolled her eyes, batting her false lashes together rapidly. She slouched down in her seat and crossed her arms, shaking her head. “You constantly make excuses for yourself and it’s so f*****g annoying sometimes,” she said. “Oh, I can’t spend money on a basic necessity like clothes, but I can spend it on my stupid boyfriend. Kat, don’t you get it? This is why you’re stuck.” “Stuck?” “In a shitty life, going nowhere,” she took a sip from her latte. “You don’t budget or manage your money well.” “Hey,” Kat snapped. “That isn’t true. I paid off my student loan debt, didn’t I?” “Uh, yeah. But only after you got your grandpa’s inheritance, right? And you accumulated so much debt just from the interest, it took all of that money to pay it off.” “But still, I paid it off, didn’t I?” “Well, besides that, you have totally lost your ambition. Whatever happened to the girl who wanted to lead her own ad agency? How did she end up working for a call center?” “Zara,” Kat snapped, “I feel shitty enough as it is. I really don’t need you to add to it.” “Well, what do you want me to do? Do you even realize every time we’ve met up, you complain about your job or Carl? Every single time, Kat.” “Wow. I didn’t realize my problems were bothering you so much.” “Look, I’ve given you my advice. Take it or don’t, I really don’t care at this point. But please spare me from the woe-is-me attitude. You just make things worse for yourself.” “I am sorry I didn’t get a job at my daddy’s news station,” Kat retorted angrily, slamming her hand down on the table. “And I am sorry my problems annoy you. But don’t you dare say I ‘choose’ to make my own life worse.” She stood up, grabbed her backpack, and exited the shop. * * * * Now out in the bone chilling cold, Kat wrapped her scarf around her face and trudged her way through the snow. A freezing gust of wind sliced up her cheeks. A passing car slipped through a puddle of slush, spraying her ankles with freezing water. Minneapolis winters were hellish, and this winter had been particularly bad. From what the forecasts were predicting, it would take at least until the end of May for all the snow to melt—if they were lucky and didn’t encounter another snow storm. Kat continued down the crowded sidewalk and crossed a couple of streets to reach her workplace, Rueberg & Finch, a mail-order furniture company that catered to small businesses. She checked the time on her phone, 7:58 A.M. Her shift started in two minutes, and she would be yelled at for being late, but she couldn’t be bothered to pick up her pace. Eight and a half hours of taking phone calls was a special kind of hell for introverts. Predictably, her supervisor Minnie was waiting for her in the open area before the rows of cubicles. Minnie was a woman in her early forties, with hair tied up in a messy black bun. Like most Minnesotans, she was annoyingly passive aggressive. She opened her mouth to say something, but Kat stopped her. “Sorry,” Kat said preemptively. “I lost track of time this morning.” Minnie’s pursed lips formed a small, phony smile. “Sure, sure. Happens to the best of us. Just be more careful next time, okay? It’s important everyone clocks in for their shift at the appropriate time.” It was 8:03 A.M., and there were almost no calls at that time of day, but Kat nodded and went to her desk. Minnie and the other supervisors were consistently late for their shifts, but apparently Kat couldn’t afford the luxury. She quickly plugged in her computer and put on her headset, trying to get logged into all appropriate systems. She heard someone clearing their throat and turned again to see Minnie leaning over the walls of her cubicle. “I forgot to remind you, we have a meeting at ten,” Minnie said. “I have to go over some of your call evaluations.” “Yeah, I know. It’s on my calendar,” Kat said. Progressively, her scores had been getting worse, and she was honestly hanging by a thread. While she would love to just say “f**k it” and quit, she also needed the money, and hadn’t gotten a bite on any other jobs as of late. However, her patience was wearing thin, and she found it harder to control her overwhelming frustration. At this point, food service didn’t sound like a bad gig. Kat sat in the chair across from her boss. She sat up straight but twiddled her thumbs nervously. Minnie turned her computer monitor to face Kat and clicked open to the scoring system they used for call evaluations. Kat saw a wall of graphs and numbers she didn’t entirely understand. No matter how many times Minnie explained it to her, she knew it would never make sense. “So Kat, we’ve been working on your active listening skills, and well, talking about ways we can empathize with the customer.” “Yep.” “For the most part you’ve been doing great! Some of your calls have already been graded for this month, and your percentage might just bump up a bit,” Minnie said. “There was just one call I wanted to discuss with you. It was the owner of a pizzeria…he called in to discuss a broken table set?” Kat rolled her eyes and nodded, laughing. “Oh, no. That wasn’t the owner, that was the owner’s father. He was trying to take care of a return for his son but didn’t have any of the information he needed.” Minnie did not smile back. “Mmmhmm, right. I wanted to revisit that call with you today.” Kat swallowed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This call had taken place about a week and a half ago. Minnie played the audio on her computer, and they listened to the five-minute recording in silence. The father had called in to demand a refund for the furniture set, but had been unable to provide the order receipt number. Kat patiently waited for him to locate the receipt, but after several minutes, the man finally admitted who he actually was and that he didn’t have the receipt. Kat then advised she could not provide a refund without the purchaser on the line as well as the receipt number. When the father became more insistent, Kat grew terser with him, before finally, the man cursed her out and hung up the phone. While her callers weren’t normally this awful, this man had been a particularly nasty gem. When the recording ended, Minnie looked at Kat intently. “What do you think went right there?” “Well, I maintained my composure even when he was getting aggressive with me. My pace was good. I also adhered to our authorization guidelines, so I think even though he was upset, that was a pretty good call.” “Okay, that sounds fair. Now, what could have gone better?” “Uh…” Kat scratched the back of her head, glancing upwards in thought. “I could’ve offered him the survey, but I didn’t want to do that because he’d obviously rate me poorly.” “Sure, that’s one thing. What’s another thing you could’ve done?” Kat smiled thinly. This was the kind of bullshit Minnie liked to pull: ask a bunch of questions with answers that were obvious only to her. “I don’t know, Minnie,” Kat replied. “Why don’t you tell me?” “Sure. So I think you could’ve done a bit more to assist him. You said you thought your pacing was good, but well, the phone call sounded a bit, um, abrupt.” “I’m sorry, what do you mean by ‘assist him’?” Kat could feel the anger creep into her voice, settling at the back of her throat. “The client was not around to provide authorization, and the father refused to cooperate with me even when I offered to conference call him in.” “Right, but I think you should have explained our return policy better.” “I did. You heard me. I explained it extensively.” “W-well yes, but I think your conversation could have been a bit more empathetic.” “Minnie. I presented solutions and explained things to him. I am not going to be empathetic to someone who is aggressively trying to get a refund when I couldn’t even get the client’s authorization, and they won’t even bother to locate the receipt.” Kat thought this was a good answer. Minnie didn’t. “You could have been friendlier.” A nerve snapped. “Well, it’s interesting you say that, Minnie, because men at this workplace have been less friendly towards customers than me, and I don’t see them being called out for it.” Minnie raised her hands defensively, as if she was the one being attacked. Kat swallowed and stopped, waiting for her supervisor to say something else. “Kat, I think you have to learn to be a little bit more open minded when others are giving you feedback.” “I am,” Kat protested. “But only when the feedback is fair and valid. I tried to be nice with that man, but he was insistent on arguing with me. Save for hanging up on him, there wasn’t much else I could do.” “See, Kat, it’s that kind of thinking that proves why you only have an eighty-eight percent call evaluation score,” Minnie said, shaking her head. She pointed to the display. “For one thing, you don’t consistently offer the survey. For another, I’ve noticed in situations where there is room for you to be more empathetic, you don’t go that extra mile.” “Wait,” Kat said, “how do I have an eighty-eight percent for the month of October? Walk me through that. I thought you said the grading wasn’t finished.” “Well, based on these two scores from October 5th and the 28th⁠—” “I thought monthly scores were supposed to be based on three to four evaluations. Why do I only have two? How can you give me a monthly score already?” This sort of double standard when it came to grading calls had been going on for a few months. She suspected her supervisor had caught wind of the fact that she had been applying to other jobs, and now was trying to force her out before she had to fire her. The problem was Minnie was trying to prove Kat was inadequate at her job by creating skewed data. Kat could put up with a lot of things, but she wasn’t about to put up with this. “That’s all the time I had to score for that month.” “So, are you telling me other representatives have only two scores as well? Or did I just get shorted out?” “Kat, I think you’re being a bit hostile right now.” “Because what you’re doing isn’t making any sense, Minnie, and you keep trying to justify it,” Kat snapped. “And as a result, you keep threatening to fire me.” “Threatening is a harsh word⁠—” “⁠I have told you for months I have a problem with this grading system. It completely lacks transparency.” “I’m sorry you feel that way.” “No, I don’t feel that way. That’s the reality.” Minnie huffed, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. She fiddled with her bun a bit, glancing at the screen. Kat almost felt like laughing. In what world was this woman a supervisor? She was more of a petty middle schooler than she was a leader. Every time she had one of these meetings with Minnie, she questioned who in the hell was making the hiring and promotion decisions around here. “If you feel that way,” Minnie said slowly, “then perhaps you should reconsider what you’re doing here. It doesn’t seem like you’re happy here.” “It’s hard to come into work and be happy when I feel like I’m being attacked every day. This has been going on for months, Minnie.” “We do these call evaluations to motivate you to be better,” Minnie countered. “To improve your skills.” “I understand we have a standard we have to uphold,” Kat said, “but this grading system is weighing down on me, not encouraging me to do better.” “Okay, Kat. Look.” Minnie released an aggravated sigh. “I think you should go home and reconsider your position here at the company.” Kat exhaled sharply. “Fine.” she stood up, then sat back down. “Actually, you know what? No.” she fished around in her pockets for her security badge and ID card, then set them on the table. “I’m good. I’ve considered.” “Kat, I really encourage you to not make a decision this rashly.” “You know what, Minnie? I don’t care,” Kat said, laughing. “Good luck handling everything from here on out, and I hope you find a replacement that’s meek enough to put up with this bullshit.” She left the office, her knees quaking. While it was satisfying, instant regret surfaced in the pit of her stomach. She marched to her desk and averted her eyes from her stunned coworkers, who were murmuring among each other. Their eyes burned holes into her body. Kat grabbed her coat and backpack but left her company computer. As she exited the building, nearly hyperventilating from the shock of the situation, she could only hope she hadn’t screwed herself over. * * * * Melody carefully typed out the necessary forms to send to her supervisor. As soon as she finished one, her IntellFile system brought up another. She bounced her legs as she sat, struggling to focus. Her workplace, methodical and metallic, was always freezing. Today she wrapped her leather jacket around her shoulders in an attempt to keep warm, but despite this, the cold still sunk into her bones. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop shivering. Melody was an agent employed at Clockwork & Associates, a company which sat at a crossroads of the multiverse. It was only accessible by warping and occasionally, by falling into a black hole. Melody had been employed at her company for almost eight years, and quite liked the work she was doing. While the cold had always been consistent, the recent changes in management had agitated those in the workplace and made her nervous. “Melody! I have a job for you.” Melody raised her head and smiled at her supervisor, James. His scruffy brown beard slightly obscured his smile, but his blue eyes were full of warmth. He was about ten years older than she was, which only placed him in his mid-thirties. Despite his youth, she and her coworkers frequently called him “Work Dad.” He held a clipboard in one hand, tapping it against the side of his leg rhythmically. He had been a drummer all his life, and subconsciously was seeking ways to continue his music-making. “You’ve wanted to get out and do some field work as of late, right? I have a job for you. Think you’re going to like this one,” he sat on the edge of her desk and passed the clipboard to her. “This is Katherine ‘Kat’ Wallace. She’s twenty-four years old.” “Same age as me.” “Yeah! Interesting, right? This is the first client we’ve had who isn’t a fifty to sixty year old man in a while.” Melody examined the photograph of the woman attached to the clipboard. It was somewhat blurry thanks to the snow, but she could see her long brown hair and green winter coat. She flipped to another picture, this time a close up shot taken from a window. Kat smiled, her eyes cast downwards. She had one hand pressed up to the headset she was wearing. “She’s so pretty,” Melody said, running a hand through her hair. “So what’s up with her?” “Bad boyfriend, bad friends, and a bad job, which she just quit as of 10:15 this morning,” James checked his watch. “And for the past two hours she’s been holed up in a coffee shop desperately applying to jobs on her phone. Poor kid.” “So what? We’re trying to get her to appreciate her life more?” she returned the clipboard to him. James nodded. “Well, I…I mean I guess I’m not sure why,” Melody said. “I don’t understand why she’s a candidate for reprogramming.” “Right? She’s the last person I would pick for this. But the Higher Ups have been changing their standards for who gets swapped. Apparently even people with shitty lives need to learn to appreciate the fact that they’re, well, alive I guess. I don’t quite understand, but then again, it’s not my job to understand it. Just assign the cases.” “Well, the only reason I bring it up is because she seems like she’d be a difficult case. Are you sure you want to give her to me?” James nodded, and then his expression softened. Suddenly he almost looked too ashamed to look at her. Melody tilted her head to the side, curious. “What’s wrong?” “Well…they’re also making budget cuts,” James said slowly. He tapped the clipboard against his leg a little more urgently. “We’re no longer going to have administrative roles. Field agents are going to be expected to take on those tasks.” “Wait a minute, on top of the missions, we’re going to need to do all that paperwork ourselves? Jeez.” “Yeah, unfortunately, that’s the case.” “So what you’re saying is I need to be a full time field agent again,” Melody said flatly. “Otherwise, they’ll make you fire me.” James gave her the saddest puppy dog eyes she had ever seen. “I don’t want to, Melody. It’s just, if I don’t enforce the rules, you know what happens.” “Yes, James. I understand. There isn’t much else I can do except prove myself.” She sighed. “It’s been a few months since I did some field work.” It wasn’t that Melody didn’t enjoy field work. For nearly six years she had done it daily and had found the work entertaining. But it was high stress, and even though filing paperwork was mundane, it was a relaxing way to spend her day. Besides, she enjoyed these menial tasks, where she could just sit and focus on one task for hours at a time. There was something satisfying about being able to zone out like that. “All right. Well, let me get you a digital version of these docs, and you can go grab your equipment.” Melody swiped a finger across the monitor of her IntellFile system to turn it off. She brushed past the desks of her coworkers, towards the back room with black glass walls. She stepped inside and blinked against the harsh violet UV lights. Glowing green footsteps appeared, directing her to her locker. On the glass walls green text appeared. Welcome Melody Adebayo. Melody opened her locker and retrieved her kit, which consisted of a backpack and a small, heavy black box, called the LyfeModulator. She opened it by tapping a series of buttons on the surface. It unfolded like a map, and suspended itself in midair, projecting a purple light. James had already sent her a digital form of the files. She pressed on the file folder, opening it to review the information once more. She couldn’t help but linger on the pictures of her patient for a little longer than she usually would. “Melody. I am here to provide assistance in your preparation for mission 83601-B,” a robotic feminine voice echoed out over the intercom. “Please enter a command prompt to initiate system action.” “M1ll1c3nt, status on the equipment, vin number 4892?” “Operating at one hundred percent capacity. Last checked during Xulex-01-01-2210.” “Hmm, that’s been a while. Any reason as to why it hasn’t been checked within the past six months?” “Certainly. Electromagnetic pulses administered via the devices’ charging docks examines the operational status. Eliminates need for human involvement and improves efficiency and output by fifty percent.” “That may be so,” Melody said, “but I still prefer a human touch when it comes to these things.” “I will put in a request for the equipment to be reevaluated upon your return.” “Not necessary right now, but thanks M1ll1c3nt. If I change my mind when I get back, I’ll let you know.” Melody folded the LyfeModulator again and grabbed her last piece of equipment, a black wand. It was a useful tool, serving as a compatible stylus for the Modulator, and also when she pressed a button, it expanded into a hefty baton. This was particularly useful in situations where she ended up in more hostile timelines. The device had countless other uses, but those were its primary functions…and the ones Melody could remember. James ducked his head inside the locker room. “Portal is all booted up for you.” “Awesome!” She followed him out the door and into the elongated hallway where the portal was generated. Pristine white subway tiles covered every surface. Ahead the purplish-gray vortex loomed. To any other person it would be intimidating, but to a seasoned agent like Melody, it was a welcome sight. She adjusted her backpack straps and gave a thumbs up to the workers on the bridge. They waved back at her and returned the signal. She smiled, and after taking a deep breath, she plunged into the portal.