Omnitech Corporation

Executives have just walked through the entrance door. It's the moment when I really have to start doing what I'm here for. I see all the other Pet Vibes presenting themselves, sitting obediently like dolls in a display window, each holding an object in their mouth. Feeling Gary's vigilant gaze upon me, I force myself to make a decision. The thing I dread the most is going into a box. So, choosing the heart is out. Finally, I move forward with my leash between my teeth, a choice that seems like the lesser evil.

The newcomers head to the bar, forming a line to order their coffees and pastries. None of them pay attention to us at the moment; we remain there, frozen like parts of the scenery, in our grotesque poses of submission. A feeling of discomfort overwhelms me, a mix of shame and anxiety. On one hand, the terror of being chosen for some degrading and sadistic game, on the other, the fear of being completely ignored and reduced to absolute insignificance.

The first executive served turns towards us and approaches. He scans us with his eyes but finally stops on Linda. "Hello Linda, how about you come relax with me?" he says, with an almost affectionate smile on his lips. He grabs her leash and leads her to the lounge. Two other executives arrive together, continuing their conversation while looking at me. "Look, a new one. She's quite cute with her doe eyes." My heart races; the idea of being alone with them terrifies me. His companion responds by glancing at Ashley: "But you weren't going to be unfaithful to Ashley, were you?" Ashley then approaches him, rubbing against his leg. He pats her head, and then the three of them head to the lounge. A sigh of relief escapes me, my shoulders relax, and I breathe again. I now understand that some have their regulars and manage to navigate this hell with a semblance of stability.

Another executive arrives, a coffee cup in one hand and a book whose cover has been oddly painted white in the other. He observes us for a moment, then leans towards me. "The new one, do you like stories?" His voice is slightly gravelly, a tone that contrasts with the surrounding hardness. Confused by his question, I nod, almost reflexively. He smiles and removes the leash from my mouth. "Let's get some fresh air in the garden, okay?" To my own surprise, I give him a hesitant smile, and then we head outside.

The executive gently leads me towards the exit of the Pet Coffee Shop, my senses on alert, every fiber of my body tense with uncertainty. We approach the door leading to the garden. The idea of crossing this threshold petrifies me. This garden, with its toilets disguised as bushes and its nooks where humiliations often take a cruel turn, has never been a place of peace for me.

But as we cross the threshold, the fresh air hits me with surprising intensity. Each step I take on the paved ground resonates like an echo of my fears, my memories. I scan every corner, every shadow, fearing that this moment of calm might be the prelude to a new ordeal.

He walks calmly, as if there were no danger, no threat. This intrigues me as much as it unsettles me. Why did he choose me for this walk? What does he really want? Yet, he doesn't seem in a rush to go to any particular place, showing no signs of the usual executive pressure. Maybe this walk is just what it seems to be... But I can't help staying on guard, ready for anything.

In the garden, he takes his time, walking slowly while sipping his coffee. I crawl beside him, watching his every move. He's neither tall nor short, maybe around 5'9". His shoulders are broad, his body slender. Small ears peek out from his curly, surprisingly pale orange hair. His steps are light, almost dancing, and he exudes an unshakable serenity, as if no pressure could reach him. His eyes, attentive and round like a frog's, strangely contrast with his relaxed attitude. Reaching an empty bench, he stops and looks at me. "Let's stay here for a while," he says calmly.

He sits on one side of the bench and motions for me to come closer. "Come, I'll help you up." Gently, he helps me climb onto the bench. "It can't be very comfortable on all fours. Lie down on your side." His hand gently guides me towards the backrest, then he places my head on his knees. My breathing quickens, but this time it's not from anxiety, rather from unexpected shyness. Blood rushes to my face, and I feel my cheeks flush. "Now that you're settled, I'll read you this book." Decidedly, this day is full of surprises. Despite his reassuring attitude, the horrors of the day still haunt me. I decide to stay on guard, even though a strange sense of calm begins to envelop me.

I've been lying on his thighs for thirty minutes, listening intently, captivated by his story. From time to time, I discreetly turn my head to look at his face more closely. He seems young, perhaps in his twenties, with azure blue eyes, a long, thin nose, and a small mouth with delicate lips. His reading is clumsy; sometimes he stumbles over words or adopts intonations that don't quite match the text. Yet, the more I listen, the more reassured I feel, because it's these imperfections that make the moment oddly soothing. It's in these flaws that I find a bit of humanity, as a counterpoint to the coldness of this place.

The story he tells me is about a young man who saves a goldfish trapped in fishermen's nets. This fish turns out to be a sea princess, living in a grand aquatic castle, who came to observe humans out of curiosity. She returns in human form and invites the young man to spend time in her kingdom. But he doesn't know that time there is distorted: one day under the water equals several years on land. After three weeks of love with the princess, he returns to his world, only to discover that a hundred years have passed, and he's now alone, everything he knew having vanished. The story ends with his suicide, unable to bear the weight of his loneliness in a world that has become alien.

Tears in my eyes, I'm overwhelmed by a wave of sadness and gratitude, moved by the tragic beauty of this tale. The executive, seeing my emotion, gently strokes my hair.

"It's nice to see that this story moved you," he says in a soothing voice, but his gaze then drifts into the distance, his face hardening, a grave expression taking over. "You know, this kind of writing is forbidden because it doesn't align with the rigid precepts of Justice." His hand tightens around the closed book, revealing a subdued anger.

I hesitate, my body tensing instinctively. Should I really show him that I understand him? That he can trust me? Slowly, I move my head on his thighs, trying to reassure him, to ease the tension I sense. His hand relaxes a bit, his grip loosens.

"Zoey, you know..." I turn my head towards him, our gazes meet. His expression softens, an unexpected complicity illuminates his face. "I'll share a secret with you... I wrote this book. I just finished it. I count on you to keep this quiet, okay?" He winks at me, a conspiratorial smile forming on his lips. "I have a few more in reserve. Would you like to hear another one next time?"

A comforting warmth fills me at the thought of experiencing such a moment again, a peaceful interlude in this hell. I smile at him and nod enthusiastically. I'm happy to have met him. He's the first person, despite being a consumer of this system, to show sincere opposition to what it represents.

"By the way, my name is Lion," he says softly. "Nice to meet you, Zoey."