There were hundreds of characters Andie could play. Which one should she choose? Usually, that answer would have already solidified by this point in the interview, even if merely congealed, as could describe those few times she'd been too tired to really think, slimily sleepwalking through a recruiter screening. At this point, a few minutes in after having absorbed the general feeling of the building, the initial introduction to the company, and various unspoken attributes of the interviewer's demeanor, she would have landed on something: the curious but awkward nerd, the smooth professional, the eager student, or some other easily readable role.

This, however, was not happening today, for fuck knows what reason. It could be something about the persistent incongruity of the surroundings. This was, she had to consciously remember, an office like twenty or twenty-one floors above ground, and the company took up the whole floor, but the place - despite having no baked goods in sight, no office donuts or anything like that - smelled, in an on-and-off, unpredictable way, like a tiny, warm, even cute, bakery. It was far too pervasive to be the interviewer's perfume. Andie had expected a more clinical smell, specifically. Perhaps that was it. That part of her brain was just expecting something, constantly scanning for that something, taking up valuable CPU.

"So, Andie," and jesus fuck, she almost jumped out of her chair at Selene's voice. Selene, who was right in front of her, had been right in front of her the whole time, asking fairly normal questions. And so for what reason did she startle? No reason. The interviewer continued. "I see you have experience with both Django and FastAPI. Would you mind describing your experience with API design?"

After a long and terrible pause was filled up slowly with that swirling, darting, unplaceable croissant smell, the description Andie produced was similarly vague, following a convoluted path, tracing back to retrieve some information, coming back only to realize that she'd already said that, searching in airy, disappearing places until she finally found the right way to summarize her previous work on a web platform.

"Perfect. Very cute."

"E…excuse me?"

Selene's "cute" did not deviate one bit, tonally, from any of the pleasantries and politesse that they'd passed through earlier in the interview. Still, it was not… what people said, surely.

"I said: perfect. Very good." Same tone.

Let's just move past it, some fleeting bit of Andie whispered. Then, another remaining bit spoke. "Ah. Okay."

"So, we've already gone through the logistics, you've told me a little more about your experience, I'll now just tell you some more about what we do here. Unless you had any other questions for me so far?"

"Nope, I'm… I'm good for now."

Either the smell of vanilla and cardamom was stronger now, or Andie was just searching for the nonexistent hand-sanitizer smell more scrupulously. She pictured an aerial-view video of herself running around an almost comically picturesque field, an exaggerated version of one near the mountains where she'd played soccer as a child, chasing an oven-fresh butterfly in rich warm colors, trying to get a closer look. As that tiny Andie chased the tinier butterfly faster and faster, the butterfly picked up speed at a rate exactly matching tiny Andie's. The butterfly seemed to be adjusting faster than the information could possibly transfer. Spooky action at a distance. But big Andie's brain-eye couldn't really perceive that, so… let's call the whole thing off?

As tiny Andie and the butterfly collapsed into nothingness, big Andie's internals lurched out of nowhere at the idea of waking up in a hospital, having dreamed the whole thing, the overwhelming explanation flooding in, that's why she'd expected a clinical smell, that's why… But this explanation, as dramatic as it was, did not hold. She was still in the office with odd, short, square-glasses Selene, and she still inhabited an upright body in an uncomfortable chair, trying not to audibly sniff at a half-empty carousel of baked good scent. And she was interviewing for a fucking medical imaging company: a more boring explanation, perhaps, but one she could not escape. And she was going to get through this.

"Perfect. You must be familiar with our famous patented algorithm for classifying different cells in liver tissue. We do far more than that nowadays, though. We've developed a large number of similar classification models for other organs and tissues. Some are just in the research phase, not yet in clinical use. And in fact - you almost definitely don't know about this - I've just been cleared today to tell the public, including you, that we're currently building a suite of models to understand types of cognition that are shared across multiple people. The official announcement should be going out as we speak, actually."

"Like… fMRI analysis? Or wait, you said multiple people, so does this involve network analysis or something?"

Selene gave a small, almost pitying smile. "It involves finding correlations between measurements in a large number of different domains." Okay, not much of an explanation there. That could mean pretty much anything.

Something didn't feel right about this. There were the usual suspicions about companies like these using network analysis in unsavory ways, but going further than that, Andie hadn't even seen anything on the company website about any neurological software products, let alone this "cognition across multiple people" stuff. She wasn't too familiar with that. Like egregores and shit? No way, too mystical. Why the hell did Andie's brain immediately go there? Just because Selene hadn't bothered to use a more technical, specific term than just "cognition across multiple people"? Come on, focus.

Focusing, however, was still blocked by the spinning, ever-disintegrating invisible bakery.

Mercifully, Andie thought, Selene switched on a large monitor to show her a demo. Finally, something to latch onto. But Andie's anticipation of comfort blew apart instantly when the screen lit up with the most dizzying user interface she'd ever seen. More colors collected densely in one place than any thing she'd seen in a long time. Andie's eyes widened and chased anything that looked like an identifiable UI component, anything resembling a fMRI image, a heat map, anything recognizable. Part of the moving image would almost resolve, but not quite, and Andie would have to squint and peer into the part, only the part, like it was the whole image in itself, and then find another almost-recognizable component, and then…the process of mentally "zooming in" like that reminded her of something she was ashamed of, and she looked away, slightly to the side of the monitor, without moving her head.

She pictured tiny Andies, who chased tinier Andies, who chased still tinier Andies, who chased even tinier Andies, forever, in an impossible field.

Response caught before it could be blurted: "What the fuck am I looking at here?"

Response spoken: "So, what…metrics…are you using here? For this particular…visualization?"

Selene's smile slowly grew, slowly warmed. "It is both of us thinking about a specific set of words."

Andie nodded, slowly, and did not understand.

"Would you like to know what those words are, Andie?" Same tone as before, though the words were unmistakably incongruent. Same tone as "cute". Same tone as all the pleasantries. The words were also reminiscent of something Andie was ashamed of. But the tone. Always the same. It was yet another thing Andie couldn't figure out. This, on top of the…visualization. On top of the bakery smell, which danced in and out, playing the role of one baked good, then another, which Andie had almost forgotten about, but which was still here.

A businesslike Andie bubbled up from the layers of disorientation and said "Sounds good!", cheerfully, out of nowhere.

Selene shook her head, then, still smiling, almost glowing. "That happens later."

"L…later in the interview process. I get it."

"No. In a few minutes. Andie, do you want this job?"

"…Yes."

"Do you want to do something fulfilling?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to know more about the cognition project?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me to tell you about it in a specific voice? You know what I'm talking about."

There was no way. There was no fucking way.

But it was at least somewhat consistent. The recent memory reverberated: "Perfect. Very cute." Same tone. So there was a different tone she expected instead, obviously. A hundred tiny Andies all knew exactly what big Andie refused to think. And their revolt, their conspiracy against big Andie, started from the tips of her ears. That region was the first place where she'd noticed blushing the first time she was hypnotized by a close friend. There was simply no way, but yet it was. What happens, Andie thought, if I say, just for fun --

"Yes."

The excruciating warmth spread now throughout the ears and down the neck, and Selene hadn't even answered yet. Andies chased butterflies throughout Andie's body at delirious speeds. When would the answer come? When would it come? When would it come? When would it come? When would it--

"Good."

It flooded into every part of Andie's body. It reached into her brain, her spine. It reached into other places, too - places whose felt experience Andie had painstakingly designed through hormones, conversations with lovers, and prior conditioning. All this just from hearing the new texture of Selene's voice and knowing her intent.

Now, asking any question, let alone asking what the words were, was far out of reach of any Andie.

"You wanted to know what the specific words were, Andie. So curious. It's actually a trick question. The words don't matter. Only the structure matters. But we can think about those words, too. And you can repeat them, if you wish."

The wavefunction collapsed, now that this part of Andie was seen, touched. All Andies now moved in concert as one Andie. They spoke and felt:

"The words don't…matter. Only the structure. Matters." Every syllable set off sparks, in all the places that the warmth now inhabited.

"Again. The words don't matter. Only the structure matters."

"The words. Don't matter. Only the. Structure matters." It had become difficult to breathe. She kept forgetting how.

"Again. The words don't matter. Only the structure matters."

Time passed. A lot of time. It became evident, over this time, that the statement, even though it, yes, didn't matter, was completely true. Perhaps you had to consider the truth of the statement as completely accidental. Indeed, she wasn't thinking about the words, but the feeling of saying them, of hearing Selene saying them, was overwhelming to the spine, almost enough to make her cry out. But rather than a cry, it came out as clarity:

"The words don't matter. Only the structure matters."

"Very good, Andie. You've done so well. You can relax now. That's it, melting into my hands. So good at this, Andie. You can drop now. You can sleep."

before even listening, he had a few theories. the physical object matched the stereotypical idea of what a haunted or creepy item would be like - old, mysterious, with only the word "training" handwritten on the front. if you were a fan of horror stories, it would be easy to go into it expecting something to happen.

there was even a chance it was a prank, or a hoax, intentionally made to appear this way, to creep someone out.

of course, he wasn't going to jump to conclusions without taking a listen himself. he had been warned that it might be addictive, but, as someone who wasn't inclined to believe in ghosts and mysterious powers and mind control, he didn't think he would be especially susceptible to that.

he plugged in his headphones, pushed it in, and started playing it.

immediately, there was a strange tone in the background, and static noises, which sent chills down his spine purely from the sound. that alone could have been the culprit, especially if even he had such a reaction to it. he had no idea why these sounds would have been there, unless they were added intentionally - it didn't seem like some kind of degradation of the physical disc.

a voice began speaking, dull, monotonous, and slow. so slow. it should have been boring and frustrating to listen to, but it added to the eerie feeling, and he found himself giving it his full attention - which was good, considering he wanted to analyze it, he supposed.

he was trembling slightly, that tingling sensation coming in waves through his body. hopefully he would adjust to it soon enough.

apparently, this was supposed to be some sort of typing practice. he was at his desk, so his computer and keyboard were right in front of him - he opened up a word document, although it wasn't the same outdated software mentioned in the actual recording. this was an odd format to use for typing practice, though. a computer program could do things like assess your accuracy, cd audio couldn't - and besides that, if you just type out words that someone tells you to type out loud, you also have to focus on spelling them, and you might not know how, or they may use words that are ambiguous until you hear the full context of the sentence.

then again, it wasn't as if it would be unbelievable for someone to make a product that was completely pointless and inferior to another one.

it started with simple instructions for things like posture and where to rest your fingers. as an adult in his 20's who grew up with computers, he was already well acquainted with the home keys, although his sitting posture might have left something to be desired. he adjusted, straightening up the way the recording told him to.

the instructions themselves and the way they were phrased didn't strike him as especially unusual. it was really only the tones and static in the background, and the very slow, almost tired sounding speech that made it feel different from any other educational or training audio. there weren't any conspicuous suggestions to relax, or give in, or something like that, no outright hypnotic language, no triggers being implanted, no subliminals being whispered in the background.

and yet, it felt very odd to listen to and follow along with. he was warm, his head becoming sort of fuzzy. it wasn't as if he couldn't think. but it was... unlike anything he had felt. his body was no longer trembling, but there was still this persistent feeling, this sensation, that was... good. it felt good, for some reason.

finally, it was time for him to type. he waited for the voice to finish saying the first phrase before hammering it out on the keyboard all at once - the candy melts on your tongue. it was an interesting sentence. he would have expected it to be, "melts in your mouth," since that was a more common phrase. there was something more intimate about mentioning the tongue, specifically. the word "melt" also stuck out to him - a hypnotic induction could mention something about having your tension or resistance melt away.

it was a stretch, sure - he didn't really think this was actually intended to be covert hypnosis, or anything - but, if he wanted to make sense of his friend's reaction to this recording, it was worth listening for anything that someone could potentially react to.

for the next one, he figured he would attempt to type it out as the phrase was being spoken, which seemed more like what he was intended to do. the machine needs power to operate. he found himself finishing each word before the voice had finished saying it, and waiting impatiently for the next. that didn't feel like the ideal approach for this, either.

the phrase was also interesting. someone could be compared to a machine while being hypnotized. particularly while focusing on a task like this. the reminder that they need power could imply that that power could be taken away.

he decided that he would try to follow the pace of the voice, typing out each sound as it was spoken. the next sentence started.

i...

counted...

one...

hundred...

sheep...

before...

falling...

asleep.

the specific mention of sleep was noteworthy. that was obviously commonly associated with hypnosis. including a number was also strange. if he had allowed himself to type more quickly, he probably would have just written it as 100. it could have been written either way, and both would be correct. he would have expected something like this to be clearer and more precise about what exactly he should be typing.

the next sentence started.

he...

emp...tied...

out...

the...

bo...ttle...

un...til...

there...

was...

no...thing...

left.

another chill ran down his spine. was it on purpose? maybe these phrases were intended to be hypnotic, after all.

the way that he had deliberately tried to match the pace of the voice only intensified the effect. normally, he typed very quickly, at about the same rate that he thought the words. writing like this, it seemed almost as if even his thoughts, even his mind, were slowing down to a crawl. as if they were being slowed like that by this voice. the idea sent waves through his body again, and every word he listened to felt more sensitive than the last.

the next sentence started.

they...

list...ened...

close...ly...

to...

the...

sound...

of...

the...

waves...

every word was enunciated so carefully. every syllable was satisfying.

the voice just continued droning on, mind-numbingly, through phrase after phrase, each phrase being made up of words, made up of syllables, made up of letters to press, one after another. the sentences were all just vaguely reminiscent of something you would hear in a hypnotic context, but just mundane and innocent enough that he couldn't be sure how intentional it was. no, it must have been intentional... there was no way that someone could strike such a perfect balance on accident.

after a while, he didn't bother remembering each and every one of them. words stood out to him - sink, deep, relax, blank - and it took a considerable amount of effort to even recall those words individually. after completing a sentence, he would just get the feeling that there was a word in there that had particularly affected him, and he tried forcing himself to remember, just to prove he could, until he eventually told himself that he would simply read through everything he typed once it was over, and analyze it then.

it was particularly nice after he had stopped caring about that. a hazy, distant part of him wondered if what he was typing was even correct or coherent anymore. maybe it wasn't. his fingers moved on their own, his mind just listening to the audio, enjoying the smallest, most delicate sounds of it, the clicks of the tongue, the breaths, the static. the tone in the background was hardly even noticeable anymore.

by the time it had ended, it felt sort of abrupt. it was quiet, the warmth of the sounds being removed from him so suddenly, like someone ripping off a blanket. he reached for the cd player, about to replay it, before stopping himself, seeing his hand hovering just over the button.

this was exactly what he had been warned about. he was really about to do that, without thinking anything of it? he withdrew his hand, taking off his headphones, and looking at his computer screen. it surprised him, at first, how late it had gotten - but then again, looking at how much he wrote, and thinking of how long each sentence took, it made sense.

sure enough, as he read through each of them, he found various words and phrases that he remembered enjoying, all of them seeming to suggest things like relaxing and focusing, falling into something.

even if this was supposed to be some sort of covert hypnosis experiment, that just made it even stranger to give the subject evidence of what exactly they had been listening to afterward. he had remembered the general gist of it well enough, but he certainly wouldn't have recalled or been able to analyze each and every sentence, if he hadn't been instructed to write them all down. reading them out like this didn't feel like it was going to put him into another trance, either - he was in trance earlier, wasn't he? he scrolled through all of it, noting that there didn't seem to be any typos or errors. none of it seemed to give any particularly complicated or concerning suggestions, either.

in fact, much of what he himself experienced seemed completely unrelated to any of it. there was nothing about amnesia, nothing about shivers, or tingling sensations, nothing about slowing your thoughts, nothing about focusing on every syllable. it must have just been how he personally interpreted it or expected it to feel.

as for the desire to repeat it... he supposed there was something about practicing, about how it gets easier the more you practice, but that doesn't necessarily imply repeating it over and over again in a single sitting.