Elias Renn had shown up for what he thought was a standard interview at a mid-city consulting firm. The elevator ride had been ordinary, the receptionist polite, the office space minimal and sun-lit. Nothing suggested anything unusual.
The interviewer introduced himself only as Mr. Calden — calm, quietly smiling, and almost overly composed. His questions were extremely ordinary at first: previous work history, strengths, goals. But soon, the conversation faded into something stranger.
“Have you ever felt like your body doesn’t fully belong to your awareness?” Mr. Calden asked, writing without looking up.
Elias tried to respond, but the room felt heavier. The lights dimmed in a way that didn’t make sense — like dusk had crawled in between seconds. He blinked once.
And everything went dark.
When he woke, he was on the floor — light streaming in from the blinds above. His clothing was askew as though he had collapsed unexpectedly, not intentionally. He felt weak, disoriented, but unharmed.
Mr. Calden was still at the desk, calmly taking notes as though nothing unusual had occurred.
“You’re experiencing a threshold moment,” the interviewer murmured, not looking up. “Most people never get to one. Your perception is adjusting to truths that were always there.”
Elias tried to speak, to ask, What happened? — but his voice wouldn’t form.
Mr. Calden closed the notebook, finally meeting his eyes.
“Your interview has only just begun.”
