(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
Follow this link to read Chapter 1 first, and this link for Chapter 2.
The morning light was just starting to make itself known as Eli huddled in the back of an Uber, his head resting against the cool glass of the window, a low-grade headache pulsing at the back of his eyes. His skin still felt the phantom brush of Roxy’s expert attention; in her car, in her garage, and then several more times in her bed. Determined to keep this latest relationship contained to the status of a one-night-stand, he had managed to extract himself from her bed with the precision of a man escaping a snare. He’d played the "early morning deadline" card, a classic move that Roxy, in her new, hyper-focused devotion, had accepted with minimal protest; just a pouting, lingering kiss that tasted like cherry gloss and a standing invitation to come park in her garage anytime…
He was exhausted. Not just physically, but deep in his soul. The “desire” Nyx always spoke of felt more fleeting with each encounter, leaving him dwelling on his melancholy thoughts and the state of his soul. He didn’t know exactly when he had stopped relishing the power Nyx had offered him all those years ago. Maybe he’d always had misgivings deep down and it was just the recklessness of his youth that had propelled him down this road. Either way, the fleeting joy and sensation that invariably came after meeting each new object of his desires no longer came even close to counterbalancing the shame and regret he always felt later. He knew, in his bones, that he needed to find a way out of this damned contract. But he couldn’t see any loopholes, and who was he to go toe-to-toe with a demoness? She held all the power, literally. As far as he could see at this point, all he could hope for was to cloister himself as much as possible in his own little world, and just hope that he minimized the risk of any future encounters.
As the Uber pulled up to his apartment, Eli tried to rub the headache out of his forehead before stepping out of the vehicle. Even summoning the Uber had been an ordeal - the first four drivers the app selected had each been women he would personally describe as cute, or even hot. He just couldn’t risk another reason for Nyx to show up, not so soon. He knew she’d get a kick out of a repeat visit, and probably be thrilled to continue developing his supposed street racer fetish, but he was in no mood for another flight of sexual fantasy with Nyx at the wheel. He’d canceled every driver until the app offered up a winner; the balding man who looked to be in his sixties with a thick grey beard and a flannel shirt who currently sat in the driver’s seat ahead of him. Eli waved a silent thank you to the driver, tipped him generously, and then stepped out of the car. As he approached the lobby of his building, he exhaled a breath he felt he’d been holding since the previous morning. Safe. No accidental triggers here. Not at this early hour anyway.
He stumbled into his apartment. The silence of the space was usually a comfort, but for some reason now it felt like an empty void. He went straight for his laptop, his fingers hovering over the keys. “Hey Marcus, think I might’ve caught a bug. Staying home today.” Simple. Effective. He could spend the day petting Pixels the cat, staring at the walls, and not accidentally ruining anyone’s life.
But then, just as he was about to send the message, his inbox refreshed and he noticed an unread email blip into view. A message from Marcus, sent at 11:30 PM the night before.
> Subject: URGENT - Morning Meeting
> Eli, sorry for the short notice, but don’t be late tomorrow. Big changes coming to the department. Need to see you in Conference Room Z at 9:00 AM sharp.
>
Eli stared at the screen. Marcus was usually a "send a Slack message at 10:00 AM" kind of guy. For him to email late at night meant something was actually happening. A flurry of irrational panic rushed through his thoughts. Was he getting fired for working from home too much? Had someone noticed something about his own unusual behavior lately? Was it the mandatory return-to-office that sometimes kept him lying awake at night, dreading the idea of more interactions with the outside world?
"Damn it," Eli whispered. He couldn't afford to lose this job. It was the only tether he had left to a normal life. If he lost his job, he’d be a total shut-in with nothing but his curse, his cat, and a conniving demoness for company.
He showered, scrubbing off the lingering scent of Roxy’s perfume, and dressed in an outfit that was equal parts professional and unassuming: a baggy grey zip-up sweater and charcoal slacks. He looked like a man trying to blend into a cubicle wall. It usually worked.
The second Uber was another gamble, but one he couldn’t avoid seeing as he had carelessly abandoned his car at work. At least by going in today he’d be able to rescue his unattended vehicle. He plugged in his work address, then watched the app with bated breath, paranoid that he’d get distracted and accidentally summon Nyx’s next victim right to his door.
Driver: Sheena.
Cancel.
Driver: Janika.
Cancel.
Driver: Mike.
Safe. Finally.
The walk into the agency felt like a high-stakes stealth mission. Eli kept his eyes on his phone, scrolling through empty menus to avoid accidental eye contact with the receptionist or the bubbly interns in the lobby. He made it to the third floor, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
He checked his desk—nothing but a few post-it note reminders about font choices for a recent project—and then pivoted toward the glass-walled conference room. Marcus was already there, leaning against the mahogany table, looking uncharacteristically energized.
"Good, you saw my message," Marcus said, beckoning him in. "Come in, sit. You look a little peaked, Eli. You staying hydrated?"
"Just a long night, Marcus," Eli said, taking the seat furthest from the door. “So what’re these ‘big changes’?”
Marcus chuckled, rubbing his hands together. "Right, right. I realized this morning that my email was a bit cryptic. Look, you’re our top guy. Your designs have this... I don't know, this raw, visceral appeal, especially lately. Clients are obsessed. But you’re drowning in the grunt work. Resizing assets, filing, scheduling... it’s a waste of your eye, not to mention your talents.”
Eli couldn’t help but feel flattered at the flood of compliments from his direct superior, but he simultaneously felt a cold pit form in his stomach. He wasn’t quite sure where Marcus was going with this. Accolades and promotions were nice and all, but the one thing Eli wanted the most right now was to avoid any extra attention. The last thing he needed was Marcus pushing him into any kind of spotlight. “Marcus, I’m fine with the grunt work. Really."
"Nonsense! I want you to coach our new hire. Fresh out of state, top of last year’s graduating class. Gonna need a mentor who knows the 'soul' of the brand. You’re going to show her the ropes, and in return, she’s going to handle a portion of your administrative tasking. Consider her your right hand."
“Wait… she?" Eli’s urgent voice came out a bit strangled. "Marcus, maybe Kyle would be better suited for this task. He’s also very... efficient. Very organized."
“No offense to Kyle, but the man is a robot, Eli. This girl has spark, like you. You’ll be a dynamic duo, I can tell. She should be up any second—"
At that moment, the heavy glass door to Conference Room Z swung open.
The new hire was exactly what Eli feared as soon as his boss had said the words. She was young, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, with a mess of wavy brunette hair and a pair of oversized, stylish glasses that sat on a button nose. She wore a sensible, modest floral dress and carried a portfolio bag like it was a shield. She looked smart, ambitious, and utterly nervous.
"Hi! Sorry," she said, her voice bright and slightly nervous. "Am I in the right place? All these doors look exactly the same. I think I’ve walked into the breakroom three times now. And I figured that Z would be way further down the hall; didn’t realize there were only three conference rooms! But I get it, X, Y, and Z, like dimensional axes? Very funny! Sorry, I think I’m rambling…“
She looked at Marcus, then her gaze shifted to Eli.
Eli tried to look at his shoes. He tried to look at the whiteboard. But his eyes, drawn in by her adorable monologuing, snapped upward, taking in her cute office look, her hair, her awkward smile, and then…
Their eyes locked.
The sound of a chuckle from Marcus died mid-throat. Dust motes in the sunbeams from the third story window stopped their frantic dance. The clock on the wall, a sleek digital model, stayed frozen at 9:04:12. The only thing in motion was a waft of red smoke dissipating across the floor. Eli put his head in his hands and looked at the floor, rubbing his eyes in disbelief and growing shame.
"Two in two days, Elias! My, my, my, my, my, you are a busy little bee."
Eli didn't even lift his head from his hands. He knew the voice. He knew the smell. It was all as familiar as the back of his hands. “Go away, Nyx."
"And miss all this? Never."
Nyx was leaning against the whiteboard on the wall, looking every bit the high-powered executive. Her crimson skin was set off by a crisp, black silk blouse and a pinstripe pencil skirt that hugged her hips with lethal precision. Her raven hair was pulled back into a severe, elegant bun, and she held a tablet as if she were about to deliver a quarterly report on Eli’s soul.
"She’s adorable," Nyx said, stepping closer to the frozen girl. She ran a sharp, black nail along the girl's jawline. “Or, dare I say, adorkable? Is that still a thing? Look at all that 'fresh-out-of-grad-school' optimism. So much potential. Such a clean slate. What shall we do? She could be a rival designer who hates you but can't help wanting you? A shy intern who is obsessed with you but practically faints when you speak? I have so many ideas saved up, you haven’t had a workplace romance in ages.”
Eli finally looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. He looked at the woman who was currently a statue of innocent confusion. He thought of Sage, now a vacant-eyed buxom barista. He thought of Roxy, a grease-stained fugitive pinup girl.
If he let Nyx choose again, she would without a doubt turn this girl into another extreme caricature. Another person lost to a trope. If he couldn't stop it from happening like he’d hoped, he could at least direct the blast. At any rate, he had to try.
"No," Eli said, his voice hard. "If this is happening, I'm calling the shots."
Nyx raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, her obsidian eyes shimmering. "Oh? The student becomes the master? Well, alright then Elias, I'm listening." She feigned a quick curtsy in his direction.
Eli took a breath, his mind racing. He needed to keep her close—not out of lust, but for her protection. He didn’t want to run the same risks that happened with Roxy. If she was his "assistant," he could control her schedule. Maintain a watchful eye. He could make sure she wasn't out there, in the world, causing unintended consequences. He could try to keep her focused on work, maybe? It was a pathetic hope, but it was all he had.
“Let’s make her my personal assistant," Eli said, hoping the words came out as strong and forceful as he intended. "Not a rival designer. Not an intern. An assistant. Or, I guess, a secretary? Someone whose entire job is just to help me out around the office. If she has to be devoted to me, I can... I can at least keep her safe. I can keep her here most of the time, in the office, where I can… mitigate the damage."
Nyx’s grin was positively predatory. “Ooh, Elias, so decisive. ‘Make her my assistant.’” she repeated in a mocking impression of his voice. “Very commanding. It actually gave me a little shiver. Well, yes Sir, right away, Sir. You want the classic 'Secretary/Boss' dynamic? The devoted, desk-side companion? A sexy secretary? Elias, you dog. I love it. It’s so... mid-century. So deliciously cliché."
"No, I didn’t say 'sexy'," Eli protested weakly. "Just... an assistant."
Nyx shushed him, pressing a cool, taloned finger to his lips. "Hush, darling. No one likes a micromanager. You’ve given me the theme. Now, let the master work her magic. You want a personal assistant? I’ll give you the ultimate one. One who wouldn't know a Photoshop layer from a layer cake, but knows exactly how you like your coffee... and how you like your ego stroked."
She snapped her fingers.
The red smoke didn't just drift this time; it coiled around the girl like a python, smelling of fresh printer paper and air freshener. Eli watched, his heart breaking yet again, as the sensible floral dress melted away. The girl’s silhouette stretched, her legs lengthening as her flat shoes transformed into five-inch stiletto heels that forced her calves into a permanent, taut arch.
The smoke swirled around her face, and when it cleared, her glasses were gone. Her eyes were framed by heavy, expertly applied lashes and a shimmering, smoky eyeshadow. Her lips were fuller, slick with a nude, high-shine gloss, and pulled into a permanent, slightly confused pout.
Her outfit was an HR nightmare of corporate eroticism: a black skirt so tight and short it looked like it was painted on, and a white blouse that was unbuttoned just one—no, two—buttons too many, revealing a glimpse of a lacy bra and cleavage that had to have been magically amplified.
The girl’s brain seemed to undergo the same "optimization." Her sharp, intelligent gaze softened, turning into something wide-eyed, vacant, and utterly focused on the space where Eli sat.
Nyx stepped back, admiring her handiwork. She reached out and gave the girl's miniskirt-clad asscheek a playful squeeze. "There. She’s perfect. She has exactly three thoughts in that pretty little head: filing, coffee, and you. This is what makes you such a good graphic designer, Elias. Your designs are so wonderfully… graphic.“ She gestured with a flourish at the girl’s newly voluptuous figure, as if to prove her point.
Nyx turned to Eli, her eyes gleaming with pride. "Enjoy your new 'right hand,' Elias. Try not to work her too hard."
With a final, mocking wink and a swirl of smoke, she was gone.
Time slammed back into gear.
The digital clock ticked to 9:04:13.
The new hire—the girl who had been worried about conference rooms—stumbled slightly on her new heels, her hips swaying with a hypnotic, practiced grace she hadn't possessed seconds ago.
"Like, oh my god," she said, her voice now a breathy, high-pitched warble that made Eli flinch. "I am like, sooo sorry. Like I said, like, all these doors are like sooo confusing! I could hardly tell where I was s’posed to go!"
Marcus didn't blink. He didn't seem to notice that she was suddenly wearing enough makeup for a red-carpet event or that her skirt was barely even considering complying with the company dress code. To him, suddenly, the woman had always been this way. He’d hired her after all.
"You’ve made it to the right place, my dear," Marcus said, beaming. He looked at Eli. "And I was just telling young Eli here that you would be joining his team as his personal assistant. Anything he needs—and I mean anything—that’s your responsibility. Understood?"
"Yes sir, like absolutely sir!" she chirped, her eyes snapping to Eli.
She walked toward him, the clack-clack-clack of her heels the loudest sound in the quiet conference room. She extended a hand, her nails long, manicured, and painted a soft, innocent pink. As she approached, Eli could see the dawning light of the curse in her eyes—a glazed, shimmering look of pure adoration.
"It’s like such a pleasure to finally meet you," she breathed, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper as she leaned over the table. The plunging neckline of her unbuttoned blouse left nothing to the imagination. "I’m, like, Tiffany. And I’m totally going to love working under you. I can, like, tell already."
Eli took her hand. Her skin was soft, and she squeezed his fingers with a suggestive firmness.
"Nice to meet you, Tiffany," Eli managed to say, his voice sounding understandably distracted.
"Alrighty then!" Marcus said, clapping his hands. "Eli, show her to her new desk. Get her familiar with the rest of your team, and the… uh... filing system, and whatnot. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” With that Marcus left the conference room, leaving the two of them alone. Tiffany was still holding his hand.
Walking through the office with Tiffany was like parading a neon sign through a moth convention. Every head turned. Kyle, the "monotone" designer, actually dropped his stylus as they passed. Tiffany didn't seem to notice any of it. She had tucked herself close to Eli’s side, her arm linked through his, her ample chest brushing against his sleeve with every step. Apparently, Eli was her sole focus.
Eli turned her toward his workstation, expecting to lead her to the small, cramped cubicle he imagined they would be occupying together. Instead, he stopped dead.
Impossibly, the hallway leading to his cubicle area had somehow stretched out. Where there had once been a generic white wall and a water cooler, there was now a spacious, sun-drenched alcove. A sleek, white lacquer desk sat positioned directly in front of a brand new office door, looking like something out of a high-end furniture catalog. It was equipped with a gleaming iMac, a vase of fresh peonies, and a plush, pink velvet chair.
Nyx hadn’t just changed the girl; she had edited the architecture of his life to accommodate the fantasy.
“Is this, like, mine?” Tiffany asked, her mouth dropping open into a soft ‘O’ as she swayed toward the desk. Her hips moved with a deliberate, exaggerated rhythm that Eli knew she hadn't possessed when she first walked through the conference room door. “It’s so... pretty. It totally matches my vibe.”
“Yeah, I suppose it does,” Eli managed, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s your desk. Your... workstation.”
He watched as she sat down, the velvet chair sighing under her weight. She immediately reached into the pink designer handbag she’d set down on her desk and pulled out a tube of high-shine gloss, reapplying it with practiced precision while staring at her reflection in the darkened computer monitor. She looked perfect. She looked peppy. She looked exactly like the kind of secretary a lonely, overworked graphic designer would daydream about during a mid-afternoon slump.
She finished applying her lip gloss, then appraised her reflection for a moment or two more, pursing her lips happily. She turned to him with a curious expression, batting her eyelashes sweetly, and asked, “Can I, like, see your office, too?”
“Of course,” Eli replied, mystified. As he glanced around, not spying his old cubicle, it clicked in Eli’s head that the office door behind her desk had to be his. All the other regular cubicles were still positioned where they had been before, but this new corner with Tiffany’s secretary desk, and the mysterious new office room behind it had appeared out of whole cloth. “Big changes” Marcus had said in his email. There’s no way he could have known how right he was. Eli steered Tiffany through the office door. He was as unsure as she was what he would find on the other side.
"So, like, this is where you make the magic happen?" she asked, looking at the triple monitor setup as if it were an alien spacecraft. Eli had been noticing a number of design awards hanging on the wall (with his name on them, even though he certainly didn’t recall winning them) but he turned to face Tiffany as she ran a manicured hand along the smooth edge of his upgraded desk. Eli knew he’d had a dual-monitor before, but apparently Nyx’s magic had installed more than a few improvements. “It looks, like, so complicated. You must be, like, a total tech genius."
"It's a pretty typical graphic design setup," Eli said, sitting down in his newly comfortable executive chair and gesturing to the brand new rolling chair across his desk to try to create some professional distance.
She didn't take the hint. She sat down in the rolling chair and scooched it around the desk until she sat so close their knees touched. The scooching produced some very satisfactory jiggling, Eli noted guiltily. She leaned in, peering at the in-progress logo designs he had open on his screens. "Ooh, look at those colors! I love colors. They’re so... colorful!”
Eli closed his eyes for a second. I did this. I chose this. He had wanted her to be his “secretary" to mitigate the damage, keep her close to avoid any unintended consequences. But he realized now that he really should have known better. Of course Nyx would twist his words, as she always did, and turn her into the sexiest stereotype of a secretary he could imagine. She wasn't anything close to a peer. She wasn't even a trainee anymore. She was a living, breathing manifestation of a libidinous trope whose primary directive seemed to be bolstering his own ego.
"Tiffany," he said, trying to find a professional tone, and invent a task to keep her occupied.
“Yes, Boss,” she fixed him with her full, undivided, attention, eyelashes fluttering, clearly hanging on his every word. Her expression sent a chill down his spine, but he was too confused to sort out whether the intense feeling was emotional or arousal. Probably both.
"I need you to... organize my digital archives. Can you do that?" he asked, hating how condescending he sounded.
"Um, totally!" she said, though she looked slightly confused at the word 'archives.' “Artchives, right. Isn’t that the thing on a computer with the, like, little folders? For all your artwork? I can totally do folders. I’m like, a folder expert."
She reached for the mouse, her hand overlapping his. She didn't move it. She just held his hand, looking at him with an expression of such soul-crushing devotion that Eli felt his throat tighten and his heart quicken.
"You have, like, the dreamiest eyes," she whispered, her head tilting to the side with a pensive expression. "Did you know that? I bet all the girls here are, like, totally jealous that I get to be your assistant."
"Tiffany, we… should probably get to work."
"I am working!" she giggled, leaning closer until her hair brushed his cheek. "I’m like, assisting you in being the best designer ever. Oh, do you want coffee? I bet you want coffee. I’ll go get you a coffee. How do you like it? Wait, like, let me guess... strong and powerful? Like you?"
She bit her lip, a playful, practiced gesture that sent a jolt of unwanted heat coursing through Eli’s body. By even the most charitable interpretation, the breakroom coffee sucked, but maybe he could use a cup of terrible coffee right then. He certainly felt like he deserved it.
"Just... a latte is fine," he said.
"Coming right up, Boss!"
She stood up, giving him a long, lingering look before sauntering toward the breakroom. Every man she encountered in the halls of the office watched her as she passed, their expressions a mix of lust and bemusement.
Eli put his head on his desk. This damn contract. He had almost given up on trying to outsmart it, but he had figured he could at least try to control the impact. He had thought he could create a role for her to occupy that wouldn’t require her to be completely rewritten to satisfy his fantasies. He would have been happy to just have the original Tiffany as a friendly, loyal assistant. If that was even her actual name; considering Roxy, he realized he didn’t even know for certain. But he was realizing the bitter truth of Nyx’s game. The curse didn't just change the women; it changed the world around them. It made the absurdity normal. It made his shameful violation of another human’s agency resemble a step up the corporate ladder.
He looked at his upgraded screens, trying, and failing, to find something productive to focus on. He was twenty-five years old. He was a talented designer, sure, but he didn’t expect to be handed a corner office or a personal assistant. If he was going to get those things at all, he wanted to earn them. But there he was currently being "assisted" by a woman whose entire personality had been deleted to satisfy his teenage self’s fantasy of a sexy secretary.
His revery was interrupted by a knock at the door. He expected to see Tiffany returning with a depressing paper cup of lukewarm coffee, but instead Kyle poked his head in.
“Hey Eli, I just sent those design mock-ups over. No rush, but when you have a sec, could you look over them and approve the changes?”
Eli stared at the man, blankly. Same old efficient Kyle, but Eli was not used to Kyle asking for his approval for anything. They were colleagues, equals. Heck, Eli was pretty sure Kyle started before him. What was going on?
“Boss?” Kyle was still staring at him, patiently.
Caught off guard, Eli merely stammered, “Sure, I-I’ll take a look at them. No problem, man.”
Kyle smiled gratefully, “Thank you. Again, no rush! I know it’s a busy day with training your new assistant and everything.” And with that, Kyle retreated back to his cubicle.
Eli just sat there, flabbergasted. Kyle normally barely spoke to him, let alone with that level of… deference. So now he wasn’t just Tiffany’s supervisor, but in charge of his whole team? Before he had time to process this turn of events, he heard the clack-clack-clack of Tiffany’s heels returning.
"Here you go, Boss! Extra hot!"
She was carrying a steaming ceramic mug of what smelled like a latte made with a high quality roast in a premium espresso machine. Apparently Nyx’s magic had upgraded the old Keurig, too.
Tiffany set the coffee down on his desk carefully, but she didn't leave. Instead, she stood behind him, her hands dropping gently onto his shoulders. She began to knead the muscles of his neck with surprising skill.
"You look so tense," she murmured. "You just need to, like, relax and let Tiffany take care of everything. I’m here for you, Sir. For whatever you need. Seriously. Anything."
Eli stared at his coffee, the steam rising in a slow, mocking swirl. The aroma made him think of Sage, triggering another wave of guilt. He shook his head and sighed. Tiffany’s hands were working wonders on his muscles. That thought reminded him of Roxy and the sublime work her own skilled hands had performed on him the previous night. More guilt. He thought of the girl Tiffany used to be, mere hours ago, the clever new grad who was worried about finding the right conference room. Whole lives erased. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Tiffany kept up her efforts, slowly moving the satisfying pressure from his neck down to his shoulders.
"Thank you, Tiffany," he said, his voice barely audible. No reason he had to be rude.
"Anything for you, Boss," she cooed.
He knew what would happen next. He knew how the day would end. He would eventually give in, because denying the devotion of a fantasy designed specifically for your pleasure was a battle no man was built to win. He would take her home, or they would find an empty office, and he would achieve the same hollow ecstasy as usual, then feel the same crushing guilt as always.
And tomorrow, he would try to resist again. And tomorrow, he would fail again.
Because Nyx was right. The contract wasn't a choice. It was more like a law of physics. And in Eli’s world, the only thing that mattered now was his own deepest desires, reflected in the vacant, adoring eyes of the women he inadvertently destroyed.
His train of thought abruptly derailed when Tiffany began nuzzling into the back of his head, trailing delicate kisses through his hair, down to his neck, leaving the responsibility of the back massage to her bountiful chest, which was now pressing firmly into him. Eli’s heart began to race.
"I really am going to hell," he muttered.
"Ooh, Hell?" Tiffany giggled, leaning further down to nibble his ear playfully. "Is that, like, a new nightclub? What a great way to unwind, Boss! We could go together, if you want! Would you like that? Do you like red? I have this super hot, kinda slutty red dress I could wear. What do you think?”
Eli didn't answer. He just stared at his lovely, eager personal assistant, reflected in his now dormant computer monitor. He took a sip of his coffee. It was perfect.
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
Follow this link to read Chapter 1 first, this link for Chapter 2, and this link for Chapter 3.
The rest of the work day played out pretty much as Eli expected it would. He tried to be productive to take his mind off things. He glanced over Kyle’s design mock-ups. Good, if a little boring. He looked over his own designs. But he kept finding himself interrupted, either by his own feelings of guilt and shame, or Tiffany’s near-constant attempts to “assist”. It seemed she was able to think of some reason to have a one-on-one interaction with him at least every fifteen minutes or so. And he honestly wasn’t complaining. The coffee runs were much more worthwhile now that the coffee itself wasn’t breakroom swill. The shoulder rubs and neck massages felt undeniably amazing, even if they relieved his tension and built up his guilt in roughly equal measure. The fact that she answered all of his phone calls at her desk was a huge help, especially since he now seemed to receive more phone calls than he could ever recall, what with seemingly being in charge of his old team in this new reality. He still hadn’t quite pinned down exactly what his new title was, but it was clearly above Kyle and the rest of his old teammates, while still answering to Marcus. He was about to look into seeing if he could find an organizational chart or something in the company’s files that could shed some light on the changes when Tiffany flounced in with yet another sticky note, summarizing yet another phone call, her handwriting as cute as it was crisp, every ‘i’ dotted with a little heart. Every time she came in to his office Eli was once again distracted twofold; by her appearance, of course, and by his ever-present guilt. He couldn’t focus to save his life, not after everything that had transpired over the past 24 hours.
The afternoon continued in much the same vein, winding down until eventually it was pretty much just the two of them left in the office. Most desk lights had been switched off, his former teammates and new subordinates had one by one poked their heads in and wished him a good evening before saying ‘goodnight’ and ‘welcome to the team’ to Tiffany on their way out, the newly hired secretary giggling and blushing at the attention. Even after everyone else on the team had left, Tiffany continued to tap away at her keyboard, and scroll idly on her phone from time to time. After 5:30, the office lights dimmed automatically leaving the both of them illuminated in the soft, blue glow of their monitors and the long amber streaks of dusk streaming through the windows. Eli had kind of hoped Tiffany would eventually excuse herself and head home, giving him a moment to himself, but as he should have expected it appeared she had adopted the mindset that if he was still at work, she would remain dutifully by his side, just in case he needed her.
Eli stood up, intending to tell Tiffany it was time to go home. He walked out to her desk. To his surprise, Tiffany was already standing, packing her tiny, fashionable purse. She looked up as he approached, her heavy lashes fluttering.
“I heard you push in your chair. Is the workday like, over already?” she asked. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them until he could smell the enticing scent of her perfume again. In the dim light, the vacuousness in her eyes seemed to soften into something more sensual, more urgent. “Because I was thinking... maybe we could stay a little longer? So I could like, help you out with any… extra work you might need… help with?”
She reached out, her long, manicured fingers hooking into the belt loops of his gray slacks. She pulled him another inch closer.
Eli looked down at her. He saw the pouty, glossed lips. He saw the cleavage that defied the laws of office decency. He saw the woman he had accidentally “designed" to be the perfect, compliant companion.
He knew he should tell her to go. He knew he should find a way to break the curse, to get Nyx to listen to him somehow and demand a reversal. Dozens of reversals, he thought with a long sigh. But as Tiffany leaned in, her breath warm against his neck, the words died in his throat. They’d been doing this dance all day. He could see the building desperation in her eyes, and if he was honest, he could feel the same desperation building inside himself. Thank goodness his new office had a door. And a lock. Nyx really thought of everything.
“Yeah,” Eli whispered, both of his hands finding her waist. “I think I have some extra work for us.”
Tiffany’s smile was triumphant and adoring. “I knew it,” she purred. “I’m like, a really hard worker, Eli. You’re gonna see.”
As he led her back into his office and the door clicked shut, Eli caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass against the fading twilight outside. For a second, he met his own gaze in the window, but he couldn’t hold it for long. He couldn’t bear thinking about all the damage done by his own staring eyes. Not if he was going to get any enjoyment at all out of what he was about to do. Before he was adrift in a tide of guilt once more.
An hour and a half later, Eli was finally gathering his things to head home. For real this time, even as the sound of Tiffany’s breathy, high-pitched giggles still echoed in his head. The pretense of "extra work" with Tiffany had quickly devolved into a blurred whirlwind of intimate moments; it started with a heated makeout session, which itself quickly devolved into an insanely satisfying blowjob, which itself was followed by Tiffany hopping eagerly up onto his desk, hiking up her skirt, and together they made sure her new position was a perfect fit. She was a masterpiece of office allure, anticipating his needs and desires before he even knew he had them. Suffice it to say, she definitely earned the overtime. If Marcus asked how she was settling in, Eli would happily and honestly report that Tiffany could handle any hard task shoved her way, that she had a deep commitment to getting hands-on experience, that she excelled at both synergy and integration, and that she accepted every new ‘assignment’ with a bend-over-backwards attitude.
After their closed-door session, Eli lay back on his new office chair, Tiffany seated in his lap, both of them mostly unclothed. When she finally pulled away to fix her smeared lip gloss and gather her carelessly discarded outfit, she first gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek, her eyes wide and vacant of anything but desire for him. She got dressed, squeezing herself back into her tight work clothes. She finished touching up her makeup and packed each item carefully into her little purse. Finally she slipped back into her five-inch heels and turned to wish Eli a good rest of his night.
“That was like, soooo productive. Ooh, I put my number in your phone in case you need anything from me. Text me literally anytime. See ya tomorrow, Boss!” she chirped, planting another enormous kiss on his cheek, then swinging her hips in a way that spurned any sense of ergonomics as she headed for the elevator. She was blissful, trapped in a bubble of synthetic adoration, entirely ignorant of the fact that just twelve hours ago, she had been a promising graphic designer with a sharp wit in a sensible floral dress.
Eli knew he needed to get home for many reasons, not least of which to feed his cat, poor Pixels, who spent most of the previous two days alone and unattended and was probably yowling up a storm by now. Nevertheless, Eli stayed at his desk for a long minute that stretched into two and then three, after the elevator chimed. The silence of the office felt heavy, pressing in around him. He just closed his eyes, and applied gentle pressure against his temples. His teenage id wanted to celebrate his sexual conquests, his accomplishments as a man. These days though, Eli felt less like a man and more like a black hole, pulling every bright, vibrant light into his orbit and crushing it into a singular, predictable shape before casting it into oblivion.
Eventually he stood up, grabbed his belongings, and made his way to the elevator, where he caught one more whiff of Tiffany’s perfume, now swirled together with the tell-tale aroma of sex. If there was even a chance this was going to become a new routine, he might want to think about bringing some scented candles or something into his new office. He made a mental note to ask Tiffany to order some for him the next day. He trudged out to the parking lot, his footsteps echoing in the cool evening air. His mind drifted to the long record of his own guilt, a distressing tally he kept, or tried to, to remind himself of the monster he had been for the past decade. In the months immediately before his encounter with Sage, he’d tried to quantify the damage, conducting a full accounting, but he realized he wasn’t sure if he could remember each and every one of the women who’d been swept up in his curse over the years. The transformations and subsequent titillations all sort of blurred together. That was a new, stark reminder of his disgrace to register. He had always told himself that even if no one else could remember their old identities, at least he always would. It had devastated him to realize even that wasn’t true.
He’d tried to tally them up anyway at the time, and to the best of his ability, he had accounted for at least 44 women in the decade since he’d made that desperate, teenage wish. He mentally clocked the count up to 47, now including Sage, Roxy, and Tiffany. Nyx had, of course, “optimized” each of them into various versions of his subconscious desires. Come to think of it, Nyx probably had a ledger recording each and every one. Heck, she probably had some kind of a trophy case dedicated to them. But there was no way in Hell he was going to ask her to recount their whole history. He could only imagine her gloating narration of each tragic transformation, and the justifiable mockery he’d be in for if she could remember any that he’d forgotten.
The demographics were a testament to the indiscriminate nature of his curse, and Eli supposed his libido, too. There were all kinds of women that had fallen victim to his wandering eyes. Each one had been a unique individual on her own journey; fellow students in high school and college with their whole lives ahead of them, retail workers, waitresses, one time a professor of his, a cute young woman waiting in line at the DMV, one of the HR reps who’d helped onboard him at the graphic design agency, a flight attendant on a flight to visit his grandparents across the country, the girl who sold popcorn at his local movie theater, the nurse at his local health clinic who administered his flu shot four years ago, and on, and on, and on. And each one had been flattened into some two-dimensional fantasy courtesy of Nyx’s magic and his own inner demons. Almost 100% of them had eventually abandoned their original career paths or personal ambitions to better serve the "role" Nyx had assigned them, Sage being the rare exception.
His mind dwelled on Sage, the wide-eyed barista who was now likely pouring lattes with a vacant, plush smile for whichever man walked in next. He thought of Roxy, the executive turned street-racer, and a cold shiver ran down his spine as he contemplated her reckless actions. He really hoped she hadn’t been arrested, and he hoped even more that she hadn't killed anyone.
Eli had by now reached his car, but like the day before, his departure was once again stalled by a distraction in the parking lot. Eli normally parked well away from the front door of the office building these days, so as to minimize the risk of encountering any crowds. This placed his car right across the sidewalk from the main road with just a narrow bank of green space and some scattered oak trees in between. As Eli approached, he noticed the rhythmic pulse of blue and red lights a couple of blocks away, apparently some kind of crime scene, but closer to him and the parking lot exit, a bright white spotlight cut through the emerging darkness of the late evening. A professional news van was parked precariously on the curb, its side emblazoned with the Channel 6 News logo.
Standing in the glow of the light was a woman Eli recognized instantly: Bridget Badden. She was the city’s premier investigative reporter, known for her razor-sharp questions and a professional, almost stern beauty. She was currently speaking into a handheld microphone, her face set in a mask of grim determination as she stared into the lens of a massive shoulder-mounted camera. Three men–a cameraman, a broadcast technician, and the van’s driver–rounded out her field team.
Curiosity, that treacherous instinct, overrode his caution. As far as he knew, the only newsworthy event that had happened on this street lately was Roxy’s street-racing and the traffic accidents it had caused. Protectively, he wanted to know about Roxy and make sure that she was okay. He also wanted to know if his (second) latest "creation" had left a trail of bodies in her wake. He walked away from his car, keeping to the shadows of a nearby oak tree, trying to get close enough to hear the broadcast without drawing any attention to himself.
"...still no leads on the identity of the driver," Bridget was saying, her voice a polished, authoritative alto. "Witnesses describe the vehicle as a 'cherry-red muscle car’.”
Yep, that had to be Roxy, Eli thought to himself, listening even more closely.
“The vehicle moved with a speed and recklessness rarely seen outside of professional stunt driving. The driver very nearly side-swiped an off-duty city bus, before directly causing the five-car pileup, which occurred just down the road from here during yesterday’s morning rush, and miraculously resulted in no fatalities. Police and emergency responders are still investigating the scene, but the perpetrator, whoever they may be, remains at large. If you have any information, please…”
As she spoke, her eyes naturally panned across the street, looking for good opportunities for B-roll footage. Her gaze swept past the oak tree, past the shadows, and landed directly on Eli.
The world didn't just stop; it felt like it fell out from under him.
The hum of the news van’s generator died. The blinking lights of the distant police cars froze into static beams of red and blue. Bridget Badden was caught mid-syllable, her finger raised to emphasize a point, her mouth hanging open with a general expression of professional concern. It was as if the whole world was buffering from a lost signal.
"Two in one day! Elias, you are absolutely insatiable," a voice purred from the roof of the news van.
Nyx was lounging against the satellite dish, looking like she’d just stepped off a runway in Milan. She was dressed in a "News Anchor Chic" ensemble—a blood-red silk blouse tucked into a jet-black pencil skirt that was split high up the thigh. Her hair, usually a wild cascade, was still done up in a sophisticated, razor-sharp bun like the one she’d sported earlier, though this hairdo somehow seemed more at home in a newsroom than a boardroom.
"I wasn't looking for her!" Eli shouted, his voice echoing unnaturally in the frozen vacuum. "I was looking for news about the other girl you ruined! The one who caused a pileup!"
Nyx hopped down from the van, landing soundlessly on her heels. She sauntered over to Eli, her obsidian eyes shimmering with ancient amusement. "Ruined? Such a harsh word. Roxy is having the time of her life. Trust me, she’s never felt more... driven. And as for this one..." She gestured toward Bridget Badden. "I must say, I’m impressed. You’re finally ending that dreary dry spell of yours with some real quality. A journalist? How very 'Clark Kent' of you."
“It’s only been a few weeks since Sage, Nyx! Not a dry spell!" Eli threw his hands up, then immediately buried his face in them, his shoulders sagging. "And I’ve already been with Roxy and Tiffany! Why am I even arguing with you? Please. Just... stop. She’s a professional. She’s doing important work. Don't do this."
Nyx walked over and touched his arm in a gesture that was surprisingly almost sympathetic. Her skin was cool like always, almost chilled, which somehow only made Eli feel more nauseous. "Oh, Elias. You deserve a treat. You’ve had a very stressful forty-eight hours. I can tell these things. Let’s make this one something special. Something... modern. Any ideas?"
Eli shrugged defensively, leaning his back against the oak tree. "I didn't even realize I had a crush on her. I just... I’ve seen her on TV. I thought she was hot, okay? Everyone thinks she’s hot. That doesn't mean she needs to be lobotomized!"
"You know how I feel about that word… I'm not removing their brains, I'm just… changing them. And besides, you know the rules," Nyx chided, her voice dropping into a mock-disappointed tone. "The spark was there. The eye contact was made. The contract is binding.” She shifted her attention to Bridget and raised her hand to start casting her magic.
“But, she’s a public figure,” Eli protested weakly. “Won’t someone, somewhere remember the old her? How can she just be erased?”
“I would’ve thought that was obvious, Elias,” Nyx paused and turned back to him. “When I enact the terms of the contract, the old identity is entirely subsumed by the new one, and reality itself bends to comply. There’s no trace of her left except in your memories. And mine. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, no one who knew them remembers their old selves; not their friends, coworkers, family members, and most importantly not the girls themselves. Not a soul can recall what’s transpired, or how things changed, except for you and me. You know, for as smart as you seem sometimes, you do need more handholding than I’d expect, darling. But you’re spent tonight, I can see that. And I don’t blame you in the slightest. You don't have the energy to 'design' her like you did with little Tiffany, so I’ll simply ask, do you have any preference for who she will be?“
Eli looked forlornly at Bridget Badden. He saw the intelligence in her brow, the grit in her posture. He tried to think about how he could save her. Was there something he could say to lead Nyx to a less complete transformation? Less ‘subsuming'? He didn’t have much time to think, and nothing he’d tried yet had worked anything close to how he intended it to. Plus, his brain felt like molasses. He felt a wave of exhaustion so profound he could barely stand. "I can't. I don't know how to protect her from this. Every time I try to mitigate it, things just get weirder."
"That’s alright, darling," Nyx said, a wicked grin spreading across her charcoal-painted lips. "I’ve already got more than enough inspiration to work with. The 'on-screen personality' angle is just begging for a glow-up. Something with a bit more... engagement."
She turned toward the news crew, her eyes momentarily glowing with a sinister, crimson light.
“The news is so boring, don’t you agree? Let’s give the people what they actually want to watch."
Nyx snapped her fingers.
Instead of a small puff of smoke settling on Bridget, an enormous, billowing cloud of red smoke erupted around the entire news van. It was thick and smelled of expensive hairspray and artificial strawberry. It swallowed Bridget Badden, her cameraman and crew, and the entire van in a violently roiling scarlet fog.
Through the haze, Eli heard the sounds of shifting metal and something that sounded strangely like the frantic tap-tap-tap of fingernails on a touchscreen. Through the shadows, the heavy, professional camera equipment appeared to melt away, replaced by an almost eerie shining light.
When the smoke cleared, the scene looked very different.
The Channel 6 news van was gone. In its place stood a sleek, white SUV covered in a pastel-colored vinyl wrap embellished with heart emojis and what looked like social media handles. The professional news crew had vanished entirely, as if they’d been erased from reality. Eli was afraid to ask if that was indeed their fate.
And Bridget Badden...
Eli’s jaw dropped. The professional, stern investigative reporter was nowhere to be found. In her place stood a woman who looked like she’d been manufactured by a TikTok algorithm.
Her crisp blazer had been replaced by a tiny, ribbed crop top that ended just below her bust, and a pair of skintight, high-waisted leggings, both in a loud leopard print. Her hair, once a controlled bob, was now a waist-length explosion of platinum-blonde extensions, styled in beachy waves that looked impossibly high-maintenance.
She wasn't holding a microphone anymore. She was holding a hot pink, glossy selfie stick, with an iPhone 17 Pro Max mounted to the end. The newsvan’s lighting rig had vanished with the rest of the professional television equipment, but the streetlights were on and casting a halo of artificial perfection onto her face. Her makeup was "heavy-glam"—huge lashes, contour that could cut glass, and lips that had been puffed up into a permanent, pouty "duck face."
She was still frozen in the middle of a monologue, but now instead of sparkling with intellectual astuteness and gravitas, her eyes appeared wide and vacant, focused entirely on her own appearance on the screen of her smartphone.
Nyx circled the new creation, nodding approvingly. "There. A vapid TikTok vlogger. Much more 'relatable' for your demographic, don't you think? She doesn't care about pileups or suspects anymore. Headlines give her a headache. All she cares about is content. Hearts and views, not hearts and minds. And all you have to do is like and subscribe.”
Nyx looked at Eli, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She leaned in close, whispered, "And this protects Roxy, too. You're welcome. Now go, enjoy," and then made a slow, deliberately lewd tongue-in-cheek gesture—the classic, mocking mimicry of a blowjob—before dissolving into a final puff of red smoke.
Time snapped back into motion as easily as pressing a play button.
"...and like, I was literally dying!"
The voice that came out of the former reporter was no longer a serious alto. It was a high-pitched, rapid-fire flurry of Valley Girl inflections, punctuated by vocal fry.
“So I was just sitting there, like, totally stuck behind this humongous accident on my way to the mall yesterday morning," she babbled into the phone. "And I was like, 'Hello? I have a fitting at 10:00?' Like, the trauma of being ten minutes late for my newest haul? Literally un-aliving me right now. I just like can’t even. Oh, huh, one sec everyone, I’ll be right back. Stick around for part two. And don't forget to like and subscribe, besties!"
She paused her livestream, her long, neon-pink acrylic nails clicking against the screen. She looked up, her suddenly intense gaze landing on Eli, who was still standing by the tree in stunned silence.
The vacant look in her eyes had immediately sharpened into the predatory interest of an influencer on the prowl. She didn't look at him like some random stranger; she looked at him like he was her next trending topic.
"Oh. My. God," she squealed, click-clacking over to him in her six-inch clear plastic heels until she stood right in front of him, her legs teetering precariously in the grass. "Wait, were you like, watching me record? That is so sweet! I don’t usually have a live audience!! What’s your name? Are you a fan? You totally look like a fan."
Eli took a step back, his hands raised. "I... I just saw you on the news. I mean, I thought you were..."
"Pffft, the news? Ugh, gross. Old school media is like, so yesterday," she said, waving a hand dismissively. She moved into his personal space again, the light from her phone screen nearly blinding him. "I’m Brielle, in case you didn’t know. I’m like, a lifestyle influencer? Fashion, beauty, and like, random road-trip trauma too now, I guess? I have like, three hundred thousand followers on the clock-app. Not that I’m counting!“
She leaned in, sniffing the air around his neck. "Mmm, you smell like... really good. I love that for you. You have to tell me what products you use."
“Um, I’m Eli," he managed to interject, his brain struggling to reconcile the serious woman he’d seen moments ago with this walking For You Page. “And—“
"Eli! OMG, stop! That is such a cute name!” Brielle said, her eyes scanning him with a dawning, magical lust that was now apparently standard for any woman Eli looked at for more than three seconds. "Wait, we should totally collab. You have like, such a good face. Maybe you could make a guest appearance in one of my 'Day in the Life' vlogs. Or we could like, go on a date or whatever and do a 'Get Ready With Me' together sometime? Or like, it’s been wayyy too long since I soft launched a boyfriend. You’d totally work for that."
She didn't wait for a response to any of her rapid-fire suggestions. She stepped even closer, her supple chest nearly pressing against his sweater. She grabbed the back of his neck with a firm, manicured hand.
"But first," she whispered, her voice dropping into a sultry, breathy tone that sent a jolt of pure, pavlovian male response through Eli’s system. "I think I need a little test of our… on-screen chemistry.”
She tilted her head upwards and decisively pulled him down into a deep kiss. The woman who had once been ace reporter Bridget Badden was broadcasting on an entirely different frequency than his recent trysts. Her kiss wasn't anything like the adoring, insatiable kiss of Tiffany, or the sweet, fawning kiss of Sage, or even the wild, hungry kiss of Roxy. It was a high-production-value kiss. Her tongue was bold, her movements performative, as if she were still conscious of an audience that wasn't there. It was a kiss that would look as good as it felt. The taste of her artificial strawberry gloss was almost overwhelming. Almost.
When she finally broke away, she was breathless, her eyes shimmering with a focused, obsessive need.
"Mmmmmhmmm, yeahhh,” she moaned, before tapping her phone screen on again. "That’s definitely good enough to go viral. It’s giving… soulmates.”
She fished Eli’s phone smoothly out of his pocket and held it up to his face so that it unlocked. Three brisk taps and a quick search later, he was her latest TikTok follower. “Text me, ‘kay? My handle is @BrielleBaddie, but I’ll just DM you my private number. We are like, totally going to be a thing."
Eli didn’t point out that she could have just given him her number now, but clearly it was more important to her that he connected on her socials. That… tracked.
She winked, dramatically blew him a kiss, and immediately turned back to her phone, restarting her livestream. "Okay besties, so I just met the hottest guy in this random parking lot? Hashtag breaking news amirite? I was literally just chatting with you, going on about some adult-ass-nonsense about traffic and the universe was all like, 'Bri, honey, you need a reward for all this hard work,' and then boom—there he was! Manifesting totally works, you guys! Literally! And ‘cause I’m such a baddie, you know I had to give him a little taste of the Brielle Experience and let’s just say, the vibes are immaculate.”
Eli didn't say another word. Apparently he didn’t have to. He turned and walked back to his car, his movements somewhat stiff and robotic. He got inside, locked the doors, and stared at the steering wheel for several moments. His phone pinged - it was the promised DM from Brielle.
Her personal number, followed by “Don't keep me waiting cutie 💅💖✨😘”
He started the engine, and as he drove out of the lot, he looked in the rearview mirror. Brielle was still there, bathed in the glow of her phone, spotlighted by streetlights in the darkening evening, talking to her feed, perfectly happy in her new, shallow world. He wished he could feel that level of bliss.
He had two phone numbers now. One from his new secretary who practically lived to serve him, and one from an influencer who seemed inclined to break the Internet together and broadcast his life to hundreds of thousands of people while they were at it. This was… not the day he’d hoped for. He was starting to truly ache from the weight of being haunted by the ghosts of the women whose lives he had accidentally erased, and yet, the last thing he wanted to do was forget any of them. He had to figure this out. He had to find a way out of this. He just didn’t even know where the hell to even begin…
Boston Converts 15 Office Towers Into 762 Housing Units
Office Towers to Housing: A New EraBoston's skyline is set for transformation as the city begins converting underutilized office towers into housing units. This initiative addresses the post-pandemic economic structural shifts.The Office to Residential Conversion Program tackles increasing vacancy rates in the office market. It aims to revive downtown's economy by repurposing office spaces. Effective property management will play a crucial role in maintaining competitive rent to keep the new housing developments occupied and tenants satisfied.The program will create both general and affordable housing units, filling a significant gap in the city's accommodation market. This is a step towards mixed-use development.With 15 applications at City Hall, the conversion of 20 office buildings into nearly 800 residential units is under consideration. This marks a shift towards vibrant mixed-use environments.Such transformations stabilize the office market by reducing vacancy rates. They also promise economic benefits for the broader downtown area.The program encourages population influx to the city center, enhancing vitality and economic activity. The state's commitment is evident, with $15 million allocated to support the initiative.Developers receive $215,000 for each affordable unit, incentivizing participation. Financial support and tax breaks make conversions attractive even amid high interest rates. A Payment in lieu of taxes (PILOT) agreement offers developers tax abatements, further enhancing the appeal of these conversions.A timeline is set, requiring developers to secure permits and start construction by the end of 2026. Some projects, like converting 85 Devonshire Street, are already approved.Transforming office spaces into housing reduces environmental impact, highlighting the program's sustainability. Dormitory options cater to students and workers, diversifying the housing scene.City-state partnerships with private developers are crucial for execution. Applications are accepted until the end of 2025, promising strategic collaboration.This initiative addresses economic challenges and promises enduring benefits. Boston aims to transform its skyline and reshape its urban future, integrating pandemic lessons with strategic development.AssessmentThe transformation of 15 office towers into 762 residential units marks a significant shift in Boston's real estate environment.This move addresses housing shortages while adapting to evolving market demands post-pandemic.As cities reassess their infrastructure needs, Boston's initiative could serve as a pivotal blueprint for urban centers nationwide.The implications for investors and developers are profound.Strategic shifts in real estate portfolios are required to align with this emerging urban trend.The era of dynamic adaptation is here.
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