Sorin breathed in the crisp morning air, clutching his phone in one hand. After a restless night replaying Ravenor’s cryptic tales of “toppling small regimes,” he’d woken early, keen to distract himself with something—anything—less unsettling. Today was his second day at the new sales job, and he was determined to prove that his Tier 1 manipulations worked just as well in an actual workplace.

He’d left Ravenor still asleep (or feigning it) in their cramped living space. The tension between them was palpable—Sorin wanted more detail on advanced methods, but he also sensed the moral sinkhole beneath them. For now, he kept to “scratching the surface” as Ravenor advised, honing observational skills. At least the job might give me a fresh start.

He arrived at the small, half-renovated office suite around nine. The place hummed with the chatter of phone calls and the clack of keyboards. Trent, his shorter, bespectacled quasi-supervisor, greeted him with a curt nod. “Glad you’re on time, Vex. We’ve got a new client we want you to call—just to get your feet wet.”

Sorin forced a polite smile, analyzing Trent’s tone: mild stress, a faint pinch between his brows. “No problem,” Sorin said, offering a hint of Positive Reinforcement. “Thanks for trusting me so soon—I won’t disappoint.”

Trent’s posture relaxed slightly. “Good. First, meet the team.” He gestured across the room at three cubicles, each occupant wearing a headset. “They’ll show you the ropes.”

As Sorin headed over, he paused, noticing a face that triggered an uneasy jolt of recognition: Calvin Niles, an old acquaintance from a dismal telemarketing job Sorin once held. Calvin had always been competitive, if not downright hostile, about “top performer” stats. What’s he doing here?

Calvin spotted him, narrowing his eyes. A slow, unpleasant smile curved his lips. “Well, well. If it isn’t Sorin Vex.”

Sorin’s stomach clenched. “Calvin. Didn’t know you worked here.”

Calvin leaned back in his squeaky office chair, crossing his arms. “Just started last month. They needed capable reps, so I stepped in. Didn’t expect them to hire… you.”

Past Rival. Sorin exhaled quietly, adopting a calm posture and scanning for microexpressions. Calvin’s jaw was set, and the tension around his eyes suggested suspicion or hostility. He’s not happy to see me. “Small world,” Sorin said, keeping his tone neutral.

Trent stood awkwardly between them, sensing the tension. “Calvin’s been our top seller so far,” he chimed, an edge of pride in his voice. “Anyway, let’s get you set up, Sorin.”

Before Trent could lead Sorin away, Calvin rose. “Mind if I show him, boss? I know how the systems run.” The request sounded benign, but Sorin read the subtle challenge in Calvin’s stance—the faint tilt of his head, a sly glint in his eyes.

Trent shrugged. “Sure. That’d be great.” He turned to Sorin. “Learn from Calvin. He’s got the highest conversion rate.”

Sorin suppressed a sigh. “Fine by me.”

Within minutes, Calvin had Sorin at a spare cubicle, explaining the phone dialer software in clipped, smug tones. “You’ll dial through leads here,” he said, tapping the screen. “But you’d better keep up. We have daily quotas, and no one’s going to carry your slack.”

Sorin matched Calvin’s posture—Mirroring—while scanning his microexpressions. The tightness around Calvin’s mouth suggested arrogance or a hunger to belittle him. He wants to see me fail. “Got it,” Sorin said evenly. “I appreciate the pointers, man.”

A scoff from Calvin. “Pointers? Right. Just don’t drag the team down.” He leaned in closer, dropping his voice. “I remember how you bailed on our last job—couldn’t handle the pressure. Think you can cut it here?”

Sorin’s pulse sped up. This was a public challenge—Trent and a couple other employees were within earshot. Stay calm. Analyze. Handle it. The old telemarketing memories churned in him: Calvin’s constant bragging, Sorin’s eventual burnout. “I’m not the same person,” Sorin answered, keeping his voice composed. “But thanks for the concern.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Calvin’s sneer widened. “We’ll see.”

Over the next few hours, Sorin threw himself into calling leads. He used Active Listening to pick up hesitations or interest, Mirroring the customers’ pace or tone, and occasionally dropped a hint of Scarcity—“We only have a limited number of spots left”—to push for faster decisions. Each small success felt like a testament to Ravenor’s training. Meanwhile, Calvin hovered, occasionally tossing snide remarks about “rookie mistakes.”

Around midday, the tension peaked when a potential client that Sorin had warmed up suddenly asked for a callback. Calvin, overhearing, swooped in, claiming Sorin was “too green” to close the deal. Sorin noticed other coworkers exchanging wary looks.

“Look,” Calvin said loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, but these leads aren’t endless. If you can’t close, let someone else handle it.”

Embarrassment flared in Sorin’s chest. He could sense eyes on them—Social Proof swirling in the office. He’s humiliating me publicly. Sorin steadied himself, scanning Calvin’s posture: chest puffed, arms crossed, a sign of aggression or dominance.

Time to respond. Sorin inhaled, adopting a Mirroring tactic by briefly crossing his own arms, but then shifting to a neutral stance—flipping the script. “Actually, Calvin, I’ve got this. I appreciate your… concern.” He let a hint of calm authority seep into his tone.

Calvin smirked, but Sorin pressed on, speaking so the onlookers could hear. “Everyone sees I’m new, sure, but I’m catching on fast. And if you check the logs, I’ve already booked a couple of promising follow-ups.” He turned lightly to the nearest coworker, Sam, who’d witnessed the exchange. “Sam, you saw me handle that last call, right? Went pretty smoothly, yeah?”

Sam nodded hesitantly, offering a small thumbs-up. Social Proof. The subtle involvement of a bystander.

“Right,” Sorin continued, focusing on Calvin. “We might only have so many leads, but I’m not about to waste them. If you want to race for conversions, bring it on. Otherwise, let me do my job.”

Calvin’s sneer faltered, a faint flush creeping over his cheeks. A flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—he hadn’t expected Sorin to stand up with such calm confidence. The tension in the office soared, half a dozen stares pinned on the confrontation.

Sorin felt a sliver of guilt—this was exactly the manipulative “small-scale social win” scenario Ravenor had described. But damn, it felt good not to cower.

“Fine,” Calvin muttered through gritted teeth, stepping back. “Do what you want. Don’t whine if you fail.”

He stomped off, leaving the office atmosphere charged. A couple of coworkers gave Sorin sympathetic nods. Sam offered a quiet “Nice one,” and Sorin exhaled, adrenaline pulsing. He realized he’d used Scarcity and Social Proof to highlight Calvin’s overreach, plus that flick of Mirroring when he matched Calvin’s stance—only to shift. Not a big confrontation, but enough to defuse him publicly.

Later, on a coffee break, Trent pulled Sorin aside. “I saw that exchange with Calvin. I appreciate you holding your ground calmly—he can be, uh, intense. Don’t let him rattle you.”

Sorin forced a small grin. “Thanks. I’ll handle it.”

Trent clapped him on the shoulder. “Keep the calls coming. Management likes hustle.”

As Trent walked away, Sorin leaned against the breakroom counter, letting out a shaky breath. He’d won a minor victory, but the unsettled guilt gnawed at him. Calvin’s mortified expression flashed in his mind. I humiliated him in front of everyone. Sure, Calvin had it coming, but was that the start of a darker path?

He recalled Ravenor’s cautionary words. This was just Tier 1—Mirroring, Social Proof, mild Scarcity. Yet it’d cut the rival’s pride down effortlessly. If advanced manipulations were even more potent, how easily could Sorin devastate someone’s entire life?

By quitting time, Calvin avoided Sorin’s gaze, fuming quietly in his cubicle. Sorin packed up, nerves still buzzing. He left the office with a swirl of triumph and regret tangling in his chest.

Ravenor waited outside, leaning on a lamppost with a cigarette in hand. “Saw you walk out with your head high. Good day?”

Sorin released a ragged chuckle. “Yeah, sort of. A coworker—a rival, really—tried to embarrass me. I turned it around in front of everyone.”

A satisfied glint crossed Ravenor’s eyes. “Feeling guilty, or proud?”

Sorin snorted softly. “Both. Proud that I didn’t cower, guilty I might’ve gone too far. I manipulated the group’s perception to corner him.”

Ravenor exhaled smoke into the dusk. “That’s how power works, Sorin. Even simple tactics can topple someone’s stance if done publicly. You see the cracks forming in your conscience?”

Sorin nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. But I’m also… relieved I can protect myself.”

A slow smirk ghosted Ravenor’s lips. “Exactly. Once you taste that control, it’s hard to let go.”

They walked down the sidewalk in silence, neon signs reflecting in puddles at their feet. Sorin’s mind replayed the confrontation. He realized he was nearing a crossroads—the more he used these methods, the easier they came, the less remorse he felt. Or maybe the remorse was just sinking deeper, waiting to erupt.

All he knew was that Tier 1 manipulations had carried him through another conflict. What next? The thought simmered as they turned a corner, passing flickering billboards. Ravenor’s talk of advanced manipulations lingered like a siren call—dangerous, but oh so tempting.