Sorin woke to the rhythmic drip of a leaky faucet somewhere in the apartment, a sound that merged with the half-remembered echoes of yesterday’s manipulations. He lay still for a moment, eyes fixed on the ceiling, replaying each small victory at work: guiding Calvin into that half-day lead agreement, steering Lucy into handing over valuable leads, quelling angry customers with illusions. Every recollection brought a faint thrill, a twinge of pride. The guilt that once gnawed at him whenever he twisted someone’s perception felt distant now, softened by repeated success.

He rose from the fraying couch, ignoring the stale odor of the cramped living space. Outside, morning light struggled through the soot-streaked window. Glancing at his phone, he saw no messages from Ravenor, which mildly disappointed him—he’d half expected new instructions or a comment on the manipulations he’d deployed. Instead, the screen just showed the time: 7:02 a.m. Plenty of time to plan the day, he thought.

Gulping a quick glass of water, he rummaged for a half-edible granola bar to calm his hunger. Memories of Ravenor’s lessons on advanced manipulations floated through his mind. He’d started using Scenario Priming and Reinforcement Loops effectively on coworkers. But now there were two more new techniques from that first advanced “bundle” Ravenor had introduced: False Empathy and Silent Pauses. He’d glanced at their definitions in Ravenor’s folder but hadn’t yet used them in any real scenario. The thought sparked fresh anticipation.

He tapped the phone again, reading the bullet summaries:

8. False Empathy: Pretending deeper concern to manipulate trust. Often used to draw out personal details or create a temporary emotional bond, paving the way for further influence.

9. Silent Pauses: Strategic use of awkward silence to force confessions or offers. By withholding response at key moments, the manipulator triggers the target’s discomfort, making them overexplain or concede more quickly.

He pocketed the device and left the apartment, letting the morning air sweep over him. On the walk to the subway, he thought about how these new tools might fit into the day’s interactions. Maybe I can test them on personal acquaintances or in a casual gathering, he mused. Workplace manipulations were effective, but he sensed False Empathy might excel in more personal settings.

A half-hour later, he was at his office desk, booting up the computer. Coworkers drifted in, some still yawning. Calvin was absent—maybe late or avoiding Sorin’s presence. Lucy passed by, giving him a cautious smile. He responded with a polite nod, letting his mind swirl with the possibilities of continuing his dominance in the sales floor. The day began with a few standard calls: disgruntled customers, prospective buyers, dull negotiations. Sorin handled them with the manipulations he’d already mastered—Mirroring, mild Gaslighting, Scenario Priming—each success layering more confidence onto his psyche. Yet part of him itched to try out the newly minted False Empathy or Silent Pauses in a scenario that demanded a more personal touch.

Around mid-morning, the phone rang with an internal call from the front desk. The receptionist, Malia, informed him that someone named Jonah was in the lobby, asking to see him. Sorin stiffened at the name. Jonah. A longtime friend from before he’d gone down this manipulative path. They’d grown distant in recent weeks—Sorin rarely answered Jonah’s texts anymore, too busy forging illusions at work and ignoring old relationships. Why was Jonah here?

He told Malia to let Jonah in. A minute later, Jonah stepped into the sales floor with a hesitant wave. Sorin stood, motioning Jonah toward an empty conference room. This might be the perfect moment to test the new techniques, especially False Empathy. The twinge of guilt poked him—Jonah was a friend, after all. But Sorin’s thirst to refine his manipulations overshadowed any sentimental reluctance.

Jonah looked the same: brown hair slightly messy, eyes that flickered with concern as he glanced around the bustling office. He wore casual jeans and a hoodie, clearly out of place among the business attire. Once they were inside the conference room with the door closed, Jonah managed a faint smile. “Hey, man. Sorry to drop by unannounced. You weren’t replying to my messages.”

Sorin forced a rueful grin, adopting a warm, concerned tone. “Yeah, sorry, Jonah. Work’s been crazy. Everything okay?” Inside, he was already spinning up False Empathy, planning to feign deeper concern than he felt.

Jonah exhaled. “I’ve been worried about you. You hardly ever text back these days. Last time we spoke, you sounded… off. Is everything really alright?”

Sorin paused, letting a fraction of real guilt rise before smothering it. He stepped forward, laid a gentle hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “Hey, I appreciate you checking on me. I guess I’ve been stressed—debts, new job, you know? But I’m managing.” He let his voice tremble slightly, as if confiding a real vulnerability. False Empathy typically targeted the other person, but here he inverted it, playing at mutual closeness to reel Jonah in.

Jonah’s expression softened. “Look, I know you can handle your stuff, but I’ve never seen you this… distant. And I heard from a mutual friend that you’ve been acting different. More, uh, controlling? Is something going on?”

The question stung, but Sorin disguised his reaction. “Controlling?” He let out a low chuckle. “I guess I’m just more focused now, pushing to fix my situation. People might misread that.” Another gentle pat on Jonah’s arm, trying to project sincerity. “I’m sorry if I’ve shut you out. It’s not intentional. I truly care about our friendship.”

He employed a subtle Silent Pause right there, letting the air hang, eyes fixated on Jonah with what he hoped looked like genuine concern. Jonah shifted his weight, discomfort flickering in his posture. After a moment of uneasy silence, Jonah broke first: “Maybe I’m overreacting. It’s just… You didn’t show up to Mark’s birthday, and you never replied to his invitation. That’s not like you.”

Sorin exhaled, deciding to deepen the False Empathy. He let his features droop with regret. “Damn, I forgot about that. Work deadlines have been insane, Jonah. I’m juggling so much. You know I’d never intentionally blow off Mark’s birthday.” Another empathetic squeeze on Jonah’s shoulder. “I feel awful. Really. Let me make it up to you guys.”

Jonah’s skepticism seemed to waver. “Well… okay. If you say so. Let’s hang out this weekend, maybe? Just catch up, maybe help you unwind?”

Sorin considered. Hanging out with old friends risked them noticing how far he’d drifted morally. But if he could maintain the façade of normalcy—and perhaps glean additional manipulative practice—why not? “Sure,” he lied smoothly, “that’d be great. Let me check my schedule, but I’ll do my best to be there.”

Jonah visibly relaxed. “Alright, text me. Don’t ghost me again, okay?” A small grin tugged at his lips. “We’re still your friends. We worry.”

Sorin mirrored the grin, ignoring the guilt. “I promise. Thanks for caring, man.” Another gentle pat, intensifying the sense of connection. He was deliberately radiating closeness he didn’t fully feel. The flutter of success warmed his chest as he noted Jonah’s tension ebb away, replaced by relief. False Empathy was working, forging trust out of thin air.

They chatted a few more minutes about trivial updates, but eventually Jonah left, apparently reassured. As the conference room door closed, Sorin felt a pang of disquiet—he’d just used advanced manipulations on a genuine friend. The old version of himself would be horrified. Now, he mostly felt satisfaction at how cleanly he’d navigated Jonah’s concerns. I should feel worse, he thought, but the guilt was fleeting, overshadowed by a sense of control.

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Returning to his desk, he caught Lucy’s eye. She looked as if she wanted to say something but hesitated. He tilted his head questioningly. Lucy approached, eyes flicking around as if nervous. “Hey, sorry to bother you,” she whispered, “but could you possibly help with that data entry again today? I’m still swamped.” She bit her lip, posture slumped.

Sorin considered. Yesterday, he offered Lucy minor help in exchange for new leads. Perhaps he could repeat or even escalate that arrangement. “Sure, Lucy. But, mind if I ask a favor?” He dropped his voice conspiratorially, employing a slight Silent Pause after the question. Lucy fidgeted, blinking. The awkward hush pressed on her, prompting her to fill it.

“Of course,” she said quickly. “What do you need?”

He gave a sympathetic nod—still leaning into the vestiges of False Empathy. “I’m juggling some tricky leads. If you spot any that match this product line”—he scribbled a product code on a sticky note—“could you pass them my way? I trust your keen eye for that stuff.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Oh, sure, that’s easy enough. Thank you, Sorin. I really appreciate the help with data entry. I’ll definitely send those leads your direction.” She offered a thin smile and scurried off.

Sorin suppressed a grin, watching her go. Another small entanglement: Lucy believed he was kindly rescuing her from overload when in reality, he was milking her for leads. The synergy of a mild Double-Bind from earlier, combined with subtle empathy cues, locked her into compliance. Maybe tomorrow I can push further, he mused.

The rest of the morning blurred as he handled calls. Around midday, Calvin made a point of telling Sorin he wouldn’t need more than two hours to review new leads, reaffirming the half-day arrangement. Sorin nodded agreeably, quietly amused how thoroughly Reinforcement Loops had molded Calvin’s behavior.

Lunch break arrived, and Sorin decided to actually eat in the office cafeteria for once. He collected a mediocre sandwich and juice, scanning the room for possible opportunities to deploy Silent Pauses or False Empathy. A group of coworkers chatted at a corner table about weekend plans. He recognized a chance to practice a more social infiltration.

He joined them, greeting them with a casual smile. They included Sam, a middle-aged father of two; Tara, a cheerful woman who handled billing; and Nate, a younger hire who seemed perpetually anxious. They welcomed him, if a bit warily. He listened to their talk about a local street fair happening this weekend.

Tara noticed him listening quietly. “You’re welcome to come along, Sorin,” she offered brightly. “We’re going to check out the food stalls and maybe catch some live music.”

Sorin seized on the moment. “Oh, that sounds great. I’ve been so stressed lately—it’d be nice to unwind.” He paused, letting a gentle sigh slip. “Honestly, I could use a break. Work’s been intense.”

They murmured sympathy. He harnessed False Empathy again, acting as though he understood and shared their perspective on stress and needing a break. “I really appreciate you guys including me,” he said softly. Another Silent Pause, holding their gazes. They shifted, uncertain, feeling compelled to fill the void.

Sam cleared his throat. “Well, we figure it’s good to do something fun as a team.” Nate nodded vigorously, as if grateful for someone else to break the silence. Sorin saw them relaxing, presumably thinking Sorin was just another overworked colleague seeking camaraderie. If only they knew he was analyzing their microexpressions, quietly labeling each hesitation or flicker of relief as a potential lever for the future.

The conversation drifted to weekend details, typical office gossip, and mild complaining about deadlines. Sorin participated with mild laughter, a veneer of normalcy. Beneath it, he was gauging how much he could push them later—maybe rope them into funneling more leads or supporting him in an office dispute. The casual lunch table had become a social laboratory.

After lunch, he encountered Trent in the hallway. Trent patted his shoulder, praising the stellar results from Sorin’s morning calls. “Keep it up, Sorin. Might even consider you for a team lead spot if we expand.”

Sorin feigned a modest grin, mind spinning with how easily he’d secured Trent’s favor. “Thanks, I appreciate it,” he said. A possible promotion? Even more leverage in the office. The day advanced with no major snags. He closed a few decent deals, saw Calvin working hard on leads, Lucy quietly passing him product matches, Sam occasionally nodding to him as if they were more comfortable together now.

By late afternoon, Sorin’s phone buzzed with a text from Jonah: “Hey, thanks for talking earlier. Let’s try for Saturday if you can. Mark and others might join. Let me know!” Sorin stared at the message. The old him might have agreed gladly. The new him felt a pang of reluctance—spending time with old friends risked them noticing his manipulative changes. But perhaps he could use them as unwitting pawns for further technique practice. I’ll decide later, he told himself, returning to his tasks.

The day finally wound down. Sorin powered off his computer, noticing Lucy shyly waving goodbye. He gave her a polite wave back, musing on how quickly she’d become entangled in his reciprocity loop. Another small prize in his daily tally. He grabbed his coat, stepping out into the early evening air.

Ravenor wasn’t waiting today, apparently content to let Sorin operate solo. Sorin found he wasn’t disappointed—he felt a growing independence, a confidence in deploying manipulations without the mentor’s immediate oversight. Maybe that’s the point, he considered. Ravenor wants me fully comfortable charting my own manipulative course.

On the walk home, he reflected on the day’s usage of the new techniques. False Empathy had smoothed over Jonah’s concerns, forging a false closeness. Silent Pauses had eased Lucy into over-explaining and offering him new leads. Both felt disturbingly simple to wield. Each time he used them, he sensed empathy slipping further from his grasp, replaced by a calculating satisfaction.

He also thought about the upcoming weekend invitation from Jonah. A glimmer of guilt reemerged, remembering how easily Jonah bought Sorin’s act. Am I crossing a moral line using him like that? The rational part of his brain quickly answered: It’s for your benefit, and it costs you nothing but a bit of acting. He recalled Ravenor’s words about how every step forward meant releasing empathy to avoid hesitations.

Back at his apartment, he tossed his coat aside and rummaged for a quick dinner. The staleness of the place bothered him less than before. He sat at the small, wobbly table, phone in hand, re-reading Jonah’s text. Then, with a faint sigh, he typed back: “Saturday might work. Let me finalize something. Keep you posted.” He hit send, uncertain if he’d actually show up, but at least it bought him time.

As he ate, he scribbled more notes:

* Deployed False Empathy on Jonah (eased his worries, reaffirmed friendship).

* Used Silent Pauses on Lucy to prompt her to fill the gap, resulting in her offering more leads.

* Maintained synergy with older manipulations (Scenario Priming, Reinforcement Loops) at work.

He eyed the list, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The tally of manipulative achievements felt like a progress report on his moral corrosion. Yet he experienced no real remorse, just a low-key satisfaction at how seamlessly he’d integrated these new methods. Ravenor was right; the more I succeed, the less guilt matters.

He finished dinner, tossed the trash, and slumped onto the couch. The single overhead light cast the room in a drab glow. A part of him wanted to text Ravenor, share the day’s successes. Another part wanted to prove his independence. In the end, he did neither, allowing himself to bask in the quiet realization that he no longer needed Ravenor’s immediate validation to keep going.

A low hum from the fridge served as the only backdrop to his thoughts. If he kept this momentum, how many more manipulations could he master before the month was up? Five? Ten? He recalled the outlines in Ravenor’s folder about advanced Gaslighting, partial Brainwashing seeds, illusions that could break entire groups. A stirring of excitement and dread mingled. If False Empathy and Silent Pauses were this effective, what havoc could those next-level tactics unleash?

The pang of fear flickered—fear of what he might become. But he strangled it swiftly. Better to be the manipulator than the manipulated. That was the logic he’d embraced. Resolved, he flicked off the overhead light and let the dim glow of the streetlamp outside guide him to the couch. Lying there, he stared at the ceiling, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new calls, new chances to shape reality with illusions. Maybe Jonah would call again, or Lucy would ask more data entry favors. Perhaps Calvin would try to reclaim lost ground. Sorin found himself eager for every test. The dull sense of wrongdoing in the pit of his stomach kept quiet, overshadowed by the satisfaction of orchestrating each situation to his advantage.

Closing his eyes, he drifted into a dreamless doze, the echoes of the day’s manipulations swirling at the edges of consciousness. He’d used False Empathy to pacify a worried friend, Silent Pauses to corner a coworker into compliance, and all the older manipulations to dominate a high-stakes workplace. Let it all continue, he thought, mind sinking into darkness. I have bigger ambitions waiting.