A thin veil of cloud muted the early sunlight as Sorin walked the half-familiar route toward his workplace. The city was never fully quiet, but at this hour, the rush felt subdued—people hurrying to open shops, bleary-eyed students trudging toward buses. Traffic rolled by without the usual layer of angry horns. It all suited Sorin’s mood: on the surface, calm enough; beneath that, a bristling tension.

He paused briefly at a crosswalk, reflecting on his conversation with Ravenor in the dingy café the day before. That moment where he’d so smoothly employed Enhanced Reciprocity left him both thrilled and unsettled. I offered the phone charger, got a favorable review in return… so simple. But the bigger impact was Ravenor giving him more advanced tools. Mild Gaslighting. Optimistic Framing. Just reading the terms in Ravenor’s folder had sent an electric jolt down Sorin’s spine.

Now, he was on his way to a second day at the new job. And part of him wanted to test these new manipulations further—to see how easily he could steer everyday conflicts. The memory of last night’s borderline unethical act still lingered: the man cornered into humiliating compliance. Guilt occasionally rose like a faint nausea, but Sorin pushed it aside. The rush of control was more compelling.

He exhaled, crossing the street. Let’s see how these next tactics hold up in real scenarios.

Work looked the same: cheap desk partitions, walls painted a tired beige, a scattering of potted plants that had seen better days. Calvin, his self-proclaimed rival in the sales department, was hunched over his phone at a corner cubicle. A few other coworkers busied themselves with coffee or morning chatter. Sorin forced a polite nod at them, heading straight to his desk.

Trent, the supervisor, strolled by, voice clipped with mild stress. “Morning, Sorin. We’ve got a backlog of calls from last night—two clients want a follow-up.”

Sorin nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll handle them.”

He settled at his computer, scanning the notes. A flutter of tension stirred: one of the clients, Ms. Ortega, had apparently expressed dissatisfaction with a product. The notes read: Potential for refund? Not sure. If Sorin didn’t handle this carefully, it could cost the company money—and reflect poorly on him. He found himself smiling faintly. A perfect chance to try out these new manipulations.

Mild Gaslighting was meant to make a target doubt their memory or interpretation of events, but in a subtle, almost benign manner. Meanwhile, Optimistic Framing involved spinning negative facts into a positive narrative, gently steering the person to feel good about something that otherwise worried them.

He tapped Ms. Ortega’s number, phone pressed to his ear. A ring, another ring—then a frazzled-sounding female voice answered, “Hello?”

“Good morning, Ms. Ortega,” Sorin said, injecting warmth into his tone. “This is Sorin Vex from CrestMark Solutions. I saw your message about a concern with your recent purchase. Mind if we talk it through?”

Her sigh crackled over the line. “Yes, I do have concerns. The product hasn’t matched its description—it’s missing half the features promised. I want a return or a partial refund at least.”

Sorin scrolled the product page, the actual specs. There’s definitely an issue, he noted. The product seemed oversold. Possibly the marketing team had overpromised. Typically, a partial refund would be justified. But Sorin had other ideas—Ravenor’s ideas swirling in his mind. Let’s see if we can turn this around without giving a refund.

“Ms. Ortega, I understand your frustration,” he began, letting a sympathetic note color his voice. “But I recall our listing stating it includes feature A, B, and C. Which features specifically do you feel are missing?”

“Well, the advanced scheduling function. The listing said it can schedule daily alerts automatically. It just... doesn’t,” she snapped, voice tinged with annoyance.

Sorin adopted a gentle, almost surprised tone. “Strange, because we’ve had multiple buyers confirm the scheduling works well. Are you certain you walked through the setup steps? It’s easy to miss a click. I believe the instructions mention a hidden toggle.”

He recognized the moral squeamishness creeping up, but forced himself to continue. “I’ve followed the instructions,” Ms. Ortega insisted. “There was no toggle. I’m not incompetent here.”

“Of course not,” Sorin said, injecting a calm chuckle. “We’ve just seen a few folks skip an extra page in the manual. Sometimes the instructions can be confusing. Let me re-check. I’m fairly sure it’s described under advanced preferences. I’m on the page now—ah, see here: it says, ‘Enable auto-scheduling in advanced menu.’ Could it be you overlooked that advanced tab?”

A pause. Ms. Ortega’s uncertainty seeped through. “I... I didn’t see an advanced tab, but maybe it was hidden?”

Sorin latched onto that hesitation. “Yes, exactly. They sometimes hide the advanced tab for minimal clutter. I’m quite confident if you look there, you’ll find the scheduling function. I can email you a step-by-step screenshot if you want?”

She exhaled. “Alright, please do. If that’s the real solution, I’ll feel silly for fussing.”

He gave a reassuring laugh. “No worries—some older versions differ from what’s in the marketing pictures, so confusion happens. Let’s see if we can fix everything without any complicated returns.” He moved into Optimistic Framing: “Actually, if you do get the scheduling up and running, you might find it’s even more robust than you realized. Some folks discovered an extra alert function that’s not even listed. So you might have more features than expected.” A lie or partial truth, but Ms. Ortega wouldn’t know.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

She sounded intrigued. “Really? Well, if it works, that’d be great.”

They arranged an email follow-up. Sorin hung up, leaning back with a slow exhale. I basically pinned the issue on her ignorance, planted a nonexistent advanced tab, and teased an imaginary extra feature. Ms. Ortega might realize the ruse eventually—but if she spent enough time searching menus, she might blame herself for not finding it. By the time she gave up, her frustration might have cooled, or she might just accept partial functionality. Refund dodged, phone call closed. He typed a quick, misleading instruction email referencing an “invisible advanced menu.” A pang of guilt flickered. This is borderline unethical. But as the day pressed on, that pang drowned beneath quiet triumph.

Lunchtime offered Sorin another chance to push manipulations. He’d received a text from a small loan service he used months ago, requesting partial payment on an outstanding balance. I can handle this, he told himself. Usually, he’d stall or ask for an extension, but Ravenor’s advanced methods were fresh in his mind. Why not get a better deal?

He found a quiet corridor near the breakroom and dialed the loan service’s customer support. After navigating phone prompts, he reached a representative named Damon. “Hi, I see you’re behind on your last two installments,” Damon said, polite but firm. “We can set up a payment plan, but you’ll incur late fees.”

Sorin mustered a calm, confident stance. “I hear you, Damon, but I believe there was an agreement for a revised interest rate after my last check-in. Let’s confirm that detail, please?” A short pause. “I’m not seeing that in the records, sir.”

Strange, because I distinctly remember your colleague—was it Kayla or Kara?—assuring me that if I made a partial payment promptly, the interest would be halved. He recognized he was using mild Gaslighting again, forging a scenario that never existed.

Damon’s tone grew uncertain. “Er, let me check notes... No mention here. Are you sure it wasn’t a different loan service?” Sorin feigned casual exasperation, insisted it was them, rattled off a random reference number. Damon hesitated, suggesting maybe Kayla spelled it differently. Sorin then pivoted to Optimistic Framing: praising their brand for being flexible, hinting that ignoring a possible internal note would hurt their goodwill. A subtle threat.

Finally, Damon conceded. “Let me check with my supervisor. It might be possible to waive half the fee if you pay the principal this week.” Sorin grinned at how easily he’d combined mild Gaslighting with a double-bind subtext, plus optimistic spin about the company’s image. He ended the call, flush with satisfaction. Another moral boundary blurred. Another cunning success.

By the afternoon, Sorin’s moral drift felt undeniable. He reeled off calls, dazzled clients with half-truths, used subtle Mirroring to keep them calm, and occasionally dropped a bright spin to nudge them into finalizing deals. Each success fed a quiet euphoria: I can shape reality with a few well-chosen words. A small alarm in his mind reminded him he was deceiving them, pushing illusions, sowing confusion. But the alarm’s volume couldn’t match the thrill. Less caring about others might be the cost, but the reward was freedom from fear, from powerlessness.

Near day’s end, he spotted Calvin skulking near the water cooler, eyes flicking in Sorin’s direction with resentment. Sorin smirked; he felt armed with new manipulations, an invisible arsenal that dwarfed any Tier 1 trick Calvin might attempt. Let the rival come; Sorin was ready.

Just before clocking out, his phone buzzed—a text from Ravenor: “Outside. I trust you used the new methods well?” Sorin’s heart lurched with twisted pride. He had used them well. He pocketed the phone, finishing a final call, then grabbed his coat.

Outside, the sky threatened rain again. Ravenor stood by a lamppost, coat collar turned up, eyes gleaming with something akin to approval. “How did it feel?” he asked without preamble.

Sorin shrugged, ensuring no one was within earshot. “It… worked. I tested mild Gaslighting on a client, spun a negative product flaw into ‘user error.’ She’s not demanding a refund—at least for now. Also used some optimistic spin with a loan service. Saved me from late fees.”

Ravenor’s lips twitched in near-approval. “Remarkably quick adoption. And your conscience?” Sorin paused, deciding to tell a partial truth. “I feel uneasy, but it’s overshadowed by how… powerful it all seems. I can’t ignore the results.”

“That’s the balance,” Ravenor said. “Each step you take, empathy recedes, but success multiplies. Keep your momentum.” A drizzle started, spattering the sidewalk. Sorin nodded, a hush settling between them. “Don’t worry. I’m not backing down. The moral pangs are small anyway,” he added, hearing the edge in his own voice.

Ravenor studied him, then exhaled. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you a new cluster—Double-Bind expansions, deeper Anchoring. For now, let’s leave you to internalize these first. You’ve done enough today.” Sorin parted ways, that hungry buzz still in his chest. He walked home, neon reflections shivering in the puddles underfoot, recalling illusions and mirrored realities he’d spun all day.

Back at his cramped apartment, he flopped onto the worn couch. He replayed each manipulation in his head: Ms. Ortega’s confusion, Damon’s capitulation, the dozens of customers lulled by mild Gaslighting or an upbeat spin. I told an entire corporation that Kayla promised me a discount—Kayla doesn’t exist. Yet I pulled it off. He felt awe overshadowing any guilt.

He opened Ravenor’s folder on the coffee table, re-reading bullet points for Mild Gaslighting and Optimistic Framing. The definitions felt so sterile on paper compared to the electric rush of putting them into action. He once felt squeamish about using Tier 1 on a family member, but after last night’s borderline act and these advanced successes, that squeamishness faded to a distant memory.

A beep startled him. Ms. Ortega again: “I tried looking for that advanced tab. Couldn’t find it. Is there a software update I need?” He read the text, felt a small pang—she was chasing a phantom. But the pang dissolved; he’d already saved the company from a refund. So what if she wasted time? He typed back, apologizing for any confusion and promising to email “technical support.”

He set the phone aside, drifting in the hush of the apartment. This is just the beginning, he thought. Ravenor’s promise of deeper Double-Bind and Anchoring expansions pulsed in his mind, half terrifying, half exhilarating. If he’d done this much damage with a few tweaks, what could he do with the next wave?

He rummaged for a meager dinner, mind flicking to how he’d once worried about hurting a friend with minor manipulations. That was child’s play. If empathy was the price, so be it. He dozed off, half-smiling, half-haunted. The line between moral restraint and cunning exploitation thinned further. Tomorrow, he’d push it again. If it cost him more shards of empathy, it felt like a fair trade for never having to fear being cornered again. He no longer took orders from fear—others now took orders from him.