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Alice’s back was sweating. A warm drop slid down in zigzags through her column, while she stared at her laptop’s bluish screen like it was the final round of a survival reality show. The major difference? There was no prize to conquer. Indeed, only shame was waiting for her to come and get it.

On their feet, standing behind her desk, were all the chiefs from the technology departments of the company she worked for, in a moment that reminded her more of a business Last Supper than of a technical meeting.

The CTO and senior engineers. Her manager, whom she hated, was chewing cookies and had the expression of someone who wished to be in another astral plane. All of them had their eyes glued directly to Alice’s computer.

“As you can see, the latency peak occurred at 3:48 AM. I believe the bottleneck is…” Alice tried to remain calm, but her voice cracked in bottleneck. She coughed. “… is at the authentication layer.”

Her technical explanation was precise and correct. But nobody there seemed really interested in understandings. They wanted culprits. And, at that moment, she was the sole person responsible for conducting load tests on the country's largest streaming platform. One glamorous position, until someone saw the salary.

Or the on-call chronograms.

The irony? That function wasn’t even hers. She inherited it because all the others had jumped off the boat. The last one standing, Jeff, who led her team, was now posting selfies of his vacation in the Caribbean. Meanwhile, she was sleeping on the firm’s couch.

To make the situation even worse, Roger, her new manager, had a talent for turning any sentence into a microaggression. He never replied to Alice’s messages. Never gave her credit for anything. And, while he was playing corporate ghosting with her, Roger still didn’t lose the opportunity to praise Peter, his favorite guy from the Platform’s team.

Peter, although he had studied with Alice during college, now preferred to stare at the keyboard with his head down rather than to raise his voice for her. Cowardly as a service.

Alice pierced her gaze directly to where Peter was seated, discreetly. He pretended not to see it.

Giant son of a bitch.

The pressure grew, added to the demands, the lack of support, and the accumulation of functions. Alice felt like a Jenga tower about to collapse. And, for some reason, everyone around her seemed to be cheering for it to happen, eager to say, “I told you so.”

At these times, she reminded herself why she was still there. Parents' retirement payments? Minimal. Medication? Health insurance? Expensive. Bills? Endless. And, in the midst of it all, the desire to survive. Even if it was on autopilot.

After the meeting, Alice didn't return to her cubicle. She silently gathered her belongings, walked through the automatic glass door, and stared at the dawn outside as if she were witnessing a miracle through a prison window.

The sky was lavender. And she was exhausted. At the entrance to her building, the doorman greeted Alice with a worn smile. Alice responded with a small wave and climbed the stairs slowly, as if each step was a reminder of how much her body was at its limit.

A sweet, familiar scent greeted her as she opened the front door.

“Take some coffee, honey. Would you like it with sugar or without?" Her mother asked, already standing as if it were lunchtime instead of five-thirty in the morning.

Her father was sitting at the table, reading on his phone the newspaper he insisted on subscribing to, even though he trusted nothing but the weather forecast. Alice smiled slightly, took the mug, and sat between them, resting her head heavily on the old man's shoulder for a moment.

"Another late nighter?" he asked, without taking his eyes off the small screen.

She nodded.

“Do they pay extra for that?”

A dead silence stood between them.

Alice felt her stomach churn. It wasn't because of the question itself. Instead, it was due to the memories it evoked each time she heard the question. That her job was consuming her. That it wasn't worth it. She believed that if she had been born into a different family, she might have had options.

But she didn't.

Her guardians were actually her great-aunts. They had taken her in as a child after the incident occurred. When everyone else seemed to disappear, they stayed. Even in their advanced years and despite their own problems, they continued to care for her.

Now, both of them have chronic diagnoses that require expensive medication, frequent appointments, and a routine that doesn't allow them to continue caring for others.

Alice carried this like an invisible debt. A favor so great she could never fully repay it. So she worked. She doubled over and kept quiet. She was furious at the company and at her manager. Sometimes, the whole world.

But she sucked it all up. Always.

“Of course not,” she finally replied, her voice thick with sarcasm and weariness.

Losing that job, unfortunately, was not an option.

Alice kissed her parents on the forehead and went to her room, where the world was becoming quieter but still somewhat noisy. She lay down without changing her clothes, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn't come. Her body screamed for rest, but her mind was spinning in circles, like a poorly configured test.

Without thinking, she grabbed her laptop, put her headphones on, and entered a hidden browser tab. She typed what she always typed when she wanted to disappear without leaving the spot: the website address of the streaming company she worked for.

She used a technical login she kept to "check for bugs." It was as lame an excuse as it was useful. And there it was, the account flashing on the screen: recommendations for you, based on previous titles.

If she could overlook the problems she was experiencing at the company, they surely should overlook some minor contractual violations. It was like stealing a business's pen. In this case, with a bit more leverage involved.

On the screen, the endless list of abandoned series gleamed. Some were halfway through. Others in the penultimate episode. One, in fact, she stopped ten minutes before the end of the final episode.

That situation left her in a mix of emotions. It wasn't just laziness but an overwhelming fear that the ending would not be happy. After all, she was the number one enemy of sad endings.

Alice then navigated back to the only movie she'd finished more than twenty times. A children's animation about a knight and a princess who faced a dragon witch to save the kingdom and their hearts.

It was the only thing that she always ended. Because it was safe. Because she knew what she was signing for. Because it didn't hurt.

Alice curled up on the bed, letting the movie play, and slowly closed her eyes.

The computer's camera turned on by itself.

The screen light blinked.

And, from the back of the system, a barely perceptible smile appeared, watching her close her eyes.