text: [Themes: modern]
  
  Here's how it all started: you were born.
  
  No, really.
  
  Follow that with a few minor scandals, accidentally getting lost in a casino at the ripe age of 13 years old, and country-club parties every other week, and eventually you've got some sort of weird past going on. The basics are the basics; yes, your parents are rich, yes, that technically means you are too, no, that does not mean you can have any of it, Linda.
  
  (And it's not just because you don't have any of your own fund left. That's not the reason at all. No, sir.)
  
  Suffice to say that Linda wasn't getting the money. But here's the thing - neither were you. Because being let loose in a casino that one time was apparently not good for the remainder of your upbringing, and somehow your funds had started to drain away, and (as all things do) one thing led to another until your card declined at the grocery store on a $3.59 charge.
  
  Fantastic. Awesome. Exactly what was needed on this very fine day.
  
  Stack that on top of yesterday's eviction notice and you'd landed yourself in a whole heap of trouble, the monetary kind - the one kind that's just not easy to crawl out of.
  
  So. This is you now, alone in the middle of your cleared-out apartment, with two bags and a pile of cash that might take you to next week. Two weeks, if you stretch it. And you've got some options.
  
  You've got some friends, somewhere in this mess of a city, that just might give you a hand. Maybe you can crash on someone's couch for a couple of weeks while you figure yourself out, that sort of thing. It might be worth it to give someone a call and see if they've got some extra living space.
  
  You could also ask your parents. It's not that they're rich, per se, except - well - they are, and being their child and all, it stands to reason that they'd help out. Maybe give you a few hundred just to survive the next little bit of life. You're pretty sure they'd be happy to help, anyway.
  
  Or, you could give in to whatever wanderlust you've been struck with since the notice came on your door. Pack your bags, jump on a train, and go somewhere - it doesn't matter where. Maybe someplace easier to sustain. Find a friend there, pick up some cash, do something new with your life.
  
  Really, they're all viable options. Which one suits you most?
  
  [Author's Note: make some choices, live your life, see who you'll become. maybe this'll be your year!]
  
  > contact some friends
  Looking to handle the whole eviction situation first, you send out a mass help text to any of your friends you think will be sympathetic. Most respond with variations of sorry, man, got no room :( or dude, just downsize, which are somewhat useless to your plight, but one friend - Izzie from required English class - responds with a simple yeah, got a couch.
  
  So, Izzie from Required English Class is the one.
  
  You gracefully evict yourself from the building that's kicking you out, take most of your stuff to your parents' place (which is small enough not to house you, apparently, but large enough for your boxes) and take off for Izzie's with a backpack and a suitcase.
  
  The situation works out for a good amount of time. She does deskwork at a shelter downtown and is gone for most of the day, and you work remotely and cook dinner and clean up sometimes and enjoy each other's company, and it feels like a good arrangement.
  
  Though over dinner one day she puts down her fork and says, "You need to start paying rent."
  
  The whole point of staying here was that you didn't have enough money to pay rent, that's why you're on her couch, and maybe that hasn't gotten through to her yet but judging by her raised eyebrows she's thought it through plenty already. "I can't hold up both of us," she says, "working at the shelter only pays so much. And what is it that you do all day?"
  
  You try to explain your remote work but she's not having any of it. She gives you an ultimatum: find a "real job" (her words) or get out.
  
  You thought she was better than that, really, but if this is how it is, well - might as well figure something out.
  
  > go job-hunting
  The job search begins with a little resume-boosting and applying to things you think you'd be good at. For a while, all you can do is wait. Responses start filtering in; a few interviews, but mostly rejections, and a lot of lack-of-responses that are louder than any e-mail. The interview stage goes smoothly, so you think - except only one company offers you a spot. And it's not even for a paid job.
  
  At least it's for something. But while you're figuring that out, you get contacted by another friend, asking if you want to "run jobs" for him instead. The wording seems questionable, and you're eighty percent sure it's for a questionable intent, but he guarantees money, and at this point you'll take most things.
  
  You also think about Izzie. Things between the pair of you had been going well, almost fantastically well, aside from the whole get-a-job conversation. You've begun to wonder if there would ever be the potential for something more. Maybe there would be - and maybe that would give you more time to regroup and figure out your future.
  
  > Unpaid internship
  The job (sorry, internship) is actually not horrible.
  
  It's actually pretty good, all things considered - and by all things, you mean, the whole not getting paid situation. Which cleared up faster than you thought it would; apparently a combination of your family name and your hard work got you a paying job real damn fast. It's office work, so far, in a building with white cubicles and air conditioning and people wearing ties. Which means that you also have to wear a tie, and work in a white cubicle, but - like you had already decided - work was good.
  
  You've done some research into the company itself and it turns out it's pretty large. There's a branch called international affairs, something about offshore production, and - the best part - the net profit is huge. Which is alluring all on its own, but the kicker - you're already in the company.
  
  The only place to go from here is up.
  
  You work for a few months, then a few months more. Things get going, but not quickly, and eventually you start to get impatient. You've been working your ass off. You moved from internship to job in record time. What's the next step?
  
  Well. You could always fiddle with the hierarchy of the office, just a little bit, dig up some dirt and see what you find. See if there's anything the higher-ups would be willing to keep hidden, given a promotion.
  
  Or, you know, good, old-fashioned hard work. Hard, thankless, you're-better-than-this work.
  
  > Old-fashioned hard work
  So you keep working.
  
  And you keep working, and you keep working, and you keep working.
  
  Your boss continues to praise your work, though at this point you're starting to think it's just words. Words don't have too much stock in an environment like this, where you're measured by things like efficiency and profit and other business buzzwords. You're pulling your weight; your workload has actually lightened a little bit, what with the hiring of a few secretary-looking women and another intern.
  
  But: still no promotion.
  
  And this is where things get messy.
  
  See, the way you see it, it's been long enough. And you were taught to fight for things, to not recieve at face value, to champion for your worth. You know what you deserve. And it's damn better than this.
  
  The thought resurfaces that you could fiddle with the higher-ups. You've been here for long enough that you know the ins and outs of the building, the desks, the secret scandals. That wouldn't be a problem.
  
  Or you could take a more direct action, go straight to your manager, and stand your ground. Compile evidence that shows your prowess. Tell him real good that you deserve this.
  
  > talk to your boss
  Here's the thing: your manager can be, at times, a real asshole.
  
  No surprises there. This is corporate, after all, one needs a thick skin to survive.
  
  But the conversation happens upon something like this:
  
  You: I want to be higher up in this company.
  
  Manager: We've already got enough supervisors as it is, son, you're going to have to wait.
  
  Paraphrased, obviously, because the conversation lasted for half an hour and included things like written evidence, timesheets, and something that may have been yelling. On the upside, the yelling did not get you fired.
  
  But your manager, as assholish as he may be, is resolute on the idea that you cannot move up in the ranks, because the company is already populated with People Who Wanted To Move Up In The Ranks. Privately, you believe that there's always room for one more - after all, if he wants the company to grow, then he may as well act like it.
  
  You think about digging your heels in and continuing this argument. Eventually he might see reason, as condescending as he is (son? really?) and something good might come from it.
  
  But there's also your old supervisor - old and crusty and just a little too nitpicky about simple and easy things. You've done your networking on the low ranks in the building and you know for certain that he's not well-liked. If you tried, you could likely convince him to retire. Words may not mean much in this business, but they sure can come in handy.
  
  > Sweet-talk the crusty supervisor
  You make an appointment with the Crusty Supervisor in order to look over some files.
  
  Actually, you make an appointment with the Crusty Supervisor to have a conversation, but you bring the files anyway, as a sort of entry point into what you really want to get to. It's nothing serious, as nothing ever is, just a few incorrectly-recorded numbers from other people on the floor, things he should have caught but didn't, and isn't he getting a bit old for this sort of thing? Maybe it's time to give up the schtick and leave while he's still in the good graces of the Big Boss, who hasn't yet caught his mistakes.
  
  You pull out another file - a real gamble, this one - and show it to him, all hush-hush and private-like. Supposedly, it's a lot more mistakes, things that he missed, incomplete work that he passed through without a complaint, all of it fake. Written up deviously the night before, printed off among the rest of your reports and blending very well into the rest of the work.
  
  It seems to get through to him just fine. He takes his glasses off, rubs his forehead, and folds them onto his desk. "I don't believe it," he says.
  
  "Just thought you'd want to know," you say lightly.
  
  Crusty Supervisor retires, and you get the next spot up.
  
  And now there's a couple things you could be doing.
  
  The way you see it, the company could do a lot more if it were spread out across more land. Not just the States, not just Europe, but other places, too - there's opportunity, there's people looking for jobs everywhere you go, and there's just the right amount of incentive inside you to propose this sort of thing.
  
  But maybe you're not done yet. Maybe there's still a fire inside you that wants to climb higher and higher and higher, pull your weight all the way to the top. You've got a natural business head, a company behind you, and a name that strikes fear (and awe) into the hearts of interns. You could be the manager.
  
  > propose a branching out
  Going to the boss means this: you have a chat, you tell him your idea, and he thinks on it for a few days while you wait and wait and wait and eventually he gives you an answer.
  
  That's how it tends to go, anyway; you've proposed enough things in the past that the routine of it is well known to you, written into your bones as a corporate entity, and so you wait.
  
  And it's only a day this time before he calls you into his office and says, "You've got a real good idea here."
  
  Which usually means that it's going to happen. You talk logistics for a while, budget and allocations and travel and everything else needed to make this site happen - including some international relations, good thing there's a department for that - and over the course of another week you get everything down the way it's supposed to. Check things off as you go.
  
  Also, another kicker: your boss wants you to manage the new branch.
  
  That means packing up your life and moving somewhere across the world, to a place far more populated and far closer to the equator, and most likely you'll have to learn a new language but that will come with time. But it also means that you've found yourself at the top of something, finally, something big and successful and just on the right side of the money. You'd be in charge of something. And, really - that's what you've wanted this whole time.
  
  Live up to your family name, right? You'll be doing it tenfold.
  
  > Keep going
  You've done it! Congratulations. You've become successful, fulfilled your dreams, made your family proud.
  
  Except you also feel something else, something akin to fear, when you think about what's got you here. Because you can think all you want about the lives you may have interfered with on your way here, but those lives never stir your heart, never make you feel anything more than slightly uncomfortable. And that brings with it the fear.
  
  Fear that if you looked in the mirror, you'd see nothing. A featureless, soulless entity, maybe. Not a person, anymore, just something.
  
  Here's a breakdown of your life so far:
  
  - coming from a family of privilege, you squandered out your savings in a casino
  
  - phoned your parents instead of looking for independent income
  
  - taken on a job and bullied your way to the top, ignoring and downsizing the work of others
  
  - started a new branch in a country with less work safety regulations, allowing you to take advantage of the corner-cutting to earn more profit at the expense of your workers
  
  And, let's face it -- you're a really shitty person.
  
  How is it that you never noticed?
  
  > Final breakdown
  Most of the endings of this game have the same lasting idea: how did you end up as the person you are? Do you like who you've become?
  
  You, dear player, may decide that the answer is no, you do not.
  
  That's exactly the point.
  
  This is an exercise in what makes a monster. Or, more accurately, what makes a colloquially-known bad person, but at what point does a bad person start to edge the line towards monster? I imagine it's a matter of perspective; after all, in your journey you've made friends and shunned people in the same breath, left people for dead and gone for gain rather than support of others. At the same time, at each ending, you've looked into a mirror and found yourself reflected in a not-so-fantastic sense. Those people that you've stepped on, eventually they'll start to see you like this, and maybe then you'll realize what went wrong.
  
  I like to think of this as an exercise in narration. It's possible that you knew, as a player, where this was going long before the end. However, as I wrote this I found myself enjoying the unreliability of it all. This is a big part of human monstrosity, I think: knowing only one part of the story is no longer sufficient in passing judgement on other people, and in passing judgement on yourself. You may have agreed with some of the choices you were otherwise forced to make. They may have seemed like the right choice, based on context narrated to you by a protagonist who thought he was in the right. Everyone acts in their own self-interest, after all, and sometimes that's all the context you get. Using unreliable narration, paired with the comedy and relatability of someone who takes on events with a shrug and a smile, the idea was to lure the player into a connection with the protagonist. You, the player, and you, the protagonist, should have felt the same at one point.
  
  (Hopefully not all the way through, though. I'm going off the widespread assumption that you, reader, are a good person and deserve all the world and more.)
  
  So: what makes a monster? Is it the grotesque physicality of it all, the idea that someone can become so physically repulsive that there's no redeeming qualities? Or is it a series of choices, cohesive events, that continually turn a person into something inhuman? Perhaps it's all according to perspective, after all: the characters you met along your journey (like Izzie, or Matthew, or Sean, or the unnamed intern) may have begun to see you as someone monstrous. Someone who acted without regard for others, someone who continued to climb and climb and step on others on your ascent, someone who wanted to survive more than anything, someone who wanted.
  
  This wasn't intended to be a moral lesson, just an exploration of intent and motivation and a little bit of monstrosity.
  
  Thanks for playing!