Resolve : Episode 3 : Pushed to the edge
Chapter 1: The Fractured Routine
Paul woke to the sound of rain tapping against the window. The flat was darker than usual, the heavy clouds outside dulling the morning light. He glanced at his notebook on the table, yesterday’s last entry standing out in bold: Something isn’t right.
He flipped the page but didn’t write anything. The words felt meaningless, disconnected from the strange, growing unease inside him. Instead, he stared out at the street. The dog walker passed by again, his movements precise, but again the dog didn’t look quite right. Its tail wagged, but too mechanically, as though powered by clockwork.
Paul rubbed his temples, dismissing the thought. He’d always been a writer prone to overthinking, chasing meaning where there wasn’t any. But the feeling of wrongness lingered as he stepped out into the grey morning.
Chapter 2: Jane’s Struggle
At Fresh & Save, Jane was working near the cleaning aisle again, her clipboard in hand. Paul approached quietly, noticing the tightness in her posture.
“Hey,” he said.
Jane looked up, forcing a small smile. “Hey.”
Paul leaned on the shelf. “How’s the audition prep going?”
Jane hesitated. “I haven’t… done much. Graham doesn’t think I should go. He says it’s a distraction. That I’m wasting time.”
Paul frowned. “And what do you think?”
Jane stared at the clipboard, her fingers gripping it tightly. “I think… I’ll regret it if I don't try. But.. I don't know if I can handle disappointing him.”
Paul thought for a moment. “Disappointment cuts both ways. Wouldn’t it hurt more to let yourself down?”
Jane’s eyes met his, and for a moment, the tension in her face softened. “You’re not just a stockroom guy, are you?” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Before Paul could respond, the store’s PA system crackled, announcing a cleanup in aisle three. Jane quickly gathered her things and left. Paul lingered, staring after her, a flicker of unease settled in him.
Chapter 3: Claire’s Defence
Near the tills, Paul noticed Claire having a tense exchange with a customer. The woman was middle-aged, her voice sharp as she argued about a mispriced item, her voice rising with every word.
“It's not about the money!" the woman snapped, waving her receipt. "It's the principle!"
Paul stepped in before things escalated. “Let's take a look.”
He quickly processed the refund, diffusing the situation. The woman huffed and left without another word.
“Thanks,” Claire muttered as Paul returned the receipt to her.
“No problem. You good?” Paul asked.
Claire shrugged. “People like that make you wonder why you bother.”
Paul studied her carefully. “Is it just her?”
Claire hesitated, her gaze dropping to the counter. “No. It’s… everything.”
She hesitated, her eyes flickering toward the window. “Honestly? I don’t know. It feels like I’ve been running in circles for years, trying to keep everything together.”
Paul nodded slowly. “Maybe it’s time to stop running.”
Chapter 4: The Forgotten Door
The stockroom was colder than usual, a faint chill that raised goosebumps on Paul’s arms. As he carried a box toward the shelves, his eyes fell on a door he didn’t remember seeing before. It was plain and unmarked, partially hidden behind a stack of crates.
He frowned. Had that always been there?
Paul approached cautiously, the air growing colder with each step. The handle was smooth and cold to the touch, but it didn’t budge when he tried it. A faint vibration emanated from the door, more felt than heard, like a distant hum just beyond the range of perception.
The PA crackled, startling him. “Attention… associates… neural calibration pending… integration readiness at fifty-three percent…”
The robotic voice distorted, its words stretching and warping until they were barely intelligible. Paul stared up at the PA. The silence in the store was unnatural now, broken only by the faint hum behind the door. He could feel it - the store watching him.
Chapter 5: The Notebook
That night, Paul sat at his kitchen table, the notebook open before him. He wrote: Day 3. Found a door. Couldn’t open it.
His hand trembled as he wrote. The hum from the store seemed to follow him home, a faint vibration that he couldn’t quite shake. He glanced at the bookshelf, at the manuscripts he’d abandoned years ago. A sudden urge to write overwhelmed him, and he flipped to a blank page.
What’s behind the door? he wrote.
The light above flickered once, twice, then steadied. Paul stared at the page, the question burning in his mind.
