Gemotions

He paced, the worn carpet offering no comfort beneath his restless feet. The walls of his apartment seemed to close in, the air thick and heavy. He'd been so sure, so certain. Years of research, late nights fueled by instant ramen and caffeine, all leading to this: a revolutionary new algorithm designed to predict market fluctuations.

Now, this stranger, this 'Ms. Anya Sharma' – whoever she was – had produced the *same thing*. The same code, the same parameters, the same, damned, conclusion. He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. He felt a pressure building behind his eyes, a sensation like the world tilting on its axis.

He slammed his fist on the kitchen counter. The sudden noise echoed in the stillness. He hated her, whoever she was, with a passion that burned like a white-hot flame. He needed to *do* something, anything, but his mind had become a jumbled mess, and he couldn’t concentrate.