Gemotions

The presentation was going terribly. Amelia’s hands wouldn't stop shaking, making the laser pointer dance erratically across the projected graphs. She kept stumbling over her words, her voice a reedy whisper in the cavernous conference room. The air felt thick, each breath a struggle. And then, there it was – the dreaded chime signaling the end of her allotted time.

A man, mid-thirties, with a neatly trimmed beard, strode to the podium. He adjusted his tie, his movements smooth and confident. He introduced himself as David, and as his first slide popped up, Amelia’s blood ran cold. The exact same data, the exact same methodology, the exact same conclusion. It felt like her insides had turned to ice.

“So, you’re… well, you’re doing the same thing as me,” she managed, her voice cracking. David merely smiled, a polite, closed-off expression. The room, once expectant, now seemed to press in on her, its walls closing in.