The Asshole App (Expanded Version) ✅ Wattys2023

07 Dennis

Dennis lowered his head. "Ray, you work harder than anyone I know." For a minute, he was at a loss for words. "But I'm frustrated with how you handled the meeting with Lori and Evelyn." He sighed as he glanced at the somber, bare walls of the CEO's office. All the neo-classical artwork had been removed after the disastrous Tokyo affair. Now Sinclair's office was as devoid of personal warmth as its occupant. A compact room decorated in a monochrome palette, save a few shades of gray. Employees referred to Sinclair's office behind his back as a panic room.

The dark-haired former wonder-kid smirked. "That's how I get results. I push people beyond their comfort zones. I'm a success," Sinclair leaned forward, "because I worked my ass off to get where I am." He hesitated and knitted his eyebrows together. "Wait, you hate me? What did I do?"

Lear exhaled. "Ray, I don't hate you. I could never hate you. You're the younger brother I never had." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Please tell me why you and Lori are squabbling? You two used to be close. Now you're always at each other's throats."

"It's complicated." The CEO leaned back and rubbed the back of his neck.

"How is this complicated? We need to get our shit together." Dennis chose his next words carefully. "We need to build a strong team and get CENTIEN back on track to deliver those satellite updates and get paid. We're drowning in debt." He winced as if in pain. "Our cash flow is hemorrhaging. If you keep delaying the CIA's new VPN algorithms, this company won't survive." He shook his head. "We won't have any positive results to report this quarter, just mountains of debt from all those failed technological gambles you dragged CENTIEN into."

"We have a lower profit margin because we don't manufacture products using slave labor." Raymond said in a tight voice. "Our phones don't spy on people. How is striving for excellence my fault? All of our technology was invented to better mankind, not enslave it." Sinclair stubbornly lifted his chin. "A less predatory approach is still my vision."

"That's the problem. Your altruistic vision is going to take us all down. Not just you." Denis rubbed his temple with two fingers. "Jamison and Casper want to meet today."

"Fuck them."

"As far as they're concerned, we already have. The NSA surveillance satellite upgrades have been delayed. The loan the CIA made us off the books is overdue, and CENTRIXS' integration timelines have been pushed back." He raked his hand through his dark, blond hair. "This is a clandestine clusterfuck."

Sinclair abruptly stood up. "Those Department of Defense commanders can go pound sand 'til we perfect their new algorithms. Ever since they awarded their storage cloud contract to our competitor, I haven't trusted anything those liars say." He pointed his index finger in the air. "They're not using those satellites for defense—they're spying on the general public with them. We might as well be living in a fish bowl with the CIA shitting on us. Once the military centralizes CENTRIXS, the agency will be invincible."

"Ray," Lear lowered his voice, "Casper and Jamison aren't people we can casually fuck with. They're part of the Military Industrial Complex. They discuss having people droned while they're eating crumpets and drinking tea with their pinkies raised in the air. We need that next payment. I can't hold off the loans for more than a week."

Sinclair frowned. "If CENTIEN needs cash, then sell the jets. I hear the Pope's in the market for one. I'll buy a newer model later and capitalize the depreciation."

"Denis, the government needs us more than we need them. We developed the best Information Exchange System network on the planet for them." He probed his incisor with his tongue and dislodged a stubborn chia seed. "I've never met such ungrateful bastards."

"As for the banks, they're so over invested in us that we own them." He cocked his head. "Wait, what do you mean, more loans are due? Don't tell me you borrowed money from those clowns, Casper and Jamison?"

"I had to make a deal with them. Our supply chains were about to be cut."

Sinclair's demeanor grew icy. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

"You were AWOL after you broke up with Satoshi. I couldn't get a hold of you for three months during your Howard Hughes tech-free, seclusion phase."

Raymond exhaled. "All right—fuck—I was depressed." His features relaxed as he stared at the Rubik cube. The corners of his mouth slowly turned upwards. Pulling his shoulders back, he lifted his chin. "You know what? You're right, Dennis. We will deliver those satellite upgrades."

He stood up and flashed his signature megawatt grin. "After I've embedded a Pentagon kill switch in the software upgrade." He made a winged flapping motion with both his arms. "Code name ICARUS. If those generals threaten CENTIEN, then I'll make sure their VPN shielding goes down. With a few lines of additional code, I'll be able to blow their precious Snow White, Big Bird, and the Seven Dwarves to smithereens."

He leaned forward and raised his index finger. "I almost forgot Humpty Dumpty."

"Who?" Lear asked, perplexed.

"Their fucking surveillance satellites." Sinclair shook white sand from the Rubik cube, then leaned back in his chair and sealed it with an imperceptible click. "If you think they're benevolent overlords, think again. They're a vicious ruling class who've taken near-complete control of history, literature, art, politics, news, economics, sociology, and everything else. They're manufacturing everyone's reality into their own."

With a satisfied smirk, he scrambled the puzzle back into its original disorder. "There's another reason I need to create ICARUS. There's a spy in CENTIEN."

"What? Who?"

Raymond stood up and pocketed the Rubik cube. "Let's visit the solarium. It's the one place we have that's secure from surveillance. I had some endangered orchids delivered today. I want to see them."

The two men walked down expansive hallways that were decorated with soothing natural colors. They passed circular cubbies where employees nested during their breaks. With their grinding work schedules, many CENTIEN workers were hesitant to leave their desks and abstained from using the verdant living spaces.

"Mr. Sinclair!" Buffy Gates rushed around the corner and hurtled towards them. For a moment, they were mesmerized as her breasts bounced in her tight top with each urgent stride.

"Quick, the elevator." Sinclair and Lear outran the intern and jumped into the lift.

"What do you think she wanted?" Sinclair asked. A feeling of revulsion overwhelmed him as he watched the attractive intern's upturned face shrink from view.

"The marketing position?"

"Over my dead body."