AuraSwipe

Chapter 4

I flicked on the TV while sorting through label mock-ups for Cloud Nine Kombucha's new "Mystic Mint" line. Half-listening to the droning voices of newscasters, I traced my finger over one design, weaving a subtle attraction charm into the mandala pattern. That's when a segment on AuraSwipe caught my attention.

But it was his aura that made me forget about the labels scattered across my coffee table. Beyond the surface copper that the app might pick up—an indication of a confident personality—I saw layers that shifted like oil on water, refracting and dispersing light in unnatural patterns. I'd seen power players before and done enough product launches to recognize the usual shields and glamours that executives wore like designer suits. This was different. His aura had the same artificial sheen as my enhanced labels, but it dialed up to eleven, as if someone had run it through corporate Photoshop and cranked up the saturation until it hurt to look at.

"We didn't set out to just create another dating app," he said, but I was barely listening to his words, too focused on the way his aura flickered when he spoke—micro-glitches in an otherwise perfect projection.

The interviewer leaned forward. "So you believe that people's auras can determine compatibility?"

The guy smirked, his eyes glinting. "It's not just belief. We've got data to back it up. And," he paused, dropping his voice like he was about to spill some world-changing secret, "let's just say, some people—well, they've got more potential than others."

I sat up a little straighter. That was an odd comment to make. Potential for what? The segment ended, but my mind buzzed. What was that supposed to mean?

Curious, I grabbed my phone and searched for more intel on AuraSwipe. A few articles popped up, mostly fluff pieces about how the app was disrupting the dating scene. But one link caught my eye—an obscure blog called The Unseen Edge featuring an article titled "Project Oracle and the Hunt for Aura Readers." I clicked, and the page loaded slowly, revealing grainy PDFs that seemed ripped straight out of a '70s thriller.

The digital archive spanned from the Cold War to the early 2000s. Apparently, Project Oracle appeared under different code names across the decades—Operation Spectrum in the '80s, The Prismatic Initiative in the '90s, and most recently, a program called the Advanced Cognitive Integration Program. But the core mission remained consistent: identifying and recruiting individuals with paranormal abilities.

The earliest document, labeled "CIA-RDP83T00573R000500080009-3," detailed Project Oracle's original incarnation as an ultra-sophisticated mass storage system. Publicly accessible for years, yet buried under layers of bureaucratic dust, it held hints of capabilities far beyond mere data management. But what began as a method for storing information had evolved. Later memos mentioned "HumInt asset acquisition" and "paranormal surveillance integration." Reading between the heavily redacted lines, it became clear—they weren't just studying aura readers anymore. They were recruiting us.

The CEO's interview played on, but I was barely listening to his words, too focused on his aura again. Come to think of it, it looked like military-grade concealment patterns—the kind I'd just read about in those declassified files. These weren't natural defenses; they were engineered.

The interviewer leaned forward, scrutinizing him, but I was already connecting dots. The massive storage requirements in the original Project Oracle documents, AuraSwipe's data collection capabilities, the careful rebranding through private sector partnerships...

I grabbed my phone, suddenly questioning Eli's own mysterious consulting work. His last message replayed in my mind: "Helping them navigate the more unorthodox aspects of business." The phrasing was too perfect, too similar to the contractor language in those Project Oracle files. Private sector partnerships: in other words, places where corporate interests and government programs overlapped.

My design work at Cloud Nine suddenly felt quaint compared to whatever game Eli was playing. Was he another "augmented asset," or perhaps operating on a different level altogether? His aura's metallic sheen wasn't just gold—it had that peculiar reflective quality I'd only seen twice before. Natural gold auras were warm, like honey in sunlight. This felt manufactured, weaponized almost, with an edge sharp enough to make my teeth ache.

Was I already flagged in their system? Another potential "HumInt asset" for acquisition? The thought made me reach for those soul-cutting scissors under my bed, but curiosity held me back. If AuraSwipe was really Project Oracle 2.0, then Eli's interest in me might be more than just romantic. And despite every instinct telling me to run, I wanted—needed—to know more.

I sighed and tried to focus on the mundane. My mind drifted to exes, wondering why Eli had such a grip on me. Aaron, my college boyfriend, had a soft, dependable blue aura—grounded but a little too predictable. Then there was Max, the artist. His aura was violet—creative, yet always a bit distant, as if he was never fully present. Both were good guys, but neither had Eli's strange allure.

For a second, I entertained a wild thought: maybe we were both gifted, somehow being watched—by AuraSwipe, or even Project Oracle. I laughed it off quickly, though. That was a little too out there... even for me.

Unable to resist, I started Googling celebrity profiles to find similarities to Eli. I checked out a few actors I had mild crushes on—Chris Evans and Henry Cavill. Their auras shone bright and steady, but the deeper, muted shades felt lost, likely due to their occult PR agents throwing off everyday witches like me. Digital images smoothed over nuances, camouflaging complexities like a glossy Instagram filter slapped on to hide secrets and imperfections. Their energies were attractive, sure, but nothing made my pulse race like Eli's. It was frustrating to realize they didn't hit me with the same electric feeling.

Why did Eli have this effect that outshone straight-up stars?

Suddenly, I dreamt up a dating app for A-listers called "Rays," a playful twist on "Raya," where only the brightest auras could connect. I could charge a small fortune for exclusive memberships, raking in cash while basking in the sun at a tropical resort, sipping piña coladas from coconut shells. Who needs a guy, no matter how hot or interesting, when I could be running my empire? The thought made me grin—until I remembered Eli was crushing my ego, and I was just a nobody graphic designer with a weird party trick I wasn't even comfortable sharing.

Just as I was about to lose myself in another round of swiping, my phone buzzed. A message from Eli.

 "Hey, sorry for going quiet yet again. My schedule's been unpredictable lately. But you're the first person I reached out to as soon as I had a minute to breathe." I stared at the text, debating how to feel. It wasn't much of an explanation, but it was enough to get my attention. Part of me wanted to ignore it, make him feel what it's like to be ghosted. But curiosity got the better of me.

"No worries," I typed back, keeping it casual. "What kind of work keeps you so busy?"

There was a long pause before his reply. "Consulting—mostly strategy for a few high-profile clients. You know, helping them navigate the more unorthodox aspects of business."

Well, maybe we were a match then, using our crafts as cheat codes to secure what we wanted. His words held an air of mystery, though, hinting at a world that was intense and slightly dangerous--maybe finance? The thought sparked my imagination, making me eager to uncover more about his "unorthodox" business. I wonder if it involved tailored suits, skinny ties, and a touch of cockiness.

 "I work at a kombucha company," I typed back. "It's an interesting gig, to say the least. I whip up some pretty magical labels at Craft Brew Marketing." 

His reply was quick this time.

"Sounds entertaining. Still, I can't help but wonder if your talents are truly maximized. Jung once said, 'the most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely.' Have you ever considered taking on a greater challenge to see what else you can 'whip up'?"

I stared at the message, torn between being flattered and frustrated. Was he avoiding any follow-up questions, or was he just being philosophical? I wasn't sure, but I felt the pull again, that magnetic aura that kept me tethered to him, even though my gut told me to be cautious. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt—for now. But that didn't mean I was going to let him mess with my head.

I stood up, setting my phone aside, and walked into the kitchen. Pulling out a few ingredients from my cupboard, I mixed up a tonic—a little witchy tradition I'd picked up along the way. Rosewater for clarity, lemon balm for calm, and a hint of honey for sweetness. I swirled it together in a glass, letting the soothing scent wash over me. As I sipped, my eyes drifted to the scissors on the counter. They weren't for arts and crafts; they were for snipping soul cords. I walked back to the living room, tossing the scissors under the bed as a symbolic gesture. I wasn't cutting Eli loose just yet, but I needed some distance. Jet padded over, nuzzling my leg.

"Don't get nicked, Jet," I murmured, scratching behind his ear. I flopped down on the couch, my mind still racing. Curiosity might kill the cat, but damn, if Eli didn't make my heart purr in some strange, inexplicable way.

I typed out just one message: "I'll keep your feedback in mind." Then I put my phone down, letting the silence linger, just enough to keep him wondering.