Down With The Gods

As the fifth “beep” sounds from the digital alarm clock, Wyn rolls over and slams it off. For five nights, he hasn’t slept well. He recalls tossing and turning, checking the clock repeatedly until it was past 4:00 a.m., his mind racing with worries:

"What if I had explained it like this instead to my boss?"

"Did I prep wrong data for the meeting today?"

"What should I do first thing tomorrow after turning on the work laptop?"

"What's the point in trying?"

"Why can't I be happy?"

"What do I live for anyway?"

His restless night was plagued by a nightmare where he was back in high school, unprepared for an exam, surrounded by old friends and a new, unfamiliar Math teacher.

Today is Friday, one of his three work-from-home days. At 7:32 a.m., Wyn lies in bed, checking his phone for missed notifications. Two unread messages wait, but he avoids replying immediately. Instead, he stares blankly at the ceiling, lost in thoughts about his mundane existence and the repetitive cycle that haunts his nights. Though he knows his life in Tideland – a tropical country in Asiania – is relatively good compared to many, his awareness only deepens his sense of guilt and dissatisfaction. The clock strikes 7:50 a.m., and Wyn’s morning routine begins: a quick shower, breakfast reheated from the night before, and powering up his laptop. By 8:50 a.m., he's ready to start his day.

Wyn is a data analyst for a company offering unsecured loans. After five years in this role, a promotion still seems distant. This is his second job since earning his Master's Degree in Finance in Cannothing, a cold, vast country known for its long winters and controversial sports league – the Seals Clubbing League (SCL). Though his salary is decent, he feels left behind compared to his university friends, with whom communication has dwindled. His last message in their chat was “Stagnated.”

Approaching thirty later this month, Wyn is a typical petite Asianian male: one hundred sixty-five centimeters tall, weighing fifty-six kilograms, with an oval face, hazel eyes, and dark hair. Known for his integrity but perceived as too aggressive, Wyn has tried to fit in better by being friendlier and working longer hours. Despite his efforts, he remains overlooked, with important projects assigned to colleagues who are regularly promoted. This frustration, combined with a sense of hopelessness, makes him question if he'll ever succeed. He recalls his past praise from classmates and lecturers but finds little solace in his diminishing team of four. Fortunately, he’s found a good ally in Budd, a colleague from the data science team.

While his laptop loads, Wyn replies to his messages. One is a team group chat about a restaurant vote for next Friday’s dinner, which he reads but doesn’t respond to. The other is a high school friend asking to borrow money, which Wyn promptly declines. He signs in and opens a spreadsheet, starting his day by updating the monthly performance dashboard, now that January has ended. He’s frustrated that the company hasn’t invested in automation software, but he completes the task in under three hours before taking a short bathroom break. His next task is a campaign performance evaluation, which he aims to finish by next Friday.

At 11:00 a.m., he orders lunch and takes a break at noon. By 1:00 p.m., he's back to working on the evaluation. While he doesn’t enjoy his work, it provides a welcome distraction from his thoughts. Then, a “ping” from his laptop catches his attention. It’s 4:30 p.m., and a message from a familiar name appears, bringing a smile to his face.

"Ramen still on?" reads Budd's message.

"Yuppp. 7pm. at Ramen-ted," Wyn replies.

The two have been trying to visit the new ramen restaurant for weeks but only recently managed to align their afterwork schedules.

At 6:10 p.m., Wyn saves his work, signs out of his laptop, and changes from his black football shorts into beige chino shorts. He keeps on his olive green t-shirt with a corgi face logo. He then takes the skytrain to meet Budd at the restaurant. They both arrive a few minutes early.

Wyn and Budd met through work, coordinating on data models. Budd has been with the company a year longer than Wyn and has received one promotion. Budd is a stockier male with a round face, black hair, and black eyes. Standing at one hundred sixty-nine centimeters, he looks a couple of years younger than twenty-eight. His modestly high-pitched voice contrasts with Wyn's deeper, coarser tone. Budd got married last year but, along with his wife, doesn't plan on having children, considering it an "unnecessary burden." Though Budd doesn’t struggle with the same depressive thoughts as Wyn, he understands him well. To Wyn, Budd feels like a brother and is one of the few he considers a friend.

There's a line outside the restaurant, with customers eager to try the Pete-Holding-A-Tire (PHAT) ramen. Pete is a large white-skinned man whose endorsement seems to ensure success for restaurants. During their wait, Wyn and Budd discuss their work progress and share insights. After nearly an hour, they're seated. Wyn orders a spicy tonkotsu ramen, while Budd opts for shoyu ramen.

Wyn, who usually prefers solitude, talks nonstop when he’s with someone he’s comfortable with. He vents about work and bad experiences with products or services, but he avoids sharing his depressive thoughts. After two previous instances of being laughed at and advised to turn to religion, he keeps his deeper struggles to himself. Budd, while less talkative, also enjoys a good complaint. Today’s topic is how global companies blame customers for their poor performance. Both are frustrated by CEOs who avoid responsibility while lower-level employees bear the brunt of cutbacks and layoffs.

"'It's a difficult decision we have to make', my ass," Wyn says angrily, using air quotes.

Their heated discussion is interrupted when the waitress serves their food. Wyn, not a big fan of ramen, dislikes the responsibility of choosing a restaurant more. Budd, whose love for ramen overshadows his restaurant choices, knows this. As a tradition, they review their dishes outside the restaurant. Wyn finds his ramen only marginally satisfactory, rating it three out of seven. Budd, unsure if he heard Wyn correctly, rates his own ramen three out of five, finding the broth underwhelming.

"Look! I'm pregnant again," Budd says, rubbing his belly.

"You're always pregnant. When will the baby finally arrive?" Wyn mocks, eyeing Budd's belly.

"Seems like never at this point." Budd pokes his belly. "What do you want to do next?"

"It's getting late, and I'm too full to eat anything else." Wyn touches his belly, showing discomfort.

"Aight. Let's head home," Budd suggests, and Wyn nods in agreement.

They say their goodbyes. Budd calls a cab via an app, while Wyn takes the skytrain. Once he reaches his station, he walks another ten minutes to his home. On the way, he passes a famous shrine where people gather to pray for luck. The daily ceremony from 9:30 p.m. to 9:45 p.m. is often loud. Wyn recalls news of someone trying to sue the shrine for noise pollution but dropping the case after receiving numerous death threats.

"Why do gods demand worship, especially with goods and money?" Wyn wonders.

"And what about the poor religious countries? What are the gods doing?"

"If I am rewarded for my hard work, why should I give them the credit?" The questions keep pouring in.

Wyn has long struggled with religion. He identifies as agnostic, neither fully denying nor accepting divine power but finding no logical reason to believe. His philosophy is “seeing is believing,” and he struggles with the idea that no one has ever seen a god. Those who claim to have communicated with one always fail to provide logical evidence.

"If god's going to punish unbelievers, shouldn't he make himself more visible?" Wyn muses. "And if gods know everything, why put nonbelievers on Earth only to send them straight to hell?"

"Must be some kind of cruel joke," is his final thought before entering his building.

Despite his views, Wyn talks to empty air during tough times, hoping that if a god exists, it might offer some mercy and help him achieve his dreams. He knows he's being hypocritical, but a glimpse of hope keeps him from doing unimaginable things.

Once home, Wyn strips off his clothes and showers, disliking the smell of food on his clothes. He changes into comfortable nightwear, unplugs his work laptop, and replaces it with his personal one. As usual, he spends time watching clips on “UwuTube,” focusing on gaming, tech, and travel content. Tonight, he watches a self-proclaimed “gamer” pit regular animals against each other in an auto-battler style game.

By midnight, Wyn feels sleepy but can't go to bed without visiting his favorite site, “The Adventurous Hamsters.” This community-operated video platform, funded by member fees, features clips of hamsters being released into various odd places. Wyn believes that hamsters run on wheels to escape the confinement of their cages, giving their tiny brains the illusion of freedom. He relates this to his own life, feeling trapped in his job and using vacations or spending money as an illusion of freedom. Watching these clips gives him a sense of liberation, even though he acknowledges the animal abuse involved. Time flies on “The Adventurous Hamsters.” At 12:35 a.m., Wyn turns off his laptop, the lights, and gets into bed. Once again, he struggles to fall asleep.

The deprivation of sleep is taking its toll on Wyn. He's lethargic all the time, and weekends are what he looks forward to the most. He enjoys the freedom to play games, watch movies, and even take power naps to compensate for his sleepless nights. Weekends are unstructured for him – no fixed schedules or activities. He dreads running errands or meeting someone on the weekends, as these commitments steal away his precious time. If possible, he would reschedule everything to weekday evenings. What others might see as “unproductive,” he views as “freedom.” What others call “bland,” he considers “exciting.” He only fakes a smile when someone criticizes his lifestyle.

As the fifth “beep” sounds from the digital alarm clock, Wyn rolls over from the left side of his bed and turns it off. He checks his mobile phone – no unread messages this morning. It's now 6:30 a.m. on a Monday, an office day. He spends the next twenty minutes staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. This morning is one of those where he can’t remember his dreams; all he sees in his mind are dark, shadowy shapes of the characters that appeared in them – no plot, no dialogue, no movement.

The morning routine for office days is standard, except for taking the skytrain to work. Wyn arrives at 8:45 a.m., fifteen minutes early. The office is already bustling, with at least ninety percent of the department members present. He greets some colleagues and reserves a seat for Budd to his right before starting his workday. He spends the next thirty minutes updating the daily dashboards before taking a bathroom break. When he returns, he finds Budd still standing, extracting his laptop from his backpack.

"Yo, baby face," Wyn greets him.

"Hey. What's up?" Budd replies, distracted and unaware of his surroundings.

"Good, good," Wyn responds, and sits down at his desk.

The office features fifty cubicles, one meeting room, and two open common areas. An aisle separates the office in half, with five cubicles on each side. The meeting room is located behind the last row, situated between the two open areas. The curtains are always drawn to keep sunlight out. The Data Intelligence Department has two units: Wyn's Data Analyst Team and Budd's Data Scientist Team. Wyn's team consists of three colleagues and one boss, while Budd’s team includes six colleagues and one supervisor. Despite the small size, the department is looking to expand. The office operates on a free seating concept, allowing employees to sit wherever they like. Wyn and Budd often sit near each other when the first person to arrive finds two adjacent seats. If no seats are available together, they simply choose separate spots.

Typically, at 10:00 a.m. every Monday, everyone gathers in one of the common areas to update each other on their work and progress. Today, however, the executive overseeing the department is absent due to a contagious virus. With less activity, Wyn returns to focusing on his campaign evaluation project. Around 11:15 a.m., he notices his colleague, Pla, being called into the meeting room with the unit boss. Twenty minutes later, Pla emerges looking upset but returns calmly to her desk. The boss then calls Wyn into the meeting room, catching him off guard.

"How are you, Wyn?" the boss asks.

"I'm alright. Thank you. How about you?" Wyn replies.

"I've been better. Now, I know you're wondering why I called you in," the boss says. "It's about this year's compensation and salary adjustments. Unfortunately, it's not good news."

"Okay…," Wyn responds, trying to maintain a faint smile.

"You probably understand the impact of last year's shutdown on the economy. The company is projected to struggle this year. The executives have decided to freeze headcounts, bonuses, salaries, and promotions."

"No performance bonuses? Didn’t the company just boast about last year's performance at the town hall meeting?" Wyn asks, struggling to keep his composure.

Normally, the company pays two to six months' worth of bonuses. Wyn has consistently scored between three and three and a half out of five for his past performances, earning him similar bonus amounts in previous years. The fact that he worked harder last year, only to receive this news, frustrates him. His smile fades.

"We're not terminating anyone or cutting salaries. Yes, last year was good, but we're anticipating an economic crisis later this year," the boss explains.

"So, it's just speculation about the future. It hasn’t happened yet. You even asked us to work extra during the pandemic, and we all did. Does that count for nothing?" Wyn’s frustration is palpable.

"I understand how you feel, but there's nothing I can do. I'm sure it's a tough decision for the executives. They're doing their best."

Wyn’s anger flares up. His eyebrows furrow. If the executives cared so much about the company, they should cut their own salaries. One month of the CEO's salary could cover Wyn's annual salary, and the savings from all high-level positions could amount to tens of millions. His mind races with these thoughts.

"‘Doing their best’, huh?" Wyn repeats, emphasizing his irritation. "Okay."

He walks out of the meeting room without saying anything more. He and Pla exchange a brief, knowing glance before Wyn taps Budd on the shoulder.

"Let’s go for lunch."

"Sure. Are you okay? You look upset. Is this about the bonuses?" Budd asks.

"Yeah, but I’d rather not talk about it right now. I’m fuming," Wyn replies, struggling to keep his calm demeanor.

For lunch, the two are joined by two other data scientist colleagues. They head to a nearby street food stall known as “khao gaang” in Tide, where food is pre-made and displayed in hot pans. Customers choose their items and pay according to the number of options they select. It’s an affordable and popular choice for office workers. After paying, they sit at a table of four and finish their meal in under twenty minutes, with minimal conversation. Wyn and Budd decide to take a walk while the other two head back to the office for an after-lunch nap.

Budd awkwardly adjusts his wedgie and then asks Wyn, "Do you want to talk about it now?"

"No bonuses, no salary increase, no promotion," Wyn replies.

"To be honest, I already knew. But my boss specifically asked our team not to discuss it with others," Budd admits.

"Ah. Aren’t you pissed, though?" Wyn asks, clearly agitated.

"Oh hell yeah, I was pissed. But...umm...I’ve had interviews with several other companies," Budd says hesitantly.

"Oh? How did that go?" Wyn asks, trying to sound casual, though he feels a twinge of betrayal.

"Two of them are interested, and we're in the process of finalizing the packages."

"Someone of your caliber will definitely find a job. Good for you. I’m a bit jealous."

"So, how are you feeling?"

"I feel like shit, defeated. I might just quit and rest for a while before getting back to the workforce. I’m completely burned out."

"You should find a new job first and then use your remaining leave to rest. It took me months to get to this point; I had interviews with a lot of companies before landing these two."

"I understand, but I’m so burned out that I just want to throw up at the sight of numbers. A week of rest wouldn’t be enough," Wyn replies, surprisingly calm, though his calmness is unusual for him.

After Wyn's last sentence, a brief silence falls before Budd decides to change the topic, trying to distract Wyn from his thoughts. When Wyn discusses something serious without much emotion, it's clear that something is deeply wrong. Budd, knowing how ambitious and sometimes overzealous Wyn can be, understands the gravity of the situation but feels powerless to help.

Throughout the afternoon and into the evening, Wyn struggles to focus on his work. His mind is overwhelmed with scenarios and he finds himself analyzing different options, but he’s too mentally exhausted to come to any conclusions. He stares blankly at the data, moving the mouse around out of habit. His frustration intensifies when he notices one of his boss’s favorites trying to hide a smirk after a one-on-one session.

At around 4:35 p.m., the boss calls the team to a common area to finalize dinner plans. Wyn remains silent during the brief meeting, and the team decides on a sushi buffet. After the meeting, Wyn packs his bag and says goodbye to Budd, who stays behind to finish running a model. On his way home, Wyn's thoughts remain preoccupied.

"Wouldn’t mind getting hit by a car right now. If the world was to collapse today or tomorrow, I’d be ready."

Once home, Wyn searches for the antidepressants he was prescribed during the pandemic. This isn't his first encounter with a psychiatrist; he sought help previously during his Masters in Cannothing. It’s been nine months since his last dose. He counts the remaining pills, which would last him a week, and briefly considers taking a dose now. For a moment, the thought of overdosing crosses his mind, but he quickly decides against it.

In the kitchen, another light bulb goes out as he’s about to leave, making the space even dimmer. This is the second of four bulbs to go out, and the kitchen is now much darker without direct lighting. Wyn has been searching for replacements but hasn’t found any that fit the old bulb shaft, as production has been discontinued.

Feeling like a wreck, Wyn texts Pla to discuss the day's events. They chat for half an hour, with Pla confirming that she also noticed one of the favorites trying to hide a smile. The conversation becomes heated but is eventually cut short as both feel drained. To distract himself, Wyn watches “uWuTube” and “The Adventurous Hamsters” clips. By 10:44 p.m., he starts yawning and decides to go to bed early. However, despite rolling over repeatedly, he can't sleep. The loss of composure during his one-on-one with his boss, the certainty of no promotion for at least another year, and the fact that his friend hid information from him leave him feeling even more despondent. He questions the purpose of his existence, speaking to the empty air, hoping for some light in the dark tunnel he’s trapped in.