The air in the reception area was a carefully calibrated blend of vanilla and ozone, designed, Arthur suspected, to soothe even the most frayed nerves. A soft hum permeated the walls, a frequency just below the threshold of conscious hearing, pulling at the edges of his anxiety. He clutched his consultation form, the pristine white plastic feeling cold against his clammy palm.
He was here because of a billboard, a luminous promise splashed across the city’s grey skyline: “The Consensus. We Ensure That You Will Not Be Disappointed.”
Disappointment. It had been Arthur’s constant companion for the past decade. The promotion that never materialized, the relationship that fizzled, the literary masterpiece he’d always meant to write but never started. It wasn’t just the big things, either. Burnt toast, a delayed flight, the flat taste of his usual coffee – tiny pinpricks that collectively bled his soul dry. He was tired of the constant, low-grade thrum of unmet expectations.
A woman with eyes the colour of polished jade and a smile that seemed to have been digitally perfected greeted him. “Mr. Finch? Please, come through. I’m Elara.”
Her office was minimalist, gleaming white, save for a single, vibrant green plant on a low table. No personal trinkets, no family photos. Just efficiency.
“Thank you for choosing The Consensus, Mr. Finch,” Elara began, her voice a warm, modulated tone. “We understand that life can be… a challenging experience. Our goal is simple: to remove the capacity for negative emotional responses associated with unmet desires or outcomes.”
“How exactly do you… ensure it?” Arthur asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Is it therapy? Hypnosis?”
Elara’s smile widened, revealing teeth that were unnervingly symmetrical. “It’s a proprietary blend of neuro-linguistic programming and targeted emotional re-calibration. A gentle, non-invasive procedure, lasting no more than an hour. We don’t erase memories, Mr. Finch. We simply… optimize your perception. You will still remember setbacks, but they will be viewed through a lens of profound equanimity. Dissatisfaction, regret, sorrow, anger – these will become conceptual, not experiential.”
“So, I won’t feel… bad?”
“You will feel nothing that could be construed as disappointment,” Elara confirmed, her gaze unwavering. “We guarantee it.”
He signed the waiver, a document denser than a legal textbook, barely skimming the fine print. What was there to lose? He was already living with a dull ache of disillusionment; anything had to be better.
The procedure itself was anticlimactic. He lay in a chair, a cool current running through the temples of his head. He saw colours swirl behind his eyelids, heard a chorus of gentle chimes, and then… nothing. He felt lighter, undeniably so, as if a great weight had been lifted.
The next morning, the coffee was burnt again. Arthur took a sip, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t grimace. “Ah,” he thought, “a new flavour profile.” It wasn’t good, exactly, but it wasn’t bad. Just… different.
His boss, Mr. Henderson, called him into his office later that week. “Arthur,” he boomed, “I’m afraid that promotion you’ve been expecting has gone to someone else. Better fit for the role.”
Arthur nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Understood, Mr. Henderson. I wish them well. Perhaps another opportunity will present itself down the line.” He felt no surge of bitterness, no crushing blow to his ambition. Only a quiet acceptance. Mr. Henderson looked at him, slightly unnerved by his placid response.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Arthur’s life became a tapestry of serene acceptance. The delayed train was an opportunity for quiet reflection. The argument with a friend was simply a difference in perspective, easily filed away. He never felt frustrated, never felt let down. The guarantee held.
But then, a subtle unease began to creep in.
He went to a concert, a band he’d loved since his youth. The music was technically perfect, the light show dazzling. Yet, as the final notes faded, he felt only a pleasant, mild appreciation. No exhilaration, no sense of awe that used to send shivers down his spine.
