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"Kylie, this year's annual bonus is evaluated based on two factors: performance and peer reviews. "Since your team never participates in company social events, your coworkers all gave you poor ratings. That's why this is your year-end bonus." Around me, the male employees were receiving bonuses in the tens of thousands. And yet, the women I led—developers who had worked for over ten years and built every core system the company relied on—each received nothing more than a coffee gift card and a mug engraved with the company logo. I laughed out loud. Then I turned and walked into my office and submitted resignation requests for the entire technical team. The manager, Preston Alec, sneered. "Good riddance. AI can replace women like you who only know how to have children." A few days later, the very people who had mocked me were standing in front of me, begging me to come back. I smiled in return. "AI conquers everything, doesn't it?"

For three years, I worked for my coworkers for free—designing, covering for their mistakes, cleaning up their messes. They used my work to get promoted, to win awards, even to run side jobs on the sly, and I never took a cent for any of it. Then I single-handedly landed the hardest client project the company had ever taken on and walked away with a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus. That was the day everyone lost their minds. The same people who'd leeched off me the hardest led the charge, cornering me at my desk and tearing into me in front of the whole office. "The whole concept for that project was a team effort. What gives you the right to keep the bonus for yourself?" "Your work has always been garbage. That free labor of yours was never worth anything anyway!" Worse, they spent the whole night digging up old grievances, stitching together every minor slip-up they could find, and spreading rumors through the entire company—that I'd stalled projects, that my work was worthless, that I'd tanked the department's numbers. Finally, they gave me an ultimatum. "Either split the entire bonus with the department, or pay us two hundred thousand dollars for our trouble. Take your pick." Even the department manager tried to smooth things over, telling me, "We're all colleagues here. You've already got a big bonus—taking a small loss won't kill you. Don't be so difficult about it." Wonderful. So three years of quietly covering for everyone had just produced a pack of lazy, credit-stealing backstabbers. Since they wanted to gang up on the one person who'd always played fair, fine. I was going to lay out three years of original files, timestamps, and proof of exactly who'd done the work—all of it, all at once. And what none of them knew was that the special project behind my bonus was an AI system built to replace every single one of them.

A contract is desperately needed for the company to close the deal on a project, so I head over to the administrative department to lodge a request for printing paper. However, the administrative employee, Lydia Reed, slaps on an arrogant expression. "In order to prevent bottom feeders like you from taking advantage of the company by stealing the company's resources, the company's rulebook has already stated that you must bring your own paper to work!" I just point at the pile of boxes containing A4 paper behind Lydia before asking coldly, "Then who are those resources meant for?" Lydia rolls her eyes at me. "Well, they are meant for people who truly are worthy of this company's resources, duh! "You're just a meager project manager who keeps asking for money without making any contributions at all, so you can forget about getting your hands on anything that belongs to the company!" I nod in return. After leaving the department, I dial a number. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cross. It seems that we shall not be participating in the 200-million-dollar bid after all."

When Lisa from Human Resources informs me that I'm being laid off, she casually mentions one more thing. According to her, I'm not a company employee—I'm just a temporary contractor. I freeze for a moment before nearly bursting into laughter. After dedicating three years of my life to the company, I discover that I have no employment contract, non-compete agreement, or confidentiality clause. To make matters even better, I am the patent applicant for the company's core risk management system, which has generated over a hundred million dollars in revenue. I am also the original owner of the source code repository. The higher-ups tell me to pack up my things and leave that very day, while the director who got his position through connections slams his hand on the table. "You're nothing without this company," he declares. I look at him and almost feel sorry for him. After all these years, someone has finally reminded me of how much freedom I actually have. Alright then. I'll leave—but I'm taking everything I own with me.

A serial killer targeted me. My sister-in-law was assaulted and murdered while trying to save me. Not only did I refuse to call the police, I pushed my father-in-law and mother-in-law down a flight of stairs when they came to help. I even helped the killer destroy the evidence. When my husband learned that his entire family got killed, he broke down in tears. He grabbed me by the collar and demanded, "Why? Why would you do this?" I deliberately waved photographs of his family's gruesome deaths in front of him and burst into laughter. "Why?" I sneered. "Because they deserved it." My parents begged me to cooperate so I wouldn't be sentenced to death. Instead, I publicly severed all ties with them. Meanwhile, the murderer who escaped justice struck again, claiming another victim. As public outrage reached its peak, I was selected for the Memory Extraction Program. Before the sentence was carried out, my husband asked me one final time, "The Memory Extraction System is still a prototype. You could die during the procedure. "Tell us the truth now, and there's still a chance to make things right." I slowly raised my head to look at him. "You're not getting a single word out of me." The crowd instantly erupted. People shouted that a worthless life like mine deserved to die. But when my memories were finally extracted, they were the ones crying and begging someone to save me.

During the award ceremony at our annual dinner, my boss, Hank Reid, suddenly announced an impromptu addition to the agenda. “Annual department competition! The department that ranked last has to come up and receive a little award of motivation!” The screen lit up. They scrolled through all the departments’ results. The sales department got first place, the operations department got second place, and the marketing department got third place. However, there was nothing from the administration department. That was because the administration department did not have KPIs. Hank smiled at us. “Let’s welcome our colleagues from the administration department to come up and receive their awards!” Two of my colleagues carried a whole basket of brooms onto the stage. Everyone was laughing. “You should sweep away your bad luck from last year. Let’s hope you won’t get last place again next year!” Hank personally passed the brooms to all of us. Cameras flashed as people took photos of us with their phones. The sales department was laughing the loudest. “Finally, the administration department has some recognition!”