Chapter 72: Parallel Processing Tutorial
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as Pete adjusted the screens on his desk, the glow casting sharp shadows across the room. The office was quiet, save for the rhythmic clatter of keyboards and the occasional shuffle of papers. Pete glanced over his shoulder at Mark, who was kneeling on the floor behind the bookshelf, his posture rigid, hands resting on his thighs. The black collar around his neck glinted under the harsh light, a stark reminder of his new status.
“Alright, Mark,” Pete said, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s start with the basics. I’ll show you how I handle multiple tasks at once. It’s all about focus and precision.”
Mark nodded, his eyes fixed on Pete’s hands as they moved across the keyboards. “Yes, sir. I’m ready to learn.”
Pete leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing against Mark’s as he demonstrated the workflow. “See how I’m switching between these screens? It’s about anticipating what’s next, not just reacting. You’ve got to stay ahead of the curve.”
Mark’s brow furrowed as he concentrated, his body tense but attentive. “I think I get it. It’s like… juggling, but with information.”
“Exactly,” Pete said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve got to keep everything in the air without dropping a single ball.”
From his desk across the room, Karn watched the interaction with a quiet intensity. His fingers tapped lightly on the polished surface of his desk, the rhythm steady and deliberate. His purple ID lanyard caught the light as he shifted in his chair, his gaze never leaving Pete and Mark.
“Mark,” Karn called out, his voice smooth but edged with authority. “Straighten your back. You’re slouching.”
Mark immediately corrected his posture, his spine snapping into place. “Yes, Master. Thank you.”
Pete glanced at Karn, a flicker of something—gratitude, maybe—passing between them. Karn gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable but for the faintest hint of approval.
“Good,” Pete said, turning back to Mark. “Now, let’s try it again. This time, I want you to take the lead. I’ll guide you, but you’re in control.”
Mark’s hands hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
The room fell into a focused silence as Mark began to work, his movements tentative at first but growing more confident with each passing minute. Pete stood beside him, offering quiet encouragement and occasional corrections. Karn’s presence loomed in the background, a constant reminder of the stakes.
As the minutes ticked by, the rhythm of work became almost meditative. The hum of the air conditioning blended with the sound of keystrokes, creating a strange sense of harmony. Pete could feel the weight of his new responsibilities pressing down on him, but there was also a strange sense of satisfaction. He was making a difference, even if it was in small, incremental ways.
“You’re doing great,” Pete said, his voice soft but steady. “Just keep going. Don’t overthink it.”
Mark nodded, his focus unwavering. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”
Karn’s voice cut through the quiet once more, sharp and commanding. “Mark, your hands are too close together. Spread them out. Use the space.”
Mark adjusted his hands immediately, his movements precise and deliberate. “Yes, Master. I’ll do better.”
Pete glanced at Karn again, a silent exchange passing between them. There was something unspoken in the air, a tension that neither of them acknowledged but both felt. It was there in the way Karn’s eyes lingered on Pete, in the way Pete’s shoulders tensed slightly under the weight of Karn’s gaze.
The morning wore on, the sun rising higher in the sky and casting long beams of light across the office. The work continued, relentless and demanding, but there was a strange kind of camaraderie forming. Pete, Mark, and Karn, each in their own way, were finding their place in the new order of things.
As the clock struck noon, Karn finally rose from his desk, his movements smooth and deliberate. “That’s enough for now,” he said, his voice carrying across the room. “Take a break. You’ve earned it.”
Mark let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Thank you, Master.”
Pete stretched, feeling the tension in his muscles ease. “Good work, Mark. You’re getting the hang of it.”
Mark smiled, a rare expression of genuine gratitude. “Thanks to you, sir. I couldn’t have done it without your help.”
Karn walked over to them, his presence commanding as always. “You’re both doing well,” he said, his tone softer now. “But don’t get complacent. There’s still a lot of work to be done.”
Pete nodded, meeting Karn’s gaze. “We’ll keep at it. We’re just getting started.”
Karn’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Good. I’m counting on you.”
The moment stretched, the air between them charged with unspoken words. Then Karn turned and walked back to his desk, leaving Pete and Mark to their break.
As Pete sat down, he felt a strange mix of emotions—pride, determination, and something else he couldn’t quite name. He glanced at Mark, who was still kneeling, his posture perfect even in rest. There was a quiet strength in him, a resilience that Pete couldn’t help but admire.
“You’re doing great,” Pete said again, his voice softer this time. “Keep it up.”
Mark nodded, his expression earnest. “I will, sir. I promise.”
The office fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of the morning’s work settling over them. Outside, the city buzzed with life, but inside, there was a strange kind of peace. Pete leaned back in his chair, letting the moment linger. There was still so much to do, but for now, he allowed himself to breathe.
The momentary peace shattered like thin ice. Karn’s voice, cool and precise, sliced through the quiet. "Mark. All future work submissions." He didn’t look up from his own screen, fingers tapping silently on the glass desk. "Route them to Pete’s email for first proofing. Pete will review, then forward them to me for final approval." His gaze flicked up, sharp and assessing, landing on Pete. "Pete. Include a proposed percentage contribution estimate for Mark on each forwarded submission. Break it down."
Pete straightened in his chair, the weight of the new responsibility settling on his shoulders. "Understood, Karn." He turned to Mark, trying to project reassurance. "It’s okay, Mark. Karn’s meticulous but completely fair. The evaluations will reflect exactly what you contribute, nothing more, nothing less." He managed a small, encouraging smile. "It’s transparent."
Relief washed over Mark’s face, quickly followed by a familiar surge of abject gratitude. He shifted on his knees, his posture instinctively preparing for the deep bow, forehead destined for the cool office floor. "Th-thank you, Master Karn! Thank you, Pete! I won’t—"
"Enough!" Karn’s command cracked like a whip, sharp with genuine irritation. He swiveled his chair fully, pinning Mark with an exasperated stare. "How many times must we endure this pointless spectacle, Mark?" He gestured dismissively at the space between them. "The groveling. The bowing. It wastes time. My time. Pete’s time. Your time. Stand. Up."
Mark flinched as if physically struck. The command, laced with such palpable annoyance, cut through his ingrained habit. Shock registered on his face, followed by a desperate scramble to obey. He lurched upright, almost stumbling in his haste, his bare feet slapping the polished concrete floor as he shot to his full height.
Silence descended, thick and heavy. Karn’s sharp eyes, narrowed in lingering annoyance, dropped briefly. They fixed unwaveringly on Mark’s groin. Pete followed Karn’s gaze, his own breath catching in his throat.
Mark, stark naked except for the stark black collar, was fully, rigidly erect.
Karn’s expression shifted from irritation to cold, analytical scrutiny. He leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers. "Explain, Mark." His voice was dangerously quiet, devoid of its earlier heat but carrying an undeniable weight. "That reaction. Now."
Mark’s face flushed a deep, mortified crimson, spreading down his neck to his chest. He trembled, eyes darting wildly, unable to meet Karn’s piercing gaze or Pete’s bewildered one. He looked trapped. "I... I..." His voice was a choked whisper. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the words out. "At first... when I was Red Tag... the humiliation... being forced into those ridiculous clothes... or nothing at all..." He swallowed hard. "It was terrifying. Awful." He opened his eyes, staring at a point on the floor near Karn's expensive shoes, his erection flagging slightly under the intense scrutiny but still prominent. "But... gradually... I... I started to... feel something else." His voice dropped even lower, thick with shame and a strange, desperate honesty. "I realized... I... I liked it. Being exposed. Like this. In front of you." He dared a fleeting glance at Karn's impassive face, then flicked his eyes towards Pete, burning with humiliation. "Right now... being naked here... with you both... Master Karn correcting me... even the... the anger..." He trailed off, trembling violently. "It... excites me."
The fluorescent hum seemed deafening in the wake of Mark’s confession. Pete stared, stunned, his mind reeling. The naive reassurance he’d offered about fairness felt hollow, shattered against this raw, uncomfortable truth. Karn remained utterly still, his expression unreadable, his gaze locked on Mark’s exposed, trembling form, the gears of his strategic mind undoubtedly turning, reassessing, recalculating the parameters of the problem kneeling – now standing – before him. The city sprawled, indifferent, beyond the vast glass, a silent witness to the complex, unsettling dynamics unfolding within Karn’s pristine glass cage.
The city sprawled, indifferent, beyond the vast glass, a silent witness to the complex, unsettling dynamics unfolding within Karn’s pristine glass cage. The fluorescent hum seemed to amplify in the heavy silence following Mark’s choked confession. Pete stared, utterly frozen, his earlier reassurance about fairness crumbling to dust. He watched Mark’s naked body tremble violently, the stark black collar a cruel accent against his flushed skin, the undeniable evidence of his arousal still painfully present despite his shame.
Karn hadn’t moved. He remained utterly still in his executive chair, his gaze fixed on Mark with unnerving intensity. The calculation Pete knew so well was visible in the slight narrowing of Karn’s eyes, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw as he processed this unexpected variable. The chilly air conditioning suddenly felt colder. Karn leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on the polished obsidian desk, his fingers steepled. His voice, when it came, was low, controlled, devoid of the earlier irritation but carrying a weight that made Mark flinch anew.
"Interesting," Karn stated, the single word hanging in the air like a verdict. He didn’t look away from Mark. "An inconvenient physiological response, Mark. One that significantly complicates your probationary status." He paused, letting the implication sink in. "Your... excitement... is disruptive. To yourself. To the work environment. To me."
Karn’s gaze finally shifted, flicking briefly to Pete, who felt pinned in place. "It cannot continue. Not during work hours. Not within these walls." He turned his full attention back to Mark, his voice dropping into a colder register, the 'devil aura' the author’s note promised suddenly palpable, a chilling intensity radiating from him. "Listen carefully, Mark. You will not let these involuntary reactions disturb your work. Or mine. Is that understood?"
Mark swallowed audibly, his throat working. "Y-yes, Master Karn. I understand. I swear. I-I’ll control it." His voice was a desperate whisper, laced with humiliation and terror. "I promise. Strongly. I promise."
"Promises are cheap," Karn countered flatly, his eyes boring into Mark’s. "Actions matter. Control it, or find yourself incapable of functioning effectively. Which renders your probation pointless." He paused, letting the threat resonate. "As for your persistent need for abasement..." Karn’s lip curled slightly. "The constant bowing. The groveling. It is inefficient. Unprofessional. It grates."
Mark instinctively started to lower himself, his muscles tensing for the familiar posture of submission, but Karn’s sharp intake of breath stopped him cold. "Stand. Still." Karn commanded, the words snapping like ice. "If you insist on debasing yourself as part of this probation ritual, you will confine it to specific, designated times. According to company protocol for probational Black Tags." He leaned back, the leather sighing faintly. "You may perform your... greeting... kneeling, head to floor, only in the morning, before the official start of the working day. And only again after the working day has concluded. No exceptions."
Mark nodded frantically, trembling. "Yes, Master. Before work. After work. Only then. I understand."
Karn’s gaze hardened, the chilling aura intensifying. His next words were low, precise, and carried the absolute certainty of a judge pronouncing sentence. "But understand this, Mark Grubbypank. If you ever dare to say, imply, or suggest that you deserve to crawl on the floor at my feet at all times? If you express some twisted need for constant humiliation beyond the mandated protocol?" He paused, letting the silence stretch taut. "I will personally ensure you are remanded directly back to county jail. Immediately. No discussion. No reprieve. Your probation terminated. Your fate sealed."
The threat landed like a physical blow. Mark gasped, his face draining of what little color remained. The erection that had been a source of agonizing shame vanished instantly, replaced by sheer, paralyzing terror. Pete’s knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of his own desk, the cold reality of Karn’s power hitting him anew. Beneath the strategic protection, the chilling efficiency, lay a line Mark could not cross without catastrophic consequences.
"Now," Karn stated, his voice returning to its usual businesslike tone, the devilish intensity receding as abruptly as it had appeared. He tapped a key, bringing his primary monitor to life, its glow reflecting in his cool, detached eyes. "Pete. Mark. The quarterly analytics report. I need the regional breakdowns cross-referenced against the new client projections by end of day." He didn't look up. "Get to work."
The command shattered the suffocating tension, replacing it with the mundane pressure of deadlines. Mark stood rigidly, visibly fighting to control his trembling, his eyes fixed blankly on the floor tiles near Karn's shoes. Pete took a shaky breath, forcing himself to turn back to his own array of screens, the city lights blurring slightly as he tried to refocus. The complex web of power, shame, protection, and now, this unsettling layer of exposed compulsion, thrummed just beneath the surface of the sterile office air, a constant, unspoken counterpoint to the clatter of keyboards. He glanced at Mark’s rigid back, then at Karn’s impassive profile. Control. That’s what Karn demanded. Absolute control over every variable, including Mark’s most humiliating instincts. And Pete realized, with a cold flicker of understanding, that Karn’s ‘mercy’ was always a meticulously controlled environment.