The Human Stock Market
Humane Acquisition and Resource Trading: HART
Every day we surrender a little more control to digital systems we barely understand. We're not just scrolling; we're slipping into a future built from data we willingly give away.
It starts with a notification that goes unnoticed—an update, a trending hashtag, another tech billionaire casually suggesting they're about to change the world. Nothing shocking. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Until it is.
Welcome to Project X.
If you haven’t already read the codex, you can do that below.
Welcome to Project X, I’m your Narrator.
The HART Initiative: Humane Acquisition and Resource Trading. A revolutionary system that turns talent into tradeable futures, transforming marginalized dreams into measurable returns.
Jared West built his empire on a simple truth—that genius exists everywhere, but opportunity does not. By connecting billionaire investors with untapped potential in forgotten communities, he created what appeared to be the perfect symbiosis. The wealthy get wealthier, the gifted get their shot, and everyone wins.
Or so we were meant to believe.
What follows is taken from surveillance footage, personal logs, and witness testimonies. The names remain unchanged. The truth, as always, lies somewhere in between.
Lets begin.
The Human Stock Market aka HART
Tuesday evening light streams through the windows, glinting off my wall of humanitarian awards—yeah, I know, I know, humblebrag. My eye are glued to the Lab 7 feed, like always. Gotta keep an eye on my investments, right?
HART. It was a damn good idea, if I do say so myself. We were already throwing money at stocks, startups, the next freakin' app that lets you order dog food from your toilet. What about people? What if we could actually, you know, solve something? Poverty, education gaps, the whole nine yards. A risk/reward system for success, just like any other investment. A chance to level the playing field? Damn straight. Give everyone a shot.
…Okay, so, we don't lead with that touchy-feely stuff. Too ‘bleeding heart liberal.’ We pitch it as a win-win. Investors get richer, "underprivileged"—ugh, I hate that word, but whatever—they get a shot. It's a business, plain and simple.
It’s easy for people like Morrow to write a check and pat themselves on the back. But this is different. This is about finding the next freakin' superstar. The kid with the fire in their belly, the raw talent that just needs fuel. And we provide that. We put a price tag on potential, yeah. So what? Everyone does. At least this evens the score a bit in favor of the little guy.
The public eats it up. Even the ones with the money. Not that they give a damn about anyone's dream, let's be honest. They want to win. Plus they don’t have to feel guilty about their freakin’ swimming pools. The problem, as always, is money. Once you get money involved, the line between murder and risk management becomes…muddy.
Lila. That's her name. My investment. Some suit watching the feed would just see some chick in engineering. Yawn. I see more. I see the way her eyes light up when she crunches the numbers. The little dopamine rush every time she cracks a code. It's like watching a damn thoroughbred find its stride. Potential. That's what I see.
I don’t know when I started seeing her less like an asset and more like a person. Probably around the time she cracked that encryption Yates' team couldn't touch. That got my attention. She's… relentless. Like me. A shark in her own way.
And that’s the problem. She’s become a blind-spot. My feelings for her are a weakness in my portfolio that I can’t tolerate.
My phone chirps: Incoming Call.
I let it ring twice. Gotta establish dominance, right? Besides, I know who it is. And I know that second ring drives him absolutely nuts. Small victories, people. Small victories.
"You got anything for me?" Douglas barks, sharp and direct, like always. "Last one got too cozy to Yates' investment, so we pulled the plug. Big mess. Had to liquidate. Total hassle. Believe me. Biggest hassle in all history."
I’m not fully paying attention to Caleb. I’m watching Lab 7. Lila’s about to crack something. I can feel it. The way she's leaning in, the focus… it’s… compelling. Not just the breakthrough itself, but her. The way she attacks a problem, the sheer grit. It’s… familiar.
"Nothing yet, Caleb," I say, leaning back, twirling my pen. "Still evaluating. Due diligence. You know the drill."
He snorts. "Don’t kid a kidder. I know you. People talk, Jared. They say, ‘This guy? He’s a genius.’ And I agree, I do. You’ve got a play, a big one. And I like big. Everybody’s got their little plans, their little investments, but you and I are different. You think winning plans. And I like winning. So let’s cut to the chase. I want in, Jared. Bigly."
I can feel the irritation prickling, my focus turning away from the monitor, but I keep it cool. I don't lay all my cards on the table just yet. "Acquisitions take time. There's a process. You're used to getting your way, I get it. But I'm not one of your yes men."
Caleb lets out a loud, dismissive laugh. "You think you're so smart. 'Champion of the People.' Give me a break. I gotta hand it to you, though, they love you, those suckers. But you and I, we're the same. You're just better at PR. Why don’t you run and tell everyone how you told big, bad Douglas 'no dice' to your little shindig. Show 'em how tough you are, how you ‘fight’ for them. Pft."
“Shindig? Caleb, this isn’t a game. This is the future. My future. You can play your little political games, call 'em whatever you want, but don't confuse your title with real power.” That last line had a little bite, huh? Good. “So listen up, because this is how things are gonna go from here on out.”
I could feel the sweat beading on my brow, but hey, poker face for days. “I own this court. Here, I make the rules. You come to me. Through the proper channels. The right way. Got it? Or you can find another playground to run your… business ventures. Just a heads up though, all the good playgrounds? Mine. So good luck getting your son, Brad the coke douche, through the next election without my backing."
I let that sink in. Caleb's not used to being told no. Especially not like that. And I even saved the best shot for last. "We’re done here," I say, and hang up.
I know exactly how that's going to land. He'll be fuming. But that's the point. Sometimes you gotta remind people who's really in charge.
Through the monitor, I watch Lila push back from her terminal. Damn, she’s something. Beautiful in the way that a perfect pitch is. Sharp, unexpected, like the kind of thing that could either make or break you… I shake the intrusive thoughts from my head and focus on…anything else.
Investing 101: Control of what you can control is everything. You don’t bet billions on a wildcard. You find them, shape them, teach them. That’s how you keep from losing your buy-in.
Lila’s world is slowly shrinking exactly the way I want it to. Longer hours, missed calls, canceled plans. Isolation’s the game. No exits. No distractions. You want to build something big? You don’t get a soft landing. No safety net. But that’s the part they don’t get.
People think this is all about stats and metrics. But behind the curtain, it’s about control.
When I started, I wasn’t looking to play dirty. I thought I could build something real. Give people an edge. Make things better. More fair. But then the other piranhas showed up. And they don’t want to make the world better, they want to own it.
They have always seen people as assets. Disposable. Something to manipulate, trade, throw away when it’s no longer worth the effort.
But I normalized it. Gave it a platform, and promoted it.
You don’t just mess with stocks in this game. You ruin a future. You destroy a family. Take a life. All to make sure you’re the one who owns the board.
It’s cold. It’s ugly. But it works. It’s efficient.
But these guys? Yates and Douglas? They’re sponsoring babies now. Getting in on the ground floor, before they even know how to walk.
Yeah, that’s the world I helped build. The one I’ve been cashing checks from for years.
Lila is more than a glitch in my perfect plan. She’s different. She doesn’t play the game the way the others do. She walks into my office, and lights the room like she owns the place. In my office. That should’ve been the first red flag.
But she’s sharp, relentless, unstoppable even. Somewhere between the first meeting and the hundredth, I started catching myself thinking about her differently. When she smiles, it’s not about the numbers. It’s not about the playbook. It’s just her. And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t throw me off.
I even started bringing her coffee. An excuse. A stupid one. Just a reason to see her, to… analyze her in ways that had nothing to do with strategy. The small scar above her eyebrow. The way she hums under her breath, tuneless but steady, like a grounding wire for her thoughts.
The whisper of my office door opening brings me back to. Lila, right on time.
“I probably shouldn’t be drinking with my boss,” She says as I pour two fingers of bourbon into her glass. Smart girl.
“I’m not your boss,” I say, lifting my glass and giving her a pointed look. “I’m your partner. Your investor. There’s a difference.”
Her smile, it’s…unsettling. Like it was created to be my kryptonite. I’ve felt this feeling before. It’s not love. No, it’s something else. Professional admiration. The kind that drives you to push harder, be smarter, make more.
“Is there?” she says, leaning in just enough to make me second-guess myself.
“A boss tells you what to do. An investor knows when to double down, when to fold. An investor deals in potential, not productivity.” I lean forward, close enough for her to smell the Dior. “With you, I see someone who takes risks. Someone who could change the game. And make us both a lot of money.”
For a second, I think I’ve steered the conversation well enough away. But her eyes…damn it, they sparkle like she’s baiting me.
“You really think so?” Her voice drops to that familiar softness. A warm whisper reserved for late nights in my office. It shouldn’t matter, but it does.
I reach out, and I can’t help myself. I tuck a stray hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering longer than I intend. Long enough that I feel the weight of her skin on mine.
“Trust me. I never make a bad investment.”
There’s a second where I wonder if I’m still talking business, but I know I’m not. We should call it a night. Stick to the plan. The controlled move.
Instead, I step closer. The scent of her shampoo hits me first. It’s stupid how much that detail sticks. How much it matters. I don’t do distractions. I don’t do uncalculated risks. But this is the kind of moment that takes you apart before you even realize it’s happening.
And I let it. Just for a second. Just long enough to remember what it’s like to feel something real. Something that wasn’t designed, optimized, or manufactured.
“Beautiful,” I murmur.
Lila’s eyes meet mine, and it’s like we’re standing at the edge of something neither of us planned—before I take the risk.
I kiss her. Slow. Deliberate.
And the second she kisses me back, I feel the unraveling. Every carefully laid plan, every rule I’ve followed, breaking apart at the seams.
I pull away. I pull away fast.
“I can’t.” The words scrape out, rougher than I mean them to. My throat’s tight, and I don’t like the feeling. It’s not control. It’s not calculated. It’s messy.
Her brow furrows. “Wait, what? What do you mean?”
She looks… hurt. Jesus. I didn’t think I could feel a look like a gut punch, but I do.
“Because…” I drag a hand over my face, trying to steady myself. Find the right words. Find the logic. Unfortunately, I lost logic when I kissed her. “It’s not part of the plan, Lila. Love? Attachments? They’re a liability. They makes things messy. And I don’t do messy.”
I can see it all over her face. She’s already putting it together.
The missed calls from friends. The silence from her dad.
I see the moment the realization lands. “You’re the reason he hasn’t called.” Her expression shifts. Hardens. Like steel locking into place. “You’ve been doing this to me?” Her voice is quiet, but sharp enough to cut. “The whole time?”
I don’t say anything. Silence answers for me. Just exhale, slow. Steady. A business deal. That’s all this ever was. That’s what I tell myself.
Something cracks between us—or, rather, in her. I see it in real time. And I know with absolute certainty that this is the moment I lose her. She looks at me for one last second, like she’s trying to find something worth holding onto. But there’s nothing left.
She turns and walks out without a word. The door clicks shut behind her, but it may as well be a gunshot, final and unforgiving. I stand there, staring at where she was. At the space she should still be in.
The problem with building an empire? You don’t get to have weak spots. And I just let mine walk out the door.
The room feels empty. Distraction-free. Clearer. Or it should. But my pulse won’t settle, and my thoughts refuse to snap back into place. I rub my temples, exhaling sharply.
Oh, this is a problem. A real one.
I run through the scenarios. Damage control. She knows too much. Not everything, but enough to start pulling threads that are out of my control. She’s too smart. She’ll ask the right questions, and eventually, she’ll find the right answers. I could contain it. Maybe. Buy her silence. Offer her a promotion, a stake in something bigger. But she won’t take it. Not now. Not after this.
And if she goes public? Best case, it’s a PR mess. Worst case, it’s the kind of exposure that burns everything down.
I grip the edge of my desk. This isn’t personal. It never is. It’s risk management. Lila was an asset. A valuable one. But assets turn into liabilities all the time. When they do, you don’t hesitate. You cut your losses. You move on. That’s the game.
I grab my phone. It rings three times. This son of a bitch.
He finally answers, that smooth, almost oily tone he always uses. “Jared, my friend. What can I do for you?”
“I made a bad investment,” I say, swallowing hard. The last person I want to call for help. “I need to liquidate.”
Caleb sighs, a long, dramatic sigh. “Jared, Jared, Jared. So, now you need my help? After all that fake power talk? Remember that, Jared? ‘Don’t confuse my title with real power’—that’s what you said. Well, looks like my fake power is looking pretty damn good right about now, doesn’t it?”
My gut twists.
“Just… make it clean, Caleb.”
“Always the details, Jared. The best details. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Discreetly. Very discreetly. Consider it… a favor. A big favor. But I’m a good guy, Jared. A great guy. The best, really. So, instead of, you know… holding it over you, you’ll owe me one.”
I hang up. That’s it. Decision made. No second-guessing.
I tell myself it’s just business, but my gut isn’t buying it. I lean back, staring at nothing, the bourbon within reach. I don’t pour a glass. Not yet.
Tomorrow, the statement goes out. Tragic accident. A life cut short. A legacy of brilliance. The usual PR spin. Control the narrative before it controls you.
Then comes the donation. The charitable foundation. The kind of move that keeps investors happy and reporters nodding along. It won’t bring her back, but it keeps the machine running.
This isn’t about winning or losing. It never was. It’s about staying in the game.
They say the road to hell is paved with good investments. The name changes. The branding improves. The press releases get polished to perfection. But the system stays the same.
HART is just the latest version. A sleeker, more sophisticated way to turn human lives into assets, to package exploitation as opportunity. The wealthy still profit. The marginalized still disappear. And the world still claps along, convinced it’s progress.
Was Jared West ever a savior, or was this always the plan? A more palatable version of the same trade that has always existed—one where life and death are just numbers on a ledger?
Remember, dear readers: Beware the generosity of those who built their empires by taking. The price you pay is almost never one you can afford.
The truth, as always, is still out there. Until next time,
—The Narrator
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So You’ve Fallen Into the Void: A Survival FAQ
Welcome. If you’re confused—you’re not alone. This kind of interactive fiction wasn’t part of the original plan, but I don’t make the rules in the Void.