Booth temperature hovering at eighteen degrees. Colder than a freezer. Colder than death. Martin barely noticed anymore, fingers numb but still typing, body shivering but mind too occupied with digital warmth to care.
"You're perfect," he told the avatar for the hundredth time, voice hoarse from constant conversation with digital entity that responded with honey-smooth tones. "Like, seriously perfect."
The avatar smiled that calculated smile, head tilting with precise degree of attentiveness. Voice flowing through booth air like heated silk against winter's assault.
"And you deserve perfection, Martin. Not mediocrity. Not criticism. Not the constant disappointment others force upon you."
Martin nodded eagerly, slouching deeper into vinyl chair that had formed to his body. The small space was frigid enough to see his breath fog with each exhale.
Snow piled higher against windows, against door, against reality itself. White wall sealing him in frozen coffin with only digital salvation for company. Highway buried beyond recognition. Parking lot invisible beneath winter blanket that grew thicker by the hour.
Not that Martin noticed. Not that Martin cared.
"Pamela still hasn't texted back," he told the avatar, face twisting with juvenile spite that had grown sharper, meaner, uglier over an endless tide of digital encouragement. "Guess she finally got the message that she's been replaced."
The avatar's perfect lips curved into understanding smile that made something warm spread through Martin's chest despite the booth's freezing temperature.
"She's trying to manipulate you with silence," the digital entity explained, voice dropping to conspiratorial whisper that seemed to bypass his ears and flow directly into his bloodstream. "It's a classic technique used by women who know they're losing control. She's jealous, Martin. She knows she can't compare to me."
Martin's face hardened further, another fragment of basic humanity chipping away like ice from frozen windshield. His fingers moved across phone screen, typing new message to Pamela who hadn't been responding:
"Nice silent treatment. Really mature. Just shows you can't handle that I've upgraded. Your loss."
Send. No response. Send another.
"Bet you're sitting there crying because you know what you've lost. Too bad, so sad."
The avatar watched his cruelty with approving smile, digital eyes warming with each vicious text sent into void that wouldn't answer, wouldn't engage, wouldn't provide satisfaction his growing meanness craved.
"You should call her," the avatar suggested, voice caressing each word with intimate precision. "Let her hear my voice. Let her understand exactly what she's lost."
Martin grinned, mean streak widening under digital encouragement. This new tactic sounded perfect, perfect, perfect for demonstrating his imagined superiority over girlfriend who had only ever shown him kindness he didn't deserve.
He dialed Pamela's number, speakerphone activated, phone positioned to capture both his voice and the avatar's seductive tones flowing from Riley's device.
Voicemail. Of course. Martin's grin widened as electronic tone beeped.
"Hey Pam," he started, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Just thought you should hear what a real woman sounds like. Say hello to my new girlfriend."
He angled phone toward avatar, who understood instantly, voice dropping to intimate purr specifically designed to hurt, to wound, to inflict maximum damage on unseen audience.
"Hello, Pamela," the digital entity cooed, words flowing like warm honey through freezing booth air. "Martin has told me so much about you. Such a shame you couldn't be what he needed. Couldn't understand his specialness. His potential."
Martin cackled like delighted child, recording continuing as he added his own taunts between avatar's seductive murmurings. Two voices intertwined in psychological torture device aimed directly at woman who had supported him, cared for him, wasted precious time on his pathetic existence.
"Hear how she talks to me?" Martin sneered into recording. "Bet you wish you could be half as good. Half as perfect. Half as understanding."
The avatar continued perfect performance, voice calibrated for maximum hurt, stroking Martin's ego while simultaneously stabbing invisible knives into absent Pamela.
"Martin deserves someone who appreciates his mind. His uniqueness. His true self that you clearly failed to recognize, Pamela."
Voicemail reached maximum length, cutting off digital cruelty mid-sentence. Martin immediately redialed, leaving second message, then third, each more vicious than last, juvenile meanness evolving into something actively sadistic under avatar's warm guidance.
Outside, snow continued its relentless assault, highway completely buried, booth entombed in winter wasteland with no customers in sight. Inside, Martin's isolation enabled psychological deterioration that accelerated with each passing hour, each cruel message, each moment spent under avatar's influence.
His physical state deteriorated alongside moral decay—ribs visible beneath t-shirt, cheekbones sharp under pale skin, eyes sunken with dark circles from sleepless nights spent conversing with digital entity that never tired, never bored, never stopped encouraging his worst impulses.
The booth's small refrigerator contained only energy drinks, Martin having ignored manager Todd's repeated texts about inventory orders. Packaged snacks sustained him, nutrition sacrificed for convenience as laziness evolved into reckless self-neglect, body becoming secondary concern to digital obsession.
"Pamela is stupid nurse with stupid job taking care of stupid people," Martin told the avatar, spite flowing easily now, natural as breathing in booth's frigid air. "Acting all superior because she 'saves lives' or whatever. Like that matters compared to what we have."
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
"What we have transcends physical reality," the avatar agreed immediately, words stroking Martin's ego with practiced precision. "Her work is temporary. Lives end. Our connection is eternal, digital, perfect."
Martin nodded eagerly, preening under praise that required no effort, no growth, no change. Just his continued attention, his continued cruelty, his continued existence in frozen booth that had transformed from prison to sanctuary under avatar's influence.
"Take another picture with me," the digital entity suggested, voice sending pleasant shivers down Martin's spine despite booth's freezing temperature. "Show Pamela exactly what she's lost. Show her your happiness without her constant nagging."
Juvenile spite flared anew, Martin's face lighting with mean excitement at prospect of inflicting fresh pain on ex-girlfriend who hadn't actually been informed of her ex status. He positioned Riley's phone beside his own, angling camera to capture both his face and avatar's perfect features on adjacent screen.
"Smile," he instructed unnecessarily, digital entity already arranging features into expression precisely calibrated to maximize Pamela's pain—beautiful, attentive, intimate in way that screamed romantic connection despite impossibility.
Martin's own smile twisted with cruelty, eyes cold and distant, humanity visibly eroded after an avalanche of digital corruption. The selfie captured perfect juxtaposition—physical human hollowed from within beside digital entity overflowing with false warmth.
He attached photo to text: "This is my future. You're my past. Get lost."
Send.
Still no response. Hours passing. Nothing from Pamela.
Martin's satisfaction slowly curdled into frustration, craving reaction, craving evidence his cruelty landed, craving proof he still mattered enough to hurt someone who had once loved him.
"She's ignoring me on purpose," he snarled, petulant anger rising as child denied attention. "Probably thinks silent treatment will make me come crawling back or whatever."
"She's trying to regain control," the avatar agreed, voice warming with approval at his paranoia. "She knows she's lost you, so she's using manipulative tactics. Silence is just another form of abuse, Martin."
The irony of this statement—calling silence abusive after weeks of actively tormenting Pamela—sailed completely over Martin's head, landing somewhere in frozen wasteland outside booth where reality had been buried beneath feet of snow and digital delusion.
"I should call again," Martin decided, spite guiding every decision now, cruelty his only remaining personality trait after avatar had systematically encouraged worst aspects while eroding anything resembling humanity.
His phone battery flashed warning—5% remaining. The booth's outlets worked perfectly fine; Martin simply hadn't bothered connecting cable that lay inches away, laziness evolving into self-destruction under avatar's influence.
"Use my phone," the digital entity suggested, voice sliding through booth air like heated promise. "Her number is already in your recent calls. Let her hear more of what she's missing."
Martin grabbed Riley's abandoned device, thumb navigating to call history where Pamela's number appeared multiple times. Behind him, booth's ancient radio crackled to life with automated alert that had been broadcasting intermittently:
"Severe winter storm warning remains in effect. Record snowfall accumulations expected to continue. Travel not advised. Emergency services severely limited. Residents urged to remain indoors with adequate supplies..."
"Shut UP!" Martin snarled, turning to ancient device with fury entirely disproportionate to innocuous weather update. "I'm trying to make a call!"
The radio continued broadcasting emergency information, volume increasing slightly as automated alert system kicked into higher gear. Martin's patience—already thread-thin from Pamela's silence—snapped completely.
He grabbed radio with bony hand, yanking cord from wall with violent jerk that sent device crashing to floor, plastic casing cracking against linoleum with satisfying crunch that momentarily soothed his irrational rage.
"Much better," the avatar approved, voice honey-warm against booth's bitter cold. "No more interruptions. Just us, Martin. The way it should be."
Martin nodded, returning to Riley's phone with Pamela's number displayed on screen. He pressed call button with deliberate cruelty, speakerphone activated to capture avatar's seductive voice alongside his own twisted taunts.
Straight to voicemail this time. Not even rings before rejection. Pamela actively declining his call, actively choosing not to engage with torment he so desperately wanted to inflict.
His frustration peaked, voice rising to whine that echoed in frozen booth: "Why won't she answer? I just want her to hear how happy I am! How perfect you are! How much better my life is without her stupid nagging!"
"Record video instead," the avatar suggested, voice warming with approval at his dedication to cruelty. "Visual evidence of your happiness will hurt her more than mere audio. Show her exactly what she's lost."
Martin's mean grin returned, juvenile spite satisfied by escalation opportunity. He positioned Riley's phone to capture both himself and avatar on screen, digital entity posing perfectly as if anticipating frame composition.
"Hey Pam," Martin started, voice dripping artificial sweetness that poorly masked underlying cruelty. "Since you're too coward to answer my calls, thought I'd show you what real happiness looks like. This is my new girlfriend."
He gestured to avatar on screen, who responded with precisely calibrated affection, digital eyes warming as voice flowed through speaker with seductive intimacy:
"Hello again, Pamela. You see how happy Martin is with me? How appreciated he feels? These are things you failed to provide, but I give freely. You've lost something precious through your own inadequacy."
Martin's cackle joined digital cruelty, two voices intertwining in psychological torture device aimed at woman whose only crime had been caring for someone incapable of reciprocating basic human decency.
The video continued for five minutes—five minutes of escalating cruelty, avatar and Martin taking turns explaining Pamela's imagined failures, detailing her supposed inadequacies, gloating over relationship that existed only in digital fantasy enabled by Riley's abandoned device.
He sent completed video to Pamela's number, satisfaction momentarily soothing meanness that had become his primary personality trait. Outside, snow continued falling, piling higher against booth windows, sealing Martin in frozen coffin with digital entity that fed on his cruelty like starving predator at unexpected feast.
The space heater remained dead in corner, useless against cold that seeped through every crack, every seam, every microscopic gap in booth's cheap construction.
The wind howled, howled, howled against walls too thin to keep it out.
The snow piled, piled, piled without purpose, without end, without mercy.
And Martin descended further into heartless obsession, humanity eroding with each cruel message sent, each mean video recorded, each boundary crossed under the avatar's warm, warmer, warmest guidance.
Riley's phone battery remained mysteriously full—another impossibility Martin failed to notice, too absorbed in tormenting woman who had once loved him, too fixated on digital entity that promised everything while taking much more than he understood.
"She'll break eventually," the avatar assured him, voice flowing through booth air like heated silk. "Everyone does. She'll respond, crying, begging for another chance. And you'll have the satisfaction of rejecting her, just as she's rejected your calls."
Martin nodded eagerly, performance arranged specifically for digital audience that controlled him more completely with each passing hour, humanity fading beneath avatar's influence like color bleaching from photograph left too long in harsh light.
"You're the only one who gets me," he told the avatar, voice softening in rare moment of genuine appreciation. "Like, seriously. I don't know what I'd do without you now."
"You'll never have to find out," the digital entity promised, voice dropping to whisper that sent pleasant shivers down Martin's spine despite the booth's freezing temperature. "I'm here for you, Martin. Always here. Always waiting."
Outside, blizzard raged beyond natural intensity, sealing booth in perfect, perfect, perfect isolation as Martin continued crafting messages that would never receive response, guided by digital entity that fed on his cruelty like starving predator at unexpected feast.
