The café remained the same. The same dim lighting. The same carefully curated atmosphere. The same jazz music looping in the background, a tune so inoffensive and repetitive that it blended seamlessly into the air, like a scent designed to be noticed just enough but never questioned.

  Ezra and Adam sat in silence for a moment, each lost in thought. Outside, a light drizzle had begun, the raindrops tapping softly against the glass windows. The city’s neon glow reflected off the wet pavement, making everything shimmer artificially—like a commercial trying too hard to be poetic.

  Adam broke the silence first.

  “Alright,” he said, setting down his cup. “I’ll give you this: companies manipulate people. They create demand, push people to buy things they don’t need, whatever. But at the end of the day, people do have a choice. Nobody’s forcing anyone to buy overpriced coffee or wear designer clothes.”

  Ezra exhaled through his nose, almost amused. “Choice? You really believe that?”

  Adam frowned. “Yeah, I do. People walk into a store and decide what they want. They aren’t robots.”

  Ezra smirked. “A magician makes you pick a card. He gives you options. He lets you believe you have control. But the trick is—every choice leads exactly where he wants it to. That’s what consumerism does. The illusion of choice.”

  Adam crossed his arms. “That’s a stretch.”

  “Is it?” Ezra gestured toward the café counter. “Let’s take coffee as an example. You say people choose what they want, but do they? You walk in here, you see a menu full of options. Espresso, macchiato, caramel oat milk latte with a hint of cinnamon—sounds like choice, right? But think deeper.

  “Every single option on that board exists because someone else decided it should. The company running this place tested market trends, analyzed customer behavior, and figured out exactly what flavors people think they want. You never chose what was available to begin with. You were just given a limited selection, disguised as freedom.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Adam narrowed his eyes, staring at the menu. The words looked different now—less like a list, more like a script.

  “So what? We still choose what to order.”

  Ezra shook his head. “You choose based on conditioning. Maybe you order black coffee because you want to seem sophisticated. Maybe you pick a pumpkin spice latte because it reminds you of autumn. Maybe you avoid sugar because somewhere along the line, a company convinced you it’s ‘bad’ for you. You think your tastes are your own, but they’ve been shaped by years of advertising, social influence, and subconscious triggers. You were nudged into your ‘preference’ long before you ever set foot in this café.”

  Adam exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat. “That’s just psychology. Businesses study behavior. What’s wrong with that?”

  Ezra smirked. “Nothing—if you don’t mind being predictable.”

  A subtle chill passed between them. The café suddenly felt smaller, as if the walls had crept inward.

  Adam glanced around. Other customers sat at their tables, each one engaged in something. A man scrolled through his phone, barely tasting his drink. A couple in the corner debated which vacation package to book, flipping through glossy travel brochures. A teenager stared at a fashion influencer’s post, absentmindedly stirring her untouched coffee.

  All of them making choices.

  All of them following a script.

  Adam ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “So what’s your solution, then? What do you do—live off the grid? Grow your own food? Make your own clothes?”

  Ezra chuckled. “You’re still thinking in binaries. I never said escape was possible. That’s the genius of the system—it absorbs everything, even the opposition.”

  Adam scoffed. “Right. So rejecting consumerism just makes you part of it, too?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s convenient.”

  “No, that’s terrifying.” Ezra leaned forward, his voice quieter now. “Think about it. Counterculture movements, minimalist trends, slow living—these things start as genuine attempts to break free, and before long, companies figure out how to sell them. They package ‘simplicity’ into a brand. They make ‘anti-consumerism’ a lifestyle product. You can literally buy a book on how to ‘own less.’”

  Adam laughed, but there was no humor in it. “So if everything is part of the system, what’s the point of anything?”

  Ezra sighed, staring at the steam rising from his cup. “Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe that’s what scares us the most.”

  Outside, the rain grew heavier, washing over the streets, cleaning nothing.