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But there was something off about him in every single pic.
Not a single image captured him in a meaningful way. I wasn’t sure how else to explain it. He was physically, beautifully framed in every single picture, but his dark eyes looked dead and flat.
It was as if he’d been cloned, and this soulless copy was going through the motions of his life without feeling.
When I switched from images to articles, the headlines were worse.
Is this Billionaire Genius a Robot? Or is he Simply the Most Boring Person on the Planet?First, Running Man was definitely not boring. Infuriating, self-deluded, puffed-up snarl-a-saurus? Sure. Boring? Never. And second,billionaire?I kept flipping through article after article.
This Billionaire Scientist Proves Money Can’t Buy Emotional Intelligence.
Is Dullness Contagious? Our Exclusive Interview with the World's Least Interesting Billionaire.
I was offended on his behalf, and I loathed the man.
Scientist Discovers Secret to Invisibility. He Still Can't Find a Personality.
I clicked on the last article and scanned the text. It turned out Running Man’s name was Gabriel Stryker, which sounded vaguely familiar to me for some reason. And sadly, he hadnotactually discovered the secret to invisibility. Instead, his workinvolved science stuff with moss or something. It was incredibly difficult to read through his responses to softball questions. If speech could be dense, Gabriel’s words were slabs of granite.
I closed the incomprehensible article and kept scrolling.
Ooh, a video.
The camera panned over a pretty woman in a red dress sitting across from Gabriel, who wore an expensive looking suit. His hair was perfectly in place and his face had a lifeless quality, similar to the pics. He sat so straight, he could have had a metal pole for a spine.
“So I know we’re here to discuss your work on—” The interviewer furrowed her brows as she looked at the cue card in her hand.“Algae?”
“Eukaryotic organisms,” he said in a completely flat tone.
“Sure.” The woman smiled tightly. Then she leaned closer to him. “But first, you’re gorgeous and rich, and we’re all dying to know if there’s a woman in your life.”
Given her assumptions, I couldn’t blame her for asking. She hadn’t seen his dark side yet.
Gabriel didn’t respond to her question, not with words or body language or any anything. I don’t know what I expected—a hint of a smile, a self-depreciating chuckle? He didn’t flinch or speak or breathe.
Silence.
The interviewer uncomfortably adjusted in her seat.
Finally, Gabriel said in an unaffected tone, “There is nothing about my personal life on the approved question list.”
Ouch. That was pretty much the worst non-answer possible. He wasn’t giving the interviewer anything to work with.
I watched a few more moments of awkwardness before scrolling down to the comments. There were lots of “does not compute” and variations of “sad such hotness is wasted on a robot.” The most eloquent said, “A beautiful android with nofree will, only his programming to guide his decisions. What a pity.”
The pity wasn’t that Gabriel was a robot. It was a pity the world saw him that way.
He was probably just bad at interviews. Maybe he was actually camera shy and that’s what gave everyone the impression that he had no personality.
He had plenty of fire. And that’s exactly what I needed from him—a fight that would catch me in the flames and leave me roaring with inspiration to write.
Maybe this situation wasn’t a pity at all. Maybe it was an opportunity that I could somehow seize, even if I didn’t know how yet. The starter beans of a beautiful scheme were already brewing in my head.
I closed the video and looked for where I could find him.
I couldn’t find a home address. If I had and then subsequently showed up on his doorstep, I would be doing exactly the same thing I’d called him out for. I happily took his business address and maintained my moral superiority. It was Saturday, yes, but he was definitely the type to work weekends.
Then I locked up my window with the steering wheel bar and hunted down my muse.
