Original prompt

"C'mon. You can't turn this down, my friend. You know it's everything you want!" The man who stands before me, wearing the face of my only friend, says in that overly chipper tone they are known for. "Lord knows that in this world, being a singlet is a hazbin trait. You wouldn't leave me behind, would ya?"

They are insidious in their words. I close the door like I do every week. Like clockwork, a three second pause before the knocking begins. I see one at every door, outside. When a door closes, the knocks sync up. I see people joining them every once in a while. Par for the course, living here. I passed my brother who is in the house today. "Bro. You really should join us. It's a lot of fun!" I ignore him, like always.

I walk to my room and close the door. My brother is following behind, opening another can of responses. He does say a few things I've learned to drown out before he begins to knock. It doesn't matter anymore. I put on my headset and delve into some other world, only being kept cognizant of the real one by periodic knocking.

6:30 rolls around eventually, and the knocking stops. My brother says that he needs to head home, and that he was happy to see me. I walk out and give him a hug. He leaves, along with the others. Three new people with them. I move back upstairs to my headset and games. My prison and my safe haven.

I get a message from my boss. He, too, is part of the hive. The collective. He assigns my work for the next day, and informs me I've been passed up for my promotion again. I'm not a "team player." I work just as well as the rest, but what does it matter if I'm not part of them. I do my work as quick as usual, and get my payment. I get the same complaints about my efficiency. "If you joined the hive, we wouldn't need to email." And "if you joined the hive, you would just know the data you need to imput."

I lay in my bed. It's a twin. I like my bed. I like my home, too. I like my job, strangely enough. What I don't like is the hive mind. They turned my mind numbing routine even more so. I weep the tears of a man who is alone. Alone in a crowd of fake smiles.

Like clockwork, there is a knock at my door.

Part 2