“Only three o’clock,” muttered Carl, glancing up at the clock as he typed numbers into a spreadsheet. Loosening his tie, the short stocky man with thinning grey hair looked around the cramped office and drained the last of his now cold cup of coffee. Putting it down, he nearly knocked over one of the large piles of paper which covered his desk.

A knock at the door provided a welcome interruption. “Come in,” he called. A dark-haired young woman poked her head inside.

“Sorry to bother you Carl,” she said, “but could you send me the MacArthur revenue projections?”

“Sure Heidi, I’ll e-mail them to you.”

“Thanks,” she replied closing the door.

He’d just clicked send when there was a knock on the door.

Heidi poked her head inside.

“Sorry to bother you Carl,” she said, “but could you send me the MacArthur revenue projections?”

“I just e-mailed them to you.”

For a moment, she seemed confused. “Okay, thanks.”

Carl had just gotten back to his spread sheet when there was another knock at the door. “Come in,” called an annoyed Carl.

Heidi poked her head inside.

“Sorry to bother you Carl,” she said, “but could you send me the MacArthur revenue projections?”

“I already told to that I’d sent them to you,” snapped Carl.

“Sorry,” she replied and quickly closed the door.

A few minutes later, there was another knock at the door.

“That’s enough,” roared Carl as he got up banging his chair into the wall and knocking over a pile of papers. He marched over to the door and flung it open, but no one was there. He looked down the hallway, but it was empty. However, cries of “Happy Birthday” could be heard coming from the breakroom.

“Another birthday celebration?” he wondered heading towards the sound. Reaching the small breakroom, he saw everyone else who worked in the office crowded around a small table. He had a sudden sense of déjà vu.

“About time you got here,” called Bob.

“Didn’t know about it,” answered Carl.

“I told you about Karen’s birthday celebration yesterday.”

“But we celebrated that this morning.”

Bob laughed. “Always with the jokes aren’t you?” He gestured at the partially cut up cake on the table. “Have some cake.”

Carl froze when he saw “Happy Birthday Karen” written on the cake. Suddenly the people around him began fading away, followed by the furniture and then the walls. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor.

Coming to, Carl was sure he was dreaming as he saw some sort of creature looking down at him. It was vaguely human with a large grey head, long sharp nose, and three orbs which looked like eyes.

Feeling a light tapping on his cheek, Carl opened his eyes and saw his boss kneeling beside him. The bright lights high above them told him they were no longer in the breakroom. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he could feel the cold metal of the floor.

Looking around, he saw an immense room with dull grey walls that had what looked like small satellite dishes mounted to them. It took him several minutes to find his voice. “Where am I?”

His boss ignored his question. “Seems we’ve had a slight glitch.”

“Glitch?” asked a confused Carl.

His boss nodded. “Happens a lot when you’re stuck using antiquated equipment. Should be fixed soon. Nothing to worry about.”

“Where am I?” repeated Carl, this time more forcefully.

“In a neuro-simulation facility,” answered his boss. “The equipment reads your thoughts and recreates your world as you expect it to be. It’s the perfect tool for our anthropological studies of your planet.”

“What!” cried Carl, as he struggled to stand up. “This isn’t Earth.”

“No it isn’t,” explained his boss in a well-practiced tone. “Unfortunately, field studies are expensive so we have to make do with this,” he continued gesturing at the room around them.

Carl roughly grabbed his boss’s shoulders. “What gives you the right to do this to me?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” replied his boss calmly. “By studying primitive cultures like yours, we learn more about our own history. After all, your life here’s probably better than it would be on Earth, so I don’t see a problem.”

“But I know the truth now,” countered Carl shoving his boss away. “I’m no good to you anymore.”

His boss gave a slight smile. “This isn’t the first glitch we’ve had. We’ll just do what we always do.”

Carl suddenly felt groggy.

“Only three o’clock,” muttered Carl, glancing up at the clock as he typed numbers into a spreadsheet.