**Ian--Note: this is a fictional story. The thoughts and opinions of these characters are in no way linked to anyone or anything associated with the real Wattpad.**

Sloth mindlessly pushed a stapler in and out of his belly button hole, prompting Aleem hold up a palm towards him. "There's not much that makes me uncomfortable, but whatever you're doing with that stapler--. Please stop."

Crossing his wrists behind his head with staplers still in hand, Sloth rocked in his chair. The eagerness in his eyes didn't match his tightly pressed lips. It appeared as though his head was collecting nuclear opinions, and they were on the verge of exploding.

[[Mouth to Data] Is he shitting himself?]

[[Mouth to Data] What's his problem?]

Aleem leaned back over Sloth's desk, body weight supported on both arms. "Be yourself. Whatever that looks like or sounds like, I don't care. Studies have shown those who are a bit vulgar when they communicate tend to be the ones who are most likely to express themselves openly and honestly. The nature of this conversation won't leave this area. You have my word."

[[Data to Mouth] Aleem makes him nervous]

[[Data to Mouth] Remember Funtario?]

[[Mouth to Data] He knows Aleem's a dude, right?]

Ian shrugged his shoulders at Mouth from across the work area.

[[Mouth to Data] You know he's a dude, right?]

Again, Ian shrugged his shoulders.

Sloth inhaled deeply. Holding the staplers over his desk, he clicked them repeatedly and exhaled. When his lungs were out of breath, he stopped smashing the staplers between his fingers and palms. Two piles of bent wires rested on his desk. "I don't fucking know where to start."

"Where did we leave off?" With arms folded across the chest, Aleem thought for a moment. "Oh! That's right. Mouth was saying we need to find a balance between separating people by their personal preferences--or hardwiring as he put it--while maintaining a sense of wholeness across the entire community."

"Oh, fuck that," Sloth replied. "You'll never make everyone happy. The ones who've let opinionated thoughts control their brains like fucking terrorists won't be separated enough. The ones who constantly whine about every gawd damn thing not being even-fucking-steven won't be connected enough. Wattpad needs to think about its own interests or no one will have a place where they can come to bitch and complain anymore." Sloth paused for a beat, then in a quieter tone added, "Or read and write stories."

Walking away from the desk seemingly pondering the next question, Aleem hid a snicker from Sloth. Turning back to face Captain Stapler Hands, Aleem asked, "Let me return to my original question. Do you think words and ideas can change the world?"

"That's a stupid question," he replied. "Of course they can. Every fucking thing you see around you was once nothing more than an idea. And what's an idea? It's those words you hear in your fucking head. So if you read a good book or shitty book and it changes the words you hear in your head--then someone's idea just made your life better--or shittier."

"Some people see ideas as pictures instead of words." Sloth cocked his head to the side and glared at Ian. The silence in the room told Ian he probably should've saved his comment for another time.

Pacing the space between the desks, Aleem asked, "What do you think users want from Wattpad? What are they looking for?"

Sloth tapped the ends of the two staplers together in front of his face, seemingly allowing the question to marinate for a moment. "Honestly? I don't think people have a fucking clue what they want half the time. They'll go on and on about all the things they don't want, but draw a blank when asked how they'd like things changed or how they'd make it better. Even if you shove a hand up their ass to pull out something useful to work with--you still get nothing. Just a hand full of bullshit."

"Why do you think some people are unclear about what they want or need?"

"I'll tell you why," Sloth replied. "They've learned it's easier to stay broken and let other people carry the weight of their stupid fucking problems. Why take responsibility for your life when you can blame someone else for your shitty existence? Fucking idiots walk around like zombies staring at their stupid fucking cell phones desperately waiting for something to pop up on the screen that might make them feel validated or accomplished. Likes. Texts. News headlines. Bullshit followers. Bunch of asshole zombies waiting for an opportunity to magically fucking appear out of nowhere."

"Let me make sure I'm clear," Aleem said. "Because people don't really know what they want, they're waiting for us to give them options so they can discover what they want--or need?"

"Exactly. Sometimes you don't know your subconscious interests until it's offered as a choice to your conscious mind."

"Hellooooooo, bearded Oprah."

Sloth pointed a stapler at Mouth and gave it a single click. "Muted."

Aleem waved flat hands downward. "Let's not get off track here. Expand this. Subconscious interests not being realized until offered as conscious choices?"

Tapping the staplers like drumsticks on his desk, Sloth sat up straight in his chair. "This is the part where tech geeks become the real bad boys--and girls--in today's world."

Mouth squealed quietly to himself and clapped. "I love this part."

"Go on," Aleem encouraged.

"Just for the record, though--I prefer the term virtual outlaws instead of bad boys," Sloth clarified. "I'm a man, not a boy."

[[Mouth to Data] Should I ask if Aleem's a man]

[[Data to Mouth] Please don't]

"Virtual outlaws." Aleem contemplated the name for a moment, then nodded. "How are virtual outlaws feeding conscious choices to the public's subconscious minds?"

"C'mon, Aleem." Sloth tossed the staplers on the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't have to explain this stuff to you. The man behind the technology controls what people see. We decide what ideas and words people--." Sloth made air quotes with his fingers. "'Discover.' In a world where you've got a bunch of fucking zombies staring at technological devices praying today will be the day an opportunity pops up on their screens and changes everything--." Sloth placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "It's feels good to play God with people's options and ideas."

Pushing off his desk while still seated in his chair, Ian rolled to a spot towards Sloth's work station where he could speak with Aleem and Sloth more directly. "As creators of the technology, we have an ethical or moral responsibility here--right?"

"We do," Aleem assured him. "But I think the question is--what moral responsibility do we adopt? Finding a set of ethical ideals to function under as a company isn't as simple as it may sound."

"Surely manipulating people's choices isn't part of the vision."

"Of course not," Aleem insisted. "But Sloth isn't wrong. He may have described the situation differently than I would've, but he isn't entirely wrong."

Ian squirmed in his chair. "How could anything he said be--right?"

"Depends on perspective." Aleem leaned against the desk, hands gripping opposite biceps. "There's no equation that can solve moral rightness. The idea that correct ethics can be calculated is as foolish as trying to calculate love. If it were possible, both would've been solved already. We wouldn't be having a right ethics discussion if a solution existed. The same way we wouldn't search for love if an equation could define what it looked like for each person."

"What do you want, Data?" Sloth asked, rocking back and forth in his chair. "You want Wattapd to be a web page with nothing but a search bar for users to filter through half a billion stories? That's fucking chaos and you know it. People wouldn't even attempt to search under those conditions."

"But who has the right to decide which stories and ideas float to the top and which stay buried?"

"Hold it there, cowboy," Aleem said. "You're drawing your gun before understanding the target."

Summoning his best Clint Eastwood voice, Mouth quoted, "I tried being reasonable, I didn't like it."

"Mouth." Aleem lifted an eyebrow at the movie quotes impersonator. Shoulders towards his ears, Mouth slid part of his body under the desk. Returning attention back to Ian, Aleem continued. "Before you can consider the ethics of website functioning, you first need to consider the ethical responsibilities around the site's ability to exist in the first place."

Ian nodded. It was a valid point. Arguments over whose words and ideas held more value wouldn't be a topic of discussion if a platform for those stories didn't exist.

"The mere survival of the company has many ethical responsibilities attached to it," Aleem explained. "There's a responsibility to the employees and their families. A responsibility to those who've invested in our vision--such as donors and writers. A responsibility to the users who view Wattpad as a fraternity where young readers and authors can be part of something--especially considering we live in a society where athletics and academics tend to be valued more in schools than creativity. The list goes on."

Ian tapped a foot on the ground as an outlet for his discomfort and frustration. By nature, he was wired to zoom in on situations and focus on the details--a quality that made him an excellent programmer. However, observing situations from a broader perspective made him uncomfortable. The broader the view, the fuzzier the details became. Ian knew Aleem's statement about the financial integrity of the company was an essential piece to the puzzle, but his inability to sort and calculate the movie parts in this expanded view unsettled him. "I know."

"You're a smart guy," Aleem continued. "You know efforts to maintain the financial integrity of the company have to be an element of the user's experience."

"Of course," Ian agreed. "And most people understand that."

"Another thing we need to consider is data and trends. This will also affect what a user experiences when he, she or they use the site. How do we stay relevant and not outdate ourselves? We have 10-20 seconds to convince web surfers Wattpad is worth more of their time and energy." Aleem turned towards Mouth. His desktop was now up to his chest--only Mouth's head and shoulders remained in view. "What's wrong with you?" Aleem asked.

"A lot," Sloth and Ian said in unison. Turning towards each other, they simultaneously shouted "Jinx!" Mouth wiggled his way back to a fully seated position.

"As I was saying," Aleem continued. "We only have seconds to convince people our site is worth investing their time in. Like Mouth mentioned earlier, first impressions of the site--or the 10 second snapshot--may be an area in need of reexamination. Alienating multiple generations, for example, goes against our mission to create a place where the entire human spectrum can come to share their positive voices. But as you can see, this opens up another area of debate. Different groups of people have different trends and interests. How do we decide which ones to highlight?"

"Follow the fucking money," Sloth blurted.

Rolling eyes, Aleem addressed the man of English, sarcasm and profanity. "People aren't stupid, Sloth. Subconsciously, they sense whether or not a company's mission is following the cash or following purposeful intentions. Piggybacking off your earlier statement, when the subconscious mind is given a choice between the two, the conscious mind will most likely choose the latter."

"But how does Wattpad decide?" Ian asked. "How are one person's thoughts and ideas chosen over another?"

"We stand firmly on a few decisions--like prohibiting pornography or hate speech towards groups of people, for example. Otherwise--?" Aleem shrugged shoulders. "We make decisions one day at a time--one hour at a time, to be more precise. What was decided yesterday may be changed a year from now. The only thing we can ever guarantee about Wattpad and life in general is--both will forever be in a constant state of change. We're all in this together, Data. All of us. Employees. Investors. Users. One can't survive without the other. We do our best to stay ethical--to be considerate of all people and their free will to become and think however they choose. But at times you'll confront a fork in the road, and the only way forward is to choose one direction over another. Roads not chosen at a fork aren't necessarily wrong paths, they're just not as right for the moment."

Aleem flipped up an elbow and glanced at a watch. "Gotta jet. I want to continue this conversation, though." With hands on hips, Aleem took a breath and exhaled slowly. "It seems Team Goonies agrees words and ideas can change the world. What you disagree on is how to make the stories accessible to the largest audience in the fairest way possible. Mouth wants more separation. Data wants more unity. And Sloth wants everyone to fuck themselves. Does that sound about right?"

"It's a battle you'll never fucking win," Sloth reiterated.

"It's not about winning," Aleem reminded. "This isn't about pushing ideas and stories on people so they see the world the way we want them to see it. Who are we to decide? Who are we to demand that science is more trustworthy than faith or personal experience, for example? That would be hypocritical." Aleem turned to Ian and looked directly at him. "But sometimes you have to go with your gut and do what you think is right, despite knowing some won't agree. Otherwise, you end up staring at a fucking fork on your path and you don't go anywhere."

"Live for something or die for nothing," Ian said.

Aleem pointed at him. "Bingo." Clapping hands once, Aleem turned to leave. "Great chat, gentlemen. We'll continue this conversation another day."

Before leaving the Team Goonies' work area, Aleem stopped and turned towards Mouth. "You want to know what I am?"

Mouth's eyebrows lifted, widening his eyes. "Uh--what?"

The left side of Aleem's mouth turned up into a grin. "I'm the shiz." Turning on a heel, Aleem walked away from the three coworkers and threw a fist into the air. "I'm a shiz!"

"He's the what?" Mouth asked.

"She's the shit," Sloth replied.

Ian rolled his eyes and shook his head. Extending an arm towards Mouth, he exclaimed, "It was your word! Remember? She, he, him, her, his? Shiz?"

Silence feel upon the work area. Only the sound of a stapler could be heard--squeaking like a lone cricket.