 Though such negative bits of human psychology could be of profitable use, these particular ones were all redundant to those owned by Reap-Tech already and so Jack discarded them readily.  
Jack considered the sunshine maze as he floated through the landscape, hoping to find another useful bit of data.  He thought of tracking down the customer who had, unwittingly, created a useful and artistic bit of psychological data, in hopes of finding more.  Stopping at a virtual hill-tree-stream, Jack decided against doing so.  He had acquired an aversion towards exploring the near hallucinatory escapades of the customers.   
Some of the other employees liked to exert the operator’s right to information to peek in on the minds of customers, into the worlds they were creating for themselves, to delight in castles in the sky and to indulge in the naughty thrill of voyeurism.  The thought of doing so made Jack ill.  He had satiated his desire to know what customers at the other end of the screen were doing at the start of his employment.  After a few months, though, he had developed an aversion to doing so.  Sick sexual escapades, ultra-violent daydreams, and real life conflicts twisted into puerile, recreated scenarios had inoculated Jack against any spark of desire towards spying into the customer’s worlds.  He didn’t care whether they were riding unicorns or humping rhinoceroses, exploring universes of the human soul or assassinating the president.  For Jack, the only part of his job that mattered anymore was appeasing the unspoken data quota, a quota based on random, fluctuating ceilings set by the top reaper and the average set by everyone else.   
Chewing his lip, as he willed his screen past a desert-mountain-flower-raindrop, Jack momentarily recalled a time when he had been top reaper, culling the brightest most interesting bits of data, cobbling together the most effective lines of code which operated most profitably on the greatest number of customers.  The first several months of his employment had been a non-stop explosion of energy, desire, ambition, fulfillment, and satisfaction.  He had drifted through social groups easily, accomplished his work without effort, and been rewarded with promotions and an ever increasing salary.  
 Not anymore.  Now Jack merely dragged his body through the day, doing just enough to maintain his job so he could haul himself back home to watch television and indulge in a choice intoxicant.  The thrills of success, the tarnished glow of social relation, the promises of reward were no longer sufficient motivations to entice Jack into giving 100 hours of work a week, as he had once done.  Even the minimal effort needed to mark himself as one of the valuable components in the corporate machine was too much.  The horror he felt at the content of his work, of the software, the customers and the company hobbled his will to even try.  He now only wished to forget everything about his days as quickly as possible and to float passively in shimmering rays of drug and media.
