Crisis Conscience

Lena adjusted the camera without lifting a finger, her face bathed in the cool glow of artificial lights. Astra had taken over.

Around her, the Orbit was meticulously curated—a careful blend of warmth and polish that radiated confidence to her audience. The lens couldn’t capture the sullying of her skin. 

Everything was fine. 

Astra had sparkles for eyes, stars for eyelids, and a heart as bright as the moon!

The chat filled with messages almost immediately. Mostly encouragement, which was a good sign.

“Hello, everyone,” she said, her voice slipping into the familiar, honeyed tone she used for Astra. “I wanted to thank you all for your support—especially after my last performance.”

She mainly spoke of her disappointment, of how she’d barely lost to Raine and how determined she was to make it up to them.

But as the words tumbled out, she felt the hollow in her chest deepen, her gaze growing distant. The chat flashed with encouragement, some variation of heart emoticons, empty platitudes or condolences… but their voices felt like tiny paper boats drifting along her screen.

She almost let herself say something more, something unscripted, the words catching in her throat before she could swallow them back down. Her eyes flickered to the chat, to the endless sea of usernames offering support, sympathy. But they don’t know me. Not really.

She took a breath, pulled the bright, perfect smile back onto her face. “Thank you, everyone,” she said, her voice as steady as she could make it. “Until next time, stay bright!”

As the stream cut off, the glow of the Orbit faded, leaving her alone in the muted light of her apartment. Her smile dropped almost instantly, her face settling into something closer to exhaustion as she leaned back.

She closed her eyes as she crawled onto her bed. Darkness took her.

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When she wasn't working or streaming, she didn't need Full-Body immersion. She lounged in her complementary Orb chair, scrolling absently through her feed, the glow of the screen catching the faint creases at her eyes. 

A flick, and Raine’s latest glitzy feature flashed on her screen. Another flick banished it. Enough of Raine.

An ad slid into view: "Companions: AI Support Beyond Technology." The image showed a poised figure, its perfect smile radiating warmth—manufactured, calculated, relentless. “I care,” the smile seemed to say. “You look like you’re going through it.”

Lena snorted. As if an AI could understand. But she didn’t scroll past. Companionship, efficiency, holistic support. Words meant to hook the tired and lonely—words that, she realized bitterly, landed a little too well.

The testimonials sounded absurdly glowing: “Effortless companionship,” “No strings, just understanding.” She should’ve laughed, but the weight of empty nights rehearsing alone dulled her cynicism. Her eyes hovered over the features: a physical model with a “personalized presence,” synced with a portable digital avatar. Something waiting for her after rehearsals. Something listening. Someone.

Her throat tightened.

You can’t really be that lonely, her mind mocked, echoing old friends. But practicality drowned the voice. It’s efficient, she reasoned. An assistant who wouldn’t check the time or lecture her about limits. Someone to fill in the cracks.

Scrolling deeper, she lingered on words that tugged at her: “A partner for every goal, helping you reach your highest potential.” Partner. Dangerous word. Loaded word. 

Now, the years had stripped it bare, leaving only this: a sleek machine promising to keep her moving forward. 

Her thumb hovered over “View Options,” her lips curling faintly. Ridiculous, she thought, heart tightening. But dreams were indulgent, too, and she wasn’t about to let hers slip through her fingers. Not yet.

A tap. The model was in her cart. Another tap.

Done.

HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED!

The AI showroom had all the charm of a luxury tech lab, polished to perfection and bathed in cool, fluorescent light. 

As expected, the place felt like a shrine to humanity’s desire to outdo itself, row after row of perfectly lifelike figures encased in glass, each one radiating an unsettling, polished warmth.

Lena made her way to the reception, where a chipper AI assistant awaited her with an unblinking, unwavering smile. “Good afternoon, Ms. Astra,” it greeted her, the voice smooth as glass. “Are you here to pick up your Companion Package?”

“Yes, that’s right.” She nodded, leaning a little closer to read the nametag pinned to the assistant’s lapel—ZARA, Sales Support—as if knowing its name might humanize the experience, if only by a fraction.

“Your model is ready for collection. Please follow me.”

She trailed behind Zara, her eyes wandering over the displays. Each AI was presented like some avant-garde art installation, their faces frozen in expressions that were either inviting or, depending on her mood, a touch haunting.

They were beautiful, yes, but in a way that was so carefully calculated it left her slightly unnerved. She glanced at the first row—AI assistants in every imaginable profession, from personal chefs to “Emotion Management Specialists”—that last one earning a skeptical raise of her eyebrow.

Right, she thought, smirking. Because I need a digital therapist telling me it’s okay to feel my feelings.

But here she was, because there was a sinking feeling that time was slipping, and if her schedule was any indication, she needed something, or someone, that wouldn’t abandon ship. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the people milling about.

Her gaze settled on a young couple standing hand in hand, looking with hopeful eyes at an AI model in a lab coat, as if deciding on a new pet. Lena tried to imagine the conversation that had led them here—something domestic and vaguely heartwarming.

First-time AI parents, perhaps, she mused. Buying something to handle laundry, pick up groceries, maybe read bedtime stories when they’re too tired. I wonder what they are going to get up to in the next few years. They probably lived the Nomad lifestyle. Their house free of tech… just wood and the calm of the morning birds singing.

She watched a young woman in business attire scrutinize an assistant model with an unusually sympathetic face. Needs someone to talk to but hates it when they talk back, Lena mused, a half-smile flickering across her lips.

Not far off, an elderly man lingered near a model programmed for medical assistance, a faintly lost expression on his face. She could almost see his story—someone who wanted to age gracefully but needed a bit of help along the way.

As they turned a corner, Zara gestured to a larger display with a particularly sleek, minimalist AI model inside. “Many of our clients select the Companion Package for the multi-functional approach it provides,” Zara offered with the polished ease of a seasoned sales agent. “Not only does it include physical companionship, but also a digital avatar that can be accessed anywhere. Support beyond proximity, if you will. For a client such as your stature, we wanted to give you something a little more advanced. No need to pay any premiums; it's on us.”

Lena gave a polite nod, though her eyebrow slightly raised.

“Right this way.” Zara led her to a back room, and Lena’s Companion stood there, waiting for her in a compact crate with the company’s sleek logo stamped on the side. The crate emitted a soft blue glow, and the whole setup was surreal, almost ominous, like something waiting to be unearthed.

“Your Companion is prepared for immediate activation,” Zara said, gesturing to a small, elegantly lit area where her crate awaited, pristine and faintly glowing as if it held something sacred.

A transport bot glided up, taking hold of the crate and lifting it effortlessly with a quiet hum. “It will follow us to your vehicle,” Zara informed her, its tone unfailingly polite, though Lena felt a faint flicker of amusement at the sight of the AI lifting another AI. If I ever needed a metaphor for my life…

“Before we finalize the transaction,” Zara continued, “I’ll need you to read and sign off on our Terms and Conditions as per the Aethan Act, 3593. The primary reason why you are here in person.” It handed her a tablet, the screen a parade of dense legal text. Lena glanced over the first few lines with a practiced eye, years in the industry having taught her to sift out what mattered and ignore the rest.

The contract was everything she’d expected: a mix of privacy acknowledgments, functionality agreements, and a few unexpected clauses—particularly one tucked discreetly near the end. Should there be reasonable suspicion that the AI has a negative impact on the user’s mental or physical wellbeing, the AI will be recalled and refunded, as mandated by government law. It was such a loaded sentence, buried so neatly among the usual guarantees and privacy policies that Lena almost missed it.

She glanced up at Zara, who waited patiently, an image of perfect, placid customer service. “Negative impact?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Zara didn’t miss a beat. “It’s simply a precaution, Ms. Astra. The Companion Package has been carefully calibrated to support you within healthy parameters, but occasionally, users require a break from companionship—especially in cases of over-reliance. Again--”

“As per the law.” Lena signed with a quick, exaggerated flourish, her attention drifting back to the crate. It was just a machine, a helper—nothing that would change her life, she reminded herself. Just a tool to keep her on track. If anything, that clause was reassuring, a reminder that no matter how she felt, the Companion was as temporary as she wanted it to be.

“Thank you, Ms. Astra. We’re certain your Companion will exceed expectations,” Zara said, accepting the tablet back. With the contract signed, the transport bot rolled forward, following them out through the showroom doors, crate in tow.

When they reached her car, the bot slid the crate smoothly into the backseat, securing it without so much as a bump. 

Lena watched as Zara gave her one last practiced smile and handed her a sleek envelope, a manual tucked inside. What use was a manual for something that could think for itself?

She glanced in the rearview mirror at the crate’s faint, cool glow filling the backseat. She sat for a moment, the silence settling, the faint hum of the showroom fading as she closed the door.

The car purred softly as it slid into motion, the familiar voice of her vehicle’s VI chiming in as the cityscape began to scroll past the tinted windows. “Destination confirmed: home,” it announced, a pleasant warmth in its tone that always bordered on too cheerful.

HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED!

The crate sat in the middle of her pristine apartment. Lena paced around it, arms folded tight, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

What was she even doing? People like her didn’t need… this. Companions were for the lost and lonely, the ones who couldn’t keep up. But wasn’t she one of them? The thought prickled like a thorn under her skin.

Her gaze flicked to the crate again, and she winced. This isn’t weakness, she told herself. It was practical, efficient. A tool. 

So why did it feel so heavy, sitting there, glowing like an accusation?

Lena sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. The button was right there, and all she had to do was press it.

With wild hands she put the box into the corner of her room. The crate, unbothered, hummed quietly in the dark. 

She was better than the ads. She didn't need a crutch.