Young Girl

The nanobots under her skin were at work, threading through her tissues, repairing the microtears she had ignored for weeks.

It was miraculous, really. Science pulling her together when her willpower had failed. But the miracles didn’t come free, and even miracles had limits.

Her gaze shifted to the window, where the cityscape sprawled in a dazzling tapestry of light. The buildings blinked like a heartbeat, a constant reminder that the world outside kept moving, whether she was part of it or not.

Her Holopad buzzed softly on the side table. She picked it up, her thumb brushing over the screen to reveal a slew of fan messages, emails, and notifications. Among them was a message from a struggling young performer, a name she didn’t recognize but whose plea struck her.

Subject: Just One Chance, Please

Hi Astra,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I have to try. You’ve been my idol since I was a kid, and watching you gave me the courage to pursue my dreams. But it’s tough out here. Without the resources or connections, and especially being pure organic, I’m stuck. I’ve been saving for a NetOrb for months, even some of the older models, but it feels impossible. You know how it is. If it is deemed non-essential, your case gets thrown out the window. Especially when it comes to Tanaki's policies on humanism. I know I sound ungrateful, and I am not exactly hurting for much, but I am really passionate about Idols.

If you have any advice—or even just a word of encouragement—it would mean everything to me.

Thank you for being you.

Lena stared at the words, her chest tightening. She knew what it was like to feel that kind of desperation.

She’d been lucky, born into a well-off family that allowed her to chase her dreams without worrying about the cost. But for so many others, the Idol industry was a locked door, the key hidden behind layers of privilege and systemic bias.

You’d be simply restraining and hurting yourself if you were human, according to Tanaki's government. So, they classify this occupation as a luxury. In other words, stuff will need to be out-of-pocket. If it isn't something that was a requirement for a happy, healthy life, you'd have to earn it.

She thought back to the sleek box she’d bought weeks ago, still unopened and waiting in her condo. The AI. My assistant, she thought. The thing I swore I wouldn’t rely on.

Her finger hovered over the screen, the message lingering in her mind.

Subject: RE: Just One Chance, Please

Hi there,

Thank you for your kind words. It means a lot to know that what I do inspires someone like you. I understand how hard it is to get started, and I want you to know that you’re not alone.

To help you on your journey, I’ve sent a little something your way. It’s not much, but I hope it helps you take that next step. Keep chasing your dreams, no matter how tough it gets. You have what it takes. Please send me updates on your progress. Next stream, I will shout your name out.

She clicked send, watching the confirmation pop up on her screen. A part of her felt lighter, like she’d pushed back against the crushing weight, even if only for a moment.

As a celebrity, she had no shortage of emails, thousands of them coming in every day. And since time was finite, most of them do not see the light of day.

So, she set up a system: her VI would pick out ones that it thinks it will be of interest to her, and sends them her way.

Ten incredibly curated emails.

Shifting gears, she opened another message, this one from a fan in Paris who had written an essay about how Lena’s music had helped them through a dark time. Lena smiled faintly, crafting a thoughtful reply, making sure every word felt personal. She had promised herself years ago that she’d read every fan email, no matter how busy or chaotic her life became.

But as she moved to the next message, her thoughts drifted.

The AI assistant still loomed in the back of her mind. She could use the help, couldn’t she? Maybe it wouldn’t be the crutch Ayla feared she would deflect to. 

Maybe it would just be… a tool. Something to keep her from pushing herself so far over the edge.

“I’ll take it easy,” she murmured, almost as if convincing herself. “I’ll listen to Margot. She won’t have to come bail me out.”

Then she wouldn’t have to bear any of Margot’s attempts of ‘fixing’ her again.

The Holopad dimmed in her hands as her eyes closed, the faint hum of the nanobots’ work lulling her into a fitful rest.

Somewhere between sleep and waking, she thought about the email she’d just sent and the unopened crate waiting for her.

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

Lena stood at the checkout console of the hospital, tapping her fingers against its smooth surface as the billing screen lit up. Her reflection hovered faintly in the glass, eyes slightly sunken, the creases at the edges of her mouth deeper than usual. She’d been released with a patched-up body and a head full of lectures from Ayla, but she was still bracing for what came next.

The screen displayed her bill: $100.00.

“Seriously?” Lena muttered under her breath. That was a surprise. She'd never had use for one of these hospitals before. That was it? 

She didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended. For all the cutting-edge tech that had stabilized her in record time—a personalized hover-hospital dispatched in minutes, nanobots rebuilding her failing muscles—the cost felt absurdly low.

The receptionist, an AI with a calming voice and impeccable customer service programming, chimed in. “Hospital fees are calculated based on risk-related activities leading to your admission. This initiative was implemented to reduce preventable emergencies.”

Lena rolled her eyes. She vaguely remembered the news about this policy, designed to keep daredevils from turning public services into safety nets for their stupidity.

The AI continued cheerfully, “Activities such as base jumping from restricted areas or high-speed hovercar racing incur higher fees, while—”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Lena cut in, waving a hand. “I wasn’t exactly skydiving without a parachute. Just… process it.”

She tapped the screen to authorize payment, only for a red notification to flash: PAID IN FULL.

Lena blinked, leaning closer. A smaller message appeared beneath it: Margot Coleman.

Her chest tightened. Of course, Margot.

The AI spoke again, polite but firm. “Your bill has already been settled by an external party.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Lena said, her tone clipped. She could practically hear Margot’s voice in her head: You’re my sister. What’s the point of money if not to help family?

A wave of irritation rose, followed swiftly by guilt. She’d never been good at accepting help, least of all from Margot. But what could she do now? Argue over the fact that her sister had paid to keep her alive and out of debt?

She’d thank Margot later, she decided. But not now. Not while the sky stretched endless and open around her, a brief reprieve from everything pressing down on her.

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

The Hoverfoodie truck hummed faintly, a sound so subtle it barely registered over the gentle hiss of rainfall. It had come to a soft halt just outside Lena’s condo, a sleek black capsule with neon lettering that pulsed “Delivery Complete.” She stepped down from the door to retrieve her chilli spud, still warm and nestled in its biodegradable container.

The air was crisp, imbued with that metallic tang of rain freshly conjured by weather management systems. Overhead, thin beams of yellow light from street-level hoverpaths flickered softly against the brutalist-grey of the cityscape. Concrete walls were overrun with vertical gardens—ferns spilling lazily over edges, vines crawling with calculated precision up brutalist slabs. 

Each plant was bio-engineered to absorb CO2 like a sponge and release faint glows at night, giving the streets had an unearthly luminescence. No idea how it worked, but it was definitely worth the money.

Lena took a slow breath, watching the droplets collect on the edges of hovergrids above. These floating platforms buzzed faintly, their undersides aglow. Each grid carried dense rows of crops swaying gently, even in the rain: engineered wheat that shimmered under moonlight, and pomelo grapes with skins that cracked audibly at the perfect bite. They were absurdly expensive to justify this whole floating setup. She was guilty of wanting them fresh straight to her doorstep too. 

The WeatherPad by her building’s entrance blinked on as she approached.

“Good evening, Lena,” it chimed, warm and automated. “What would you like the weather outside your condo to be tonight?”

Lena tilted her head thoughtfully. “Light rain, moderate speed,” she said, balancing the food container in her hand. “And… hmm, occasional thunder. No lightning.”

The system chirped its acknowledgment. The rain, already in progress, shifted imperceptibly, each drop falling just a bit more delicately. A soft rumble of thunder rolled in, distant and polite, as if agreeing to her terms. She didn't have to mind her neighbors. This was all soundproof anyway.

Inside, the space welcomed her with a sterile kind of warmth: cool hues bouncing off polished surfaces, a faint herbal scent wafting from the purifiers. She set her food down on the counter and tugged at her jacket sleeve, exposing the Biopatch on her arm. It glowed faintly, a warm amber light pulsing as it adjusted her hormone levels.

“Nice work.” The Biopatch gave no acknowledgment.

The chilli spud sat ignored as she crossed to the sleek storage cube in the corner. The box was there, still sealed, mocking her curiosity. She hesitated, brushing her fingers over the edge of the lid, before stepping back toward her closet.

Her wardrobe’s holographic display sprang to life, cycling through her preferred loungewear before she selected something soft and oversized. As she changed, the light from her Biopatch dimmed slightly, indicating it had finished its adjustments.

She turned to the kitchen counter where a small rack of emotion capsules stood, glinting under the dim lights. Each was the size of a coin, translucent with a faint swirl of color inside. Lena selected one labeled Ease—a pale blue-green swirl—and held it up to the light.

“Just enough to focus,” she murmured. It shouldn’t impact her health; she’d checked a dozen times. She pressed the capsule to her wrist, feeling a faint warmth as it dissolved into her skin.

She exhaled, letting the sensation settle as she glanced out the expansive window. The city glimmered below, hovergrids floating like fireflies in the misty darkness. Far off, she spotted the soft hum of a drone ferrying goods to another tower. For a brief moment, she envied its simplicity.

Lena circled the box like it was an alien artifact. “Alright,” she muttered, “let’s see what you are.”

She slid her fingernail under the seal, and with a faint hiss, the box popped open. Inside, a pair of pale green eyes stared up at her.

“Oh,” Lena breathed, startled. The thing blinked.

It was one of those cats. Not a neopet, like she’d expected—those self-powered, low-maintenance machine companions everyone raved about. This was a real cat. A living, breathing feline. Its fur shimmered faintly under the light, clearly bio-engineered for low-shed and hypoallergenic perfection.

“Who... Why…” she trailed off, staring into its unblinking gaze.

The cat yawned, thoroughly unimpressed, and stretched itself out with languid precision before curling up again.

Lena groaned, leaning back against the counter. She’d never had a pet before. She wasn’t sure if this was an impulse purchase or the emotional capsule doing its job too well. Either way, it was here now, and it was adorable.

“Well,” she said to the cat, “I guess it’s you and me. Welcome to the circus.”

The cat flicked its tail, clearly unbothered.

“I bet my Orb that it was Margot, that bitch…”

Lena sighed, glancing back at the chili spud and the glowing cityscape beyond the glass.

Tomorrow would be the day.