I'm Not Uploading

The lighthouse loomed above them, its soft, sweeping light casting long shadows over the shoreline. The courtyard had seen better days, but for now, it'd be enough.

Elise sat on the steps, her knees hugged to her chest, her chin resting on her arms. Her hair, once streaked with bright, defiant reds, hung limp, its colour muted in the pale glow of the lighthouse.

She didn’t look up as Lena approached, the faint hum of her all-terrain wheelchair blending with the gentle hum of the fabricated environment.

“Might sound like a broken record here, but,” Elise murmured, her voice low and uneven, “I think about them all the time. The others. They were all out there, cheering for me, believing in me. And I couldn’t even—” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in her arms. “I couldn’t even show up. That's what killed me the most. I'd never thought I'd quit so easily.”

Lena stopped a few feet away, her fingers tightening on the chair’s armrests. “You didn’t owe anyone anything, Elise. No one does. Not at the expense of your health.”

"You are one to talk, hah." Elise lifted her head, her eyes rimmed with frustration and exhaustion. “It’s more about showing up. And I didn’t. I let everyone down.”

“No,” Lena said firmly, her voice cutting through the air like a sudden breeze. “You’re wrong. You being there is a privilege. Everyone played their part.”

Elise blinked, startled by the sharpness in Lena’s tone.

“I’m not going to let you give up, no matter what you say. I don't care that it hasn't been drilled into your head for the past 24 hours yet,” Lena continued, rolling the chair closer until she was just a step away from the younger woman. “Not on yourself. Not on your career. Not on what you’ve built.”

“You should be with the people who care about you. Your friends. Not someone who is chickenshit.” Elise’s gaze dropped to the smooth ground, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve built your whole life around Astra, and now that it’s gone—”

“One thing you should know about me, Elise: I don’t have many friends. Not since they uploaded. I didn’t keep in touch.” Lena said quietly, the edge in her voice softening into something vulnerable. “Not like you do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what it feels like to need someone. And right now, you need someone. If there was one thing Caden was right about me is that I am a liar. And the biggest victim of that is myself.”

Elise’s lips trembled, her hands unclenching as she pressed them flat against the steps. “But I don’t know if I can go back,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can show my face to Maya again.”

“You don’t have to face it alone. I’ll be there. However I can. For as long as I can. Maya misses you something awful.”

The lighthouse beam swept over them again, its light softening the edges of their shadows. Elise looked up, her eyes glassy but searching. “Why are you doing this, Lena?”

Lena held her gaze, her voice steady and quiet. “I don’t want you to feel as alone as I did.”

The simulated waves continued their soundless rhythm, the glow of the lighthouse a steady pulse in the artificial night. Finally, Elise reached out, her hand brushing the armrest of Lena’s chair.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” Elise whispered.

“You can,” Lena said. “And I’ll remind you every day until you believe it.”

Elise’s shoulders sagged, tears tracing quiet paths down her cheeks as she nodded, her voice barely steady.

“And... what made you do this? For me, I mean. If you don’t mind me asking?”

Lena’s lips curved, the faintest hint of a bittersweet smile. “Caden.”

“Him?” Elise blinked, then let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Oh no. I knew it.”

“What?” Lena frowned, her smile faltering just slightly.

“You’ve got a crush on a damn robot.”

Lena’s brow arched, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “Yeah.”

For a moment, Elise froze. The answer was so startling, so inevitable, that it stole the air from her lungs. And then, against all reason—against the ache in her chest—her lips twitched. A laugh, quiet and disbelieving, broke free.

Lena caught it, her own laugh spilling out, soft and raspy, but real.

Lena stayed there with Elise as the girl told her stories of Maya and the sea.

\\

Elise had been in the hospital for hours, or maybe just minutes—time had started to blur together over the last week. She was at the right address. She was sure of it. 

The waiting room wasn’t much more than a collection of uncomfortable chairs, but she barely noticed. Her focus was on the hallway ahead, where Lena’s room waited like a door to something final.

A week. Seven days that had stretched impossibly thin and heavy. She thought she’d feel better, less panicked, as time went on. She didn’t.

The doctor finally appeared, nodding toward her with a polite neutrality that only deepened the pit in Elise’s stomach. She remembers Lena briefly mentioning her. Dr. Vasquez? Masquez? She was never good at names. She had finally upgraded her physical firmware located in her brain so she'd be able to bring up notes without a second thought.

She followed in her silence.

When she entered the room, it took her a moment to process what she was seeing. The machines were quieter now, fewer of them needed to sustain Lena’s fading body. The SOMA tank stood at the far end of the room, still and dark, its black liquid untouched.

Lena lay propped up in the bed, her skin pale but her eyes sharper than Elise expected. She was awake, alert in a way that made her look almost like herself again. Almost.

“You’re late,” Lena said, her voice thin but laced with a faint, familiar smirk.

Elise blinked, startled, before scoffing softly. “You can’t even be nice to me on your deathbed?”

“Some things never die.”

Elise pulled the chair closer to the bed, her movements hesitant, unsure. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been through hell,” Lena admitted, shifting slightly against the pillows. “But I’m still here. For now.”

Elise nodded, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “I was going to bring flowers, but then I figured you’d just mock me for it.”

“You’re right,” Lena said, a faint laugh escaping her lips. “I would’ve.”

The small talk was easy, like a familiar routine, but Elise felt the weight of everything unsaid pressing against her chest.

“I wanted to see you before...” Elise began, her voice catching. “Before you go.”

Lena’s gaze softened, her smirk fading into something quieter. “I figured you might.”

Elise’s throat tightened, her fingers curling into fists in her lap. “I thought I’d feel better about this by now. But I don’t.”

Lena exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

Elise leaned forward, her voice trembling. “It’s just... a week isn’t long enough. To figure out how to say goodbye.”

Lena turned her head, her eyes meeting Elise’s. “Then don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t say goodbye,” Lena said softly. “This isn’t the end. Not really.”

Elise then stood and walked by the bedside, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The faint hum of the facility seemed to press in on her, the quiet suffocating.

Her gaze darted between the flickering vitals on the monitor and Lena’s face, pale and lined with exhaustion. Her bed wasn’t really a bed. More like a capsule.

Slowly, a thick pane of glass covered her form, blocking any and all access to her.

Elise's eyes widened. No.

“Wait, wait,” Elise stammered, her voice trembling as she stepped closer. “You said—you said you didn’t want this. You didn’t want to be Uploaded.”

Lena’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze finding Elise’s. Her lips moved, faint and slow, her voice barely above a whisper. “I changed my mind.”

“Why? You told me... you told me you didn’t want to lose yourself.”

Lena’s eyes drifted shut for a moment before reopening, her focus sharp despite the frailty of her body. “I... don’t want to lose you.”

The words hit like a physical blow, Elise stumbling back a step before gripping the edge of the bed for support. Her breathing quickened, her hands shaking. “You—Lena, no. You can’t... you can’t do this for me.”

“It’s not just for you,” Lena murmured, her voice steady despite its softness. “But it’s part of it.”

Elise shook her head, her voice rising. “Do you even know what this will do to you? It’s not instant, Lena. You’ll have to—”

“I know,” Lena interrupted, her words gaining strength. “Two weeks. To acclimate. Neurons... syncing, reconfiguring—whatever the hell they called it.” She exhaled slowly, her voice dipping lower. “I’ll figure it out.”

Elise’s knees buckled, and she sank into the chair beside the bed, her head in her hands. The faint hum of the machines seemed deafening now.

In the corner of the room, a cylindrical tank glimmered, filled with a viscous, black liquid that shifted and pulsed like a living thing. The SOMA interface.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dr. Masquez and a group of assistants had hurried into the room to monitor the process, and she wasn't happy.

"What is she still doing here? You didn't tell her? It's too dangerous. Screwing up here..."

"Give her... a break... Masquez."

"Fine. Just stay there and watch, puta."

Elise didn't care what any chatty doctor had to say anymore. Not when... “Please, Lena. Don’t do this. Not for me.”

Lena’s gaze softened, her expression carrying a quiet resolve. “It’s not just for you,” she repeated. “It’s for the things I haven’t done yet. The things I’m not ready to let go of.” Her voice faltered, but she pushed through. “And for the things I need to make right.”

Elise’s breath caught, her chest heaving with barely contained sobs. She leaned forward, her hands gripping Lena’s frail arm. Lena turned her head slightly, her eyes locking onto Elise’s.

The tank pulsed faintly, casting flickers of light across the walls. Elise’s gaze shifted to it, the sight of the liquid sending a chill down her spine. “It’s... wrong,” she whispered.

“Just please… be here for me.”

The monitors beeped softly, the rhythm steady but fragile, like a ticking clock winding down. Elise closed her eyes, her tears slipping silently down her face. The tank pulsed again, its black liquid rippling like a heartbeat, waiting.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Lena, her voice barely audible but impossibly firm, said, “It’s my choice, Elise. I am happy. Happier than you can possibly imagine.”

Elise nodded, her face crumpling, her voice breaking as she whispered, “Then I’ll be here.”

The tank shimmered, and the air seemed to grow heavier, charged with the weight of what was to come. Lena closed her eyes, her face relaxing into something almost peaceful.

The hum of the machines blended into the silence, the black liquid in the tank stilling as if holding its breath.