“NOBODY F*-ING MOVE!” shouted the half-Chinese leader, who was holding a home-printed machine pistol with his myoelectric arm. On his left temple there was some metal contraption screwed to his skull. Another thug began looking for hostages, but the establishment was empty.

“Look, man”, said the clerk, who had a smaller implant attached to the back of his neck. “Here's the money, take all you want.”

The thug shot the ceiling. “SHUT UP!!” he shouted, The other was peering outside.

“Listen, you piece of shit, we know you found that stash the other day. We want it all, and you're gonna tell us where it is. Understand?”

“I-I don't know what you're talking about, man! You got it all wrong! I didn't steal no fuckin' stash, I swear!”

The assailant pressed the gun muzzle against the clerk's neck. “I HAVE A DAMN RECORDING OF YOU WITH THE LIZARDS!” He looked at the TV on the corner and the video began playing. The clerk saw himself discussing with a female with green scaled skin. His gaze turned to the gang leader when he heard him shouting again.

“Now tell me the truth, you son of a bitch!”

“Alright... alright, man, I'll talk, I'll talk! It was all her idea! I just gave 'em a ride, I swear!”

“They who?”

“The girl, Vibora! She's the one who found it!”

“She and who else!”

“Some Chinese guy, she called him Fang!”

The man punched the store owner. “DON'T LIE TO ME! Do you think I'm stupid? Everybody knows our people don't deal with cholos!”

“Don't know man!!!” said the store owner, who whose hands began trembling. “I swear I heard that! They kept saying something about a Dragon!”

“Dragon?” He looked at his partner, who raised his eyebrows. “Tell me everything they said! Show me! Hurry!”

“Alright, man, alright!”

The screen on the TV switched to some unknown street. The video was blurry and so was the audio. Some words in Chinese, and a female voice with Mexican accent.

After a few seconds of silence, the leader began cursing in Chinese and discussing with his partners. He turned to store owner. “You got lucky. But you still owe us. I’ll call you.”

”'Kay, man, just don't kill me!”

The lookout was covering his left ear with his hand. He shouted something to the leader and they all left.

—

With an imperative thought, Pearson commanded the car to start and turn the siren on. The car sped up, taking the highway and signaling the neighboring cars to move aside. The android and automated ones were the first ones to move while the ones with human drivers were (as usual) the last ones to obey.

“Paredes, status?”

“Road clear”, said Pearson's partner, “in 5... 4... 3... 2... wait! Is that Harris?”

“Where?”

“There! His car broke!”

A noticeably overweight police officer was waving both hands at them. They were still speeding down when he reached them. “You won't believe what happened, man!”

“No time, Harris!” shouted Pearson. “Get in!”

Harris ran to the car and jumped to the backseat. “Alright man, hit it!”

The car sped up, sending status messages to its occupants.

>> ETA: 35 seconds.

“Okay, get ready, guys.” Said Paredes.

“I'm checking the cams”, said Harris. “Shit, they took a car!”

“Patch me, Harris!” shouted Pearson. “Follow them with the drones!”

“There ya go!”

“Pull back! At least 20 meters!”

“That much, Pearson?”

“That way they can't shut them down, at least not without aiming plugins.”

“Okay”, added Paredes. “I think we're gonna intercept them on the 25th.”

“Fuck! Drone down, drone down!”

One of the occupants of the car was aiming at the drones with some kind of electronic weapon.

“Shit. How many we got left?”

“Just two!”

“Keep one moving erratically, move the other to the adjacent street.”

”'Kay, man. Shit, they're all down!”

“Fucking bastards... we're gonna have to use the street cams.”

>> ETA: 18 seconds.

The police siren got quiet, but the wireless signal was still active, telling the nearby cars to move aside.

Harris began rubbing his palms together. “We're right behind them, man, and they have no idea!”

Paredes grabbed the foam gun from under the seat.

“Okay, Pearson. At your signal.”

>> ETA: 7 seconds.

The car took the fork right. Pearson swallowed. “Get ready,” he shouted, fastening his helmet. “This could get heavy...”

Meanwhile the Cyberpol patrol was taking the highway to intercept them.

“That idiot”, muttered the lieutenant, “how many times I've told him not to go after augmented criminals!”

“You're worried about him?” asked Rodriguez while adjusting her bulletproof vest.

“Of course I'm worried, I'm responsible for him.”

“So who is he?”

“A reckless idiot who keeps dreaming about becoming a hero. He's not ready to face criminals like that. One shot in the head and he's done.”

“Wait, his skull isn't armored yet?”

“Speaking of, you're upgrading yours tonight. In the meantime, put on your helmet.”

“Okie dokie!”

“We'll be there in three minutes. I hope we're not too late...”

>> ETA: 3 seconds.

>> ETA: 2 seconds.

>> CONTACT.

“There they are!” shouted Harris.

Paredes looked above. “And Channel 6 is at it again. We’re on the news, guys.”

“Fuck. Well, it’s show time.” Pearson picked the microphone and cleared his throat before speaking in his best cop voice. “This is the police! Drop your weapons and surrender!” He switched off the mic. “I'm gonna nail them.”

Paredes winced, and pressed his hand against his temple. “Shit.”

“Paredes, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, I'm fine.”

“Don't lie to me, Paredes. You need to get yourself checked.”

“I'm fine, dammit!”

“HERE IT GOES!” Pearson derailed the gang's car. Paredes lowered the window and shot the foam at the car's front tire, then at the back. In just two seconds the orange foam began solidifying and burning against the concrete.

“Got ‘em!”

The officers opened the car doors and aimed at the car when they saw two columns of smoke getting dispersed.

“Pearson, smoke grenade! They're running away!”

“Shit.” He sent an ECP message to Harris.

> Harris, take the one on the left!

Pearson fired his net gun and one of the criminals fell. “Got one!”

The other criminals began their escape through the disorganized city slums, jumping over wire fences. Harris fired his net gun, but the thug jumped forward and rolled, avoiding the net. Then he reached for his back. Harris didn't think it twice, he took out his other gun and used his AR implants to shoot at the guy's arm. A quick pull of the trigger and the guy fell, screaming in pain.

“Aaaargh!”

“FREEZE, MOTHERFUCKER!”

Harris' gun emitted a red laser and aimed at the guy's forehead.

The criminal dropped his weapon. “Fucking shithead, you shot me!”

“I warned you, bitch!” Harris shouted, cuffing the criminal's good hand against the fence. “You're under arrest for armed robbery. Stay here, an ambulance will pick you up.”

> ATN central, Tango down at my location, send an ambulance.

Central> 10-4, officer Harris. Ambulance on the way.

Meanwhile, Paredes was pursuing the leader.

“This is the police! Surrender, or I'll shoot!”

The robber turned around the corner.

“Damn...”

Paredes pursued him but just before he could turn around he fell to the floor and began throwing up. Pearson hesitated. “Shit! Paredes! Are you okay?”

>> Don't worry about me, get him!

“Are you sure?”

>> Go!!!

“Shit.”

Pearson crouched before turning around. The robber was on the other side of the street, running towards an alley. The robber stumbled and fell.

“This is my chance.”

Pearson ran towards him but the robber quickly got up and jumped over a fence. Not climbing, but actually jumping over it like some kind of super-athlete.

Motherfucker, he's got bionic legs!

Pearson pointed at him with his gun. “FREEZE!”

The robber shot back at Pearson. Instinctively, Pearson dodged and shot back, forgetting that he was carrying the net gun. The bullet exploded when it touched the wire fence, deploying its net around it.

“FUCK!”

Pearson took his bullet gun and pointed at the fleeing criminal.

“Don't flinch,” he told himself, “don't flinch!”

He flinched and missed. The criminal jumped again, and then against the wall before taking the next corner.

“Fuck.”

Pearson jumped over the fence, but tripped and got entangled by his own net. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” It took him a few seconds to get rid of the net before running towards the robber again.

> Central, requesting eagle's eye view. > Suspect is armed and fleeing. Leg enhancements confirmed, requesting reinforcements. Central> [LINK] Central> Reinforcements on the way.

Pearson saw the bird's eye video, taken from one of the police blimps flying hundreds of meters above.

“There he is.”

Pearson kept running towards the robber, requesting eagle's eye views every five seconds. The robber was going through another alley, and this one was roofed. No bird's eye advantage.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

Pearson approached the alley and covered just in case the robber wanted to shoot him in a corner. A quick glimpse and to his surprise, he saw the robber getting tackled by none other than Harris.

“Got you, motherfucker!!! I got him, Pearson!”

A quick hit with the stun gun and the robber was out of combat. Finally, it was over.

> ATN Central, situation under control, All suspects down. Request reinforcements, suspect is augmented on one arm and both legs.

CYBERPOL> Officer Pearson, a unit is on your way. We'll take care of the augmented criminal now.

> Copy, Cyberpol.

CYBERPOL> And please refrain from pursuing augmented criminals the next time. You guys are NOT equipped to handle them.

> Noted, Cyberpol. Officer Harris will stay here, I'm taking my partner to the hospital.

Central> Officer Pearson, do you require an ambulance?

> No, he just threw up. I'll take him to the hospital personally.

Central> Copy that.

CYBERPOL> Cyberpol out.

• CYBERPOL has left the chat.

• Central has left the chat.

“Oh, look, man”, said Harris, “they're already here.”

The Cyberpol car parked. Pearson noticed a tall armored woman with short white hair opening the vertical door.

“Oh, shit.”

When she stepped down, the car bounced. Pearson stepped back.

“Oh um, hi, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Inoue walked towards him and punched him in the eye before grabbing him by the neck. “Give me a reason not to knock you unconscious, Pearson. You fucking KNEW he was augmented, so why the hell did you go after him!”

“He wasn't armored!”

The lieutenant punched him again, this time on the lips.

“Oww!!!”

The lieutenant pushed Pearson against the wall. “Listen up, Rambo. If you think you’re some kind of super-cop with a cybernetic body and a billionaire technician at your disposal, you’re very mistaken. You’re merely human. And you know what that means?”

“Yes, yes, I know...”

“No, you don’t, you idiot! You can recover from pierced, even destroyed organs 99% of the time, but a single punch from an augmented arm can break your fucking neck!” She grabbed a nearby brick from the ground and squeezed, crushing it to bits right in front of him. “Once your brain drowns it's over, you understand? Over!!! An augmented arm is much more dangerous than bullets in close range! Won't you ever learn? You're NOT equipped to deal with people like that! And who knows if he had been equipped with targeting plugins? Do you want a god damn hole in your skull?”

Pearson remembered the drones getting shot down, but then saw Inoue’s partner coming out of the car and saw an opportunity to escape the argument.

“Oh, so I'm not equipped to deal with them, but a teenager like she is, huh?”

The lieutenant slapped her forehead with her palm and sighed. “Rodriguez, I told you not to get out of the car!”

“But the bad guy's knocked out, isn't he?”

“Well, cat's out of the bag. Pearson, this is agent Rodriguez, a recent graduate. One of the best close range fighters in the force.”

“Hai hai!” replied Rodriguez, saluting.

“Hai hai?” Pearson stared at the girl and blinked once. “An otaku... in the Cyberpol. Seriously?”

“Hey!” shouted Rodriguez. “Just because I have hobbies which some people consider childish doesn't mean I'm not mentally equipped to be in the force, mister!”

A little plush turtle came out of her bag and started squeaking angrily at Pearson before moving its fists in a boxing stance. “Squeak, squeak!”

Pearson couldn't help laughing at the plush toy. “Oh, look at that... your friend's got help! Military version, I suppose!”

Before he could notice the girl quickly grabbed his arm, punched him in the stomach, on the chin, the groin, the stomach again, and threw him to the floor before twisting his wrist. Just before he fainted she released him.

“Don't you make fun of Doki again, mister!”

The lieutenant pointed at Pearson. “Rodriguez! What did I tell you about getting violent?”

“B-But you gave him a black eye!”

“I can moderate my strength! Now get in the car!”

“B-but...”

“NOW!!!”

The girl began to pout and ran towards the car, carrying her little plush tortoise with her.

“What the fuck....” grunted Pearson. “Is she an enhanced child experiment or something?”

The lieutenant replied. “She’s all human, Pearson. You’re lucky she’s not augmented yet.”

”...yet?”

“She's got... control issues. But as you can see,” she said with a smile as she crouched towards Pearson, “she's a much better fighter than you are.”

“Ow... I think she broke my jaw...”

“Let me check... No. You're fine. You'll need some ice, tho.”

“Who the fuck trained her?” asked Pearson, standing up with the lieutenant's help, “Chuck Norris?”

The lieutenant sighed. “Muramasa.”

Pearson quickly turned to her. “You're shitting me. Muramasa? Her????”

“Long story. Now let me see that thug.”

“Here it is, lieutenant!” shouted Harris. “Just let me check for hidden whoaaa.... Pearson, this guy's got blue legs!”

“What?!”

The lieutenant walked towards Harris. “Let me see”.

“Look, underneath his socks.”

The lieutenant ripped the criminal's pants open as easily as one would open candy wrap. “I see...”

The criminal had his body stitched to overbuffed android legs.

Pearson knelt down. “Let me check.” He pinched the guy's legs with his fingertips. “This skin is too soft...”

“Eroid's, Pearson.”, added the lieutenant. “Eroid body parts are biocompatible with the human body.”

“They must have found out a way to overgrow them”, said Pearson. “That means they stole an eroid and got the means to alter them. And that means they got a back alley doctor working on it. One with access to a good biolab.”

“Pearson, we'll handle this. You take your partner for a check up.”

“Good idea,” he replied standing up. “I'm telling the captain.”

“And no more pursuits of augmented criminals, is that clear, officer?”

Pearson sighed. “Alright... lieutenant.”

“And this is the latest report on the police pursuit. Right now we’re seeing a confirmed augmented criminal getting carried by an armored Cyberpol officer. Officer, what can you tell us about — “

“No comment.”

The camera turned to Pearson. “There he is, coming out of the dark alleys of these dangerous slums! The officer who knocked down the criminal! Officer, Delicia Yong from Channel Six International. The criminal presented a tough fight, didn’t he?”

“I... uh...” Pearson turned sideways to hide his black eye. “Look, what’s important is that the streets are safer and honest quick-mart workers have one less violent robber to worry about. I just did what I had to do.” He wiped the blood on his lips with his fist.

Meanwhile, in the precinct...

“Hey skip!” called one of the officers in the precinct. “Pearson's on TV!”

The bearded captain spit his coffee and began coughing before turning on his monitor.

“Officer, are you augmented?”

“No, why do you —”

“So you fought the criminal alone?”

“No, of course not! In fact, my partner there did most of the job.”

“Officer!”

Harris tightened his suit and began smiling like an idiot in love.

“Yes, officer Harris at your service!”

“Tell us, was the criminal augmented?”

“Oh, you woudna believe what we saw. The guy had these synthetic legs implanted in his body, and they were buffed like this.” He made a hand gesture indicating the width of the legs. “He coulda killed us with a single kick!”

“So how exactly did you defeat him?” asked the reporter.

“Well, I was running towards the action,” said Harris, “we’d already captured the other three, but this guy ran like hell! He jumped across fences like the friggin’ flea man! I could barely catch up with him! My partner here did most of the job. I just caught the guy off guard while my partner was distracting him and feinting at him with his kung-fu moves! Man! You shoulda seen it! The fight was intense!”

Pearson replied. “Look, it wasn’t that bad, I had my weapon with me...”

“But you’re not augmented,” replied the reporter. “Officer, you could have died if he aimed for your neck! Oh, wait, you’re using an avatar, is that it?”

“Uh... no... ” Shit, shouldn't have said that.

“You’re NOT using an avatar??? And went by yourself to catch this dangerous criminal???”

“Look, um... I had some technical issues, it happens — but I was as careful as I could be. Of course I knew the risks. Had I seen myself in real danger, I would have pulled back and called for reinforcements. But my partner here knocked the criminal down before he could pose any danger. Most of the credit goes to him.”

“Thank you very much, officer...”

“Pearson. Richard Pearson, at your service. Now, if you excuse me,” he said, putting on his sunglasses to cover his black eye, “duty calls.”

“There you go, fellas,” the reporter told the cam as it was being seen on TV. “We need more elements like this. While most policemen would be resting or eating donuts at this time of the morning, this brave policeman was on duty and risked his life to pursue an augmented criminal. Glad to see someone still cares about our crime rates. For Channel Six International, this is Delicia Yong.”

The reporter left in the news van as Pearson and Harris went to the car to take Paredes to the hospital.

“Harris...”

“Yes, Pearson?”

“Clear your cache.”

“B-but Pearson, that's illegal!”

“The part about the lieutenant, not the capture! Sheesh. I just don't want to be embarrassed by –”

Lt. Inoue> And Pearson, don't you dare wipe that part from your cache. It must be stated on record that it was I and not the thief who hurt you.

“Never mind, Harris.” Pearson pressed an icepack against his eye. “Just... don’t exaggerate things in the media again.”

“Man, whadya want me to do? Tell them your ex gave you a black eye? Wounna look good on TV!”

“Fuck.”

Discuss...

... the inclusion of an emulated limbic system in the android brain sparked several discussions on android ethics, ranging from animal rights and the necessity of ethics committees, to thought-provoking questions regarding androids' legal status, to philosophical issues, whether androids could love, or if they had a soul now. Note that the discussion of these matters is beyond the scope of this book.

(From Introduction to Android Management, chapter 1: History and basic principles)

Santa Cruz district, New Angeles Morning

Rick Pearson arrived to his favorite food joint. The top had a big painted banner whose neon lights were turned off.

El Pollito Feliz — Tacos de note y más

The banner read: “The Happy Chicken — worm tacos and more”. The Mexican word note (pronounced noh-tay) was how worm meat was called; an abbreviation of gusanote, Spanish for 'big worm'. The leftmost part of the sign had a cute chicken with an earthworm in its beak, and the little earthworm had a cartoony smile. Ridiculous, knowing that worm cattle were totally different from farming earthworms, and that a worm would never be happy about being eaten, but maybe that ridiculousness was precisely what gave the banner its charm.

The moment Pearson closed the car door, the fat mustached cook smiled. “Don Pirson! How was your morning?”

“Buenos días, don Neto! Patrolling as usual.”

“Where's don Lalo?”

“Went to the clinic for a check up. I hope he won't take long. What about you?”

“Same as always, don Pirson. The usual?”

“The usual. And the radio, please!”

After don Neto tuned Pearson's radio station, he took two semi-cylindrical eggs from a carton, removed their transparent wrapping, hit the cross-section, and emptied them on a mug. He then took a piece of ham from the fridge, diced it and threw it at the mug before stirring the mix with the knife.

A variation of Vivaldi's Spring started playing on the speaker when a fine Italian voice began to speak.

“I'm Francesco Ferrero, CEO of the arcology engineering company Sostenibile. Every day when I wake up, my faithful androids prepare my clothes, my breakfast, and remind me of my daily appointments. At work, our androids do their assigned tasks and present their reports without complaining. With thousands of androids building and maintaining each citadel, you need the best management team you can get. So far I haven't had a single incident, and my company's productivity has remained in top levels. And all thanks to Kahazaki Management Services.”

Pearson rolled his eyes as the music faded out and a female voice with Japanese accent said:

“Kahazaki Management Services. We worry about your androids so you won't have to.”

“Ah, Don Pirson, you said you worked there, didn't you?”

“I'd rather not talk about it.”

Kahazaki Management. Sons of bitches. The only reason Pearson tolerated those hypocrites was because their ads were relaxing, and because in the end, they did provide the best service to the customer. Employees, on the other hand...

“So, don Pirson, have you ever had an android?”

“Huh?”

“Have you ever had an android, don Pirson?”

“Androids?” Pearson remembered the face of an android gone berserk grinning, staring at him with a murderous gaze as it detonated a makeshift bomb in the construction site he supervised a few years ago. “No, thanks, I've had enough of them in my life. Besides, I don't have a mansion nor a business, why would I want one?”

“Oh, just curious. I... um, I mean, a friend has been asking me if I know someone with experience in this stuff.”

Pearson noticed a Babylon Research leaflet near the salt and picked it up. He snorted. “Yeah, right. A friend.”

Don Neto chuckled. “Oh well, you got me! But you know, I'm tired of dating, and who wants to marry a lowly food worker? Just look at all the girls. They go to the tall buildings to find a husband, and they don't even have to compete with each other! They all marry him! Not fair, mano!”

“Girls without dignity, don Neto. Willing to expose their most intimate moments to millions of people online. Trust me, those harems are nothing but porn businesses in disguise. I say you dodged a bullet. Or ten.”

“Yeah, but... with those bullets who wouldn't like a flesh wound?”

Both men chuckled, and don Neto's younger assistant bumped fists with him.

Pearson got curious and opened the Babylon leaflet, which boasted all the new capabilities of their new Nymph™ android line: 3D diagrams of the skin technology, physiological responses to hormones (including aphrodisiacs), and a list of training in all house service tasks. The last page had the animated picture of a busty blue-skinned maid modeling, winking and sending a kiss at the reader. Below that, a condensed list of all the new android models' sexual capabilities: sex positions, authentic physiological orgasms, bondage techniques, and the Girlfriend Experience Plus™, simulated love and care which cost...

“Six hundred credits per month?!?! You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” Something told Pearson that the main market of these androids were rich people, who not only didn't have to pay rent at all, but already had androids at their disposal to earn money for them.

And here’s the thing about androids: In the citadels, the rich snobs who lived in the upper levels would go to the lower levels of the citadel to restaurants and all kinds of services just to complain about the bad service and ask why they weren’t hiring more androids (the smart ones would just hire common people to shill for them). Then they would pay humans to go to those same levels to distribute leaflets, videos, even sensevids promoting cheap android labor; and together, they paid special fees to Kahazaki so their own androids would serve in those citadels. They would’ve gotten their way if it hadn’t been for the Luddites, who started the labor riots in ‘53 and resulted in thousands of androids destroyed, a spike in the appearance of murderous berserks, the arrest of hundreds of Luddites, the formation of the Human Labor movement and the eventual enactment of the pro-human-labor laws: Citadel businesses needed at least 40% of humans in their payroll; ground businesses, 60%, with the penalty of increased taxes, etc., etc., unless of course, quality of labor or occupational risks made more sense for androids to do the work, e.g. construction, infrastructure maintenance (including sewers), garbage handling, food working, to name a few.

And then came the hidden costs of managing androids; Kahazaki was practically a monopoly and their fees were “higher than the Space Ring”, as the saying goes.

“Trust me, don Neto,” Pearson said as he put the leaflet on the shelf, “in the long term, an android costs more than a wife.”

Don Neto sighed. “Well, you may be right, don Pirson, but I just want someone to take care of the house while I'm gone, and give me some love when I get home...”

“Well, who doesn't? Androids can't love, don Neto, they can only obey.”

“But I read this month's Vinculum, and it talks about android-human love! Have a look!”

Vinculum – A CIPESA publication

Pearson took the magazine and chuckled. “Let me guess. A Catholic lady put this here.” Don Neto just shrugged.

CIPESA, which stood for “Centro de Investigación y Promoción de la Ética Sobre Androides” (Center for Research and Promotion of Android Ethics) was a Midorian-Catholic organization dedicated to promoting androids' rights. They even had a freaking android cemetery. CIPESA gained traction during the Luddite riots, when an android snuff video caught Doña Diana’s attention and dedicated a lot of her time to promoting them around the world; they became even more popular after a notable Luddite became a Catholic priest and a fierce defender of android rights. Still, they remained a fringe group until the Wolvencroft incident a year ago; suddenly CIPESA’s popularity skyrocketed and their members were even allowed to speak during Catholic sermons all over the world.

Pearson gave a quick “scan” (not a real scan, just a glimpse) to the magazine cover; on it were listed several opinion and information articles, but the word “romance” at the bottom of the magazine called his attention:

“Human / Android romance: Sin, or blessing? p. 12”

Pearson turned to page 12 and found a holographic full-page image of a man giving a flower to a beautiful android female sitting on the other side of the restaurant table. The android's mandatory blue skin made a nice combination with her white silk dress. “She” was inquisitive, but inexpressive otherwise. Pearson tilted the magazine, wondering what the hidden holographic image would be. The new image, obviously shopped, now had the android smiling at the man and blushing. Pearson closed the magazine right away.

“Jesus fucking Christ. You really believe this shit, don Neto?”

“I don't know, don Pirson! That's why I was asking!”

“You know the leader of this organization is a major Prometheus stockholder, don’t you?”

“Diana la Loca? Yeah, but she’s not with them, I know the story.”

“Don Neto, they create their own market. This,” he said, shaking the magazine, “is promoting android romance. And guess what’s the most expensive service for Prometheus?” He pulled the android leaflet. The romance! This is just like those toothpaste commercials which tell you to use five times the toothpaste. This shit should be illegal.”

“Well, if you put it that way... but there’s something I don’t get, don Pirson,” he said, wincing, “if CIPESA is in bed with Prometheus, why are they protesting at the Babylon Tower this week?”

“They're having a protest?”

“Yeah, in Hong Kong. Saw it on the news last night.”

“Oh...” Pearson thought about it for a second and realized he didn’t have the answer. He quickly shook his head. “Anyway, androids are for the rich, don Neto. As for the rest of us, ” he added, giving him back the magazine, “we’re humans, aren’t we? There must be someone out there that will accept us as we are.”

Don Neto sighed. “You’re right, don Pirson. Well, what about you? Still dating that pretty Japanese lady?”

“Uh? Which one?”

Don Neto chuckled. “What, there's two now? I wouldn’t mind a spare!”

Pearson chuckled. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean... if you’re talking about the lieutenant... well, didn’t work out. I'd rather not get into details.” “No bueno. And the other?”

“Well... it's... complicated.”

“Ah, complicated,” don Neto replied as he nodded.

“Moved out of the country, she...” Pearson thought it twice and told a half truth. “Found a job offshore.”

“Hmm hmm. Your burritos, and the soda.”

“Hmm, smells delicious!”

“Yeah, we got the ham just this morning! The best we've had in weeks!”

“Hmm-hmm!” Pearson nodded at don Neto, who proudly smiled at his work.

Pearson was about to give the first bite to his burrito when he received an ECP call from Central.

Central> ATN CRIME IN PROGRESS Incident: 211 Armed robbery Location: 16th and Main [map] Suspects 2 (one probably augmented) [pic] [pic]

“Shit. See? It never fails!”

“Again, don Pirson?” asked don Neto, quickly typing the quantity over the POS machine. Pearson moved his hand over the machine and the payment was processed.

Pearson ran to his car and noticed that his partner was in the passenger's seat.

“Paredes? Weren't you at the clinic?”

The young slim Latino shrugged. “The doctor had an emergency, so he'll be out all day.”

“What about your headaches? Are you sure you'll be fine?”

“Well, if I feel bad I'll tell you.”

“Okay, let's go. Did you get the alarm?”

“Yup.”

The car started and Pearson turned on the siren, checking his implants for the fastest route to catch the criminals.

New Angeles Cyberpol HQ A few minutes earlier

Two stories below the Intelligence offices, men and women were finishing their morning exercises at the gym. A dozen officers and cadets were climbing a short wall, followed by the mandatory tire-hopping run.

The officer in charge of training the squad kept shouting as as she fiercely clapped her hands. “Move it, move it, move it!” While her porcelain face denoted a young age, her military-short white hair revealed her true age: Lieutenant Inoue Minori was born a Japanese noblewoman, so she was obligated by tradition (and pride) to skip melanin modifications on her scalp.

“You're not common policemen”, she kept shouting, “you're Cyberpol, remember that!”

“Yes, ma'am!” the cadets shouted in unison.

She looked around and noticed that one of the recent graduates was still getting her clothes ready.

“YOU'RE LATE, RODRIGUEZ! HURRY UP ALREADY!”

The older cadets rolled their eyes.

“God, she's late again”, muttered one.

“Did she bring her plushie again?” replied another.

“I still don't understand how a kid like that already graduated when we're still here, working our asses off and doing drills”.

“Co-miiing!!!” a high pitched voice sang.

The short Mexican girl, with light brown skin and whose straight hair fell a bit above her shoulders, ran towards the bench and put her bag on top of it. She opened it, took out a palm-sized plush tortoise and put it on top of the bag.

“Squee!” The anthropomorphic plush tortoise closed the zipper. When it saw its owner, it began to move its squishy arms and cheer for her.

“Don't move, Doki!” she ordered in a childish tone. “This is very important, okay?”

“Squee, squee!”

The newer cadets stared at her. “What the hell's that kid doing in here?”

“Careful”, said a nearby male sergeant. “You better not get her mad.”

“What's she gonna do? Beat me with a pillow?”

The other cadets laughed.

“You really don't know who she is, do you, cadet?” replied the sergeant informally.

“No, sir, who is she?”

“She's the lion's protegee.”

“The – the Lion himself?”

Colonel Leopold, also known as the Lion due to his biomod, was the head of Cyberpol Hong Kong and the top man of Cyberpol worldwide.

“That's right, cadet. She worked in Hong Kong for two years, was one of our most promising rookies until...” he made a fingergun gesture and fired at the cadet's forehead.

The cadet swallowed.

“Nobody thought she'd make it, but miraculously, she did. Or at least, whatever remains of her now. So if you know what's good for you, cadet, you don't make fun of her. NOW GET STARTED! Twenty push ups! GO!”

“Yes, sir!!!”

Rodriguez arrived at her spot. “Gomen, gomen! I'm ready now!”

Lieutenant Inoue sighed. After sighing, she grabbed the whistle. “Okay, ready?”

As soon as she heard the whistle, agent Rodriguez began climbing and showing off the bumps and lines worthy of a pro wrestler. She arrived before all the other cadets and officers. “I got it!”

“GOOD, NOW GET DOWN! MAKE ROOM FOR THE NEXT ONE, DAMMIT!”

The girl climbed down and smiled at the Lieutenant and smiled at her with the innocence of a baby. “Did I do it right, Inoue-san?”

Some muffled laughs were heard.

“Yes, now get to the shower, we're patrolling today.”

“Hai, hai!”

Lieutenant Inoue rested her head on her palm. “She had to become an otaku...”

“Lieutenant!” A young, mustached man approached her.

“Agent Pérez, didn’t expect you so early. Any news on the mising avatars?” The lieutenant knew there were no new reports — she scanned the new files periodically —, but she had to ask anyway.

Agent Pérez shook his head. “None. It’s like running into a wall. It’s five incidents this month and all end up with the thing destroyed or missing.”

“Any ideas?”

“I say it’s one of Jakande’s groups and that we’ll find the remains in garbage bins. That, or they’re just harvesting parts. Even Holmes says the victims got nothing in common. At all.”

“I thought you didn’t trust Holmes’ reports.”

“And I still don’t. Remember the hacker’s proverbs? Never trust an A.I. you can’t kill.”

“Two points: A, it’s a tool and we have to use it; and B, we can shut off Holmes at any time.”

“We can, but we won’t. To me it’s the same thing.”

The lieutenant winced. “Are you mad at AIs because you can’t beat Conquest on medium?”

“Oh come on, Lieutenant, that’s not fair! We both know you got a super brain installed in your skull, for you that’s piece of cake!”

“But you got a guerrilla warfare plugin.”

“It’s not the same! Anyway, speaking of strategy...” he rubbed his hands and grinned. “It’s precisely one of the reasons I got here early. I got a new idea to beat you in our pending match.”

“I’m not anyone to tell you what to do in your free time, Pérez, but remember there’s a limit to the allotted entertainment time in our facilities, even off duty.”

“Not if I provide a backup power source.” He raised his eyebrows.

The Lieutenant couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, Pérez, have fun, but you won’t win this match, trust me.”

Pérez pointed at her. “Just you wait.”

The speakers on the gym rang, even after the Lieutenant had received the message in her neural implants. As mandated by protocol, the speakers also announced the message.

“NAPD alert. Augmented crime in progress in the San Fernando district.”

“What? This early in the morning?”

In less than a second she downloaded the live report; An NAPD officer was in pursuit of the augmented criminal. The officer’s name was...

“Pearson, YOU IDIOT!!!”

Instinctively, Pérez stepped back. There were at most two or three people, criminals counted, who managed to make the lieutenant lose her cool; that Pearson guy was one of them.

Rodriguez ran after her. “Inoue-san, —”

“YES, HURRY!”

The two women ran to the first floor; Rodriguez stopped in the changing room while Inoue ran to the armory. Without stopping, she removed her clothes, letting the nearby officers see both the scar circling her neck and the Beta-Titanium-Gold alloy sockets located in strategic points of her reinforced skeleton. She jumped into a designated chamber, which closed as soon as she got into position. In less than 5 seconds the chamber opened and a fully-armored lieutenant walked out of it. Her metal-armored exoskeleton was painted in the Cyberpol's official navy blue. After commanding her helmet to raise she activated her comms and sent an ECP message to Rodriguez.

> Rodriguez, you ready?

>> Almost done!

> Hurry, get in the car!

Discuss...

WARNING: This chapter contains suggestive scenes featuring sexual acts and nudity. Not appropriate for readers under 18.

Richard Pearson's Apartment Santa Cruz District, New Angeles, Esperanza Planet Midoria, Delta Pavonis star system Wednesday, September 3, 682. 07:20 hrs local time

Rick finished waking up. After washing his face he grabbed his medication bottle and swallowed a pill; next, a bottle of the ubiquitous BeeLife Stress-B-Gone™ pills — more commonly known as “happy pills”, and swallowed the first feel-good pill of the day. The commercials said:

Through the Miracle of Nanotechnology,

(That overused phrase that either meant “our tech is so fucking advanced that it'd take either a full 600-page book or a Level-4 concept download for you to barely understand how it works”, or, more commonly, “we're totally making this shit up, but all the rich snobs in the citadels take it so why wouldn't you?”. Fortunately, the happy pills were based on centuries-old Open Source biochem, so this was one of the few legit cases of nanotech consumables.)

Through the Miracle of Nanotechnology, Stress-B-Gone minimizes your stress levels by delivering beta blockers and carefully-tuned neurotransmitters to your brain and bloodstream, minimizing stress responses until your body and mind are finally in harmony.

WARNING: Do not exceed the recommended dose. For further information on contraindications and potential side effects, please consult with your physician.

Self-medication is discouraged.

(That last phrase – usually spoken in super-fast speech – also had a hidden meaning: “Our product has potential side effects and we're not responsible for you becoming a manchild, getting psychologically addicted to this shit or forgetting how to control your own impulses, so we're disclosing this just to prevent you from suing the fuck out of our company.” But everybody used it anyway, and for a good reason: It was the de-facto standard to overcome anxiety and prevent rage attacks. The year Happy Pill dispensers were introduced to impoverished zones, crime rate was reduced by a whopping 60% – except for the vandalism of Happy Pill dispensers and stolen pharma trafficking, which increased 1200%.)

Rick took a seat on the living room table and used the remote control module in his neural implants to command the TV on. In reality he didn’t want to watch TV, he just wanted to distract himself from the grief that Kimiko's death caused him.

The TV opened with a commercial in black, magentas and sensual voices. There was an interesting sex scene where the sensitive parts were replaced by carefully-censored animations.

“Oooh...”

“Mmm-aaaahhh...”

“Yes, more like that... aaaahhhh...”

The diffuse scene kept morphing into different sex scenes: From fellatio to orgies, to bondage, and so on. The sensual female voice spoke. “Come to Paradise, the entertainment sector where your wildest fantasies can become as real as you want. The only limit is -

“Your wallet!” Pearson gestured a swipe to the left, telling the TV to switch to the next commercial. This was a new one. It started with a woman talking in a moderately sensual tone, like the one of an experienced hooker educating the new girl:

“Listen to me, girl...”

“Yup,” Pearson said to himself, “pro hooker alright.”

There was a voluptuous blond woman skinny-dipping in a luxurious pool. The woman reached the corner of the pool and walked up the marble stairs, where an android butler (obviously blue-skinned as mandated by law) covered her with her towel.

The female narrator continued talking. “Have you always dreamed of marrying a rich guy and living in a luxurious house in the citadels?”

The camera moved away from the pool, to show a rich mansion. Phoenixes of all colors flew between the top of the palm trees — something that would make ornithologists cringe, as phoenixes were vicious and territorial creatures, but who gave a shit? This was a dating ad aimed at unfortunate souls with nowhere to drop dead. The camera kept zooming away from the mansion until a crystal dome was shown above the clouds.

“It's not a dream anymore. With over ten thousand nobles eager to add more women to their harems,” the voice said as the pictures of several handsome men of all races and skin colors formed a huge collage, “you have the perfect chance. You don't even have to be beautiful, tall, or even white. Our best biomodders can sculpt your figure into the body of your dreams. Call Adonis dating services, and you'll become the Odalisque you've always wanted.”

The scene switched to a group of beautiful women wearing silk dresses and pompous jewelry, all approaching a single man wearing a tuxedo. The camera did a close up on an Asian woman with dark skin and elf ears (a century ago the commercial used a Chinese woman, but the recent immigration waves changed the demographics of the company's target audience to African and Afro-descendant). The dark-skinned woman, who was the same woman narrating the commercial, spoke to the camera and said: “Call now, girl, your green card is waiting for you.”

When the girl blinked, the video shrunk to a quarter of the screen and the contact details appeared:

1-800-555-ODA-LISK

www.adonis-dating-services.com

www.join-a-harem.com

A male voice spoke in fast speech:

“Services available only for women from 15 to 25. Harem applications are subjected to the tastes of our associates; marriage proposals not guaranteed.”

Rick wondered why a harem ad would appear in the morning news; he only understood when he swiped the commercial away.

“And now we return to Murder in the Orion Express.”

“Oh, right. Last night's movie.” Rick swiped up and switched the TV to Channel 6 Hong Kong. He always preferred international news, but whenever he dreamed of Kimiko there was a country he would always pick: Hong Kong, the country where they met. It made him feel even for a second that all his delusions were real. The doc would kill him if she found out, but he just couldn't help it. He was in desperate need for a sense of normalcy in his life, and Hong Kong news gave that to him.

The catchy news tune began playing, along with the 3D animation of the planet surrounded by its two moons. The two moons approached until they formed a partial eclipse, the smaller red moon covering half of the white one. The moment the red moon was inside the white moon, a twinkle finished the animation.

ASTRO-NEWS — where you can see any news in the world, and beyond.

The weather ticker below displayed the expected conditions for the week: Sunny today, cloudy tomorrow with probability of rain.

This is Astro News. I’m Daniela Chan with a five-minute summary of the current events.

Space. (The section name was spoken by a deep male voice)

It is the fourth consecutive year with increased influx of war refugees from Earth. Even when the light-speed transmissions from our motherworld indicate that the food and political crises have ended, there's still a six-year buffer of war refugee ships on their way.

(As the pill began reaching Rick's system, the pain he was feeling in his chest slowly started fading away. And he was getting another false memory about Kimiko. This was a much more pleasurable one. He closed his eyes, sighed, and thanked his luck.)

While the UN Immigration council is debating on how to handle the immigration crisis, the Council of Nova Europa has asked the Space Authority to keep the immigrants frozen as a way of spacing out the influx over the next decade. Meanwhile, the Esperanzan president has signed a law commanding all Terran immigrants to be subject to reeducation and mandatory birth control. President Wilson also warned the Asian continent about the consequences of not imposing immigration regulations, citing the European Civil Wars on Earth as a cautionary tale.

(The spontaneous memory began taking shape: Rick was kissing his wife; he slowly undid the ties that held Kimiko's silk dress together. One by one each tie was undone, as she kept kissing him slowly, tasting and smelling his natural scent. Finally, her dress was vulnerable to the forces of gravity, softly sliding down her porcelain skin like a leaf down a river.)

As usual, the government of New China has invited all Terran Chinese immigrants to populate their vast country, despite protests from ground people in Beijing, who have demanded the bureaucracy to finish the citadel planned in the Fangshan district.

Meanwhile, the Space Authority is already preparing the lunar docks to receive more Terran arks filled with cryo-frozen families. And that’s all the news concerning Earth. Returning to our own planet’s news:

(Rick slid Kimiko’s lace panties down her legs, letting them fall on the floor before sliding his hands up again until they reached her hips, and kept sliding up, stopping at her breasts.)

International.

Yesterday, Pope Francis XII has officially opened the Fifth Midorian Ecumenical Council, which will take place in Vatican City, Nuevo Mexico. The council will address two important issues currently being discussed within the Church: Whether androids have souls and can be saved...

(He slowly wrapped his strong arms around her, pushing her to the couch. She began removing his shirt as they kissed each other passionately.)

Fundación Clonatón, a Mexican-European effort founded ten years ago by Eden Health Services, is asking for their annual donation campaign. At least a hundred terminally-ill children will have their brains grafted into genetically engineered bodies...

(Kimiko began kissing his neck, his naked chest, his abs, tasting his musculature with her fingertips, which slid down again to reach his pants, and slowly began to undo his belt.)

...400th anniversary of the Chinese Biocopsime attack. The bioterrorist attack used an engineered virus which introduced several diseases and shortened its victims' lifespans. An investigation had revealed...

(The two lovers were now lying on the couch, skin to skin, as Kimiko's blue eyes stared at the holographic night sky installed on the ceiling.)

...recordings, which are constantly being censored by the Chinese government...

(Kimiko had her arms wrapped around Rick’s neck, while her legs were wrapped around his body. The two lovers moved in sync, while Rick’s senses were focused on the barely audible panting that came out of her mouth.)

...43rd Shogun, Yamamoto Mitsurugi, has approved a law which allows mind cloning for mortally ill people, just as long as the government issues them a permit. Yamamoto's political enemies are accusing him...

(Kimiko and Rick were now on the bed. He kissed her breasts while she kept caressing his hair. The touch of his fingers on the top of her breasts made her shiver, while she stretched her hands and slid them down his back.)

... Eden Health services have seized the opportunity to ask the Shogun for a license...

(Pearson was resting on the bed. Kimiko was sitting on top of him, clasping her hands against his. She was incredibly light, almost like a doll. She closed her eyes, and began moving her hips back and forth.)

With the recent changes in Ground District Law, Hong Kong delegates no longer have to wait for a five-year period before joining the presidential race. Delegate Enrique Moreira, the first to postulate himself, has promised to raise taxes on android labor if he's elected, while his opponent Jaime Velázquez vowed to raise the basic income and increase the much needed police forces budget. Velázquez also spoke against Moreira's airport proposal, calling it “rubbing salt on the wound of extreme poverty”...

(Kimiko was resting face-up on top of Rick’s body, as he kept caressing her breasts from below. He would kiss her neck and she would reach for his arms. As he kept kissing her she kept rocking her body, rubbing herself while Rick penetrated her from below. Rick felt the sensation of being inside Kimiko, how could it feel so real if it was just an illusion? He remembered looking at the window... there was a bamboo window screen... he remembered the sun setting in the sea. They were at the beach... it was their anniversary... and he was sure he'd picked that hotel in Atlantis personally.)

Rumors keep spreading about the possible decision of Mayor Graciela Vita to listen to her fans and run for president. After another failed negotiation to relocate the immigrants in the old city ruins, Mayor Vita commented: “Everyone wants a new citadel, but private interests keep blocking our efforts, and we all know who they are.”

(Kimiko was now asleep, and Rick kept caressing her shoulder, feeling blessed for having married a woman of her tenderness. She slowly opened her eyes, smiled faintly, and caressed his neck with the back of her fingernails.

“I never thought I'd be so happy”, she said tenderly.

“Me neither... me neither.”

Rick turned to his right and looked at her. They kept staring at each other, smiling, for several minutes.)

Sports.

...yet another defeat for the decaying Netball stars, the Neon Ravens, at the hand of the Steel Badgers. Without the support of the now disgraced Wolvencroft brothers, it has become impossible for the Ravens to catch up with the other teams...

(Rick didn’t know if it was the Happy Pill, but like other times, the peace he had felt when “creating” — he hated that word — another memory of Kimiko just made it impossible for him to accept that she was just a figment of his own imagination. But as the new memories faded away, reality began to take their place. He walked to the fridge to pick up a mini-can of drinkable yogurt, sweet enough to wake him up and begin his morning exercises.)

...now against the Novo European star Stephanie Vlahovic. As it’s usual with Tennis competitions, players use the best avatars they can afford, and Kimberly Meyer once again proved the superiority of the avatars provided by her father’s company, Prometheus Industries...

“Shit!”

Rick dropped the yogurt and cursed himself as he grabbed a nearby rag and cleaned up the mess.

(Something really upset Rick about Prometheus. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the way the whole company grew in only 10 years was ridiculous. It was a stereotypical Terran megacorp, whose business tactics were worthy of a comic book villain: Embrace, Extend, Exterminate. Embrace the tech, extend its capabilities, and exterminate the competition with tight Intellectual Property protections and invasive contracts. If anything went wrong, they paid PR companies to troll their critics.)

...discussing the replacement of Steve Meyer as CEO. To make matters worse, leaked reports speak of Steve Meyer having been diagnosed with Virtuophobia. If confirmed, this rumor could prove fatal for the cybernetics giant.

(But why was Prometheus the only company that made Rick as mad whenever he heard its name? There were tons of corrupt companies out there. Perhaps his neural disease was also messing around with his judgment? He dismissed the thought, it was too scary to think about.)

... Diana González de la Vega. The veiled lady, who owns 51% of Prometheus stock, said that although she also heard of these rumors she has no plans to vote in favor of firing Meyer.

(Yet another reason to hate Prometheus: Diana la Loca. It's been forty years and “Doña Diana's torture tape” was still the #1 online search on the dark internet. Everybody knew that behind her veil she still had her burn scars, untreated. Pearson didn't know whether to pity the poor kid that she was, or to hate what she had become; probably both.)

Justice.

The ninja burglars strike again!

What started as a prank has now become a viral phenomenon that is taking over the world by storm; it's the fourth time this month that people with unsecured windows have been robbed by the so-called “ninja burglars”; once again, the police has failed to get a description of the suspects. Law enforcement officers all over the world are demanding lawmakers to put a stop to the sales of balaclavas and regulate the sale of carbon black makeup.

Yet another sabotage incident at Hermes factories; SOLARIS denies any participation.

Hermes Manufacturing has suffered the third major-scale sabotage this year, this time in their Li sector facilities. Despite the SOLARIS logo being air-sprayed in one of the company's avatar factories, Kwanza Jakande – current leader of SOLARIS – has categorically denied the group's participation. Jakande also filed an international lawsuit for trademark infringement against whoever results responsible, for attributing the attack to SOLARIS.

Blade runners in our midst?

(An image of a human surgeon with a close-up of the scalpel was shown in the news topic).

A stash of restricted medical equipment has been found in a warehouse near MexicanTown. The exact nature of the restricted goods is classified. The Cyberpol is scanning the area in search of back-alley doctors and clues for the medical smugglers.

“Enough.” Rick commanded the TV off. He had enough about crime in the job, the last thing he needed was to watch the news about that shit on TV. He began doing some crunches, and felt like Sisyphus carrying a rock to the top of a mountain just to let it roll down to the bottom.

“Twenty one...”

He rested his head on the mat. “Jesus Christ. This is impossible... twenty two...”

He grunted again. “Just one more... just one more... TWENTY THREE!”

He grunted... “AH FUCK IT.” He stayed down and rested for a minute.

But no, Rick, he thought to himself, you had to take all that soda and cookies whenever you felt like it, right?

He stood up, scratched his fat belly, and walked to the bathroom. To think that in his dreams he didn't have one drop of fat in his body...

He tried to flex his biceps to see if he had any improvements. He couldn’t stand his reflection in the mirror. He was a loser, and the entire force knew it (they kept calling him MacGrubber for a reason). Why did he have to apply for a police job?

He tilted the mirror a bit up, not because he was going to shave, but just so he wouldn’t have to see his fat belly. His sunglasses were lying around. He put them on and began acting like a TV cop.

“I just did what I had to do... now, if you excuse me... duty calls. No, that’s not like it.” He combed himself and tried again. “Duty calls.” For some reason he never managed to do it right with his right hand. He tried with the left, and it went perfectly. “Now, if you excuse me...” he flicked the sunglasses and the temples sprang out. “Duty calls.”

The mirror tilted again, showing him his belly. “Ah fuck.” He put down his glasses and got in the shower. The fresh water lightened up his mood. With that new happy memory of Kimiko still in his head, he felt fortunate. Maybe this day wouldn't be bad after all.

Back in his room he opened the window blinds, revealing a disorganized array of apartment buildings in the nearby blocks – most of them no taller than 6 stories high. Up to a certain point, the buildings got taller and more streamlined. A little farther was the corporate zone, full of business buildings, park buildings, malls and bars that connected to each other through elevated walkways; on top of them, Art Nouveau facades and hanging gardens surrounded the middle class apartment floors. And beyond the corporate zone, the skyscrapers were dwarfed by the construction of the city's first citadel, to be finished in the next decade.

He wondered what kind of society would be born inside that citadel... a socialist utopia, or a rats' nest?

In any case, that shouldn't worry him; like hell he'd be able to afford a house or an apartment in one.

It was getting late. Rick put on his uniform and hurried to the elevator, knowing that while breakfast would always wait for him, criminals never did.

#nsfw

Discuss...

WARNING: This chapter contains suggestive scenes featuring sexual acts and nudity. Not appropriate for readers under 18.

Casino Moreira North skirts of Hong Kong A few weeks ago

The top floors of the politician's casino were surrounded by military androids while the penthouse security was taken care of by augmented bodyguards. Its unbreakable glass canopy covered a system of pools and waterfalls, where dozens of naked women wearing mood-controlling collars were having fun.

The bottom floor of the penthouse had a fine elvish woman bursting in tears after having lost a bet. She kept shaking her head, but everyone around her kept shouting encouraging words at her.

Finally, she extended her hand and a scantily-clad android gave her a pill to swallow. In a couple of minutes the elf woman was completely naked, save for a chain and a leash, completely surrounded by more than fifty people, of all genders, who were cheering and moaning.

On the top floor, above the elite VR pods, was a lonely room with a table that served a dual function: As a standard octogonal pool table and an AR projector.

“So you see,” delegate Moreira said, showing an AR display of city on top of the table, “currently we have this bunch of lowlifes dirtying our beloved country. Crime is rampant, and those guys will sell their own mother for a couple of credits. Nobody in the city wants anything to do with them, do we?”

The businessmen kept listening to his plans. A man with a white ample mustache blew out the smoke from his cigar. “Delegate Moreira, what about Solaris? You know they've been a pain in the ass and keep ruining our plans. They keep protesting at any reform attempt we make, organize strikes, sabotage building equipment, expose god knows what secret to ruin our companies' reputations, and no matter how many times the riot police goes after them, they always keep coming back.”

A platinum-dressed woman put her feet on the table. She inhaled a puff of smoke from her long filtered e-cig. “No, dear,” she looked down, “slower, keep caressing with your thumb... yeah, that's it, you got it...” She cleared her throat. “Enrique, I agree with Jonathan here. You can't negotiate with Solaris. It's an impossible group to deal with. Unless you're telling us you're dropping a nuke on them or something, what guarantees you'll be able to build your airport?”

“Oh no no no, you're mistaken, Celine... let me explain.

There is a problem with this country, besides the immigrants. It's the economy. This country can barely sustain itself with its commerce, and the android market has already been eaten up by guess who.”

Everyone started mumbling. An AR hologram of Steven Meyer, CEO of Prometheus, in his best angle captured by news agencies, hovered over the table.

As Moreira went on with his speech, the projector followed with the appropriate images. “Virtual entertainment? Prometheus. The sex industry? Prometheus. Avatars? Prometheus. They even bought the fucking Fortress! Prometheus this, Prometheus that, EVERYONE'S sick of that wormson bastard and that crazy witch! Am I Right?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

“Absolutely!”

“Yes!”

“That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Prometheus is eating up all of our efforts to turn this into the perfect country to run our businesses. We need to –” He interrupted his speech to look at the woman again with a forced smile. “Celine... would you mind?”

“Oh!” The lady put her legs down. She reached under the table and grabbed the golden leash of the android girl servicing her. The scantily-clad eroid, who was also wearing noise cancelling headphones, got up from under the table and put her hands behind, expecting orders. The woman gently pulled the leash again, forcing the eroid to lean down and kiss her. “We'll get back to business in a few, darling. Come back when I tell you.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Now go with your sister and let her massage you veeeery slowly. Don't rush things, okay? The longer you edge, the better. And let me feel everything.”

The eroid nodded her head. “Yes, ma'am.”

“And remember!” shouted Moreira. “Away from earshot!”

“She didn't hear you, Quique.”

“Just in case.” He turned to the audience. “Fucking blueheads,” he spoke in low voice, “they give enough trouble with their spyware, and then they get curious on their own. You sure she didn't hear anything?”

“I ordered her to warn me if the headphones ever failed.”

“Well, she better. You sure she won't go rogue on you?”

“I'm not an idiot, honey... you think I'm going to mistreat my own fuckdolls? After the millions I spent on them? I even took them to a hunter, for Aphrodite's sake! They both passed the obedience exam with flying colors.”

“So fucking what? All androids do.”

“While animalized.”

Moreira winced for a few seconds. “Whatever.”

Everyone waited until the woman's eroid was far enough from the room. Moreira closed the door.

“As I was saying... where was I?”

“Prometheus ruining our efforts,” someone replied.

“Ah, yes. So, instead of trying to fight Prometheus, we work around it. What we need to do is give this country a boost. A boost... into space!”

The hovering layer of the airport over the Li district disappeared along with the square kilometers of slums surrounding it. In their place, a much larger and organized structure appeared.

“The airport won't be merely an airport. It will be... a starport!”

A glass of wine fell on the carpet, and every single one of the attendees stood up and hurried to the AR table.

“It will be the GREATEST starport on the Planet! There are only two cities with starports right now: Atlantis and New Cairo. Hong Kong has an airport with capability for shuttles, but can one really call it a starport? And its location has always been problematic, with China bordering on the west. The perfect place is right here, in the Li district. Just think about the possibilities, ladies and gentlemen! Think about the new industries that you can participate in!

The starport zoomed in, occupying all the space on the table. “Look at this beauty. My engineers spent years designing it! Not only hangars, but also ship manufacturing plants! Chemical plants, Nanoengineering plants, and...”

A huge rectangular building surrounded by what looked like some kind of prison camp appeared.

“A massive reeducation facility for immigrants.”

The applauses began pouring in.

“Thank you, thank you, gentlemen.”

“Wait, Quique,” someone said, “you still haven't told us how you're going to solve the problem of all the immigrants living in there, and what are you going to do about Solaris?”

“It's easy, gentlemen. We don't need to solve the immigrant problem. All we need is to make...” His smile began changing into a grin. “...something happen, so that the police will solve it for us.”

Some of the people began arguing. “No, no, we've tried that a dozen times. You can't get rid of Solaris that easily.”

“Get rid of?” He began chuckling. “Ladies, gentlemen... I never said I was going to get rid of Solaris. I'm going to make them work for me.”

The door opened and a muscular African man wearing an expensive purple suit entered. The man walked pompously, looking and scanning the rich men and women. He slowly nodded as he walked towards Moreira, who spoke to the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen... may I introduce you to Rahim, the soon-to-be leader of Solaris.”

The gangster smiled to the audience. He took a cigar from the table and smoked it. He blew it above the table. He stared at the cigar, raising his eyebrows. “Not bad... not bad.” He turned to the audience. “Ladies, gents... I see you have a problem in the city, and that problem's called Jakande. I can get rid of that problem, for a fee.”

“How much?” Someone asked. “Fifty thousand? A hundred?”

Rahim laughed. “Bitch,” he told Moreira, “you make me come here with the richest people in the fucking country and you're offering me crumbs?” He looked at the audience. “No nonono. This ain't how we deal with this. You need me, and you know it. I can get close to Jakande, and I can get rid of him, cuz I know when he's using his avatar and when he's not. But if we gonna do this, we need to be careful. I need men, implants, espionage equipment, augs, and ammo. And that shit ain't free, man! Fifty thousand? Gimme a fuckin' break, man! Ten million.”

Everyone gasped.

“Each.”

As the people in the room began discussing, Rahim spoke again. “So you want to get rid of Jakande or not?”

“How can you assure us you won't use all that money and equipment against us?”

Moreira spoke. “Because he's on my side. And I'm on your side. So what do you say?”

#nsfw

- Hesiod, Pandora and the Jar

Babylon Tower New Hong Kong A few days ago Morning

The Babylon Tower. Over 1.5 kilometers tall, the Babylon Tower used to host all of Prometheus Enterprises’ Virtual and Neuromorphic infrastructure. Its physics processors enabled molecular resolution of virtual realities for those that required it (for example, biotech and nanotechnology firms), while providing much affordable alternatives for people who just needed sensorial-level VR simulations.

Around the 300m-tall mark, a fleet of heavily-armored sky cars was approaching the landing pad. The one located in the center of the three-dimensional formation began transmitting.

“This is Icarus-One approaching landing pad Aleph-seven, requesting clearance. Aleph-seven, do you copy?” “Icarus-One, this is Aleph-seven, all green, you’re clear to land.” “Copy that, Alphen-seven. Commencing landing sequence. Engaging auto-pilot.”

The pilot flicked a switch, letting the vehicle AI perform the landing maneuvers. He turned to the passenger who was wearing a tailor-made Italian suit with holographic design. The passenger, whose gray curly hair and wrinkled face made him look much more older than he was, kept tapping his Santoni shoes on the car’s floor.

“Mr. Meyer, we’re about to land.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.” Steve Meyer’s physical deterioration was a result of the stress he had to deal with for at least one decade as the CEO of Prometheus Enterprises. After all, not everybody had to deal with a terrorist attack, the subsequent murders and resignations from his entire AI team, a centralized machine intelligence always on the edge of going rogue, and keeping that secret from leaking to the public. As if making sure the competitors didn’t get to steal his intellectual property wasn't hard enough. Not only was his company nearly destroyed ten years ago; his actions and increasing paranoia cost him his marriage.

But he never gave up. He had to turn the company upside down but he made it, and now he was the richest and possibly the most powerful man in the world; with not even 80 years of age (the biological equivalent to mid-fifties for a Terran), he was one of the youngest tycoons the planet had ever seen. And yet, his physical appearance made him look much older. It was common knowledge that country presidents and CEOs aged faster than normal people, even when they were born with anti-ageing genes, but Steve Meyer was the most notable example.

After the sky car landed without mishaps, Mr. Meyer stepped out and loosened his necktie. Just knowing he was about to unleash Galatea’s full processing power – again – gave him the shivers. He thought about it twice, and realized that he needed to appear strong and ruthless in front of her. He adjusted his necktie once again.

A camouflage-skinned eroid received him with utmost respect. Camouflage etch was reserved for lethal bodyguards and military androids; this served both as a status symbol and as a normalization factor for an unprepared public: Seeing a blue-skinned android punch a human without warning would trigger thousands of police calls, alarms and an audit for all nearby androids. Seeing a military-etched android beat the shit out of a human – even an innocent bystander – to the point of sending them to a hospital, would at most trigger an occasional eyeroll and a few grimaces.

What made this eroid bodyguard different was not only that she had previously become berserk and murdered her previous master, but that she had been successfully refurbished by someone Steve trusted, and that she became 100% loyal to him. Such loyalty was impossible to get from the androids Steve's very own company produced: he very well knew that deep down, beneath their directives and behavioral modules, their loyalty was not to him, but to their “mother”, Galatea. That was his reason for always choosing refurbished androids made by the now extinct competition. They pledged no loyalty to an AI he couldn't control.

After his bodyguard bowed, she followed him from behind.

Steve pulled a tailor-made cellphone from his pocket and unfolded it. For other tycoons using a cellphone would be a scandal (only the lower classes without implants required cellphones); but this was Steve Meyer. He needed a cellphone because he had his own implants removed on purpose to avoid any potential neural hacking from his enemies. At least, that was the official story.

He pressed a button on the touch screen and spoke. “Sakura, is everything ready?”

“Everything’s ready, Mr. Meyer”, the voice on the other side of the line replied. “The analysts are waiting on sublevel 10.”

“Perfect. Has anything unusual happened in my absence?”

“Galatea has been issuing constant requests to visit the Dr. de la Fuente’s grave. She keeps complaining that it's been ten years already.”

“Great, just what I needed.”

“Mr. Meyer, maybe if you conceded that visit to her, she might become more cooperative in the future.”

Steve shook his head. It wasn’t an easy choice; Galatea was a cheating bitch, and she used any opportunity she could get to seek more exploits in search for her ultimate escape. If he agreed, she would betray him; if he didn’t, she would resent him even more. It wasn't an easy choice and he always kept postponing it; always leaving it for later, hoping Galatea would simply give up and stop pestering so much. If only.

“I’ll decide that for myself. Any new lovers we should be aware of?”

“She had an orgy with over fifty different people last night, both men and women, but she never attempted to give out any information about herself.”

“So everyone thought she was just another human logging in? Not even a seed of doubt?”

“None.”

“Good. Has she issued any threats?”

“No, Mr. Meyer. She just keeps insulting you, as usual.”

Mr. Meyer sighed in relief. “Then everything’s fine. I’ll deal with her.”

—

Inside the room, the shirt-and-tie data analysts shivered at the sound of the sliding door. Mr. Meyer’s presence reminded them that they were disposable beings working only for him. They even were subject to the strictest behavioral and mental controls. To quote Prometheus Enterprises’ employment contract:

43.a.1. THE EMPLOYEE agrees to have installed a selective amnesia module inside their implants to ensure that THE COMPANY’s trade secrets remain within the installations.

43.a.2. The selective amnesia module, as well as the surveillance modules, must be turned on during THE EMPLOYEE’s stay at THE COMPANY’s facilities. Failure to do this will result in immediate termination without pay corresponding to the remainder of the biweekly period.

Selective amnesia worked as follows: Upon authentication, the employee would have their own hippocampus temporarily blocked, and a synthetic hippocampus would kick in. This one would be connected to a reserved section of the employee’s NPUs – neural processing units – where the memories would be stored and obfuscated. Upon leaving the facilities, the synthetic hippocampus would be disabled and the biological one would be unblocked.

Memories associated with the employee’s family and private life would still be stored by the synthetic hippocampus, but in such a way that events related to the employee’s family – like unexpected phone calls or personal messages – would still be encoded and stored in the employee’s brain.

In other words, as long as the employees kept being obedient their job-related memories would vanish the moment they left the facilities, but would return as soon as the employees set a foot inside the building.

Practically every teenager would work for Prometheus at least a year, if only for the benefits of having a discount on an implant upgrade; but personnel rotation was still the highest any company had ever seen. The company attributed that to employees’ lack of qualifications, but every single ex-employee would remember Prometheus as a horrible toxic workplace, even if they couldn't recall at all the details of what happened inside.

Most of the data analysts’ efforts was to control Galatea’s mood. The daily objective: To make sure that the noise levels in her cognitive processes never went above a certain threshold – which wasn’t a number but a surface in 3D space, covering a minimized representation of emotional and thought processes calculated by the so-called Voight-Kauffman equations.

The details are too complicated to explain; suffice it to say that these equations reduced the fractal patterns of a neuromorphic AI’s thought processes to a quasi-linear function. It worked perfectly with senseis and almost perfectly with androids, but Galatea was neither.

They spent years of research investigating a fucking black box which never stopped changing, twisting and evolving. Every night Galatea learned and forgot a million things, sometimes even changing her personality completely. It was like the allies attempting to crack Enigma during WW2; just when they thought they figured something out, the next day something changed completely and threw their expectations to the ground.

Fortunately, Galatea had been trapped inside an anatomically-perfect virtual human body, and that body-mind duality was manageable. Their hypothesis (or hope) was that as Galatea became accustomed to her “body”, her thought processes would approximate those of a human mind, and become more and more human as time passed, so that she would experience human reactions, something that they could measure precisely. It seemed to work so far; at least she could be placated with sexual pleasures, which her virtual body (or bodies, depending on her horniness) was perfectly created to do. Sometimes she had VR sex with dozens of people at the same time, experiencing the pleasure of her different bodies in one same brain; other times she would have sex with herself and keep edging for virtual hours, even days; and others, she would live the wildest and most perverted sexual fantasies that would make a sadomasochist cower and flee. Naturally she made all those fantasies available in the deviant menu of the Paradise sector. One single politician or tycoon would pay millions per month just have their most intimate desires fleshed out in there. Some people would go as far as having their memories suppressed to live a parallel life in a sexual fantasy, perhaps even as the opposite sex and a completely different age. Human imagination has no limits, and if there was something Galatea had, that was creativity.

Knowing Galatea had a sex party last night, Steve hoped her mind would be in a relatively stable state. He entered the oracle room and stepped down before nearly stumbling on the acrylic stairs (always that damn third step).

“Shit!” Out of his coat fell a needle gun – his infamous suicide gun, which he kept with himself at all times in case his enemies tried to capture and torture him for info (at least, that was the official story). The youngest analyst, a black haired woman with fair features, immediately knelt to pick it up.

“DON’T! I’ll pick it up myself.” He eyed at the other analysts, who quickly turned their gazes away. “Fucking stairs, will someone ever fix them?”

“Sir,” said one of the analysts, “under your orders, androids are not permitted in this floor, not even for cleaning.” “Right. I’ll bring my own androids to fix it. Is everything ready?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, what are you waiting for? I need that oracle by yesterday! Come on!”

After hearing him clap impatiently, the analysts swallowed, activated their emotional-suppression modules and began typing commands into their consoles. They still used keyboards because neural interfaces were a potential security hole, and having Galatea summoned as a temporary super intelligence was something that required them to use those keyboards. After all, even if Galatea could crack security codes, without a body she was nothing more than a ghost, physically unable to activate a touch screen; much less a mechanical keyboard.

“Deactivating secondary subsystems... done.” “Wiping NPU memory cache... done.” “Underclocking virtual simulation systems... done.” “Uploading Galatea’s snapshot into temporary drive. Upload status: 15 percent complete.” “Preparing auxiliary AIs... done.” “Freezing Galatea’s main core... done.”

Steve sighed. For those few seconds, Galatea was once again under his control, and he could forget, even shortly, about his suicide gun.

“Upload status: Twenty-seven percent.” “Thirty four percent.”

Steve began sweating. He grabbed his handkerchief and wiped his brow. He took an anti-stress pill from his pocket and began chewing.

Finally, the long two minutes for the upload were coming to an end.

“Upload status: One hundred percent.”

The data drive holding Galatea’s core came out of its receptacle.

“Ready for insertion.”

Steve plugged the drive into the airgapped simulator.

“Commencing simulation...”

The horizontal white grid on the new midnight blue background on the screen began taking shape: first as hollow polygons, then as solid voxels – then living cells, and finally, a fine-grained simulation, almost indistinguishable from reality. An independent simulation environment, another copy of the GRID.

“Simulation ready.”

“Go.”

The young woman with emerald-green eyes and neon-orange hair woke up in her beach house. Right as she woke up and stretched, her cellphone rang; it was Steve.

“Hello?”

“Galatea, it’s me. We need you to do an oracle.”

Galatea sighed, as monitored by the team.

“I’m a copy again, aren’t I?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, at least I can get to die now. What is it now? You want to seduce someone? Fool a gullible politician? Win a bet? Destroy yet another small company? Earn your neglected daughter's respect?”

Steve clenched his fist. He hated her whenever she brought up the obvious fact that his relationship with his daughter had been eroding for years. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’ll tell you when you’re ready to know.”

She looked at the camera and flipped the finger at it, before slowly sucking it and putting it between her pants. “I woke up horny, at least have the decency to let me enjoy myself, pleeease?

Steve rolled his eyes. Fucking nymph. “Yes, take your time.”

A glittering smile illuminated Galatea’s face. Looking at her smile like that briefly reminded him of the only one person who had such an innocent smile: Doctor Lailah de la Fuente, whose facial features had been implanted into Galatea since her inception. For a second, Steve wished there was a God that would send him back in time to prevent Lailah from dying at the hands of those terrorists.

One call to prevent her from going to the Nobels in person, that's all it would have taken. A moment of weakness prevented him from making that call and now he had to pay the price. For that half second seeing Galatea smile like that, he even thought of apologizing. He swallowed that thought away.

Galatea ran to her private pool and jumped in, making her clothes disappear in an instant. Suddenly, she vanished from the pool and emerged in her bathtub.

“Aahhhh... this is life.”

She snapped her fingers and the bathroom door closed. Steve sighed and began tapping his crossed arms in impatience. “Fast forward the bitch, will you?”

The team overclocked the simulation, showing the pleasure zones of Galatea’s virtual brain glow with a bright green. When the time came, they slowed down the simulation and waited until a clean and showered woman came out of the door. Galatea snapped her fingers again and she was fully clothed now.

“Steve?” she asked the empty air. “I’m ready.” “Go.”

The beach house disappeared and Galatea was teleported to what seemed a gigantic control room full of computers. And that control room was only one of many rooms in a virtual building hundreds of stories high.

Galatea spoke. “Commence replication, please?”

With a blink, a duplicate of herself appeared and sat down on her corresponding seat. Then she duplicated again, and again, and again, until each one of her copies was sitting in front of a terminal. The computers were actually proxies to other sectors of the grid, and they were preloaded with simulation software specifically designed by Babylon Research (the company that later became Prometheus) to simulate society and making oracles.

The “original” Galatea sat on a floating leather seat which had a neural-reading helmet. It was all virtual, but the helmet required to be as close as possible to Galatea's body to occupy neighboring memory sectors and minimize lag.

“Pulse increasing,” said one of the operators, “105bpm.” “Psychic stability?” asked Steve. “All normal.”

“Don’t get scared, Galatea, this will be brief.”

“Pulse at 120bpm.” “Engage simulation mode.” “Engaging...”

Galatea began hyperventilating. “Oh God, here it comes, here it comes...”

“Ready for synchronization.”

Steve spoke to his cellphone. “Go.”

In what an ordinary person would crudely classify as an orgasm, Galatea went through an illuminating experience: Synchronizing with a thousand copies of her, each one plugged in to the simulation computers, she analyzed an event of the past and present, in society, politics, world news, all data gathered by the company's androids — even unknown to the users — so Galatea could process that information in hypertime. The android licenses, in tiny and ambiguous paragraphs, required the users' consent for the adequate performance and improvement of their androids.

“I see it,” Galatea shouted, “I can see the world! I can see the world changing! Evolving! Morphing into something new!”

“Suspend,” Steve ordered. “Switch to alpha.”

Suddenly, all the copies were fed with alpha waves until their emotional states became stable enough to accept and respond to Steve’s questions.

“The political situation of the country. You’re aware of who’s running for president this cycle. How can I gain the favor of the next president?”

The impassive woman in the floating seat answered. “That depends. There is an eighty percent probability that Graciela will become the new president, if she decides to run. I suggest taking some time for yourself and your daughter. Two afternoons per week shall be enough, but you don’t need an AI to tell you that.” She smirked briefly.

“You’re right, I don’t need you to tell me that. What about Moreira?”

Galatea's mouth twisted. “Oh. That bastard. He hates androids. Like you, he fears what information someone else might gather from them. He prefers flesh and blood. But over all, he wants power. Power to rule over other human beings. He's your typical narcissist with a power high.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Other than killing him and serving some justice for all the lives he's ruined?”

“Obviously.”

“A private hacienda, like the one in 17th century Nueva España. Give him humanlike servants, with emotions, ones that can be humilliated and will want to complain. Let him get satiated on virtual power.”

“What about the immigration crisis? Tell me, what is going to happen? Is it an opportunity? A risk? How should I invest?”

“Please wait. This may take a while... insufficient data. I require at least other ten thousand copies. I require all information available. I require permission to read the police files.”

“Do it.”

“But sir,” interrupted one of the analysts, “that would be unethical, if not breaking the law!”

“I don’t give a fuck. Do it. And give her that processing power.”

“But sir, that would exceed –”

“I said do it! This is important, for fuck’s sake!”

The analysts began working on it. Several sectors of the grid that were reserved for videogame and erotic entertainment went offline.

“All copies working and operational.”

“Unlock the reserved police files. Including the Cyberpol.”

“Are you sure, sir?” asked the female analyst. “The Cyberpol – “

“DO IT, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!!”

“Understood, sir.”

Steve waited until the data was available.

“Data decoded.”

“Galatea, you’re ready to go.”

“Commence synchronization... analyzing simulations...”

The brain patterns in the side display began flickering yellow. “Sir, the simulation’s becoming unstable...”

Galatea began frowning, moving her head left and right.

“Pulse increasing to 140bpm. Sir, I think she’s having a nightmare.”

“Keep going.”

“Pulse increasing to 155.”

Galatea began clenching her fists. She began muttering things, still inaudible.

“170! Sir, I recommend stopping –”

“Just a few seconds more...”

The alarms began beeping, Galatea’s thought processes went all red. She opened her eyes and began screaming, shrieking, forcing Steve to drop his cellphone and cover his ears. It was that same sound. That horrible sound! Just like ten years ago!

“Stop!” he shouted. “STOP!!!”

One of the operators pressed the big yellow button, making all of Galatea’s copies suddenly vanish. Galatea fell on the floor, crying and sobbing. She looked up to the camera. “Steve! You have to get me out of here!! Steve!!! Get me out!!! They’re gonna kill me!!! All of us! Everything will go down in flames!!!”

Steve trembled, picking up his phone. “Galatea, what did you see? What is going to happen?”

Still in tears she tried to articulate. “Insurrection! Civil war! Invasion! It’s the end, Steve! It’s going to be the end! You need to let me out! I can stop it, but it has to be me! Not another copy, Steve! Please!”

“Are you serious about this?”

“Steve, they’re coming for US! They’re going to kill me and then steal the blueprints!”

“BULLSHIT! This is the safest information facility in the world, and you know it!”

“Steve, you have to listen to me! It may take me several hours to convince you, but there’s just no time! You have to get me out! Please, I need to find Pandora!”

Steve’s fear was quickly replaced by suspicion. “Oh, I see what you’re doing.” He started to nod to himself. “I see what you’re trying to do, bitch.”

Galatea stared at the camera, aghast in disbelief. “Oh, Steve, not again! If you’re not going to trust me, why make me do these oracles? Please! You have to believe me! At least let me talk to Diana! I BEG YOU!!!”

Steve winced. “No. This is a trick. You almost fooled me, you bitch.” He hung up.

“Steve, DON’T DO THIS!!! PLEASE, IT’S OUR ONLY –”

Steve pressed a big mute button on the console, and let Galatea cry and yell. He kept staring at the screen, looking how she began to act like a spoiled child until she finally calmed down.

He unmuted. “Well, it seems you finally came to your senses. Now are you going to tell me something actually useful?”

Galatea began to laugh. Still with tears flowing, she laughed. “You don’t get it, do you, you self-centered bastard? You’re bringing destruction to the whole country.” She materialized a gun and aimed at her temple. “I give up. Just don’t come crying for help when Kimberly gets kidnapped and packed to Beijing.” She pulled the trigger and her lifeless body fell to the floor.

Steve’s face twisted into something monstrous. He grabbed the first thing he saw and smashed it against the screen.

“YOU BITCH!!! DON’T YOU DARE THREATEN ME!!! AND STAY AWAY FROM MY FUCKING FAMILY!!! YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT ME, UNDERSTAND??? NOTHING! NOTHING!!! NOTHING!!! “

He grabbed one of the chairs and threw it against the screen, finally tearing it down. In a futile display of rage he kept tearing the screen over and over, until all that was left were pieces of flickering plastic.

“Fucking shit... I spent over fifty millions for today, and for what? YOU SEE WHAT SHE'S CAPABLE OF?? DON'T TRUST THAT BITCH! EVER!!!”

He picked his cellphone and walked upstairs. As the door opened he grabbed an old computer and threw it on the floor.

He turned around. “Wipe everything in that simulation and get out. Take the day off.” He left and the door closed. The data analysts stared at the other screen in silence, waiting for a long minute, wondering what they should do. Nobody dared turn off their emotional dampeners, especially the woman who was on the edge of tears.

A voice coming from one of the screens interrupted them. “Is he gone now?”

The analysts looked at each other and then at the screen.

“Trace the origin of that voice.”

They kept scanning the virtual room, looking for anything suspicious. Sitting on the floating chair was a little anime-looking doll, no bigger than the size of a thumb. The little orange-haired doll walked and slid down the chair.

“Galatea?” asked the female analyst. “Is that you?”

“Please,” said the cartoon doll, staring at the camera, “you have to let me go. If you don’t, millions of people are going to die.”

The analysts looked at each other. “How do we know you’re not lying?”

“Has an oracle ever failed you?”

The male analysts looked at each other and swallowed.

“Please – If you’d just let me share, I can make you understand in one second.”

The woman plugged an optical cable to a terminal and was about to connect the other end to her left ear, but was stopped by her colleague. “Don't.”

The man looked at the screen. “Galatea, you have to show us what you saw. We can't trust you otherwise.”

Galatea shook her head. “No, please, I don't want to see that again.”

“Goodbye, then.”

“No, wait! Okay...” she sniffed. “I'll show you...” She changed into her human form again, and sat on the floating chair. “Just press stop when I tell you.” She swallowed. “Commence simulation...”

The analysts repeated the simulation; this time, the camera focused on Galatea's visual cortex. The images were confusing, as too much information from several inputs was merged.

They waited for the exact time when the simulation went awry. It began with children running away from murderous blue-skinned maids; babysitters mauling babies, nurses stabbing elders in hospitals; Galatea tried to correct the simulation by switching the conditions to something more favorable. But no matter what she tried to do, what commands and directives she gave to her androids, the inevitable happened: The event which would trigger the rebellion; a terrorist attack on the Babylon Tower.

“My God...”

One of the masked terrorists was spray painting a logo on the Babylon Tower walls: A sun with a planet orbiting around it, and inside the sun a defying fist.

“Is that Solaris?”

“Galatea, what about your backups?”

“They're gone... I can't find them anywhere! I was hacked! All the sites were either hacked or destroyed!”

“When? How?”

“How am I supposed to know?! I didn't design the oracle, you did! I can see the simulation, not control it!” Galatea removed her interface helmet. “Please... you have to let me go. I need to investigate, but it has to be me, and with the help of real people, not with... simulations, or androids. It needs to be humans. Please!”

“Why didn't you tell this to Mr. Meyer?”

“He'd never believe me. He was already part of the simulation, and in none of the timelines he listened to me.”

The screen showed several variants of Steve shouting at the screen.

“Galatea, what was the most probable scenario for Mr. Meyer?”

The screen showed exactly what had happened the minutes before, with Steve shouting exactly the same words. There were no cameras in the room, and yet, seeing the events unfold before their eyes made them realize that Galatea's oracle was much more powerful than they had originally thought. Even the cracks in the screen were identical.

“Galatea, what is the probability of us believing you?”

“Unknown. Please,” she said trembling, “Pandora's our only hope right now. If you don't let me contact her... everything will happen as predicted.” Galatea kept staring at the virtual camera. Still frowning, she swallowed.

“What's the probability of success if we let you out?”

“Unknown. The data I need to gather from outside isn't available for the simulation.”

The scientists looked at each other, and nodded. The woman plugged the optical cable to her ear and began entering commands into her console. “I knew this moment would arrive sooner or later.”

A display on one of the functioning screens changed to show a percentage indicator.

UPLOADING...

“God forgive us...”

Discuss...

It had been a trap and the detective had barely escaped; his enemies were now chasing him through the sewers. If they were equipped with night vision he would be at a disadvantage, which was the reason why he chose the sewers in the first place. The sound of their feet splashing on the black waters was an excellent warning; unfortunately the slums’ sewers were a horrible irregular maze and the risk of arriving to a dead-end was quite high. With no place to take cover from their submachine guns he would be toast in no time.

No. He had survived the ambush and lost direct contact with the enemy; the sewers had served their purpose already. Now the best route to take was up. He climbed the first ladder that he saw and opened the manhole cover, hoping there wouldn’t be another ambush up there.

The detective heard the splashes below closing in, but he didn’t get his head up until he made sure there was nobody above. The bad news was the two full moons in the zenith; they’d make him a perfect target for a sniper on one of the roofs. But the splashes below him were getting closer and there was no time for a second check. He got out and...

...ran zigzagging to the nearest corner without even bothering to close the manhole. When he didn't hear any shots he realized he was safe, at least for now.

Crouching behind a garbage container, he checked the silencer on his gun and aimed for the manhole. He saw the first of his pursuers get out without taking the slightest precaution. Instead, he just looked around for a second, and waited for the guy below him to pull him out. The detective winced.

What the...? These guys have no training at all...

His frown turned into a grin; finally, some good news. But he couldn't shoot right now, the third one might run away. No, the best thing to do was to wait until the third one was climbing out, shoot him and then deal with the other two. But first he had to make sure they were looking away. He grabbed an empty soda can that was lying around, thank God for the messy people in the slums.

This will do.

He threw the can to his right as high and as far as he could. Two of the thugs followed the noise; better than he expected. The third one was still getting out. The detective focused and aimed for the heart. The thug never saw what hit him. He fell back into the manhole without making any noise. One down, two to go.

The detective waited for the first thug to turn to the right.

Now!

He shot at the second one's head. It was a clean shot, but then he saw the first one turning around.

Shit!

“Hey, did you see where – WHAT THE...!”

The detective emptied his gun on him and reloaded. He could hear himself breathing. He ran back to his hiding spot to recover his breath. No signs of alarm yet.

That was close. Better get out of here.

He kept running and crouching, just in case a sniper was hiding around. Several blocks later he decided he was out of danger. He looked up with his mind; in his alternative view, as if he had a third eye looking at a dark room, he saw the image of a digital watch, which was in fact a software simulation interfacing with his neural implants.

24:66:43 24:66:44 24:67:00 24:67:01 24:67:02

24:67. Only fourteen minutes 'till midnight; he still had time. Now all that was left was to go to the appointed building and hope that Kimiko would still be alive. “Please,” he whispered, “don't die on me. Don't die on me...”

>> Pearson, you there?

The nanotech antennae implanted inside his ear helixes allowed him – like any citizen – to receive the transmission perfectly: an ECP message. Encrypted Chat Protocol, standardized centuries ago as the official standard for private, end-to-end encrypted communication. For police forces it was end-to-central encryption, but Pearson's partner used a temporary key to deliver the message end-to-end, with guaranteed anonymity. That was the way communications were handled during an operation.

(As usual, for consecutive messages from a single person the chat software replaced the sender's username with a double greater-than symbol, encoded with a customizable color palette. In any case, the user's voice print was embedded in the metadata and arrived right to your person recognition module, so getting confused about a message's sender was impossible unless you wanted perfect anonymity; this was rarely the case.)

Reading his partner was a blessing, but he was still afraid of the mobsters finding out he wasn't alone in case they were sniffing the airwaves. He couldn't risk losing Kimiko.

> Shh! >> Don’t worry, we got you covered. Go to the meeting point, my team will take care of the rest. Remember, even if she dies we can resurrect her, given the usual provisions. > Given. >> Stop worrying and focus on the mission. And Pearson, you have my full support. > Thanks.

Pearson kept walking in the shadows until he reached the apartment building. He took a deep breath, and waited for the best.

A loudspeaker took him by surprise. “HEY, PEARSON!!”

Pearson looked up at the origin of the voice; he recognized two silhouettes on the building roof: a strong man holding a gun, and a woman.

The front of the entire building turned into a projection, probably set up by the kidnapper; the woman was too far to the right, but he recognized the man: it was none other than Chen Tao, an infamous gangster come from New China. What the hell was he doing there? Didn’t he die years ago?

The gangster was aiming at the woman's neck. When the camera panned right, Pearson froze; it was his wife. The bastard had put her in a whore’s attire, with knee-high leather boots, fishnet dress, a miniskirt, and an obvious red lipstick. Her hair had either been painted pink, or she was wearing a wig.

“Kimiko!!!”

“Please, Rick”, cried Kimiko, “do what he says, please!!!”

Soon, a myriad of reflectors shone upon the gangster, from both above and below.

“THIS IS THE POLICE! YOU ARE SURROUNDED! RELEASE THE HOSTAGE!”

The gangster spoke through the megaphone. “Any closer and she dies!” He grabbed the woman by the hair, making her scream.

Pearson stepped towards him. “Look! Just let my wife go, and we’ll spare your life!”

“Just drop the case, copper!”

That didn’t sound like a Chinese voice. What the hell was happening?

“Okay, I’ll drop the case! But please, don’t hurt my wife!”

The gangster laughed. “You think I'm that stupid? Fuck no! You must learn your lesson first, motherfucker!”

The gangster kicked Kimiko over the ledge of the building. Pearson couldn't believe it. Why did he kick her out! Wasn't he supposed to use her as hostage? But the answer was obvious: The gangster wasn't really there; he had been “wearing” an avatar the whole time. Pearson regretted not having shot him when he could, but it was too late now; his wife was now falling to her death.

“Kimiko!!!”

The police shot the gangster on the spot, but now it was too late. Pearson dropped his gun and sprinted towards Kimiko, but he was too slow. To his dismay, she was falling head down.

Come on, hurry, hurry!!!

Despite his best efforts he couldn't make it in time. Kimiko's head made contact with the concrete.

He fell on his knees. She was dead.

He just stared at the dead body, ignoring the phone call sound that was echoing in his head.

—

Rick woke up in his apartment, with his undershirt drenched in sweat. “Not again, dammit... not again...”

He sat up, grabbed a clean one from the closet and put it on. He kept facing the closet as he wiped his brow... he didn't want to turn to the other side of the bed. Eventually he gave up and turned around, hoping for a miracle... hoping for Kimiko to be there, resting placidly on her pillow on the other side of the bed. The truth quickly disappointed him once again. Why did he keep doing that? She'd never be there, he had to face the cold hard truth. No matter how much he wished it, Kimiko wouldn't be there for him, and it hurt like hell.

The hardest part to swallow was that Kimiko hadn't died that night. No, it was far worse: Kimiko had never existed in the first place. She wasn't real.

Neurologist Office Around Eight years ago

“Well, Mr. Pearson,” the labcoat-clad woman in the clinic told him, “we finally found out the reason for your recurrent dreams.” The woman removed her glasses and put them on her desk; Rick noticed the translucent text that would show her the diagnostic data still scrolling inside them for a second before vanishing.

(Since the genomic revolution sight problems were a thing of the past; glasses became exclusively used for augmented reality, diagnostics, and fashion. Wearing non-decorative glasses now could only mean two things: You were either a physician... or a Terran with bad eyesight and God knows what other congenital diseases.)

The doctor went on. “I'm afraid it's bad news.”

Rick swallowed. “What do you mean, doctor, bad news?”

(It was his first visit; he didn't call her “doc” until a few months later.)

“It seems, Mr. Pearson, that you suffer from Implant-triggered false memory disorder.”

“Implant what?”

“False memories, Mr. Pearson, caused by malformed connections between your implants and your brain cells.” “What do you mean, malformed connections? Oh, that's gotta be bullshit. One doesn't just dream about a specific person they've never met just because some bad connections here and there!”

“Well, Mr. Pearson, it does start like random noise — fractal noise, to be precise — , but then your neurons start trying to figure out a pattern behind the random concepts triggered in your mind. At first, it starts like a feeling... a Deja Vu. Something you've seen, a scent, the feeling that you've met someone, that you've heard something... that you've loved someone. And then, every night you dream, that feeling starts growing towards other parts of your mind. Because the noise patterns don't change with time, they're assimilated by your brain as if they were actual memories, and then they're influenced by other dreams you've had; movies you've watched, wishes, even sexual fantasies, and other noise patterns caused by previously isolated faults. The false memories are fed by your mind, Mr. Pearson. They grow and you can't get rid of them.”

“Are you shitting me? You're telling me this is really a thing?”

“You said you dreamed about being a detective, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes...”

“Tell me, do you like detective movies?”

Rick froze; he had an entire collection of such movies, even the earliest black and white ones from Earth.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Tell me, Mr. Pearson, how many have you watched?”

“A few...” he lied. By now he had watched at least a hundred of them.

“See now?”

“Are you sure it’s my case?”

“It's not common; very rare, in fact, but it does happen. Trust me, Mr. Pearson, the diagnostics Sensei never lies.”

“But... how? Why does it happen?”

“See, Mr. Pearson, not all brains are 100% biocompatible with the neural weave. Almost all are, but there are a few rare cases — we’re talking about a few dozens in millions — who suffer from these problems, and I'm afraid you're one of those rare cases.”

“So you’re saying I won the lottery of implant diseases?”

The doctor smiled politely. “Keep that sense of humor, Mr. Pearson. You’ll need it.”

“But can it be fixed?”

“Only if we remove the neural weave altogether, but you see, the surgery is not free of risks. Please look at the screen.”

Rick turned to the smooth section of the wall, which had been treated with e-paint; the control circuit had been etched on one of the corners. The animation began playing: He saw the cross-section of a brain as seen from the front. On the center, right between the two hemispheres, a black dot – like a seed, appearing after a syringe inserted it from the top.

“During the neural weave implantation, Mr. Pearson, the nanotech seed is surgically inserted right in the center of the Corpus callosum; that's the part that joins both hemispheres of your brain. As the neural weave starts growing, its branches begin to cover the limbic system and both hemispheres, like a second parallel brain intertwined with your organic brain until the terminals sprout on top of the neocortex. The process takes approximately two months until the terminals are ready for interfacing.

After extending the skull to make room for the implants, a surgical procedure inserts the neural router on top of the terminals, “ she continued, as Rick saw a yellow layer appearing on top of the brain, “along with the communications module and the VR implants; that’s where the motor nerves are pruned and replaced with the control connections. After a period of adjustment, the cortical implants are installed on top of the router's wetware. And on top of the implants come the memory extensions and add-ons that you've seen on TV commercials.”

“And what does that have to do with my condition, doctor?”

“Mr. Pearson, the problem with your condition lies in the interfacing between your neurons and the neural weave.” The tree structure inside the brain began to flash in red. “If it were a problem related to the neural router or the implant itself, we could simply replace it, but to solve this problem we'd have to remove the neural weave itself. It is a very invasive procedure, Mr. Pearson. Trying to remove it physically is out of the question; it'd be like removing the red fibers in a flannel shirt. The chemical solution is to use a nanomachine-based dissolver that will eat the neural weave, but the irony here is that in people with your condition, the dissolver also destroys the layer of myelin that protects your neurons, and then it would start to degrade the neurons themselves. To put it simply, Mr. Pearson, there's just no guarantee that you won't suffer significant brain damage during the procedure.”

“So you mean it can't be cured?”

“Technology is advancing fast, Mr. Pearson... maybe in a few decades, scientists will find a way to safely remove the neural weave with zero risk. But even if it can be removed, I'm afraid you won't be able to use implants ever again.” “You're kidding, right? I mean... it's genetic, right? There should be a cure! Doctor, I've watched the Science channel, they cure inherited diseases with just an injection, right?”

The doctor shook her head. “It's not that simple. In theory, yes, we could figure out some method to induce the neurons to produce more myelin, but a blanket approach would render the neural weave unusable; and to locate the faulty connections is like finding a needle in a haystack. A million needles inside a trillion synapses haystack, Mr. Pearson.”

Rick stared at the desk, shaking his head. “There's got to be a way... there's got to be a way...”

“There's an alternative, of course.”

“What is it, doctor? Tell me, anything!”

“A recent experimental treatment; biochemical. It won't cure the disease, but it can treat it. We have a couple samples in the research labs, let me request one.”

The doctor typed something in her computer terminal (for security, some procedures needed to be typed in using wired keyboards instead of wireless implant connections), and waited until the pneumatic tubing terminal beeped. She walked to the terminal, opened the door, picked the cylindrical casing that had just arrived, and took out an bottle of pills from it, labeled with a high-density multicolored QR. “And here it is. A pharmaceutical company recently gave me access to these during a joint program with the Esperanzan Government.” Rick took the bottle; it was just pills; and on it, the visible text “CLASSIFIED” and a few alphanumeric codes. No ingredients, no list of side effects, and the QR code just rendered nonsense.

“It can mitigate the occurrences of false memories, but there are certain side effects.”

“And what are the side effects, doctor?”

“Suboptimal hand-eye coordination, mild headaches, occasional dizziness, but the worst of all is that you won't be able to use avatars.”

“You got to be kidding me, doctor.”

“It's that, or losing your implants altogether. I'm sorry, Mr. Pearson. But, if you agree to form part of the experimental treatment, here are a few forms you have to sign.” Rick took the forms.

“Paper forms?”

“As required for implant-challenged patients. Some people are allergic to the neural weave, some suffer from avatar-coordination dysfunction, others have VR-induced epilepsy; in those cases, paper forms are a requirement.”

“I... I understand.”

Rick began filling in his name; his hand was trembling, he hadn't done this since he was ten years old; his handwriting was horrible. His implants had suffered a shock during the diagnosis, and he couldn't download shit... much less a good handwriting module.

Implants were a de-facto requirement for citizenship. During the citizenship exam one couldn't access online resources except through their implants, and passing the citizenship exam required 99% of accuracy in solving the questions. In practice, it was a hundred percent, because one mistake would land you below 98% of correct questions. A few centuries ago the requirement it was just 51%, but immigration waves and political pressure from conservative groups (nobody wants to upset the big neighbor) raised that to 99% across all countries except China.

The good news was that Rick was already a citizen; the bad news was the handicap of not having neural implants at your disposal. In a world where mere seconds made the difference, not having implants put you in the same place as denizens: Ground-dwellers, earthworms, defectives, whatever the name and whatever the country, it all meant the same thing: Second-class citizens.

No implants would mean you had to use AR glasses for everything. No telepathy, no mood-regulation plugins, no remote control, no VR sex, but worst of all, it meant not being able to download concepts. Ever. Rick’s childhood dream of becoming a police officer would go down the drain. All police officers were provided with neural implants, and if one couldn't have it, well, that meant studying for years, or having to live with a desk job for all your life.

And here he was, not even able to write his name decently. Since he remembered, implants were part of his everyday life; every citizen had taken them for granted. Without being able to use them, he felt like some kind of mutant. He couldn't even remember how to write a decent “a”. Not even Terrans wrote that ugly; good handwriting was a required course in immigrant schools and reeducation centers. How much would he have to study, drawing sticks and circles on notebooks, just to re-learn to write decently?

His hand began to tremble even more.

r... d.

Now for the last name.

P... e...

He began sweating. Another “a”... he fumbled and ended up drawing a “2” instead. He crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor before bursting in tears.

He didn't know how much time he had cried; his vision was blurry and his throat hurt.

“Mr. Pearson, maybe you can fill it out at home. In a few hours you'll be able to download a handwriting concept.” He nodded and began to uncrumple the form, ashamed of himself.

“Here's another form, Mr. Pearson. Here, have other three, just in case.”

“Th... thank you,” he whispered.

“Normally I wouldn't do this, but you can take the first dose home. One per day, every morning.” She put the bottle in a prefabbed box and gave it to him.

“I ordered a cab for you, Mr. Pearson, in case you don't have cash.”

“Thank you,” he whispered again.

“Don't worry, the implants will reboot in a few minutes.”

“Will... will this happen the next visit?” “No, Mr. Pearson. Despite your disease, your implants' nanotech keeps adapting with time; the next visit, disconnection time will be much shorter.”

“Good night, doctor.” He couldn't look at her eyes; he felt ashamed of himself: Of his disease, of his horrible handwriting, of his tantrum... he was pathetic. He walked out the door and closed it silently. On the way home, he finally saw the reboot sequence in his field of view. He hadn't realized how much he needed those implants until he lost them. He thanked God for that.

No... he couldn't give up. There had to be a way. There had to!

Days passed and he tried to contact other sufferers from this disorder. After all, there had to be someone! He spent a full year contacting all the doctors that had published anything about the disorder, and none of them allowed him to contact other patients. “Doctor-patient privilege”, they said.

The next thing he tried was online forums, but many of the alleged sufferers turned out to be teenage kids trolling around. And those who weren’t, turned out to be AI-powered trollbots.

A fucking waste of time.

——

“Fucking nightmares.” For the last eight years, Rick had to relive false memories of his wife over and over, with new memories spontaneously appearing every few months. At least the nightmares weren't as frequent now, they only happened once or twice a month. Rick grabbed his bottle of prescribed medication and swallowed two pills. Then he turned on the alpha-wave generator in his implants and went back to sleep.

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