MechaGlam by Yuri Kukhar
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| Image generated with OpenAI |
“All that’s left is for you to sign the agreement, and we can proceed with the operation next week, Mrs. Koneshin.”
Nova stares at the screen displaying the document, the white light bright enough to ingrain the text into her retinas. Her eyes are still sensitive from the new Opticals she got installed two weeks ago and take a moment to zoom into the screen properly. Nova blinks to focus the sensor on the first page. Had she thought ahead, she would have remembered there was no use in getting them so close to the procedure, but that doesn’t matter now.
“Is something wrong, dear?”
Her husband’s hand drops onto her back, and only then does she realize how tense she is, muscles all clenched the way the High Astrals at her Academic Facility used to scold her for. She thought she’d grown out of it. “No, I just…”
“I know it looks like a lot, but I promise it’s just a legal formality,” he reassures, rubbing her shoulder like he got into a habit of doing when he’s trying to calm her down. “There is nothing to worry about. I personally oversaw this project, and we’ve tested it countless times.”
Nova knows how true that is. Her husband is the biggest name there is when it comes to beautification products, and how many years had he poured into this one? It’s been eight years since he first brought her here, to the lab, and she had nearly forgotten how the doctors probed and measured every inch of her for this project he was working on. But that was one of many products she was more than happy to endorse for him, giddy on her successful marriage and career.
The doctor scratches his nose, and Nova notes that it’s a strange shape. If one of the girls from her Facility grew to have a nose like that, they’d certainly be demoted to Dregs. “If you’d like to see the body one more time before signing off, Mrs. Koneshin,” he says, “you can.”
Relieved, Nova nods, so they lead her through the hall of the lab. She’d been here so many times, but somehow it still feels foreign, the white lights and long halls giving her an unsettling feeling.
When they arrive, the doctor pushes open the door to the cold, dark room. Her husband steps through with smooth familiarity as the doctor turns the lights on.
The body needs to be in darkness before it’s activated, she’d been told, so the lights are not automatic. Now they light up the room and the clear capsule. To Nova, it had secretly always resembled a tomb.
Inside, the body’s face is smooth and serene, as if asleep.
“You like it, don’t you, dear?” her husband asks, a proud grin on his face.
Of course she does. It’s beautiful enough to stand out even amongst all the other Astrals with near perfect B-Ratios calculated from the measurements of each nook and cranny of their bodies. After all, there is a reason Nova had been one of the biggest stars in the world at one point. The skin is like the smooth buttercream she’d seen in commercials and never been allowed to eat, without a hint of the bumps or wrinkles or pimples she regularly goes to get removed, the curves luscious and the figure tight like it had been ten years ago, not what it had become after she had given birth. The figure’s hair falls in rich dark rivulets, and if the eyes were open, they would be dark brown, like they were before she got these lilac Opticals. It’s like looking into a mirror from the past, except underneath are wires and silicone. A doll, she thinks with a shiver.
“I do, of course I do,” Nova says. “It’s just… a lot.”
The doctor furrows his brow. “How many Alterations have you had, Mrs. Koneshin?”
“It’s on my record somewhere. Seventeen, I think. The Opticals, a hair follicle replacement, a surgery on my vocal cords -“
“Ah, yes, you’re a singer. Nova Electrica,” he says.
She smiles at the sound of her stage name. “Are you a fan?”
“I mostly listen to Lyra Star.”
Her smile fades as she gauges her husband’s reaction to the name of her old classmate, but he’s still admiring the doll with a dazed grin, starstruck by his own creation. Nova wonders if it’s justifiable to be jealous of her own copy.
“If you’ve already had that many Alterations,” the doctor says, snapping her out of that thought, “this will be an easy switch. And think of it this way: there will be no need for any more. If there are any last-minute changes you want made to the body, feel free to say so.”
She starts to shake her head, but her husband speaks, chuckling. “Maybe make her breasts bigger?”
The doctor bursts out laughing with him and Nova reluctantly joins in.
“Mrs. Koneshin, blink twice if you can hear me.”
Nova obeys, the lights shining down on her pupils unforgiving. Those damn Opticals.
Strapped down to the table, she tries to ignore the panic clawing up her throat. It’s only to prevent any accidents due to the disconnect between muscle and brain as her thoughts are transferred, she’d been told. Sometimes the wrong nerves are jostled. Nothing to worry about. A mild discomfort before she’d be reborn, brand new.
“Is there anything we can get you before the procedure?” the same woman asks her.
Nova’s first thought is my husband, but the woman is typing something on the screen in a way that suggests she doesn’t intend to carry out any requests.
Maybe Nova would have asked anyway if the calming pills she’d been given weren’t beginning to kick in, her muscles melting onto the table.
“Very well. You may feel a sting as your hippocampus is breached.”
Nova registers a cold sensation at her ear canal. That’s the last thing she feels before her sensations explode with pain.
A scream ricochets off the white walls, and it takes her too long to realize it’s coming from her.
“Focus on my voice, Mrs. Koneshin. You must stay conscious,” she hears through the agony clouding her brain. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understands why that is, but can’t quite grasp hold of where she is or what she’s doing. Something about her brain activity is important here. She thinks she’s been told that, but she’s being pulled under by the second, as if grasped by some strange daydream that won’t let go of her.
You must stay conscious.
Memories are flooding her mind, coming in flashes like channels flipping and then gradually becoming more discernible. Voices she hadn’t thought of in years, a flash of red hair, a scolding from a teacher, a number on the Facility B-Ratio dial, blinking as it increases, up and up and up, but never high enough…
14637.89.
“Very well, Nova. You may step off the dial.”
Nova tries to hide her smugness, taking a step off the capsule as the glass cover slides up, leaving it empty for the next student to walk into. They’re all tense with nerves, the scoring never anyone’s favorite part of the week, and she’s so close to being done with this room and its human-sized scanner. The smell is tangy with metal, the lights sharp, and the large circular room too cold; nothing but the dial in the center and dozens of students to fill up the space.
The Astral notes Nova’s score on his clipboard and doesn’t look at her as he speaks. “But if you want to increase your B-Ratio, you may want to make your hair less unruly. I’ll send you the list of Alterations you can choose from. Lyra, you’re next.”
Nova swallows down the hot spike of shame as Lyra walks up the stairs to the dial, her red hair elegant as it cascades down her lithe back, even the plain white uniform of the Facility unable to dull her charm.
She sends Nova a glance from behind the glass wall, clearly trying to hold back a smile, lest the thin lights of the scanners glide over the ridges of her scrunched-up eyes and cheeks and impact her B-Ratio. She holds her posture straight as the lights drag down her rigid body until the teacher tells her to bring her face closer to the dial and open her mouth so that it can scan her teeth.
Lyra sends Nova an exasperated look at that – she always said that part feels silly – and Nova can’t resist grinning back.
“14890.01. Well done, Lyra.”
Nova feels that spike of heat in her gut again, but quickly quenches it as Lyra walks up to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. As if she doesn’t care about the numbers. Of course she doesn’t. What would the winner have to complain about?
“Come on, I hid some sugar cubes under my pillow,” she whispers into Nova’s ear, but her cheery demeanor does nothing to get rid of that ugly feeling in Nova’s gut.
She keeps searching behind Lyra’s sweet smile, wondering if there’s something sinister behind it.
When they get to their room, the other girls are buzzing with news that someone had been demoted last night.
Lyra and Nova sit on the upper bunk bed, listening in.
Nova shudders to think what life in the slums outside of the wall would be like. She’d seen some of it on TV – the colorless houses, if they can be called that, pressed so tightly together there is no space for a yard, the ragged stained clothing hanging in lines in the outside air, likely getting even more dusty from the dirt of those roads, the water carried by rusty pipes. And the Dregs don’t look like they bathe often, their skin always caked in some kind of dust or grease or soot they bring from whichever factory they work at. The idea of it repulses her. She can’t imagine going a day without her lilac-scented wash, smoothening gel, jade exfoliator, the shower head that pumps water at an adjustable pressure to benefit the smoothness of her skin.
When she and Lyra talk about finally finishing their studies, being chosen to marry some rich High Astral, and getting to live in a huge house with a glittering pool in a courtyard lined with rich trees and pathways tiled with marble, of hearing the cheers of thousands for them, not just for the small performances they do now, she never considers even the possibility that she could be outside the wall. She’d rather die, she thinks.
The girls have moved on to talking about the Astrals their names were sent to for considerations of marriage. Nova had been told her name had been sent to a lot of the highest-ranking men, but there’s one who was really nice when she met him in person.
“Who are you hoping for?” she asks Lyra, who seems deep in thought. It shouldn’t be surprising that she says Oras Koneshin. The two of them have some of the highest B-Ratios and a buildup of fans.
Neither of them eat the sugar cubes that night.
The mattress under her feels too soft, like she’s going to fall through.
“Mrs. Koneshin? Are you with me?”
Nova blinks at the lights above her, trying to gauge where the sound is coming from before everything falls away.
She wakes in her house, seeing that dusk had already fallen outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, which overlook the city all the way to the wall that blocks the Dregs’ slums from view. Nova likes this house for the way it’s perched on top of a hill, the city lights glinting below. In the courtyard, the pool glows an aquamarine blue, casting the hue all over the elegant pillars and painting her in the same shade.
Her other senses take a moment to wake up, and that second of absolute nothingness is terrifying, as if she’s nothing but a floating thought in the room, desperately trying to find a sensation to hold onto. Then, an alert appears in her eye, similar to the way an Optical would display, except an Optical would not show the status of her body-to-mind connection.
Model 37-6206 activated.
6/6 senses enabled.
Battery full.
She’s laid out under the bed’s velvet canopies, and she knows the sheets under her are of the finest silk, but the soothing coolness she usually feels while running a palm over them is not there. She tries to do that, gliding and pressing her palm deep into the mattress. Her arm moves with no resistance, and finally some sensation breaks through her skin, but a fraction of a second late, as though there’s a transparent film between her and the silk. She holds up her hand in front of her face. It’s just like skin, the textured pattern expertly stamped into the silicone, but the deeper wrinkles and dips and moles are gone. It’s only with those details that she realizes she can see perfectly in the dark.
When she gets up, she half expects the metal under the silicone to screech, but it moves smoothly. There’s still that sensation of floating through the room, but the ground beneath her feet is gradually becoming clearer.
Nova steps to the silver-lined mirror, and all her doubts dissipate. As if with a time machine, her body is entirely rewound, smooth and perfect. She’s dressed in that figure-hugging piece of fabric the lab had fit the body into, and it does nothing to hide her proportions.
She turns to the side, trying to gauge if they really are bigger, but her husband returns then, the door automatically gliding up upon his entrance.
Had she needed to breathe, she would have held it, the way he appraises her up and down with a finger pressed to his lips. Finally, he nods with a proud smile. “This is innovation, dear.”
The entire Astral society seems to agree.
“MechaGlam is about more than looking good – it’s about feeling good! Aren’t we tired of getting all these Alterations? Why not put them to rest? Commit yourself to eternal true beauty once and for all. If you don’t have to grow ill, or even tired, why would you? Get a rejuvenated body today. Never feel pain or hunger. Have complete control of your senses. Plus, it’s solar powered, and 100% environmentally friendly! Much more so than the waste we produce. Visit ShinTechBeauty to schedule your appointment today!”
As the commercial ends, the Astral interviewer gives Nova a bright smile. “So, that was your first comeback since having a child,” she says as if every viewer isn’t already caught up on the fact.
“It was,” Nova says, hands neatly folded over her knees. Her brain would no doubt continue to send signals to tense up, but she’d blocked that specific habit long ago. “And I’m so glad to be back.”
“So are your fans,” the interviewer says. “Your recent performance gathered over twenty million views in twenty-four hours, setting a new record.”
Nova smiles tensely. It isn’t her first release since her child, but perhaps it’s good the world doesn’t remember her failures. She’d been relieved after giving birth, the Astral Parliament finally appeased with an influential star like her carrying out her duty, but it had impacted her popularity.
“But why don’t we talk about the elephant in the room? This product you’re endorsing…”
It isn’t surprising, but Nova still feels a bit dejected. It’s all she’s been talking about for weeks, and it’s growing tiresome swerving questions she doesn’t know how to answer.
“With your experience being so great, it’s been reported so many Astrals are making calls that the waiting list has grown to thousands.” The way she says it makes Nova wonder if she’s one of those names. “Even some Dregs are scrambling together their savings.”
Nova smiles, though that fact surprises her. Dregs have always been an anomaly to her, even though most of her fans are behind the wall. She was glad when her daughter was finally old enough to be sent to a Facility so she no longer had to face the Dreg wet nurse and her hard gaze. It isn’t Nova’s fault the Dreg would have to go home to live in a single room with her entire family, or that she’d have to raise her own children to adulthood, but that woman always looked at her like it was. At least she didn’t seem to ruin her daughter – the reports from the Facility have been coming back that she’s on track to join Astral society. As expected from her and her husband’s genes.
“But there is some skepticism.”
Nova tries to mask her surprise at the bluntness, keeping an image of grace and elegance.
“What would you say to those who claim your singing is less valid because it isn’t really your vocal cords doing the work?”
Nova has been facing questions like Does having a synthetic body come with cons? and has worked up answers that her husband was pleased with, but being asked about hate directed specifically at her feels different. “I would say… that it’s still my voice, and I worked to get it to that point. Why would it be less mine now?” It’s not something she hasn’t thought about herself. Her voice is a recording now, and sometimes it even glitches. Her husband insists she’s simply not getting enough sun.
The interviewer nods and Nova intends to keep going, but then a flash of red hair catches her eye from across the room, among the filming sets and camera flashes. Lyra Star, her former classmate. She has a habit of showing up in Nova’s worst moments.
“I’ll take a break,” she says, and no one objects to her request.
Lyra is a High Astral like her now. A famous singer known for her ‘girl-next-door’ beauty and breathy voice. She can often be seen outside the wall, bringing resources to the needy Dregs, something most Astrals would shudder to do. The slums are dangerous territory. In Nova’s opinion, it’s a marketing campaign like no other, yet the Dregs love it.
“It’s been a while,” Lyra tells Nova, who nods with a tight-lipped smile. “You look good. But you must know that.”
It’s not a compliment. Many Astrals have been getting their MechaGlam orders in, but it’s clear Lyra isn’t one of them, her freckles still subtly showing on her skin. She used to get told to cover them, back at the Facility, but now they seem to work to her more grounded charm. Grounded to the Dregs, that is. “I suppose you haven’t scheduled your appointment, then,” Nova says with her smooth recorded voice.
Lyra’s lips tighten. “Nova, I…”
For years Lyra’s had the upper hand in everything. When they were training at the Facility, she was Nova’s only sense of comfort amidst harsh diets and the Astrals’ criticisms. It hurt when she realized Lyra only kept her close to know her competition, to get the upper hand over her. And now Nova has waltzed in and taken it from her. Just like she’d taken the man who had the choice between the two of them and all other Astral girls. The comments from the day of the announcement are still fresh in Nova’s mind. He should’ve picked Lyra, has he seen her? It’s just because Nova has a higher Follower Acquirement. But probably not for long.
Nova had cried from those senseless words by Dregs who likely had nothing else to do but melt their brains over her life, but look at her now. They may have been right at first, but she had the last word. She’s the more beautiful now, she married one of the richest men in the country, she pleased the masses by having a child, something Lyra couldn’t do.
When she gets into the car, she slams the door too harshly, and immediately regrets it when alerts flare up red on her eyes.
Injury detected. Check right hand.
Nova doesn’t feel pain, so these alerts are the only reminder. Yet when she looks at her hand, it moves fine. Just when she assumes it’s simply a cautionary warning, it’s her leg that buckles, and she falls halfway into the car.
Her manager cries out, helping her inside. “Mrs. Koneshin?”
Her leg is shaking, no matter how hard she’s trying to stop it, and this isn’t the first time something’s been off, but it’s the first time it’s this visible. Eventually, there’s a clanging metal sound from within her body, and the shaking finally jolts to a stop. “It’s fine. I forgot to charge properly today.”
A few weeks go by without another incident, so she writes it off as a simple glitch. In those days, she does get more sun, a lot of her performance venues being outside. It used to be difficult, singing in high temperatures like that. Now, she merely needs to set her body to cool-down mode to ensure it doesn’t overheat, and bask in the applause.
This time, she performs at a High Astral event, the floors marble beneath her heels. Out on the balcony lined with overhanging lights, night has fallen. Her husband is at her side, and she feels glad to have her hand on his arm. Even though he comes to some of her televised events to talk about MechaGlam, they don’t get many chances to really interact.
Nova basks in the praise from the High Astrals on her performance, though her grin begins to falter the more often they’re directed at her husband.
“Really, how genius, such technology,” a High Astral tells him, looking Nova up and down. “My own wife was hesitant at first…” He rolls his eyes. “You know how they are.”
Her husband snorts, nudging Nova like it’s a shared joke. “I sure do.”
The High Astral places the screen he’d been holding back in his pocket, sharing another amused glance with Oras like they’re sharing a secret Nova suddenly wants in on.
The woman’s eyes are glazed over, and her movements are smoother than they had been before. Trance-like.
Nova feels a strange dread build up in her. “What’s wrong with her?”
Her husband merely rubs her arm, the sensation somewhere far away. “She must still be getting used to her improved version.”
As if by some magnetic force, Nova’s eyes find Lyra in the crowd. Her hair is pressed into perfect curls, but she stands alone, gaze trailing after the same woman Nova had just spoken to. When their eyes lock, there’s a distasteful set to Lyra’s glossy lips.
Lyra turns away and begins walking deliberately in the direction of the odd woman until she disappears down the hall.
Suddenly Nova feels compelled to drop her husband’s arm and walk after them, but stops herself.
She tries to shake off the fearful stare Lyra had given her, but the reminder of it lingers through the night.
Astral Parliament stumped: Should Dregs who buy MechaGlam be considered for Astral promotion?
High Astral Gon says, “Studies have shown those with high B-Ratio are naturally more intelligent and innovative. That is what makes us Astrals. Faking it should not make someone eligible.”
High Astral Byun (former Dreg) says those studies are easily disputed.
So far, the only restriction placed on MechaGlam is having had at least one child or harvesting your eggs, but the Parliament is considering raising that to three children for Dregs –
Nova’s husband turns off the screen, scoffing. “Why make such a fuss of it? They won’t promote anyone regardless. Save for the handful every decade to parade around to the Dregs.”
Nova frowns. “Since when do you believe conspiracy theories like that?”
“One must know people to do business with them.” He snorts, like something is both irritating and funny. “Why would Dregs buy Alterations if they didn’t have that hope? To waste them away on the fields or dirty factories?”
“I thought most of your customers were Astrals.”
“Well, everyone wants to secure their position, but it’s us Astrals who have the convincing power over the rest.”
Nova doesn’t like how he’s talking about this. As though she is merely a marketing tool for him, just like those few former Dregs who got promoted. She hadn’t wanted to upset him before, but now she feels the need to say it. “Something’s been wrong. With my body.”
He raises a brow. “I told you, make sure to get enough sun, and -“
“No… My joints lock sometimes, my speakers falter. Part of my neck is wearing thin. The other day, I couldn’t move my entire hand -”
He sighs, looking towards the sky like she’s exhausting him. “No machine is without its faults. We ran tests, but it was taking too long. It had to be launched.”
That makes her anger rise, something snapping within her. “You knew it had faults?”
“Did I not do a good job building it?” he says, voice hard and offended. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”
She grits her teeth. “You weren’t even the one who built it. You watched it get built. Couldn’t even be there when I got the procedure -“
He holds out a hand. “Oh, yes, I was, dear. Go on, look through your memory box. May 16th, last year, 5:00pm.”
She frowns, only shifting the millions of recordings on her eyes because she’s confused by what he means. Sure enough, there’s that room with bright lights, her husband bent over her.
“I want out, I can’t feel anything! I don’t want this anymore, I -” she hears herself yell, hysteric and in tears.
“Is that what you really want, dear?” he says, voice calm and sympathetic. “Your fans are long tired of you, wouldn’t it be good to get them all back?”
He must be tired of her, too. Lyra’s face flashes before her eyes. Then that Dreg wet nurse.
“N-no. It’s fine.”
“What is… Why don’t I remember that?”
Oras speaks calmly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I knew it would be too difficult to take for you -“
“And you made that decision for me?” Her voice is rising. At the Facility, she was taught to never raise her voice. “What is wrong with you? I need this gone. I need my body back, I -“
“Nova, calm down.”
She doesn’t want to. She wants to tear that silicone off her body to reveal the ghastly metal insides.
That’s when a sudden weight settles over her. Not over her – within her. Her voice fails when she tries to speak, body moving of its own accord to sit on the couch, back straight and facing the screen. Panic seizes her, but she can’t move. Not a sound, not even a wink.
Her husband moves into her line of sight, gliding his fingers over a screen he’s holding. “Take some time to think, dear,” he says, and she thinks if she still ate, she would have thrown up.
Then, he leaves. Her body remains locked. Hours pass, dusk falling, leaving her nothing to do but sift through all those memories she didn’t know she had. A person still needs sleep, with MechaGlam. Their mind still gets tired. That’s why it only extends your life span, but doesn’t immortalize you. Nova deduces these events were happening while her mind was asleep, but her body… it seems to have been controlled somehow, and she shudders to think of who could have had the reins at which moment.
Something shuffles in the corner. Her husband? The sensors would recognize him and the door would open automatically.
Fear seethes her. She can’t move, can’t do anything if –
“Nova?”
For a moment, Nova thinks she accidentally played a recording again, because there’s no way she’s here now.
“It’s me.”
When Lyra comes into view, Nova would have frozen even if her body hadn’t been locked.
“Nova?” she asks again, approaching cautiously, and seems to realize quickly she can’t reply.
To Nova’s shock, Lyra pulls out Oras’s screen, fumbling with the display. “You seemed so off today. You were always quiet, but never that quiet at the Facility…” she says, fumbling with the buttons. “Feels like the world’s gone insane. Can’t pass a single person that doesn’t ask me why I don’t have it yet. That MechaGlam,” she spits it out like a curse. “I was just performing at a modeling show. There was a requirement for all of them to get it. I can’t -”
She chokes up, her voice coming out strained. Nova can’t cry anymore. “I can’t even tell if they’re really conscious half the time. They have those blank stares…” She shudders and finally, something within Nova unclenches, shoulders suddenly dropping and body almost buckling over. She had control again.
“Lyra,” she starts. “How did you – ?”
“You should really upgrade your security system. The passcode is the date of your marriage announcement. I snuck in and waited until he left.”
Nova feels like a fish the way her mouth keeps opening with no words. “But… why?” she finally forces out.
Lyra bites on her lip, a habit she’s had since she was young. She’s quiet for so long, Nova is beginning to wonder if she’s willing to say anything. Finally, she meets Nova’s eyes. “I had a child, you know.”
Nova’s eyes widen. “What? No, you didn’t.”
“Yeah. My management erased all history of her. Not a good look when your kid isn’t deemed pretty or smart enough by the Astrals. She was thrown with the Dregs and I can’t find her now.”
Nova doesn’t know what to say. That so rarely happens with Astral children, it would be the end of her if the public found out.
“All the women with MechaGlam can be remote controlled,” said Nova, the words crystallizing her worst fear.
Lyra is looking at her with a hard, determined gaze. “Do you want to do something about it?”
The determination burning in Lyra’s eyes reminding her of those pictures where she stands on Dregs streets, meeting those people. Truthfully, Nova’s not sure she can match up to it. Never could match up to anything Lyra did. But she knows she can’t continue to live like a puppet. A shiny doll to be paraded around, to sell and sell.
Lyra extends her hand. “I know what we can do.”
Steeling herself, Nova takes it.
Driving up to Oras’s lab building has Nova’s anxiety building up. There are security guards stationed outside, asking for ID verification before sanitizing people upon entrance, and the sight of them has her clenching her teeth.
“Lyra, I don’t know if -“
“I told you, they’ll let us in. I have an appointment scheduled.”
“But what if they tell him I’m here? They’ll see my ID; they’ll know who I am.”
Lyra places her hands on her shoulders, grounding her. “Nova, I doubt these guards have the authority to be speaking to High Astrals at all. Do you think he’d tell people not to let his own wife in?”
Nova tells herself that makes sense, but she doesn’t know. Up until today, she didn’t know he’d been controlling her body either. Not only that – enabling the control of hundreds.
But she nods and stalks up to the entrance after Lyra. Her own body shows no sign of nerves because those fidgety habits are easily disabled, but Lyra… Nova doesn’t know how she does it.
“You’re early,” the receptionist tells Lyra in the white clinic, but that’s all the pushback they get.
Waiting in a room nearly identical to the one where Nova had signed that damned form gives her a sense of déjà vu.
“The doctor will be here any minute,” Lyra tells her, which makes her squeeze her eyes shut in dread. “You should go.”
Nova nods, steeling herself. She just needs to stay focused.
Then, she walks out of the room and down the hall, past the doctors and buyers. If there are customers here, there’s no way anything incriminating will be either. She steps into the elevator and presses the button to the very bottom floor. It’s darker there. Colder.
She begins to walk slowly, peering into the rooms lining the hall.
One doctor stops her. “Ma’am, this floor is closed to the public, you are not allowed in here -“
If she had a human body, her heart would be pounding out of her chest. “Y-yes. I am. My husband said I could meet him here.”
He starts to argue, but she brings her wrist up, projecting her ID.
Spouse: Oras Koneshin
“Forgive me, Mrs. Koneshin. I meant no disrespect.”
Her relief is immense, but she doesn’t let it lower her guard.
She peeks into some of the open rooms but doesn’t find anything other than stacks of alphabetized folders.
Suddenly, two male voices echo down the hall, and she ducks from view.
“How long have you had her?” one asks.
“She just got MechaGlam two months ago. The contract typically doesn’t allow us to sell the bodies until two years have passed, but since you’ve paid a lot for this request, we’ve tweaked her paperwork. There should not be any legal trouble for any of us.”
“Very well, very well.”
Nova is confused at their wording. How long have you had her? Doesn’t sound like a typical MechaGlam procedure.
She follows them until they’ve arrived at a large metal entrance. One of the men is a doctor, and he presses in a passcode to make the doors slide open.
Nova has to stifle a gasp at the sight of the rows upon rows of human-sized glass capsules inside. At first, she thinks they’re only the mechanical bodies, but a closer look at their wrinkles tells her these are the originals. Real corpses with no consciousness. The temperature down here is freezing, and the sight of all the displayed bodies nearly makes her sick.
The doctor leads the other man down the rows until they arrive in front of the body of a blonde woman she recognizes as an actress. “You’ve already paid, so as long as she is to your liking, you’re free to take her today. We’ve taken measures to ensure your identity is hidden, Mr. Gon.”
Nova gapes at the events unfolding before her. Disgust makes her head reel. She’s glad she has her eyes recording already, because this is surely something bigger than even Lyra expected her to find.
“Yes,” the customer says in a dreamy voice. “She’s even better in real life.”
The two converse a bit more before leaving, and Nova waits until they’re out of earshot before heading for the door again. It’s stupid of her. She’d gotten more than enough. But she can’t shake the thought that her own body must be in there, can’t stop thinking of the implications if it isn’t.
Surely it has to be, she thinks, rushing frantically down the rows, looking for her familiar shape. Surely he wouldn’t sell hers.
There’s a sound in the doorway, and Nova nearly jumps out of her skin when she realizes it’s Lyra.
“You scared me. How did you get down here?”
“Loosen up,” Lyra tells her, seeming awfully happy for someone breaking the law. “I can’t believe you got in. Truly a new Nova. Wow. This place is so gross.”
Nova agrees. It’s unsettling having all these still, doll-like bodies staring down at them. Corpses. They’re corpses of real people.
“Thought those doctors would never leave me alone,” Lyra mutters, proceeding to mimic their voices in a high-pitched tone. “Are you sure you don’t want to change your skin texture? It won’t cost extra.”
Nova hears herself laugh despite her nerves. It’s almost nostalgic, talking like this. Having her friend back.
The lights suddenly flare up around them, and they startle. At the door stands Oras Koneshin, surrounded by security guards.
She hears Lyra curse.
“Dear, you didn’t tell me you were stopping by,” he says to Nova.
“You didn’t tell me what you were doing with people’s original bodies,” she bites back.
He sighs, like she’s being a bother. “It’s all in the contract, dear. I didn’t hide anything from you. Go on, show it to everyone. It won’t make a difference. But now, you need to go home.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
His gaze slides to Lyra, something like distaste in the crook of his mouth. “Haven’t seen you in a while. You were so pretty before, but see, I knew I made the right choice. Too stubborn. And now, even the beauty is gone. It isn’t too late to get MechaGlam.”
Lyra’s expression twists in disbelief and anger as she raises her fist. “You can shove your MechaGlam right -“
A pair of guards grab her arms and force her to the ground, making her groan in pain.
Oras sighs, as if talking to a child. “Lyra Star, you are under arrest for breaking and entering into a High Astral facility.”
Lyra’s eyes widen as the security guards handcuff her, face flushed with her struggle.
Nova almost rushes to her, but finds her body frozen. Unwilling to cooperate. A doll. “W-what -“
Oras walks up to her with a screen in hand.
Nova feels almost teary-eyed watching him dangle that screen in front of her.
“You were never one to think much. That’s what I liked about you.”
Nova has trouble finding her words. “That’s not true,” is all she manages.
“Isn’t it? You know how the world operates. You’ve always known it. But it never occurred to you to care until now. Why?”
And he’s not wrong. Maybe that’s what she really envied about Lyra – the fact that her righteousness never really seemed entirely self-serving, no matter how much she told herself it was. Told herself that to feel less guilty.
“Why make it difficult?” Oras says, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “You live well, don’t you? You have everything you could possibly want. You’re beautiful forever, loved by everyone. By me.”
Nova finds herself unable to look at Lyra anymore. Unable to face her, because his words are tempting, at least in part. It is easy – not knowing, living well. Being loved. It could be easy now.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she nods, and her body unclenches.
She imagines the disappointment on Lyra’s face, the betrayal, but doesn’t dare look.
Vaguely, Nova hears one of the security guards speak into a transmitter. “Lyra Star. Former Astral. Status: Dreg.”
The mess of the cheering crowd is perhaps the only time Nova is able to see so many Dregs in person, even if at a distance. They’re tiny specks all around the stage, and she keeps wondering at how they were able to afford being here, at the edge of the wall, just to see her.
Behind the stage, people are moving about, making sure the show is prepared. Nova clenches her fists. Not because she wants to, but because they’ve been doing it of their own accord lately. She unclenches and feels her neck where it’s wearing thin, the wire underneath.
She dismisses the warnings in her vision, nerves gripping her. Not for the stage. She’d gotten used to that a long time ago.
When she starts singing and the crowd’s cheers begin to fill her, she has an idea. But could she do it? What will happen if she fails? What will Oras make her do? She imagines she’ll never be able to move of her own accord again. But then, has she ever?
A bright red speck in the crowd catches her eye. Surely, she must be imagining it. Nova zooms in on that spot and – no, that’s Lyra, among the Dregs. She has never seen her hair so disheveled, graying at the roots. Her clothes are what can only be described as rags, and while everyone around her is cheering, she has a frown on her face. That is, until she turns to the heavily freckled girl beside her, and her expression melts into a smile.
Nova’s voice hitches.
For a moment, she thinks their gazes meet. Can Lyra even see her from that far away with her natural eyes?
It doesn’t matter. Seeing her is enough. Nova steels herself. This is it. She’s going to do it.
She grasps wire in her neck, feeling it sizzle with electricity. She almost balks again but the sight of Lyra’s red hair grounds her.
Then, she rips the wire out with her entire might, a hundred warnings flashing before her eyes as it tears through the silicone.
Somewhere, she hears screams in the crowd, more screams in her earpiece from her managers, but she keeps going, suddenly feeling unstoppable. The bolts of electricity cause her body to spasm, sparks flying all around. It brings her joy, thinking of how her husband must be scrambling to get control over her, only to find her body entirely disconnecting.
As darkness begins to seize her, finally, the warnings slow down.
5/6 senses connected.
There are arms pulling her behind the stage, but she fights to stay in front of the cameras. The people reaching for her are zapped by the electric currents from her body.
4/6 senses connected.
She goes blind.
3/6 senses connected.
Deaf.
2/6 senses connected.
Not a doll, she thinks.
1/6 senses connected.
System shutdown.