![]() ![]() The Shade approached people seemingly at random, trying to talk to them. She was wearing her true face, and only a few feet away was a shadow prisoner-a Shade, the newsfeeds said they were called-and who knew what crimes the Shade had committed? That featureless black form could be anyone. Cheap, effective, and safe, the news feeds repeated endlessly. There were hundreds of articles describing the new tech and touting its advantages over traditional physical prisons. After a test period, the public would vote on whether or not to implement it. Bardo Phillips of ZimCorp Launches Experimental Shadow Prison Program. Appended after the basic diagnostic report there were links to an assortment of relevant news feeds. The reply was swift-nothing was wrong with her PIP. Sighing, she lowered her hand and sent a service query. She’d been one of the last holdouts with glasses, refusing an implant until access to even the most basic resources no longer supported externals. Vivian was old enough to be accustomed to reality filters built into glasses, back before PIPs took over the market and ran everything else out of business. It was an old habit that Cass poked fun at. Her PIP told her someone was there, but she no longer saw even the plain silver form of a Generic. It didn’t completely vanish the way adbots did, but it darkened into shadow, all the details lost. Or maybe the café had filled the tables with bots to look busier. Most of the tables were full, and people mostly projected Generics rather than expensive customized skins. Inside it was warm and smelled like coffee and freshly baked pastries. Vivian ducked into a café to collect herself. I’m going home.”Ĭass stormed off before Vivian could say anything. You hang out with these creepy fancy-skins. “I’m not having this discussion,” Vivian said firmly. “We can’t cower in fear because someone might be listening,” Cass said, their voice uncomfortably loud. And hacking adbots is a rules violation.” “Fuck off, bot.” Cass flipped it off and simultaneously shot some code at it to make it disappear without repeating its message. PIPs are mandatory, but luxury is a choice.” “Upgrade your experience with the new V17 Perceptech microchip. Except for its sudden appearance out of nowhere, it was indistinguishable from an actual human wearing a Generic overlay. Personal Implanted Perception chips made everything pretty, but it was hard to know what was real.Īn ad bot popped up next to Cass. ![]() ![]() Vivian wondered what they looked like without their overlays. Inside Illusions, customers wore impeccable clothes and flawless faces. Vivian wasn’t tall enough to wear the best looks, and digital tailoring was a lot of money for often mediocre results. ![]() Clothes shopping was easier for her wife, even the overlays. All of them would look stunning on Brooke. Illusions Formalwear had a window display of outlandish gowns-brightly colored silks, sparkling sequins, even a dress made entirely of brass gears. It was still five hours to curfew, so they took their time wandering amongst the shops. Cass was quite the young artist, and their room had prints of sunflowers and starry nights plastered all over the walls as inspiration. The store’s specialty was masterpieces of brightly colored sugar, hand-painted onto rectangles of dark chocolate. Truth be told, she couldn’t afford to shop here, but it was nearly Cass’s birthday, and Vivian knew they’d love a box of Van Gogh candy from The Art of Chocolate. But this was the safest of neighborhoods-luxury apartments mixed with boutiques and cafés, everything monitored and patrolled. Walking around without an overlay felt simultaneously scandalous, exhilarating, and deeply unsettling. It’d been Cass’s idea, and they’d convinced Vivian to do it as an exercise in challenging societal norms. Overlays aren’t much different.” Vivian wasn’t wearing an overlay. “Back in the old days it was make-up and plastic surgery and designer clothes. “This neighborhood is creepy,” Cass said, waving their arm at the crowd around them. Personal connections and privacy were often at odds. Cold and impersonal, plus it was hard to keep track of who you’ve interacted with. Vivian wasn’t fond of Generics-they fell into that uncanny valley between a nondescript human and a silver android. Together they wove through throngs of shoppers wearing customized skins or the generic default. The shopping district was crowded on a Sunday afternoon, and Vivian Watanabe was out running errands with her sixteen-year-old, Cass. Series: The Tales of Gorlen Vizenfirthe.Series: From the Lost Travelers’ Tour Guide.People of Colo(u)r Destroy Science Fiction!. ![]()
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