Life is just a simulation.

Most crazy conspiracy theories had died off, but that one remained—an ugly wound reopened over and over. A spam email about it out had landed in Zaharah's inbox a month ago during a slow day at the lab. And she'd read the attached article out of shear boredom. By the end she'd wanted to find the author and beat them for the full twenty minutes of her life she'd wasted reading that hog wash. We're all at the mercy of predetermined programming, it had boasted. A bunch of garbage, yet she thought back to that article every time it rained in Denden. 

Well... "rained." 

The sprinklers in the ceiling doused the pine trees of the south shore arboretum, a simulation of a natural phenomenon, controlled by an automated system. It produced the same earthy smell that everyone else loved but she loathed.

But it wasn't rain. Just water that was probably someone's piss this morning. How à propos. Zaharah sighed. At least piss was warm. She'd grown so numb that she couldn't feel the droplets pelting her back anymore.

Markus had told her to take an umbrella that morning but she'd rushed out of the house like usual, left most of her things behind like usual. Her hood protected her head from the downpour as she walked along a path through the trees.

The neon sign marking the south shore residence block beckoned her onward, into its cozy warmth. The linoleum floors and plain grey walls looked like the vestibule of a palace after her trudge through the rain. Lockers lined the walls of the foyer, one for each apartment. Zaharah swiped her keycard on the box labeled 2F and stuffed her longboard between Jade's skates and Markus' bike.

Her boots squished with every step as she drifted past open doors, with music, news and home-cooked meals wafting into the hall. Almost seven hundred people lived in the south shore complex, closer to five hundred without the android caretakers, some new arrivals, some who'd been there their whole lives. She took the stairwell up to the second floor, and the scent of mutton curry hit her long before she reached the open door of apartment 2F.

Zaharah slipped off her soggy socks and shoes, slow as not to alert anyone. She left them by the door and snuck past the couch and TV stand. The door to her room shined like a lighthouse guiding her to safe harbor.

"Is that you, Zaharah?"

Shit.

Demarkus ambled in from the kitchen, an oven mitt over one hand and a pair of tongs in the other, dark yellow curry splotches staining his Best Android Ever apron. His eyes drifted to the puddle growing at her feet, then to the basket of umbrellas beside the door, and finally to her face.

"Zaharah..." Her name rode a long exhale, disappointment laced between each syllable. "Did I not tell you to take an umbrella? And why weren't you answering your phone? I've been trying to call you for hours."

She toyed with the end of a braid strung through with neon purple chord, so she wouldn't have to look at him. Even though he was an android, he'd mastered the disappointed father stare, potent enough to invoke the highest levels of shame. "Yeah. I forgot... everything."

"Just get out of those wet clothes." He turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen, while Zaharah took the walk of shame to her room.

Jade lounged on her bunk, EDM music blasting through her bright blue headphones. Skorpi, their mechpet and another thing Zaharah had forgotten at home, laid on the bed next to her. A scorpion as his name suggested, complete with pincers and a stinger, but no venom. The holo finish on his body ran the rainbow gambit as he rolled over to greet Zaharah with a few melodic beeps.

Jade looked up from her phone and arched her brows at her sister's sorry state. Bad day? She signed.

Zaharah didn't answer. A chewing out from Markus was enough; she didn't need Jade on her case too. She found her phone where she'd left it, on the charging dock on her desk. The indicator lights blinked with demands for her attention in the form of emails and texts. She ignored their luminescent pleas and fished in her drawers for some dry clothes.

Their bathroom was more of a closet—a sink toilet and shower arranged with only enough space to turn around. The water only ran for an hour each day, and Jade insisted on using up forty minutes' worth. One ten-minute shower later, Zaharah waltzed out of the bathroom in her pompompurin pajamas, her braids wrapped up in a satin scarf.

Jade had moved from her bed to her desk, swapped the EDM music for the violent sounds of the latest COD. A Doom Guy bobble head watched from the sidelines. Zaharah made herself comfy by her own desk, not decorated with video game and anime paraphernalia but with paint tubes, brushes and half-done assignments. Skorpi climbed up made a perch on her left shoulder, flopped down with his tail hanging down her back.

Three new emails awaited her in her inbox, along with a thousand other unopened ones she'd never open but never delete.

The first was from Dwight, sent an hour ago. Your photo, the subject line read. And in the main body of the email was an image of the house she'd seen in Briland. Oh be still my beating heart, she wrote in reply. She'd have to sneak him some decent coffee during her next lab visit.

The next email was a reminder from Doctor Cyan about her appointment on Monday at ten. Zaharah grimaced at the screen and moved to the last, an email was from some Cammi. She would have thought it spam if she hadn't read the subject line.

The Director is not your friend.

Zaharah blinked at the screen. Those six little words commanded her full attention. The noise of Jade mowing down twelve-year-old noobs faded away. She hovered her finger over it a little higher than she normally would, for fear her unsteady hand would betray her and press it.

Who the hell is Cammi? The paperclip attachment symbol next to the subject line stared back at her, enticing her with its dirty secrets. What did it hide? An incriminating photo of the director choking a puppy to death? Or it could be spam or a virus, another stupid article to waste twenty minutes of her life on. She shouldn't open it. It wasn't worth her time.

Zaharah opened it.

What lurked beyond was a video. One of those from a mounted security camera, no sound but full colour. It displayed a scene outside at night, illuminated by floodlights. A shipping yard, judging from the containers piled up, and the garage on the left. Her eyes drifted to the corner of the screen where the date and time hovered just above a red container. April 19th 2161, 21:56.

Her grip on her phone tightened and her stomach did a somersault so vicious it made bile pool in her mouth. She leaned her face closer to the screen, her nose almost touching the holographic pixels. Was this some kind of sick prank? She wanted to look away, close the video, but the prospect of something interesting lurking in the scene kept her eyes on the screen and her finger away from the back button. Thirty seconds passed, yet the scene remained static, with the timer in the corner the only indication the video still rolled.

Two figures flashed by the gap between the containers, followed by a robot—one as tall as the containers—scurrying on six legs. It clung to the sharp shadows cast by the floodlights, leaving the shape its body a mystery. Save for its eyes, red eyes that glowed bright as high beams. She was certain she'd never seen one of those before, yet it seemed familiar, like a repressed memory clawing its way up from the depths of her subconscious.

The robot swiveled its head towards the camera and the glare cast the scene in a red haze. From beneath the container one figure emerged on all fours. They scurried into the floodlights, inching closer to the garage.

Zaharah held her breath. The robot's eyes stayed on the camera, on her. Maybe if she held its gaze, she could distract it long enough for the figure to get away. A few feet more and they would be in the building.

The robot shifted its head around, red laser sight landed on the figure's back. Zaharah dared not blink or even breathe. The robot launched itself forward, and the video went black, the replay arrow popping up.

She replayed the video sped up, then again slowed down, and a fourth time frame by frame. Near the end of the video, her eyes caught something, blinking lights just a few pixels in size, above the figure's left shoulder. She zoomed in, pushed play, and they flickered. Blue, green, blue, green.

The phone almost slipped from her sweat-slicked palm. "Skorpi." He jumped from her shoulder to her lap, stretched his spindly legs and cocked his head at her, green eyes blinking. "Connect."

A little Skorpi-shaped icon appeared on her phone's dash and his eyes blinked. Blue, green, blue, green. She looked at the figure, paused mid crawl and a cold prickle marched across her back. Skorpi climbed back to her shoulder. Her left shoulder, where he always sat.

The thump of pulse in her ears was loud enough to be mistaken for the subbase in Jade's favourite EDM song. It's not real. Her chest hurt and a hissing noise filled her head. It's just a dumb prank, she told herself, even as the room filled with smoke, even as fire wavered at the edge of her vision. Even as her lungs burned and her throat closed up.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she startled, phone falling from her grip to cover one of pompompurin's many faces. Reality snapped back into focus. No smoke, no fire. Just her room and her sister.

Jade gazed down at her, with brows drawn tight, lips pressed tighter, the expression making her look too much like their mother. Are you okay?

Zaharah rubbed her hands on her shirt and held her body rigged so Jade wouldn't see how much she trembled. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Are you sure? You're breathing weird. Should I call the doctor? She was already reaching for her phone.

"No. No. I'm just... nervous about my exams is all. I have a lot to do." She exhaled a breath and leaned back in the chair. "It's fine."

Jade stared at her for a long time, eyes unwavering. Okay. Well, the food's ready. She popped her headphones over her ears and walked out the room.

Zaharah waited until Jade disappeared into the kitchen before she shrunk in the seat like a deflated balloon. Knowing her sister, that wouldn't be the end of this. Skorpi moved from her shoulder to her lap and picked up her phone, held it out, eyes still blinking blue and green. The screen had scrolled some, showing text below the bottom of the video.

Want the rest? Ask Dwight.