“Selena!” I hear a familiar female voice behind me, and a smooth hand grasp my arm as I was about to sneer at my test group leader. “The folks in marketing want to talk to you.”

  I peek over my shoulder to see a brunette, chest length hair bound in a tight bun. I chuff at my friend, interrupting a very large head of steam that I was about to release on Todd.

  “Unless you have actual tasking for me, Todd,” I pause in case he was trying to mix his harassment with some inane task to disguise his harassment as work—the creep has been asking me out every week for a whole quarter! He looks at Sabine, then back at me and then I turn around and leave as he apparently he doesn’t have something ‘work-like’ to discuss in front of another Orion Technology employee.

  I log yet another incident of harassment against the man, as I made it plain from attempt number 2 that I was not interested and from attempt number 4 that it was inappropriate in a work environment and that any further attempts would be considered harassment. After 60 additional days, day 63 being today, I get to escalate the filing to the Vice Presidents of the company. I didn’t think this would be necessary, but apparently Todd is decent at his job when he isn’t creeping on his female staff members, so the company has largely been ignoring my complaints.

  “Thanks for the rescue Sabs, I was about to be unprofessional and it’s easier to dismiss my complaints when I fight back. Fucking screwed up if you ask me, but if I can use the rules to defenestrate the bastard, then I’d rather do that then flame the bastard temporarily.

  “Sellie, I know I sound like a broken record at this point, but are you sure you won’t request a transfer? I know you don’t think you’re ‘modeling material’ but you’re in so much of Orion’s promotional material, that you probably get more residuals than any of us. Maybe even combined.”

  “But Saaaabs. You are all skinny, pretty and fucking elegant! I’m just a dumpy Mexican that looks okay in a suit.”

  “This again? I swear to god you are the only person who has slept with internationally recognized models that thinks that they are inadequate. How do you compare yourself to them while simultaneously wooing them?”

  Well, I’m confused about that as well, Sabine. Thanks for bringing up several of my mental health issues at once. “It’s a false confidence. If I don’t think there’s a chance I’m good enough, what is there to lose? I’m forced to socialize for work, and I know that people on camera like to be flattered so it’s apparently just that I’m harmless and enabling their sense of superiority.”

  “If I told Maddie you said that, she would slap the shit out of you.”

  “Gah, Maddie’s too good for this world. I will forever be ashamed that I have impure thoughts about her.” I can’t keep the smirk off my face, as Sabs got through to me today. Maddie is my best friend, and much to my dismay is a paid-for professional assistant to help us folk that have dissonance issues with our integration into the Accelerated Time Construct (The ATC). It’s hard for me to tell if she likes me or is just paid to like me. It also sucks that she is a regular foil to accentuate the other models in our advertising spots.

  The ATC is relatively new--five years of public acceptance--and replicates some of the most influential cities in the world so that people can work and develop in accelerated time. I had the opportunity to join the Huston, New York, or London environments, so I chose London. Most of the people I work with would have chosen Los Angeles, but the creators of the project said that the sprawling city would have taken more resources than Shanghai to replicate and would have been less successful. That said, they made a Honolulu location, even though that whole island only has like two million people on it.

  Why would I pick London over New York or Huston? The accent and knowing that as a moderately attractive avid gamer, I knew I’d be attending photoshoots. Photoshoots with women with British accents? Yes please, bring a mop.

  “You can’t keep yourself from drooling over Maddie, it would be adorable if it weren’t so sad.”

  I scoff at Sabine, “Oh? Have you talked to that indie pastry chef yet?” She blushes and pushes me, causing me to laugh loudly. In her defense, the Japanese-Dominican twink is supremely elf-like and with the bronze skin, the friendly model is helpless. “I see, you can dish the discomfort but cannot take it. Perhaps we can get some of the girls to go to the café for some coffee and a treat.”

  “Wait, you never offer to come out . . . what’s going on?”

  Blech, feelings. “Maddie’s been encouraging me to initiate some social things. Coffee and a snack seems the least crippling of social circumstances.”

  I feel that the beaming smile Sabine throws at me is more than my effort has warranted. “Maddie is a blessing. Those freckles don’t hurt either do they?”

  My blush is uncontrolled and immediate. If I didn’t know that Sabine was straight, there’d be some jealousy too. My reaction may be even more pronounced after admitting that I wonder where else her freckles are besides the cute galaxy line across her nose and cheeks. I doubt that Sabine will ever forget that little admission.

  Maddie isn’t what the real-time world would consider ‘relationship material’ as she is a medical assistant for those of us with integration dissonance. She is 100% an Artificial Intelligence created to keep those that suffer from the various causes of chronic dissonance integrated, and to make us feel that everything we are feeling, and experiencing are as real to our minds as anything in the real-time. After two months of her being the most supportive and understanding person I’ve ever met, I had a hopeless crush on her. A month later, our group of dissonants (not dissidents) went out for a bonding and world-reinforcing outing to the simulated Underground, and I may have gotten drunk and uttered perhaps the most influential words of my life to my crush: ‘I really want to kiss you right now.’

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  We kissed for blissful minutes before she beamed at me and we danced with each other and our friends for the rest of the night. Since then, Maddie’s been comfortable with little moments of PDA like hand holding, thumbing chocolate off the corner of my mouth, and kissing me on the cheek from time to time. Naturally, I fell in love with her. A side effect of this level of twitterpation is that my dissonance score is finally lower than 25%, which should put me out of danger for a catastrophic disassociation event—A.K.A. Ghost in the Shell syndrome.

  “Gods, Sabs. I don’t even need to be exclusive with her, I just want to kiss her and hold hands without it being a project or something.”

  “Really? Sellie, every person has an agenda, so what if hers is helping your wellbeing? She’s not exactly snogging with the rest of her patients. Though, I guess she probably would if it would actually help them, instead of just being a feather in their cap. Parker is absolutely MAD about how close you two are because she denied her.”

  Ugh, why does Sabine have to be pretty, friendly, and super smart? Add considerate and ‘good friend’ when she’s not speaking truths that piss me off, and she’s probably the best person in my life. Yes, there’s a difference between best person, and best friend. Sabs has no problem being ‘real’ at the expense of my ego. Maddie doesn’t hurt me, even if for my own good—not like Sabine does.

  The rest of our walk to the photoshoot is quiet and short. The game testing and development department is on the twenty-first through the twenty third floor, and our shoots almost always occur in a commandeered conference room. In fact, one of the smaller event spaces has been converted semi-permanently to a green room where makeup and costuming occurs to various talent for either advertising or Mo-cap preparation. The Mo-cap folks have a wild contract, and are constantly working.

  “Selena!” I see the freckled pixie-woman, a red head with an American accent waves wildly as we approach. I flush with appreciation and affection.

  “Hiya Maddi, Daniel, and . . . Jackie?”

  “Janice, but close.” The woman smirks and thank goodness she doesn’t take offense.

  “I’m so sorry!” She waves me off, but I already have my hands in front of my face, covered in embarrassment.

  “Ah, gamer girl. You have a busy few days. You’ll be doing your normally scheduled testing and competitions in a studio.” My modeling slash advertising boss, Ophelia Hoffman, informs me of my schedule change.

  “Am I sleeping here, or nine to fiving?” I ask.

  “Your schedule with us is four AM to four PM today and ten to ten tomorrow, accommodating your American teammates is tedious.” I open my mouth to protest. “I understand it, but don’t like it. Two of the tournaments have been scheduled around Orion requirements, so there will be several people in this stand-up gaming studio. Your location will be synched with Real-Time during the tournaments, your brakes will be back to accelerated time.”

  “Uh, I need to go back to my apartment to get my wardrobe changes? I had two jerseys and an interview outfit ready for the spot cameras.” Ophelia waves me off.

  “I’ve been apprised of the requirements. Your wardrobe is my concern now. If you attempt to be a diva about any of this, I will put you in make-up with DarthHamster every day.”

  Fear, abject, horrifying fear permeates me with the threat of being in a room with Hamster when he can’t disengage his mouth for the sake of gaming.

  “NO! That will not be necessary. Team Jersey and pants, a jacket . . . you know what? You’re right, you got this. I’ll be a mannequin if it gets me out of seeing the rest of the team in ‘off-time’”

  Ophelia grins at me like a predator, assures me that it’s handled, and walks away with an assured swagger that tells me that everything just went as she’d planned.

  “Want to switch places, Sellie? I would pay for her to talk to me like that.” My friend shudders before an indecent eye-flutter. “Eew, Sabine, don’t be gross.”

  “What?! She has Mommi vibes. I am not the only one that thinks so!”

  We gossip all the way to wardrobe, chattering like high-school friends while Maddie stays in the room and periodically touches me or appreciates me in a way that makes me feel like we’re dating. It would drive me mad with want, but I just . . . love that she wants to do what she’s doing. I don’t think I care if it’s the most efficient way to reduce my dissonance or whatever.

  The jerseys that I thought I was getting have been tailored into cuffed blouses that end just below my ribs, combined with low-rise jeans that show a generous expanse of my un-model like belly. I want a coat to cover myself up, but both of my make-up assistants bat my hands away as I try to pull down my shirt or hike up my pants. They then paint logos on my stomach near my hips making me feel like a 100% shill.

  “When the hell is anyone going to see this? Dressing me up like a slattern with body makeup? Fuck this.” I order a team breaker and have it sent to my locker. I throw it on, zip it up just above my belly button and scowl at everyone that wants to tell me otherwise.

  Fathom of Fates isn’t the game I’m a degenerate over, but I’m good enough. I’ve been recruited for a full-female tournament squad that gets a full-time wildcard spot in the world’s qualifiers if all of our members can qualify individually in solo or duo queue as grandmasters. My other games today are a live strategy game that unfortunately Darthhamster is also a world contender in. Bastard plays both of my games at a professional level. I fume when his placement is in a higher group than mine in the strategy matches, earning him a break round.

  “Why are you standing? Sniper’s folly is next? Is open tournament. Did you not qualify?” DH asks in his . . . Swedish accent?

  “I don’t have a sponsor for FPS games. Orion doesn’t sponsor sync time without it.”

  He scoffs at me. “You have money. I have money. You don’t make second round, I pay half. You do, you pay all, maybe get new sponsor?”

  “Hamster, I haven’t entered and finalized brackets were an hour ago.”

  He scoffs at me again types a bit then pauses to look at me. “What is your Europe and Western rankings?”

  “Uh, 1700 ish EU and 824 Western.” I stammer my response, as absolutely no one from Orion has ever asked.

  “Great. Sub 1k is doable.” He types some more, looking happier with himself as time passes. “Excellent! You have a conquer match in an hour, and I found a team that needed an alternate. They need you in twenty five minutes. I took advantage of many loopholes. You must play or . . . pay many fees. You are welcome.” He finishes typing then stands for a stretch then walks off to the refreshment table.

  “Did I just get forced into doing something I wanted to do?”