Quinn Wexley was having a bad day. Then again, it would be far more unusual to say she was having a good one.

  At nineteen, she had more worries than hairs to turn grey. A couple years ago, her mother finally did what she had been threatening to do her entire life and died.

  It was entirely unremarkable. The only shocking thing about it was that it hadn’t happened sooner.

  Quinn’s father, on the other hand, was unfortunately still alive. He enjoyed many things, but loving Quinn was not one of them. His favorite thing to do after a not-so-hard day at work was to relax with some booze and complain to anyone within ear shot about the dangers of thinking women. Picking fights at the local bar was part of his regular routine. Last year, he made the ill-advised decision to fight a compliance officer and had been in prison ever since.

  While Quinn was relieved, his departure left her alone to care for her eight-year-old sister Sophie. Her parents had always been more talented at spending money than saving it. Surviving with her unstable parents had been difficult, but alone with no money and a hungry sister to feed felt insurmountable. Jobs didn’t exist in a city run by AI.

  Quinn was not one to be easily defeated, however. She resorted to stealing when she had to so they could eat. Every day she woke up hopeful that things might get a little better.

  Today was not that day. In fact, it may hold the record for shittiest day ever. Quinn felt that deserved some recognition, maybe a medal of some kind, or at least a sticker and some gummy bears.

  Scowling, she tugged her worn-out hoodie lower over her forehead and viciously kicked a metal trash can as she passed by. Pain instantly shot up her foot. The trash can wobbled precariously and toppled over, crashing loudly against the pavement and spilling garbage over the sidewalk. A cat bolted off down a nearby alley, hissing madly.

  Far from making her feel better, she now had a throbbing toe and unwanted attention. Glancing around, she saw a drone scuttling up a brick wall ahead of her on its spider-like legs. It stopped and rotated its lens around to zoom in on her. She quickly ducked behind a corner, resisting the urge to flick it off. That was the easiest way she knew of to get sent to an overnight hold cell.

  After a minute, she heard it take off and peered around the building. She could see the drone flying off into the distance and let out a shaky breath.

  Curfew was soon. She needed help, loathe as she was to admit it. Despite the riskiness of the hour, she was on her way to see the one person she could count on when she was in trouble.

  Quinn moved on, careful not to kick anything else. The last thing she needed today was to be arrested on top of everything else.

  She passed by a giant holo display running an old Eterna episode from a couple of years ago. It was the most popular reality show on the planet. Holo billboards were always showing something to do with Eterna. The new season was set to start in a couple of weeks, which was all anyone could talk about.

  Quinn glanced at the familiar holo as she hurried along under a flickering streetlamp. The show wasn’t really something she kept up with, but she imagined that would change soon.

  She cut quickly through a dark park and exited onto a residential street on the other side. This part of town was cleaner. Small yards sat between box-like houses. They showed evidence of upkeep, their grass shaved down by auto-mowers.

  Quinn turned up a driveway guarded by a small army of sun-bleached garden gnomes. She stood on the glittering pink welcome mat and took a deep breath, smoothing out her expression. Then she knocked three times in quick succession, waited a beat and slowly knocked twice more.

  The door swung open. A squat humanoid robot stood in a faded flowery apron, one hand planted on her chrome hip. In the other, she brandished a spatula dripping in what smelled like bacon grease.

  “Cutting it close today, Miss Quinn?” she asked, holding the door open. “I know you are aware of the consequences. We do not harbor vagrants and riffraff in this establishment simply to skirt curfew laws.”

  “Evening, Dory. Always a pleasure,” Quinn said brightly, sliding past her.

  The house looked like it had been decorated by a middle-aged woman whose personality revolved entirely around wine. A pair of shiny microfiber sofas faced a dusty holo, one with a throw pillow embroidered with family in looping cursive. Peeling faux-distressed wallpaper covered the walls.

  “Shoes off!” Dory snapped, jabbing the spatula at her and splattering grease across the shag carpet. “You are aware of the rules. And do not call me Dory, my name is Dolores.”

  “Always straight to business, eh Dory? You’ll make some dude-bot real happy one day.” Quinn said, kicking off her shoes. “Careful where you fling that thing. That’s how you get ants.”

  “The designation “dude-bot” is not recognized. And do not call me—"

  “You make it too easy, Dory. I’ll just see myself back there.”

  Quinn stalked off down the hallway, leaving Dory looking thoroughly affronted behind her—or as affronted as a robot can look. The carpet muffled her steps as she passed a row of crooked family photos, their glass smudged with age. She stopped at a door near the end of the hall and knocked softly.

  “Come in” a muffled voice called. Quinn pushed open the door.

  It was like stepping into a different person’s house. Six monitors glowed on a wall above a desk buried in the archaeological remains of someone allergic to fresh produce. Their glow carved sharp angles across the dark paint and soundproof foam lining the walls.

  In front of the monitors sat a man in a wheelchair. Greasy, shoulder-length hair clung to his pale face, his dark eyes bruised from lack of sleep behind rimmed glasses.

  “Ah, Wexley. What are you doing here so late?” he asked, wheeling around to face her.

  “Hey, Silas,” Quinn said, pulling back her hoodie and stepping inside. Dark hair spilled over her shoulders, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.

  “Dory’s in rare form today. You’re aware bacon is generally considered a breakfast food right?” she said, slouching into a chair next to the desk and kicking her feet back. “And how does she not know what a dude-bot is? Have you not had the talk with her yet?”

  “She hates it when you call her that you know,” he said, wheeling back around to face his monitors.

  “I know,” she said cheerfully, “Got any more bacon, by the way? Oh, and I come bearing gifts.” She pulled a package from her hoodie pocket and tossed it to him. He caught it and glanced at the label. They were caffeinated energy gummies.

  “Thanks!” he said gratefully, ripping it open and popping a couple into his mouth. “I needed this. I’ve been working on a new project lately, and it’s got me up all night.”

  “What else is new? You treat sleep like it’s socialization. Just thinking about it gives you a headache.”

  “Hilarious. And look who’s talking—you’re cutting it close. Isn’t curfew soon?” he said, typing away on the keyboard.

  “Yeah.” The humor drained from her voice, replaced by unease. She twisted her hoodie strings around her fingers. “Something came up, and…well, I need your help.”

  The rapid clatter of keys stopped. Silas wheeled around to face her, concern furrowing his brow. “What is it?”

  Quinn pulled a crumpled letter from her hoodie pocket and laid it on the desk, smoothing it out. At the top, in bold black print, were three letters: CPS.

  He stared down at it, unblinking. “Oh no.”

  “Yeah…I’m fucked.”

  “Does it say when…” he trailed off.

  “Couple weeks,” Quinn said, wringing her hands. “Maybe, I don’t know. I couldn’t finish the whole thing. I just opened it and came straight here.”

  He picked up the letter, scanning it quickly. “You have ten days. That is…not good. But that gives us some time to figure out what to do.”

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  “I already know what to do,” Quinn said in a quiet voice. “And I think you do too.”

  Silas stared at her in confusion, then his eyes went wide as realization sank in. “No…you can’t mean—”

  “It’s the only way!” Quinn cut in angrily, shooting to her feet. “Surviving one round would get us a guardian bot.”

  “Just…wait a minute, slow down!” Silas said, gripping the edge of his wheelchair hard. “I don’t think getting yourself killed for sport is the best way to help Sophie. Your life means more than that. We’ll find another way.”

  “There is no other way, and you know it,” she snapped. “What else can I do, hide here forever? How long do you think it would take before a drone found us and turned us in? Then you’d be in a world of shit too. No, the only legal way I can keep Sophie is if I have a guardian bot, which I can’t possibly afford. Eterna is the only way I can get one.”

  He threw up his hands. “That’s how they trap people! That’s how they convince you to volunteer for a death sentence! Don’t you see that?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “An hour. You’ve had maybe an hour to think about this, and suddenly it’s the only solution? I don’t buy it.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you buy! I didn’t come here for your permission. I came here because I need your help. If I don’t do something, she’ll vanish into that horrid foster system. And you’ve seen those orphanages, Silas—two hundred kids for every single bot. It’s a warehouse. I’m not letting that happen.”

  “So you’ve decided to end your life,” he said dryly, wheeling back towards his monitors. “Yeah…nothing I can do to help with that. Let me know how that goes. Oh wait…”

  “I’m going to do it whether you help me or not!” she shouted, balling her hands into fists. “But you and I both know I don’t stand a chance without some kind of preparation. If I can train—even a little—I’ll survive longer. I mean, I’m not completely inept. I have skills. Just not playing video games.”

  “Which is literally the only skill you need!” Silas yelled.

  “That’s not true, and you know it! I stand a better chance than you ever would, and you’re the so-called video game expert.”

  He stared at her, speechless. “You think sneaking through alleys and stealing food are transferable skills in a game like that? People literally kill each other in there. For fun. And they broadcast it.”

  “I know how to survive!” she shot back. “In a game all about survival, isn’t that the most important thing? And I’m resourceful. Which is exactly why I am here right now asking you for help.”

  The door creaked. They turned as Dolores poked her head inside. “I detected voices in an unusually loud register,” she said. “Do you require my assistance, Master Vance? Perhaps more bacon?”

  “That will be all, Dolores, thank you,” Silas said quietly, steepling his fingers together and peering through them calmly. She left and gently shut the door behind her.

  The air felt heavy and tense, the hum of the computer uncomfortably loud. It was a long moment before anyone spoke. Finally, Quinn said, “She seems weirdly fixated on bacon.”

  Silas snorted before catching himself. He sighed heavily. “You’re going to get yourself killed if you do this.”

  “Maybe,” she said flatly. “Now will you help me?”

  He stared ahead of him for a long time. Finally, he sighed and shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’re out of your mind. Fine, if you’re really going to do this, then I’ll help train you. But you’re going to listen to me and try to keep a low profile from now on.”

  Quinn’s grin was triumphant. “Deal. Jesus dude, you made me work for that one. Look, I’m sweating.” She wiped her hoodie sleave dramatically across her forehead. “Well…it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Master Vance, but I need to get home. I’ll be back tomorrow with Sophie.” She swept forward in a dramatic bow and left before he could change his mind.

  Quinn was lost in thought as she picked her way home. Curfew had long since passed, and the dark streets were deserted. Despite the nonchalant front she showed Silas, registering for Eterna wasn’t a decision she took lightly—or willingly.

  She didn’t own a holo anymore. Her dad had smashed it when she was nine, hurling a whisky bottle straight at it while her mom just stood there. He’d been screaming about government brainwashing, one of his favorite things to complain about. They’d never had the credits to replace it, which meant Quinn couldn’t follow Eterna the way most people did. Still, she caught the occasional episode, usually at Silas’s place or from the display feeds in a downtown holo store she liked to visit.

  Like most reality shows, Eterna was a competition. Unlike the others, it was global, and anyone in the world could enter. The competition took place inside a vast virtual platform, with rules that changed each season to keep audiences hooked. Wealthy spectators placed outrageous bets, fueling an endless stream of revenue for the producers. It was the most popular show on the planet, watched by billions, with the stakes higher than anything else on holo. If you died in the game, then you died in real life. Brutal, yes —but legal, since every contestant had volunteered.

  Although she didn’t believe she could win an entire season, Quinn felt she had a real shot at surviving round one. Each season was broken up into six levels of increasing difficulty, with prizes that grew more enticing along the way. The first round always offered the same prize. Every winner was granted a single wish—anything they asked for, as long as it fell under the monetary cap. Players had wished for things like life-saving medical procedures, debts erased, even housing permits in districts usually locked to the poor.

  For Quinn, the choice was obvious. Children without a legal parent had only two options: a personal guardian bot that only the wealthy could really afford, or a government orphanage where one bot was responsible for hundreds of kids. Everyone knew those places were brutal. It was where CPS intended to send Sophie. One wish could change that and keep Sophie with her.

  She rounded a corner, lost in thought on what she was about to do. Home wasn’t far now. Towering apartment blocks loomed on either side of the narrow street, their concrete walls streaked with rust and grime. The sound of a baby crying from somewhere above echoed faintly against the pavement.

  “Stop!” a harsh voice commanded from behind her. Quinn froze, inwardly cursing. For once, she hadn’t been as cautious as she usually was when breaking curfew. Stealing herself, she slowly turned around.

  There stood a compliance officer, his uniform straining heroically against the swell of his immense belly. His belt sagged low under the weight of both his gut and an oversized baton. A thick moustache bristled over his scowling lips, making him look like a walrus auditioning for middle-management.

  “Out past curfew, eh?” he drawled, walking towards her. His boots crunched ominously against the pavement. “That’s right smart o’ ya. Means ya come with me now, love.”

  “Curfew?” Quinn said, feigning innocence. “I’m just visiting. I didn’t know this was a curfew zone. Forgive my ignorance, officer. It won’t happen again.”

  “Too right it won’t. Come on, now.” He reached out and clamped a hand around her arm, jerking her forward. Quinn’s hoodie slipped back, the streetlight catching her almond face and wide emerald eyes.

  “Well now,” he murmured, voice softening. “Pretty lil thing like ya….ain’t gotta spend a night inna cell. How ‘bout we figure somethin’ else out, hm?”

  “What!” she yelled, jerking against his grip. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…listen, I’m sorry about curfew, ok? Just let me go home.”

  “Aw, don’ be like that, sweets.” His piggy eyes gleamed with ugly intent. “This won’ take long.” He licked his moustache and leaned in, pulling her closer.

  Quinn’s knee rocketed up into his gut. The officer wheezed in shock, doubling over. Before he could recover, she yanked on his sagging belt and drove her elbow into his face. His nose crunched loudly, the sound echoing through the empty street. He reeled back, clutching his nose as blood gushed between his fingers. Quinn deftly snatched his wallet from his back pocket as he staggered.

  “This fucking day,” she said angrily, flipping open his wallet. She scanned his ID and pocketed the credits. Leaning back, she drove her foot forward and viciously kicked the officer in his side. He fell to the ground moaning in pain.

  She surveyed him as he writhed in a crumpled heap and took several deep, calming breaths. The anger that had flared up so quickly was rapidly depleting. She knew the altercation hadn’t gone unnoticed, and she needed to leave.

  “In case that wasn’t clear, that’s a no to your offer.,” she snarled, tossing the wallet on the ground in front of him. “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure someone out there’s into bloated walrus cosplay. You know…probably.”

  She reached down and grabbed the baton from his belt as he moaned. “Oh, and I’ll be sure to tell everyone you got your ass kicked by a skinny girl. Have a bad day, Kevin.” She stepped over him and slipped into the shadows, twirling the baton in the air.

  Quinn didn’t look back as she hurried away, heart hammering. That was stupid. She shouldn’t have been so careless. If he had been even semi less of a blubbering fool, she wouldn’t have gotten away like that. It was a good thing they were leaving in the morning.

  She moved swiftly down the narrow street, slipping between the looming apartment blocks until the familiar outline of her building came into view. She hurried inside and down the stairs, sliding her key into the lock of her tiny apartment.

  It was dark when she entered, the faint outline of a shabby couch barely visible in the gloom. Quinn didn’t bother turning on the light. Credits were tight, and light was a luxury they rationed. A thin wash of moonlight leaked through the blinds, sketching pale lines across the floor.

  The apartment was hardly more than a box—two rooms wedged together with the necessities packed in like it had been vacuum sealed. The front room doubled as both kitchen and living space. A rusted stove sat wedged between a counter cluttered with unopened mail and an old fridge you had to watch ads to open.

  Quinn crept quietly inside and eased opened the bedroom door. It was smaller, no bigger than a large storage closet and was just wide enough for a bed pressed against the wall and a crate they’d repurposed into a dresser. Clothes were stacked against a corner, a couple of toys scattered next to them. It was cramped, peeling, and drafty, but it was theirs.

  Sophie lay curled on the bed, the soft glow of moonlight illuminating her wide, open eyes. A few silky curls fell across her forehead. She hugged a stuffed bunny tightly to her chest, its once-bright polka dots faded to soft pastels. Years of love had worn the fabric thin, the stuffing clumped at the bottom so that the neck hung limp where her small arms always squeezed it. Quinn crossed the room and sank onto the edge of the mattress, tugging a ratty blanket up around her sister’s shoulders.

  “I’m sorry I woke you,” she whispered.

  Sophie yawned, stretching her arms toward Quinn. “You didn’t,” she said. “I woke up and you weren’t here. Then I heard noises. I thought there was a monster under the bed.” Her voice wavered. “I was scared.”

  Quinn’s chest tightened. She brushed a curl from her sister’s face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I had to take care of something very important. You must’ve been so brave without me.”

  “I was really brave!” Sophie said. “I remembered what to do about monsters.”

  “You remembered! Can you remind me? I might need a little help.”

  Sophie swallowed, her voice small but steady. “We show them no fear.”

  “That’s right,” Quinn tucked the blanket snug around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We show them no fear. And what else?”

  Sophie’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “We destroy them,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Quinn said, smiling slowly. “We destroy them.”