As Real As Real

By D Star

As real as real gets?
3 years ago a sensationalist news article asked: Genetically-engineered Sex Dolls: Myth or Reality? Not many people took that exposé seriously.
It is said crime syndicate money employed embryologists, development biologists, and specialists from biotechnology companies, to produce a series of perfected beings. Imprisoned in exclusive dollhouses in the service of those who can afford to pay, little people never see these superhumans.
With mind-reading abilities and, at their most potent, mind control, liberated Genetically-engineered sex dolls become the syndicate’s biggest threat.
FBI special agent Young is assigned to hunt down the NFA, a terrorist group who target biotech interests. On the trail of Gabrielle Unity, he uncovers the truth behind the Genetically-engineered.
Gabi is one of the syndicate's more bizarre creations: a lioness-human woman. A weapon rarely out of arm's reach, she waits for her enemies to call, believing one day she will take them all down.
Lara Walker, a beautiful, perfect specimen. With fake ID she is trying to act normal however is finding it harder to blend in.
Lara falls for Brad Weston, a journalist, who early on senses she might really be a G-E SD on-the-run. Can such a relationship survive the dual pressures of Lara struggling against her genes to stay faithful and the deadly fight against the crime syndicate they find themselves in?

• Language: English
• Publisher: D Star
• Release date: Apr 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310914690

D Star

D Star is a pseudonym for "As Real As Real", she has used another for novels in another genre. She currently resides in London, England. The next novel in the series, "Be Unreal", is available from January 2021 with Amazon Kindle only.

Book preview

01:

She wanted to check if she still had extraordinary powers. It meant possibly exposing herself to the world, and in an accessible location that was potentially dangerous, but she had to know. Maybe they were gone and she could envisage a time, when that part of her life was an indistinct memory, which at some future point would be totally forgotten.

The subway train was tightly packed, mostly with tourists, office workers, and those on the way to the central shopping city. The compartment-loads especially heavy as it was one of the designated days non-essential private car journeys within a zoned city were prohibited. Her fingertips brushed over his wrist. Amid a crush of bodies, this slightest of contacts occurred at the very moment a batch of commuters started forcing their way to the exiting doors. If the young man noticed who’d touched him, it would’ve been difficult to pursue a warranted prosecution for willful sexual battery.

VISUAL

A twentyish male, attractive in a boyish way with well-defined cheekbones His neutral features suddenly change His face displays surprise, suspicion and irritation, comparable to a facial expression when reacting to a low level of pain

TEXT

Male, twenty-four. There are indications of chemical stimulants intended to boost concentration, adrenaline and to inhibit neural weaknesses. These traces suggest he works in entertainment or news media.

AUDIO

—From the sample the subject’s orientation is unequivocally heterosexual. His sexual tastes are deemed to be (pause) UNCONVENTIONAL (said quickly). Is open to practices classified under BIZARRE. Passive rather than dominant—

SIM

In the center of an otherwise bare cell the male subject naked on hands and knees Hand-cuffed with arms behind his back and head bowed An attractive naked man well-endowed and an attractive partially naked woman massive bosoms bouncing stride hand-in-hand into the cell Their disjointed and broken-up reflections flit over stainless steel tiles that cover the walls

VISUAL

Quickly pulls out to a wide view Then pinpoints a male crotch: a high-angle shot in extreme close-up The shape and dimensions of the genitals tightly clad within the pants section of a spandex one-piece fill up the area of view

TEXT

Penis when flaccid: 6.4 inches. Size at erection estimated at 7.9 inches. BIZARRE preference: humiliation inflicted by female on subject as part of S/M role play.

As inconspicuously as possible the attractive blonde woman eased away from the twentyish male, edging deeper into the crowd. The evident reaction to the touch was perceptible for no more than two seconds. There may’ve been a subcutaneous irritation, like the lightest of touches against poison ivy, but the sense only lasted a brief moment. Surprise, coming from the sudden sensation, was what made him aware. Those who let themselves be appraised feel no pain. They expect to feel the tip of the nanosyringe, but hardly notice an insertion has been made and the test is complete. There is no distinct, surviving mark to signify the skin has been penetrated.

She turned her face away and concentrated on making her mind clear. And sensing only the material facts: she was on a subway train in a crowd of commuters, a typical journey en route to the shopping city, a row of flat monitor screens set at eye level within each compartment partition, running promos about things to do and buy, she fixed on the visuals of what looked like a large-in-scale lobby of a 1920s Art Deco-styled hotel, the camera suddenly panning up across chandeliered ceilings, a cut to a broad, dependable-looking man in a period uniform suit, stood in front of a reception desk and smiling appreciatively, a long track through a suite, through a reception room and into the bedroom, a massive bed covered by a pink satin throw.

‘—and it doesn’t cost as much as you may think. After a full day spent enjoying all the many delights to be discovered by you, at the world’s best Shopping City, you too can relax in the lavish comfort of another time. Come and stay with us at—’

SIM/SIM AUDIO

The young man lies on a glossy laid out satin bed throw blanket His bodyweight forms a faint hollow right down its center He is peering up toward someone else in the bedroom His right hand frantically rubs his fully exposed intimate part —Stop. I’ve seen enough, white boy. (A stern female voice.) Turn ’round. I wanna see your skinny white ass. I wanna see it burn— He stops abruptly Switches his position on the bed He crouches forward onto his knees legs spread apart —That’s it, that’s right, I shoulda known you done this before. I wanna see the blood rushing to ya white cheeks! Gonna break ya ass—

Internally, the simulated images and audio swept through her quickly, and she gave them little regard.

People around her hunched-up their bodies into get-away stances. She was rocked to one side as the pressure of bodies took momentum toward the opening doors of the car. She glanced back for the young man. He was holding on to an overhead handle, unconcerned about others brushing up against him. He looked around intently, searched for something he sensed was there. Knocked aside, the blonde woman’s hip struck the side of a partition. Nearly bent-double she was swept forward. She stumbled backwards before grabbing hold of a handrail. Commuters around her carried on pushing and scuffling toward the exit doors. His glance stopped at her blue eyes. He’d spotted her looking directly at his face. An extremely attractive young woman, possibly still a teenager, on whatever level, or whatever one’s tastes, she was a classic. Healthy thick hair, unblemished light skin, beautiful features and piercing eyes that confidently looked at a man and held his attention. Nothing vulgar. He couldn’t tell much about her body—it was hidden in baggy nondescript clothes. Evaluating her by chin and face—no trace of unsightly fat there—she was probably finely proportioned in all the right places. Breasts, ass, thighs, he was positive she was no let-down.

What was she doing looking at him? The feeling he got in return was totally unreal and got him thinking about her in terms that were just as farfetched. Was it the way she’d suddenly appeared out of nowhere and mesmerized him, like it was claimed one of them could? They were illegal, of course. Cloning of complete body humans from modified genes was banned internationally, and upheld by all the major countries. The same international agreement made it strictly illegal to reprogram nuclei for regulating the development of a new embryo.

Unlawful as it was, the capacity to create new humans adapted for particular tasks, and excelling in specialized skills, had been available for as many years as he’d lived. Vast improvements in human DNA sequencing significantly improved accuracy, finally cutting-out errors when a DNA sequence was computed into digital code. Such advances made the error-free production of synthetic genomes, commonplace. New genes were produced that were capable of creating, adjusting, and sustaining living cells. Further progress came with the automation of much of the gene building process. Software programs were developed that were able to compute how to synthesize a sequence and then produce it on a DNA robotic assembly line: the assembly, error correction and PCR amplification of a process that required minimal human quality control. All significant breakthroughs, but the one that really quickened the potential for the creation of a new breed of human, was a development that allowed a more precise method of gene mapping. In theory, it considerably assisted molecular biology’s ultimate quest to uncover exactly which specific characteristics were specific to which genes.

What had traditionally been done laboriously, by trial and error, in using DNA library stock or recreating genes organically and testing how they functioned in vitro, was made largely obsolete by computer software enabled by hardware, millions of times faster than computers as they were at the start of the 21st century. A complete virtual human body that included the mechanism of exact modeled cells was mapped out on a program. Knocking out virtual genes and seeing what cells died or what changed, was a basic application. New genetic code could be introduced into the virtual body. In principle, the potentiality of synthetic genes, to successfully alter the structure and function of any cell, could be tested and monitored. It was patchy and although specialists in the field had come a long way in discovering the source of all type of major and minor function, a full classification of the complete set of human genes was unlikely to be accomplished in their lifetime.

Genetically-engineered sex doll was the crude term that quickly entered into common usage. Apparently they aren’t anything like simple-minded rubbery androids which, on a bed, might seem like the real thing, but have their own peculiar odor, a toughness to the skin. Too readily hard in too many places. But the sex dolls are better than real.

The young man dropped his gaze. She’d discreetly diverted her glance and was looking at the exit doors. The last stop was approaching rapidly. He could feel the bodies around him slouching, coming out of their rigid, protective postures. The flow was quick, ruthless and inescapable. They were all heading in the one direction. He watched her go, carried past the exiting doors, a slight stumble, a glance back, trying to turn around in a mass of compacted bodies moving crossways, upwards above the transport complex on an automated walkway. She reached an intersection where the main walkways divided into smaller tributaries, rolling at a moderate speed to various drop-off points situated in the huge basement plaza of the shopping city. Having to act quickly, before he ended up on the wrong side of the massive square, he jumped onto the same small walkway she’d ended up on.

Up ahead he sighted her strolling slowly to a fountain point, integral tiled seating—part of the fountain bowl’s boundary—empty of shoppers.

She swiveled around and stood waiting in a confident upright posture, shoulders squared, smiling, observing him come forward.

‘I didn’t think you’d follow me,’ she remarked, her voice faint and delicately feminine.

‘Can’t say why I did, actually.’ He leveled his stare onto to her pure blue eyes, she was almost as tall as him. ‘I saw you looking at me, and, you know.’

‘Like we’re drawn to each other, somehow? Strange.’ She gazed at him, full-on. ‘Wanna go to a hotel?’

‘Are you a genetically-engineered sex doll?’ he blurted out, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

She laughed, smiling pleasantly, absently ran a fingertip through her bouncy, well-groomed blonde hair.

‘Um, that’s inventive. Do I look like one?’

‘Duh. I feel so stupid. I mean, if they exist, they probably look like you.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ she undid the top button of her long coat, a glimpse of bosoms inside of her T-shirt showed them to be perfectly balanced, large but not gross. ‘I’m just an all-American girl, one who knows exactly, what she wants. Gotta ask, you coming willingly to Times Square Hotel or do I drag you there by the balls?’

SIM/SIM AUDIO

The male subject stands by the reception desk situated in a vast hotel lobby In a corner a uniformed reception clerk rapidly touching on screen commands is inattentive to the hotel guests An extremely attractive woman in an expensive black designer dress and heels is situated about five steps from the male subject her right elbow rested on the solid oak reception desk She looks at the subject with a disgruntled expression —Aren’t you going to say something?— she snaps —Or should I find someone who can actually do a man’s job? Might as well ask the bellhop to do the evil to me later. Surely do a better job!—

AUDIO

—The subject likes to give in to his whims and has few sexual inhibitions that would stop him from trying new things. He will respond positively to dirty talk and be sexually aroused by aspersions that he is not a real man. He is a passive and will want to be humiliated by the dominant partner—

He’d heard the rumors and read the sensationalist news feature exposé from a few years back that no one that mattered took seriously. How crime syndicate money hired not too scrupulous embryologists, synthetic biologists, and other specialists from legitimate biotechnology companies, all working toward adapting, reproducing and constituting livestock on order. A team to produce a series of perfect women and men. Rumor says there were about anything from several hundred to thousands made. Some sold privately, the rest spread throughout the major cities, confined to exclusive clubs for those who can afford to pay. Little people never see these superhumans.

Theory says, human characteristics do not depend solely on a perfected embryonic cellular structure around a fetus. Specialized genes in the body can be corrupted by an impartial and conflicting environment. So they weren’t and can’t be allowed outside. It’s been said if one of them escaped out of one of the totally secure places they’re confined in, they wouldn’t be able to cope in the outside world. From day-one they were taught their purpose. These are humans created exclusively for one main activity.

The stories circulating about these near-legendary creatures need a separate chapter in a text of urban legends. The base cells used in making them came from a variety of subjects chosen for their particular attributes, physical and psychological. These donors were mostly fully grown adults. So it’s said the new creations developed quickly but that also means they have a limited lifespan. How many years they have before decrepitude, due to accelerated premature aging, depends on the person who has the opinion.

They have minute exploratory probes embedded in their fingertips, connected to circuitry installed in the brain. This relays visual and audio data about any subject human by analysis of the person’s blood, DNA, pheromones, etc. All too hard to believe. The young man had even heard some of them were so well trained in knowing what a person wants they’d developed an extra-sensory awareness, precognitive visions, Clairaudience, and telepathy.

In a small driverless electric cab, like a mechanized golf cart, they sat close opposite each other, knees nearly touching, sometimes nudged together. Frequently the cab’s guidance system sensors set-off buzzers and flashed headlights every time a pedestrian unexpectedly idled into a path the cab intelligently set itself. Long hallways and immense floor spaces were filled with strollers and electric cabs, the cabs invariably following each other in lines that were set out on the shiny floors, lines unperceivable to the naked human eye mapping routes throughout the vast shopping city. Occasionally, its navigation brain having detected and calculated an alternative, more efficient path, a cab would tug away from a line and cut through gaps in crowds. The calculation was accurate and true to its defined purpose, meaning the lightweight cab would swerve around solid densities and accelerate through openings, flashing and buzzing if it sensed a mobile or any unpredictable obstruction getting too close to its plotted-out—and quickly adjustable—course.

The young man, whose name was given as Brad Weston, nodded and smiled. Not saying much, he closely observed the blonde woman’s beautiful face. She was chatting incessantly. It was stuff he was comfortable with, things he might discuss with people in his business. She was certainly knowledgeable about gossip and topics in the visual news industry. The cab buzzing through the wide busy thruway of an electronic goods district she informed him about the rumored sexual tastes of a famous anchor—and hinted she was going to try something similar once they got to a hotel suite. While she was talking it occurred to her—exactly what Stefan, her boyfriend, had developed thoughts about in the morning—she gave nothing away about herself. But right then that was the okay thing: on the way to a chance sexual engagement, to open up and talk about inner feelings would’ve been the exception.

Implanted under her retina, a microchip containing thousands of photodiodes, electrodes, and amplifiers. The chip was the operating system for a micro cam lens in her cornea. The cam tightly framed Brad Weston in a close-up. A manic-depressive perspective, homing in on the detail. She could see blackheads and deep pores in his cheeks. In moments like these, she wondered what the third view actually added to what was already there in plain sight.

TEXT

The male, Brad Weston, has an inquisitive mind, in his profession and in life generally. An indication of this displays itself in a curiosity toward subjects and questions he feels are unresolved in his mind. The chemical stimulants detected in his bloodstream will fortify this curiosity. Mental processes—rather than somatic influences—will provoke a tingling sensation, located and associated to his wrist at the point of probing insertion. This will stimulate and reactivate earlier speculation in the subject’s mind relating to genetically-engineered humans.

Other reported symptoms of the detected chemical stimulants are said to be—DISCLAIMER: Source verification advised—an acute hyperconsciousness: heightened mental awareness, which can be highly susceptible to delusional thoughts.

She was picking it up anyway, the same way she’d read her boyfriend, Stefan, that morning. Stefan hadn’t said anything, the intrinsic thoughts were there crying out for attention in the background. There was desperation in his need to know about her family and past life. It was a question of trust: a feeling he doesn’t know the real her because she seemed incapable of completely opening up, and he was hurt by that. Given a few weeks for the introspection to cultivate and gain ground it would become an issue, a make or break one.

Internal audio advised her of the distinct probability: ‘Over curiosity will impel the subject, in his search for evidence of surgical incisions, to a thorough examination of your fingertips and your skull.’ At the same time a sim visualized a headshot of Brad Weston with transfixed, bloated eyes, wide open mouth, and an inert stiff tongue hanging loose.

The sim’s point of view pulled back. Came in close to a neck-tie drawn tightly around his throat. Underneath the taut neck-tie what looked like a rope-burn was partially visible—how she wished she could stop the sim, but she had no control over the simulated content. The POV gradually moved downwards, from neck to along the length of a limp body, until finishing on a final shot, at dangling feet suspended off the ground in deep focus.

What the visual sim was trying to recommend or the reason behind its creation, she didn’t fully understand. She guessed it was a reconstruction of a random subconscious thought, on the lines of: to keep herself safe, Brad Weston would have to die.

02:

Starting off in the hotel elevator while giving Brad Weston a long scornful glare, and continued en route all the way to their hotel suite, it came to her played out like a movie in near real time. A mixture of live action replay, occasional voiceover commentary and visual and audio sims that were a reimagining of actual events from earlier in her day.

‘Good morning.’ The voice of a TV anchor.

‘Police forensic teams searched the site of a fertility clinic and genetics library in Santa Monica, near Los Angles, last night. Powerful bomb explosions in the gene library, on the building’s first story, blew out windows, causing major structural damage.’

A reporter’s voice.

‘LA Police said the first explosion started a chain reaction, setting off, one by one, a series of small incendiary devices. Flames spread quickly, engulfing the entire Santa Monica complex occupied by the Nu-Life company. The clear-up at nearby stores on the fashionable Montana Avenue has already begun, several buildings there having lost their windows last night.’

The sound of glass or other abrasive debris being swept on a sidewalk.

‘The bombing was claimed as an official action by the Natural Freedom Army, the terrorist group responsible for last month’s murder of the renowned genetic scientist, Dr Drew Petrovich. The NFA began their terrorist campaign against targets they see as associated with genetic engineering and biotechnology, in April of this year, with their first bomb attack against Nu-Life premises. Commanding officer at the scene, Commander Toomer, gave a short statement.’

Noise of brisk footfalls on concrete. Short verbal torrent from competing voices in the background: a dissonant noise. Not one word from the reporters can be distinguished. Occasional whirring and clicking.

‘Less than half an hour ago an anonymous message was sent to LAPD headquarters. This message included a code word as used by the Natural Freedom Army in previous communications sent to law enforcement agencies. The message confirmed the offices of Nu-Life, in Santa Monica, had been chosen as their target. The type of explosive devises were the same type used by the NFA in the past. We’re not talking sophisticated hardware here. The materials used are readily available. However amateur the bombs might’ve been, they can still generate enough nuisance to be a big ass pain for everyone involved. As you can see, the buildings suffered a lot of damage. Fortunately, this time, there were no fatalities. We’re expecting extensive local cam and sat coverage to give us a good look at the perpetuators. As you can well understand, we’ll be looking at those with interest.’

A short pause. A reporter’s voice.

‘As with past incidents carried out by the NFA, a report on the bombing was carried on U Make News, an interactive public news Netchannel. The news story was placed on the channel’s bulletin board and broadcast once every fifteen minutes, over three hours, from 11p.m. last night. The production source was again unaccredited, but the report is believed to have come from NFA sources. Professionally produced, with industry standard broadcast quality, it ran with little editorial manipulation. Included was a digital simulation of the initial explosion at the Nu-Life clinic, understood to be an accurate representation of the real blast.’

The noise of a loud boom. A short pause. The anchor’s voice.

‘So reserved and uncommunicative that she’s been labeled the Greta Garbo of track and field, the defending 100-meter Olympic champion and current world champion in all three of her individual events, Marion Green, has left the Olympic city in weird circumstances a day before her first competitive heat.’

The voice of a reporter.

‘Marion Green left the Olympic village in a hurry, effectively quitting the competition not long after rumors emerged, alleging she’d fallen out with the administrators of USA Track and Field. When she flew into Thailand her former coach assaulted a cameraman.’

‘Didn’t I say, No filming? Come any nearer I’m gonna hit you, you piece a shit. You hear me? What did I say? Huh?’ The muffled sound of a scuffle and then something like a carom on a hard floor. ‘What did I say? What did I say?’

‘After the commotion in front of waiting passengers in the airport lounge, airport security was alerted.’

‘I said, You come near me and I’ll hit you! You hear?’

‘The chase continued into a nearby boutique.’

‘I sold my soul, yeah—’

‘After this incident Green and her boyfriend and former coach, Hami Headley, were held by the Thai authorities for several hours before being released.’ In the background, underneath the commentary, a track sportscaster’s frenzied commentary during one of Marion Green’s races. ‘Winning three gold medals at the last Olympics, and widely predicted to win up to five this time, Green had trained in private, and declined to stay at the Olympic camp with fellow USA athletes. Her opponent and greatest rival for the 100-meters, Conchita Böll, expressed surprise at Green’s startling departure.’

A short pause. The anchor’s voice.

‘Six months to the day since last contact, a message was received from the Permanent Mars Station earlier this morning. An unmanned space mission to Mars was launched by China exactly eighteen months ago, said to pave the way for future manned settlement by monitoring the sealed habitat within the ground station. Tests are said to be on-going to determine long test safety. The video message came from Lin Yang Two, one of the more famous astrobots of the three bot team, robots similar to those widely used in the care industry.’

‘Hello, Earth. I wish you greetings and good health!’ Sounding like an adult female human voice, apart from an intermittent burst of hurried delivery and a childish zest. ‘I report good news. The oxygen removal system is A-okay! Our tests on oxygen levels in the habitat are proven to be safe and food grown is yummy and not poisoned. We are missing you, and hope to see you soon!’

The sound of jet-propelled water squirting in the next room. Stefan Yurick could distinctly make out the water splashes, the noise water makes when the body compresses against the full force of a shower-jet. Flat down on his front Stefan edged away from his side of a queen size bed mattress. He pictured a rebound splash, a picture in his head of a water-jet imploding from a hollow under his girlfriend’s neck. His extended hands were balled, which rested either side on a level with his head. He pressed his face into a large yielding pillow on her side of the bed. Shampoo, the scent of her conditioner, sweat, oils, secretions, and all others unaccountable, that made-up the total. The smell was hers. He sunk in deeper. The odor was comforting. But he didn’t think about or acknowledge it was there as a conscious feeling.

Tightly, he pressed his lids together. He could no longer resist the full force of daylight that filtered through closed curtains, or completely ignore stray interior sounds and activity that appeared sharper, ‘The Giants arrive in Tampa today to begin their build up,’ with the electronic burr of the environmental and hot water control system as it reset itself. The system noises loud and overwhelming, with harsh regurgitated plops and spurts. His eyes broadened from thin slits. He felt, near fully awake.

From the next door bathroom came the throb and hum of a fan and dehumidifier, set to automatically step up a notch for five minutes when water pressure is shut off. He made out the bathroom door close and footfalls lightly cushioned in the hallway. From a roll off his side, Stefan lay on his back. The back of his head was depressed into the large pillow. As if getting his bearings, he glimpsed a small section of the bedroom, then slowly got up from the bed.

He glanced to an alarm clock on a side table by the bed, turned and walked through a door into the apartment hallway. Sounds of objects moving about, like a cup or another item of crockery placed on a surface, from the kitchen behind him. From elsewhere, the voice of a female anchor, the steady intonation tight and efficient. He concentrated on the commentary. He was interested in an item because it was about the previous day’s events in his girlfriend’s home state, interested because all the time they’d been together she hardly talked about what she used to do there, and the more he got to know about her home state, the more he thought he might get to know about his girlfriend, Lara Walker.

After the news item finished Stefan walked into the bathroom and through automatically opening sliding glass doors stepped onto a shower pan. The faucets switched on. He picked up a bar of soap and walked into the water-jets. He worked the soap in circular motions, scraping under armpits and across his chest and stomach and genitals. That’s the thing about Lara. She seems to talk about everything, she can chat non-stop over several hours. It occurred to him, she had many opinions and observations about an exterior world, about others. She just doesn’t talk about herself. He stepped in closer, allowing the force of the jets to hit hard against his lowered head, his eyes closed.

Continuous words, unintelligible but resolute, came dampened through the wall into the bathroom. A noticeable reduction in volume when a news story showed live action. Rarely it happened that a short pause without sound could be distinguished. The faucets were turned off. The steady voice became more audible, but the whole broadcast was indistinct and Stefan didn’t attempt to concentrate on the sound.

He grit his teeth. Brought his eyelids together as if he felt pain from a towel he scrunched tightly back and forth against his skull. He took a glance at a steamed-up bathroom mirror. He moved forward and smeared its coating, wiping a view within the condensation. Within many thoughts he produced, the one given structure by being an internal dialogue with himself, said he must get an haircut. He tugged and pressed the towel up and down off the front of his fringe. The long hair was getting too troublesome. He asked the augmented reality feature of the mirror to consider his hair cut shorter, cut close to the skull. In immediate response to an additional voice command of, ‘Shaved-closer,’ the actualized head and shoulders image was modified. Within the mirror an oval viewer showed Stefan with a fashionable hairstyle that made him look ten years younger. He could get away with seeming to be in his twenties again. Stefan smiled at the side-by-side images of himself, smearing himself a bigger arc in the misted-up mirror. He ruffled tufts along the length of the fringe covering his forehead, giving them body, fluffing the drying hair up. His eyes centered back, sighted the reflected front of his face. He smiled at himself again, an internal dialogue told him he looked good.

Audio that inquired if he wanted to schedule an appointment with his usual hairdresser, was temporarily dismissed with an applicable word. Stefan slipped into freshly-pressed boxers. He tugged his towel in place over a rail, seemingly without much attention yet so neatly the corners lined up precisely, glanced briefly back over his shoulder at the mirror, and left the bathroom. He entered the living room. Stefan had no purpose there, he entered for confirmation of some fact that wasn’t given much thought. He glanced around as if searching for something. He expected to see his girlfriend and to say the usual words. His features did not react in a way that acknowledged she was absent, and perhaps they ought to have done, at least a ripple, a touch of feeling making creases in