Twenty-four years since the Zaibatsu took over. Alongside China, they set up the Corporate Congress to take control of everything. Now everything is choomba - government, media, culture - all puppeted by the Corps'' agenda. Kang Tao''s 76rd Corporate Constitution demands execs'' absolute loyalty to corporate Benefactors.


    In a tiny housing unit, lazy Jim, eighteen, lounges, flipping channels on his device.


    "Put on something choomba, Agent," he drones.


    The screen displays an interview with Lily, a famous transgender street artist, now Corps'' darling. Draped on a pretentious divan, she smiles coyly for the camera lenses. The middle-aged talk show host leans forward, his smile as artificial as Lily''s custom body.


    "Well choom, look who it is - the hottest new chromestar! Welcome to ''UnImpartial Focus,'' darling!"


    "Hey hey, thanks for having me," Lily purrs, fidgeting with the platinum band on her digit.


    "Of course! It''s an honor to have you in your esteemed position."


    "Oh please, so many preem artists are ignored by the Corps." She smiles.


    Jim quickly sketches Lily''s features - the almond eyes, sharp nose, full lips.


    "So tell us choom, how do you handle toxic hate?" The host rests his palm on her hand.


    "Like a queen, love! And if that fails, my ripperdoc prescribes oxy."


    "Wow, elegant! And your thoughts on the Corporate Congress economy?" He retracts his hand, suppressing a smirk.


    "Simmer down now! My fans are in the American Quadrant. That''s all that pays the bills."


    "Of course, of course. Our queen stays divisive! Speaking of division, your take on political polarity?"


    "People choom love watching folks fight in the extremes! It''s so fun."


    The host and artist share an awkward grin.


    "To the stage!"


    The camera shows cheering fans as a neo-soul singer takes the stage, eyes closed, clutching the chrome mic like a baby bird in her hands. Her expression is pure zeal and feeling, her soul seeping into each note. Her voxbox voice pierces the cheers, silencing the room.


    "You’re my charm, the black stone on my chest


    You’re my secret, the yellow hidden sun


    You’re the burning fire, red flame of passion


    You’re my nurture, the white milk of breast”


    The singing continues as Lily''s persona fades. The host''s voice stirs the audience.


    "Thank you Vanessa!" Lily claps. "Bravo!" The crowd joins her applause.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "As someone openly non-binary, can true objectivity exist?"


    "Please choom, ''unImpartialness'' just feeds egos."


    "Ha, yes indeed. Chairman Silver sure has the gift of gab too."


    "Oh Chaz? His place is behind bars, right? Justice will take its course."


    "Yes, of course. Shall we cut to ads then?"


    "Sure choom, life''s just one big ad anyway."


    He slides off his bunk, leaving his agent streaming as he dashes to the bathroom. The shower hisses on, steam fogging the dingy mirror. Over the drizzle, he can still discern the saccharine talk show banter. Cranking the audio, Jim returns, ready to take off his top. But he pauses, gazing fixedly at his reflection. He runs a finger across his mouth, noting how it mirrors Lily''s shape. On impulse, he grabs his mother''s lipstick tube and paints the mirror''s lips crimson.


    "Preem? More like perverse,"


    Jim mutters. "She''s chrome, I''m just...gross."


    He stares into the mirror as the talk show’s praise and platitudes still blare. On screen, Lily soaks up applause as the host prods her about the next product drop. Jim examines his imperfections under harsh LEDs—a zit here, patchy stubble there. His gaze drifts down to the curve of his chest, concealed by his wifebeater.


    "Yo, Agent, patch me to the Unbiased channel."


    "Connecting to the Unbiased channel," the AI chirps.


    "Crank up or down the volume?"


    "Crank it."


    He strips, exposing his bare bod.


    His reflection reveals a mug begging for changes. Juice, slicin'' and dicin'', chrome—options await to reshape his ideal self, piece by dope tweak.


    Chairman Silver''s soothing baritone echoes from the agent. A GovCorp campaign ad blasts on screen, trumpeting Brazil''s profitable pact brokering between Kang Tao''s Pacific Prosperity Sphere and the remaining Western quadras. Among the megacorps jousting for control of Brazil''s media silos, the Guiding Party has emerged on top. Though officially governed by Militech''s Progressive Union, the Guiding Party holds the real power. Their leader''s role as middleman between East and West has secured the Guiding Party to loyal followers.


    "You, my displaced choom who defies labels - I''m with you. In this cycle, vote for a party that governs all people. A party that''s neither Outworld progressive nor Inworld traditional: The Impartial Party!


    Jim grins, feeling aligned with his identity. The city''s cruel peepers will learn to accept, or go obsolete. For now, self-love is the first upgrade. Perfection will come, choom. Baby steps.


    Jim chuckles at his reflection. As he mimics Lily''s features with crimson lipstick, the front door slides open. His mother Rosa trudges in, reeking from a long shift at the algae plant.


    "An eighteen-year-old choom playing dress up? Shameful," she sneers.


    "Just experimenting with my look, nom," Jim explains, hiding the lipstick tube.


    "While the shower and Agent run wild? Typical waste."


    "They were just on, nom."


    "Do you know how much I sacrifice for you?"


    "One day I''ll be known as Lily, choom."


    "Ha! Ideology won''t get you chrome and warm synthmeat."


    "Talent helps too, nom."


    "Elections are coming, and assistance won''t increase."


    "Gov corps never help us."


    "At least they tried until the Corporate Congress coup of ''76!"


    "I''ll get a private education, choom."


    "For what? Some useless art degree?"


    "Fine arts, nom. The world needs people like me."


    "I won''t pay for fantasy. Grow up Jim."


    "But for people like us, this city''s a cage."


    "Picasso had real talent, not like you," she ridicules.


    "What''s that painting called nom?" Junior points.


    "How about ''Misadventures of a Sewer Rat''?"


    "It''s abstract, choom."


    "And worthless data clutter."


    Jim sighs, hiding his lipstick-smudged reflection from view. “One day you''ll see me for who I am nom. Until then, I''ll keep dreaming.” he thinks of saying.