“Miss Charlie, you need to wake up, or you will be late,” Jerry’s calm, ever-persistent voice rang out.
“Come on, longer,” I mumbled groggily, burying myself deeper under the covers. My fortress of warmth was impenetrable.
“The time was pre-agreed, Miss Charlie,” Jerry pressed on, his tone unwavering.
“I! NEED! SLEEP!” I hissed, channeling my inner ferocious northern serpent snakie. With a triumphant flourish, I yanked the watch off my wrist, shoved it under my pillow, and growled, “Stay!”
For a moment, there was blissful silence.
Victory.
Then Jerry’s voice returned, annoyingly cheerful and now emanating from a speaker somewhere in my room. “Miss Charlie, I’m your friendly AI, not a dog.”
“Hmpf!” I pouted, retreating even deeper into the blanket cocoon. “I don’t wanna go out! It’s cold! I’m happy here!”
“I have checked the current temperature, Miss Charlie. It is 24 degrees Celsius—very warm by most human standards.”
“It’s not about the temperature!” I shot back, my voice muffled by the blankets. “It’s the vibe! I’m cozy, Jerry. Cozy beats waking up any day.”
Jerry remained unimpressed. “I cannot see how waking up and coziness are mutually exclusive. You specifically requested I ensure you wake up on time today.”
I groaned dramatically, flailing a hand out from under the covers in a show of defeat. “Why did I give you so much authority?”
“Because you’re resourceful and value efficiency,” Jerry replied smoothly, the smugness practically radiating from his voice.
“That was rhetorical!” I snapped, throwing the blanket off in a huff. The cold air immediately attacked, and I regretted my decision. “Fine! I’m up! But don’t think I’m happy about it.”
“Duly noted, Miss Charlie,” Jerry said, and if AIs could smile, I was sure he’d be beaming. “Shall I prepare your morning updates while you get ready? The night was busy with your content on the ranking page.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, rubbing my eyes as I shuffled toward the closet. “But first, coffee. Lots of it. And maybe regret. Definitely regret.”
“I have reached an agreement with Mister Riker’s legal team. For their exclusivity, they—”
“I don’t care about the details,” I cut him off, waving a hand dismissively as I reached for my coffee mug. “Anything interesting?”
Jerry hesitated, clearly unprepared for my lack of interest in the fine print. “Uhm… your video is very popular.”
I took a sip of the steaming coffee, savoring the warmth as it slid down my throat. “Good,” I said simply, leaning back in my chair and eyeing the watch. “Anything else, or is that the highlight of my morning?”
“For now, that’s the highlight,” Jerry admitted, his tone almost sheepish. “But if you’d like, I can analyze social media metrics for deeper insights.”
“Please don’t,” I replied, resting my head in my hand. “I’ll take the win and avoid a breakdown about why people love watching me get pummeled by ice statues.”
Jerry’s voice carried a hint of humor. “As you wish, Miss Charlie. I must say, your charisma is proving remarkably effective, even in moments of peril.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, suppressing a smile. “Charisma or just people enjoying my suffering—it’s a fine line.”
“Miss Charlie, Mister Roberto is nearly here. I underestimated his speed. You should hurry,” Jerry informed me with the calmness of someone who wasn’t about to have their life thrown into chaos.
“The hell he is!” I practically yelled, dashing toward the closet. My hands fumbled as I yanked the door open. “How much time do I have?”
“I may have informed him that you were attending—”
“When-is-he-here!” I interrupted, my voice reaching a near shriek.
“Approximately… ten minutes,” Jerry said, his tone almost apologetic.
“JERRY!” I shouted, already bolting for the bathroom. “You’re supposed to manage time, not ruin it!”
I threw the door open and glimpsed my reflection in the mirror.
My hair was an unruly mess, my blonde hair sticking up in every direction as though it had rebelled against me personally. My pajamas were adorably pink, yes, but not exactly meeting someone at the door attire.
“You can leave him waiting, Miss Charlie. It’s perfectly reasonable—”
“It’s not!” I shouted over the sound of the faucet as I splashed cold water on my face. “My mind is on high alert, like I just walked into a boss’ room unprepared! I hate this!”
I couldn’t meet him looking like this told me my subconscious.
Jerry paused, his voice taking on a note of concern. “Miss Charlie, perhaps this level of stress is unnecessary. Mister Roberto does not seem like an individual who—”
“It doesn’t matter, Jerry!” I snapped, grabbing a brush and attacking the tangled mess that was my hair. “It’s not about him—it’s about me! I refuse to look like a disaster when someone’s at my door. Why does this always happen to me?” I muttered, trying to wrangle my hair into something that didn’t scream, just woke up.
“Miss Charlie, I’d like to remind you I cannot manage Mister Roberto’s driving speed,” Jerry said helpfully. “Perhaps a second reminder might prevent the future—”
“Not helping!” I snapped, fumbling with some hair ties and clips. I twisted my hair into a messy bun that was at least semi-presentable.
With two minutes shaved off, I quickly rummaged through the pile of clothes on the bathroom counter, searching for something that wouldn’t make me look like a disaster.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Miss Charlie, you still have—”
“I know!” I cut him off, grabbing a pair of black leggings and a comfy oversized sweater. “Don’t give me the countdown, Jerry. Just… keep him outside if I’m not ready!”
“As you wish, Miss Charlie. He’s almost here.”
“Of course he is,” I muttered, pulling on my outfit as fast as humanly possible. “Because the damn simulation hates me.”
With one final glance in the mirror, I grabbed my watch and slapped it onto my wrist. “Alright, Jerry. Let’s go meet the speedster before he thinks I’ve bailed.”
I sprinted for the door, heart racing and barely composed, just as the telltale sound of a car engine revving echoed outside.
Perfect timing.
“Ah, signorina! Ready for Rime-con? My cousin really likes you!” Roberto greeted me with his usual grin as I reached his car.
“No, I am not, Roberto,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry, I need time to fix—”
“Mister Riker arranged a make-up artist and outfit for you, Miss Charlie,” Jerry’s voice chimed in my head.
Of course he did. That piece of junk hadn’t mentioned it until now. I closed my eyes, suppressing the urge to argue with my watch. “Sorry, Roberto. Yes, we can go.”
Roberto, a true gentleman, opened my door for me before getting in himself.
Okay, maybe it’s a company policy. But I haven’t called Tüber ride.
As always, his car roared to life like it had just been unleashed from a cage. The speed was immediate and breathtaking, and my hands instinctively clutched the edge of the seat.
“So, signorina,” he said, eyes on the road but his tone light and teasing, “I didn’t know you were that famous.”
“I’m not,” I replied automatically.
Roberto let out a hearty laugh. “Ah, but my cousins were so excited when I told them it was me who dropped you at the tower. Should’ve known they wouldn’t let just anybody in there.”
“I…” I trailed off, suddenly reminded of the relentless ads Riker’s entertainment empire had been pumping out.
It hit me like a poorly aimed frost shard: Riker’s rankings weren’t just about tracking progress. They were setting the tone, creating a hierarchy of Rimelion celebrities. And somehow, I was part of that. “I am, aren’t I?”
“Certamente!” Roberto laughed again, steering sharply to avoid an AI-driven car that beeped angrily. “You need to sign my car, signorina! Imagine it—‘Driven by the Sword Queen!’ Perfecto!”
“Your car?” I repeated, incredulous, as I glanced at the speeding blur of pavement beneath us. “Why? So I can endorse your alternative routes?”
Roberto gestured grandly toward the road—or rather, the improvised path we were now taking. “Not a sidewalk, signorina. It’s an opportunity! We Italians, we find la strada where others see obstacles!”
“Uh-huh,” I muttered, gripping the door handle tighter as we narrowly missed a decorative fountain. “Well, your ‘strada’ better get me to Rime-con in one piece, or your cousins will be autographing this car instead.”
“Miss Charlie, I don’t endorse this man’s driving technique,” Jerry said in my head, his tone dry.
“Yeah, me neither,” I whispered, my knuckles white from gripping the door handle. “But… he’s an amazing driver.”
“That is undeniable,” Jerry conceded just as Roberto squeezed the car between a lumbering bus and a brick wall with a hair’s breadth to spare.
“We’re here, signorina!” Roberto announced with triumphant flair. From his driver’s seat, he somehow opened my door with a smooth motion.
“I… thank you, Roberto.” I stepped out, feeling a little wobbly from the adrenaline rush. With a quick wrist motion, I sent him payment, including a tip.
Jerry’s interface made it absurdly easy. “And thanks for the watch, Jerry.”
“No problem, Miss Charlie,” Jerry replied with practiced politeness.
I took a moment to gather myself.
We were standing in front of the Rimelion. No wait. I glanced at the sign, Riker’s Congress Center. He hadn’t renamed it yet.
Still a big-ass building capable of holding millions of attendees.
It loomed over the surrounding pitiful offices like a fortress of glass and steel, its massive holo-displays already advertising Rime-Con in bold, glowing letters.
Just seeing it again brought back memories—of chaotic crowds, relentless excitement, and overwhelming noise. In my past life, I’d attended quite a few cons here, but the sheer scale of it never failed to make my stomach churn.
This time’s different, I reminded myself. I’m not just here to gawk at boob—I mean booths—and snag freebies. I have a role to play.
“Let’s just go,” I muttered to myself, striding toward one of the service entrances.
A bored-looking girl stood guard there, holding a holo-tablet. Her brunette ponytail swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, and her eyeliner was so intricate it could have been a skill from Rimelion. She glanced up at me as I approached, her expression neutral.
“Key?” she asked curtly.
“Uh, key?” I responded, surprised.
“Yeah, key,” she repeated, her tone suggesting she was used to dealing with the clueless.
“She means entrance key,” Jerry chimed in helpfully in my head. “You have the quantum key, Miss Charlie.”
“No, I don’t have it.” My voice was flat as realization struck. “I left it in my reader at home.”
There was a pause as Jerry processed this.
“That… is unfortunate,” Jerry finally said, his tone sounding almost pained. “It appears your ‘stupid piece of junk’—as you so fondly call it—has indeed caused complications.”
The girl raised an eyebrow at me. “No key, no entry,” she said simply, tapping her holo-tablet in what seemed like practiced dismissal.
“Wait!” I blurted, scrambling for a solution. “I’m Charlie. The… uh… Sword Queen for the main event?”
The girl paused, giving me a skeptical once-over. Then, with a slow swipe of her finger on her tablet, she accessed a different screen.
After a few tense moments, her eyebrows shot up, and her bored expression melted into something resembling terror.
Is Riker an evil boss?
“Oh. Oh!” She straightened up, suddenly flustered. “Miss Charlie! I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize!” She tapped rapidly on her holo-tablet. “You’re cleared for VIP access. Go right through!”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Thanks,” I muttered, stepping past her into the service corridor.
Jerry’s voice returned in my head, smug. “Miss Charlie, it seems your fame precedes you, after all.”
“Yeah, yeah, fame,” I muttered. “But you’re not off the hook. We’re having a talk about your new emotions. Spending on credit and forgetting important details. Like taxi being faster, or leaving a quantum key.”
I walked through the long tunnel, the sound of my heels echoing off the metallic walls. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered occasionally, casting a harsh, sterile glow on the corridor. “Ugh, I always hated these. They always broke. Stupid cheap-ass lights!” My steps quickened, a mix of anticipation and dread boiling in my chest.
The tunnel finally opened into a spacious room, bustling with activity.
Technicians were scattered around, bent over consoles or adjusting the big-ass holo-displays that hovered mid-air, their projections shimmering with data streams, vibrant ads, and event schedules. The hum of machinery and the faint murmur of voices filled the air, giving the space a strangely lively yet mechanical vibe.
Then my heart sank.
There, standing in the center of it all, was a figure that could only be described as ridiculously over-the-top.
The unmistakable glimmer of a new coat—brighter and more obnoxious than the last one—caught the light and shimmered like a disco ball, reflecting the millions of lights here, momentarily blinding me as he turned to face me.
“Lady Charlie!” Riker’s voice boomed across the room, his smile growing impossibly wider as his arms spread theatrically.
“Oh, no,” I muttered under my breath, shielding my eyes from the glare of his multicolored monstrosity. “How is it shinier than before? Is that even legal?”
Riker, oblivious to my critique, strutted toward me as if the room were his personal runway.
Well, he owns it.
His coat sparkled with every step, a concert of shifting hues that screamed, look at me! It was as if someone had taken a rainbow, added glitter, and then decided it wasn’t enough, so they threw in a few hundred LEDs for good measure.
“Lady Charlie,” he repeated, stopping just short of me, his arms still dramatically outstretched. “How delightful it is to bask in your radiant presence once again! And might I add, you look absolutely stunning today.”
“Riker,” I said flatly, fighting the urge to rub my temples. “I look not-great. And you’re going to cause a traffic accident if you keep wearing coats like that.”
He laughed, completely undeterred. “Ah, but what is life without a little sparkle, my dear? A dull, colorless existence, I say! But come, come, we have much to discuss and little time before the festivities begin.”
I sighed, resigning myself to the inevitable chaos. “Fine, but if your coat blinds me, I’m holding you responsible.”
Riker’s grin widened. “Deal!”