I slink down in the hard plastic seat. The vibrant orange of the chair melds into the salamander of my jumpsuit, and together we form into a misshapen, miserable monster trapped in the belly of the corp leashed beast, also known as the mall.

  It’s been one long, terrible week since Evangeline stopped by the shop, and nothing was going to plan. It had taken almost the full week to get traction on any of the three trading apps, no matter how many times I reshared the listing of the fish bowl. So much for the cult following the web told me it had. Last night, a trade request slunk into my inbox. Fish bowl for a mobile bot charger. Not the best trade, but it may be more desirable. With a wobbly smile, I accepted it with a plan to meet at the mall since I had to be there anyway. The difficulty of securing the trade shot my confidence in the knee, but I’m not giving up. I’m getting to the stars.

  Still, I’m a miserable lump sitting in an uncomfortable chair buried in the recesses of what once was a simple figure-eight mall. Time comes for everything, though. As stores left and a corp bought the building, the constant state of flux was introduced. These days, the building is a ravenous city unto itself with teeth for doors threatening to gnash and swallow a person whole into bustling hallways where they can lose themselves in the cavernous, ever-changing beast of homes and stores. Usually, I avoid the ouroboros of rainbow tiles and walls, but today I’m supporting Mel.

  Last night, she peeked over her holo and told me about the role her agent had sent her. It was different than her other minor roles of sick people in hospital beds, elementary school teachers, or random café goer number three. This role was a single mother in a sitcom and would be a series regular. Mel asked me to come with her with wide eyes and a small voice. There was no way I could say no.

  I sigh into the frigid air, and regret fills the space left behind. I thump my cane on the ground, pulling myself away from the maze of memories and the throbbing pain of my joints. Mel chews her thumbnail next to me.

  “Stop that,” I whisper, motioning to her hand. “You don’t want to go into the audition with bitten nails.”

  “Distract me then,” Mel hisses, eyes pleading. “I’m so nervous. This role is so far outside my wheelhouse.”

  “No, it’s not,” I argue, not about to let her confidence drop. “You’d be a great single mom. You take care of me. Imagine I’m in there with you and you’re mothering me to take my meds and eat. You’re good at it.”

  “Not helping, Jaqs.” Her leg shakes, heel a tittering slap against the tile floor next to the fish bowl. I shove it under my seat with my foot, protecting it.

  The back hallway we’re tucked away in is desolate for distractions. Besides the door to the audition room, there’s little else here but other people shuffled into chairs, each trying to lose themselves in their holos, and the ven machs and mod trees of sunshine yellow in large alabaster pots sitting at the entrance of the hall. Az isn’t here to help distract her either. We left him at home and took a bus. I sigh, regretting what is about to come out of my mouth.

  “What do you want to talk about?” I ask.

  “When is the trader going to get here?” Mel replies.

  I grimace. My own fault. I did ask, and with how much Mel does for me, I can take one for the team. I check my holo for the time. “Soon. About ten minutes.”

  “Why so glum? You traded it.”

  “Yeah, but for something that may not be worth anything more than what I already had.” I pause. “I thought this would go better.”

  The words come out small and quiet. Defeat breaking through. The hope for success that took root withering under reality.

  “It’ll get better. This is a little bump, that’s all.”

  “I do love your optimism,” I say. I leave it up to Mel to determine if I’m being sarcastic. “Maybe I should stop trying to trade and sell the bot charger. Earn cost for the trip.”

  “No,” Mel snaps, the word coming out under her breath. Quiet and respectful of others in the hall. “You can’t give up on this, Jaqs.”

  “Why not?”

  Mel bites her lip, brows furrowing. She takes a moment, weighing her words. “Because I’m afraid you’ll give up completely if you don’t keep going, and I can’t watch you do that.”

  I stare at her. She’s right. And I hate that she is. Trading ignited an excitement within the deep recesses of my soul that had long atrophied a year ago due to the weight of losing the life I’d planned. One free of pain and endless doctor visits. One without a pharmacy of pills on my sink and the thunk of a cane on cracked sidewalks.

  “Yeah, well, this isn’t great either,” I mutter and shift further down in the chair, deflating.

  Mel casts her eyes around and focuses on a person sitting in the corner. She whips around to capture me in her sparkling gaze, sly smile creeping onto her lips.

  “Masc presenting person in the blue hoodie and rose pants. They sell plants on the side and are trying to buy a house with their significant other, who works as a dog nurse.”

  I fail to obscure a snicker in a cough. It’s an old game, and an enjoyable one. A great way to pass the time. Since high school, we’ve made up lives for the people around us, creating whole universes where they are the central focus. Mel had cast the first die. It was my turn.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Femme presenting person in neon yellow dress. They own a gift shop and are doing quite well for themselves, but have always wanted to act in a romcom.”

  “Why are they here?” Mel asks in hushed tones, excitement threading into her words. “This is a very far casting call from a romcom.”

  I purse my lips. “They’re hoping to meet a younger person and be cast into a real-life romcom.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” Mel whispers. “Masc presenting person in the green suit—oh.”

  Her mouth forms a perfect circle.

  “What?” I hiss.

  “That’s the man I told you about. The one who offered me the deal. Oh no, he’s coming this way.

  The man stops before us. His sunshine yellow suit clashes with the green of his eyes and the mauve of his hair. The suit is ill-fitting, hanging off his skinny frame like a tent soaked through with rain. Someone is trying to be bright and failing. It’s an odd disconnect from his mission of saddling up to naive people, easing into their good graces, and preying on their dreams. Maybe it throws people off. They more readily agree. Whatever it is, the hairs on the back of my neck raise. My eyes travel to his hands, and my heart drops.

  He's holding a portable bot charger.

  My trade.

  Goddammit.

  “Hello, Miss Kim.” His voice is rapids over rocks rough. It throws me for a moment that he’s talking to Mel. No one’s addressed her by her last name since high school.

  “Hello, Rob, nice to see you again,” Mel replies, ever polite. I want to scream at him to get away. There’s a glint in the eye that promises there’s a catch to everything he says.

  I don’t want to trade with him. Not when he gives me the creeps. I kick my bag further under my seat.

  “You have a friend this time. Are you an actress as well?” He turns his mossy eyes to me.

  “Nope,” I spit out, forcing a smile. “A friend offering support.”

  “Good! I’ve seen Mel act a bit, and she’s very good. I’m glad she has someone supporting her.”

  “You’ve seen me act?” Mel asks, her voice small, blush creeping down her neck.

  “In that minor role you had in Until Forever. I thought you were very good at conveying the anger your character had for being given orders you didn’t agree with.”

  Mel stares down at her hands twisting together. “Thank you. I’m not used to the sci-fi genre, but it was fun.”

  My eyes narrow. The movie wasn’t out yet, not even test screenings. How had he seen it? Had he followed Mel down to flooded New York City, where she’d lived for three weeks while filming? This show had nothing to do with the movie production company, so it was strange he’d be at both. Strange raced towards the disturbing.

  A woman with violently orange hair pokes her head out of the door.

  “Mel Kim, you’re up.”

  Mel jolts. The blush falls from her face and neck. The paleness of a ghost replaces it.

  I reach out and squeeze her hand. Trying to destroy the fear invading her mind. “Hey, you got this. Don’t be scared. This isn’t your first rodeo.”

  “I’ve never been to a rodeo,” Mel murmurs as she stands.

  “Shoot, bad analogy. Break a leg,” I whisper.

  Mel shoots me a nervous glance and steps through the door, leaving me with a hallway full of strangers and the fictional lives I create for them. And the weird man. Can’t forget him. Rob? Pretty sure that’s what Mel said. My mind has gobbled the name and cast it into obscurity.

  He takes Mel’s seat.

  Joy.

  “I didn’t get your name,” he says.

  “Jaqs, she or her and you’re Rob?”

  He nods. “Robert, he or him if Mel hadn’t told you. Pleasure to meet you, Jaqs. What do you do for a living?”

  Oh God, kill me now. The bane of my existence. I hate that people ask the same question over and over, day after day, whenever they meet someone new. Who are you? What do you do for a living? Where’s your favorite place in the city? I would rather be buried alive. With a sigh, I tell him because no other answer comes to me.

  “I’m a bot fixer.”

  Robert nods. “You’re the one I’m set to trade with, aren’t you?”

  I pull back. I hadn’t said anything that would give him that info.

  “Why are you trying to prey on Mel?” I ask instead. A man glances over. He returns to his script with a glare. This is an argument he wants no part of.

  Robert’s eyes go wide, blinking a few times in shock. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not doing that. It’s apparent how much acting means to Mel, and I want to help her. Like I’m here to help you.”

  I snort. “Right. You go around trying to find people to help.”

  He grins and whispers, “Yes. That’s my job. If you have something you need help with, I’m here.”

  His smile and overly friendly manner makes my gut clench, and my mind is screaming for me to run away. That he’s dangerous and should be avoided.

  “And what corp let’s you do that?” I ask.

  “Have you heard of Prism?”

  My blood runs cold. After Evangeline’s face when she said it and Gen’s warning, I’m less than keen to talk to him.

  “Are you with Prism?” I hiss, unsure if the word should be spoken aloud. Evangeline and Gen said it aloud, but the shop was empty. Here, other people wait, able to listen with ease.

  Robert smiles. “Shall we trade?”

  I don’t want to trade with him. But I don’t have another choice unless I want to try to find another trade partner, and there’s no guarantee it wouldn’t be Robert again or an associate of his if Prism is as predatory as Gen made them sound. I sigh and fish my pack out from under my seat. The fishbowl comes out with ease and sits heavily in my hands. Robert takes it and gives me the bot charger.

  “See, helping,” he says.

  “If you say so. The way you’re going about this is creepy,” I say through clenched teeth. My fingers dig into the bot charger, holding onto the reins of my anger. But it’s not enough.

  My blood boils. I won’t let him prey on Mel or stalk her. It’s her choice to work with him, and I’ll respect her wishes, but I won’t like it if she does. I need to get out of here. I stand and walk away before I do something I’ll regret. “Have a good day, Robert.”

  “Be seeing you, Jaqs. Maybe when you want to trade that charger away.”

  “How did you know it was me?” I growl.

  “The fishbowl sat on the apps for a while. It’s one reason why I stepped in,” he says instead. His smile spreads. “I don’t want you to give up on your dream.”

  The heat within my veins grows cold. “How did you—”

  “We have eyes everywhere. Who do you think placed the fishbowl on that table for you to find? Something we knew you would like.”

  “You said one reason, what’s the other reason?” I say, shifting the pack higher on my shoulder.

  Robert grins. “Getting back at an old friend.”

  I scoff. What a terrible reason.

  “I don’t want your help,” I spit. The other people in the waiting area are paying attention now. Their eyes are glued to us, waiting for the chains holding the argument back to snap. For something worse to happen.

  “We’ll see about that. Good luck trading. We’ll be in touch,” he says, voice cheerful.

  His words draw a shiver down my spine and pool dread in my stomach. I push out into the maze of the mall, running from the monster lurking in the skin of a man.