“New look, I see,” Scott says as Miles walks up to the door. “Yeah. I just added a new custom set of persona overlays to my inventory,” Miles replies. “Thought I’d take this one for a test run.” “You wear it well, sir,” Scott says sincerely. “You have a visitor, which I’m guessing is why you’re here. But fair warning, she didn’t seem too excited about being here. You want me to hang around out here in case you need anything?” That won’t be necessary. This should just tak

His car pulls into the alley behind Manus Potentia, one of the many establishments he owns within the downtown city limits. Five-star restaurant by day. Social gathering place for the elite and celebrities by night. With it now fifteen minutes past four o’clock, Miles figures he has more than enough time to get in and get out before the evening rush. The rain hammers down now. Harder and faster than before. “IRIS, initiate ANON,” Miles says, his voice steady and controlled

Miles can still hear the roar of the crowd as the platform descends, slowly dampening as he gets closer to the tunnel floor. Behind the invisible barrier in his brain, something claws at the walls. His mind screams for separation. It wants out. But Miles fights the urge. On the outside, nothing changes. Pleasantries are exchanged. He shakes hands. Nods. Smiles. “Great speech out there Mr. Tanner,” says one of the production staff as he removes the lapel microphone from

The stadium is packed from floor to rafters. There isn’t an empty seat in the building. Lasers sweep across the arena as music pounds through the speakers. Miles rises from below the floor. The crowd erupts. Miles stands there alone, stoic, soaking it in. Everyone is on their feet as the platform locks into place in the center of the stage. But not her. She doesn’t clap. She doesn’t make a sound. She only observes. Every person around her is trying desperately to cap

The car glides to a silent stop beneath the stadium’s private entrance. “Arrival in twelve seconds,” IRIS says. Miles doesn’t look up. He’s watching the reflection of the city ripple across the glass. “Proceed with external briefing,” he replies. A brief pause. Then— “Crowd size exceeds projected attendance by 7.4 percent. Protest presence confirmed on the east perimeter. Social sentiment index is trending volatile but nonviolent.” Miles exhales through his nose. “Opti

Miles gazes out the window as the car moves effortlessly down the eight-lane highway. Glass towers rise where farmland once stretched to the horizon. Digital billboards ripple across the skyline, reflecting off steel and mirrored facades. A metropolis wired like a nervous system, teetering on the edge of sentience, born from the explosion of the AI boom. Holly Creek had not always looked like this. Fifteen years ago, it was still a quiet rural town, unchanged for nearly two

Thank you so much for being part of this early review group.  I wanted to take a moment to explain my process and be fully transparent about how this project is coming together. I’ve always had stories unfolding in my head, but not being a writer or screenwriter by trade, attempting something like this felt like a reach for a long time. We’re in a new era of creativity, though, and I wanted to stay curious about that transition and explore ways to combine emerging tools with