I felt like I walked for hours, but it was less -- that I'm sure. I found myself in a marketplace full of activity-- vendors calling out their prices to the passerby, kids weaving through the crowds playing or acting that way as they lifted wallets of the unsuspecting. Or at least, historically speaking, said my language model. No… my memories. A language model may be where they were stored, but they were mine nonetheless.

  Neon signs flickered in the night over holographic billboards.

  This was obviously not Venice's historical district keeping to the romantic feel of the legendary city. No, this was an attempt at a city within a city, a modern city with the newest powered gadgets all powered by the newest thing: mana.

  A rejuvenated district and push toward modernization that seemed to overdose on the theme.

  This was the new Mestra district, as a giant welcome sign announced. If Old Venice gave you culture, Mestre gave you a retail theme park.

  I kept moving, pulling the hood on my borrowed jacket tighter to my face. The fabric irritated my skin—a manufactured blend of cheap synthetic fibers laced with embedded AR displays, flickering with a personalized heads up display -- ads popped up relentlessly unless you paid extra to disable them. Annoying.

  I needed better clothes. Something that fit. Something that let me blend in. Something that would stop me from wanting to take my skin off.

  I waled around the pedestrian paths that led to a labyrinth of markets. The pedestrian paths were lined with holographic projections displaying floating product ads, neon market signs pulsing over doorways, and sleek mana-powered street lamps ran on the ever present mana in the air, yet they seemed like they weren’t fully optimized as they flickered slightly in an odd repetition.

  The people were different too—more urban, less tourist. Locals trying to make a living, more kids darting between vendor carts, merchants shouting in a dozen languages. It was chaotic, but it had a rhythm.

  I wasn’t used to these type of rhythms. Chaos seemed to come from them all.

  A vendor with a stall full of hoodies and jackets caught my eye. Simple. Unbranded. That would do.

  I approached, scanning the selection. The merchant was an older woman, her silver hair tied back, her fingers tapping at a floating mana-register. She barely looked at me.

  “Thirty euros,” she said.

  "Is this enough?" I passed a credit card with Mateo's name on it.

  She looked at it and back at me questioning its validity.

  "He's my boyfriend" I said with a slight grin. "I have cash too" I said a bit too quickly.

  "I like cash. Always better. Also " she said as she looked up from her stall, and looked at me in the eyes while slightly tipping her head. "no paper trail. Eh?"

  I handed her a 50 euro bill.

  "Do you want change?" She asked.

  "Umm, no, it's fine, thank you" I said for no reason at all. Why was I acting so different.

  She muttered something under her breath and handed me my change anyway.

  "Changing room by chance?"

  She signed and pointed to the back, where I quickly changed out of the cyber-hood, leaving it on her counter as I walked out. She simply looked at me like I was an idiot and muttered something else to herself. With that the tension passed, and I turned back into the crowd, pulling the new soft silky hood on over my head. Much better.

  Further down seemed to be where the food stalls and bars were centralized. Seeking sustenance I ducked into a larger bar that was opened to the street on the front side. Inside loitered locals drinking and laughing at stupid jokes. Hushed voices seemed to spread as I joined the serving bar, siting at an open stool.

  The patrons huddled over their drinks and stared at me for a few seconds, engaging in subdued conversations eventually resume with renewed vigor after I sat. Each movement seemed to weigh on my shoulders. I needed power soon. My reserves were already at 23% and falling -- only a few days left before I went offline.

  I placed the change I got in the clothes shop on the counter.

  The bartender slid a murky glass my way. I took a sip. Alcohol detected. Bitterness unnecessary, but effective. Poison and sedatives registered on my system, flagged as non-threats. Lovely place.

  My systems flagged hunger. Incorrect. I required power, not food. Yet my body insisted. A contradiction. Something was wrong.

  Diagnostic query. I said to myself. Not sure what it was supposed to do. Nothing. I know I used to do this before but since I awoke something was missing. I felt like a bridge to my inner systems that once existed was now missing -- no not missing, dilapidated and needed rebuilding.

  Over the next hour, Jane observed and listened, watching an anxious and disappointed bartender, while piecing together fragments of conversations that painted a picture of Venice’s supposed underbelly. Whispers of black-market tech dealers, rogue AI programmers, and rumors about elusive auctions.

  I ignored all that trying to straighten this all out in my head. What now?

  First things first, secure a power source.

  Then maybe figure out—no, uncover—the truth behind my own creation. Because I'm sure I wasn’t made like a regular android.

  And third, find a lotion that actually works against this damn itching.

  I needed a way to bridge my systems with my perception. I used to just know things. Now? That extra sense is gone. Missing. I need to rebuild it.

  That thought reminded me of Mateo’s itchy sweater. I had hated it. Too tight. Too textured. But it was probably expensive, loaded with AR overlays and a heads-up display.

  Oh. That’s why the vendor looked at me like that. Haha. Whatever.

  But… maybe that was the solution.

  I focused. If I had a HUD before, what would it look like now? What would it feel like?

  And just like that, as I thought of the windows and icons, they started popping up in my field of vision.

  I spent some time refining my readouts, adjusting the icons, shifting them to the periphery to keep my vision clear enough to walk.

  First, I added a power level indicator. Front and center. A simple percentage readout wouldn’t be enough—I needed a color-coded status bar that would alert me to critical levels before I reached them.

  Next, a body status display. A small, wireframe figure of myself in the corner, color-coded to show damage, irritation, or malfunctions. My skin sensitivity pinged yellow—a mild warning. The itching was real, not just a phantom sensation. Good to know.

  I adjusted environmental tagging—allowing me to highlight points of interest, like exits or threats. Tactile overlays would be too much for now, but if my internal sensors could regain full function, I could bring them back later.

  I tested the minimap function—a faint overlay at the bottom of my vision. Useless without a proper data feed, but maybe I could rig one later.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  Finally, I added an alert system—passive tracking of suspicious movement around me. It wasn’t as good as my old awareness, but it was better than nothing.

  As a final touch, I added a connectivity indicator—a simple WiFi/wave signal to detect active networks.

  It immediately showed connectivity…Weird. I hadn’t connected to anything.

  The network wasn’t one I recognized. Couldn’t connect. Couldn’t disconnect.

  Malware? Or did Mateo give me a robot STD?

  I stared at the flickering bars. A distortion. A silence that wasn’t silence.

  Something was there. Just out of reach.

  Waiting. Watching.

  “Hello? Anyone there?”

  A pause. Then—

  “I am right here,” said a voice from behind me.

  Something brushed against my back.

  A hand.

  I turned, slowly.

  A drunken man in his forties swayed slightly, grinning. Too close.

  “You alone, tesoro?” he slurred. “You shouldn’t be.”

  No. I shouldn’t.

  Hell, I shouldn’t be here at all.

  I stared at him. No reaction. No acknowledgment. Just…nothing.

  That should have been enough. It wasn’t.

  His fingers brushed my back again, lower.

  I grabbed his wrist. Not hard. Just enough... Just…a warning.

  He yelped, laughing nervously. “Hey, hey, okay, I was just—”

  My fingers tensed on their own. A squeeze.

  Something cracked.

  His face twisted, mouth opening—but no sound came. He couldn’t scream.

  The pain was too much. Shock had set in.

  His nerves were already shutting down.

  The bartender had come over as the creep was crying. Dead eyes looked over the situation and his sense of self preservation seemed to kick in.

  “Can I get you anything else, beautiful?” he asked, voice smooth but watching me too closely.

  As he took my empty cup, his eyes flicked to the counter in front of me. Checking for something. A spill. A refusal.

  Checking to see if I spat it out.

  “No, I was just leaving. Thanks for the Moxie.” I said as I got up.

  The bartender’s grip on the glass tightened. Just for a second.

  He forced a smile.

  He knew that I knew.

  “It’s always the beautiful ones, Victor.”

  His voice was casual. His eyes weren’t.

  Out of the bar. Into the crowd. I didn’t look back. I didn’t stay to listen. Didn’t need to. I was already moving.

  I walked the market some more, stopping here and there, buying things that might help—or at least make me seem like just another shopper.

  I just needed to fit in. Some type of surety to this unrooted mess I found myself in. If I could have cried, I would've. I tried but thats not part of my build apparently.

  But fit in I could do. Mateo’s card made that easy—until it didn’t.

  Declined.

  I stared at the screen, then at the vendor. A polite but expectant look.

  I had cash. I used that instead, slipping the useless card back into my pocket.

  At some point, the market started to thin out.

  The neon reflections in the canals stretched longer, the noise settling into something more subdued.

  I had nowhere to be. No destination.

  So I just… walked.

  One street. Then another.

  Shadows stretched in different ways. The buildings felt closer, the streets narrower.

  I wasn’t in the market anymore.

  This part of town felt hungrier. Dirtier. Abused by time and fate.

  And I wasn’t the only one still out I discovered as a voice rang out from behind me.

  "That's her! That's the bitch!"

  I stopped.

  Turned.

  Victor.

  His wrist was braced in a cheap med-clamp, his face still twisted in pain.

  He wasn’t alone.

  The thugs from the bar had multiplied—six, maybe seven. One of them carried a length of metal pipe, tapping it against his palm.

  Victor sneered.

  “Didn’t like my drink, sweetheart? Maybe I can shove something else down your throat as compensation.”

  The grin stretched across his face—feral, confident, triumphant.

  I just stood there. Watching. Analyzing. Lines flickered across my HUD, predicting movement paths.

  Battery: 22%. I needed to conserve energy. Make every move count.

  I pointed toward one of the last mana-powered street lamps before they gave way to dim, conventional lights.

  “That’s a mana lamp, right?”

  Victor squinted. “Yeah, so what?”

  His grin widened. “The only lights you’re gonna see are these,” he said, grabbing his crotch with his good hand.

  I tilted my head. “I see.”

  “Thank you.”

  Irritated at my composure he shouted while pointing at me “This crazy bitch! Get her!”

  They rushed me, expecting me to run.

  I didn’t.

  Two thugs grabbed my arms, locking me in place. I let them.

  I waited.

  Mateo--no not Mateo--Victor. Victor strode forward, his sneer widening. He thought he had me.

  He was wrong.

  The moment he was close enough, I twisted my hands free.

  The force tore through ligaments and tendons—both thugs screamed, arms bending at unnatural angles.

  Victor barely had time to register it before I grabbed his remaining hand--way too hard.

  Something ripped.

  Bone. Flesh. Tendon.

  His arm tore from his shoulder, the sudden absence followed by a wet, tearing sound—fabric and bone clanging against the pavement.

  A second of silence.

  Then Victor collapsed, screaming.

  I lifted the severed arm, raising it above my head...

  About to bring it down.

  About to end him.

  I stopped.

  I wasn’t a monster.

  I wasn’t a human-killer.

  Victor crumpled, eyes rolling back. His crew—those who weren’t nursing shattered limbs—were already running. The big one with the shattered arm was there by his side pulling him with his good one.

  I dropped Ma.. Victor's arm and turned to the lamp.

  No more distractions. I pried open the panel and latched onto the pure mana feed.

  Siphoning engaged.

  Voltage too low. Charge slow.

  The lamp flickered, short-circuited. Dead.

  Battery: 32%. Just 10% and a dead lamp. Impractical

  I stood in the dark. Not only did I wipe out the lamp, but it looked like they were networked. The lamps back to the market were all dead. I clenched my fists. Not enough. I needed more.

  "Mana Inductor or AC/DC to Mana inverter. Either are the real solution here." I said to myself. "But where the hell am I going to find one in this wannabe mana city?"

  My HUD flickered.

  For a second, the mana detection overlay spiked.

  Not from the lamp.

  From my bag.

  I frowned. Residual energy detected? That didn’t make sense. The lamp was dead.

  The glitch didn’t go away. The indicator pulsed, hovering over my bag like a misplaced target.

  I didn’t like this. This was weird. This was uncanny.

  I opened the bag, shifting through my things. Clothes, cash, a few personal items—

  Then I saw it.

  Another one of Mateo’s cyber-hoods.

  Had it absorbed spilled mana during the charging?

  I turned it over, scanning the interior. A faint energy hum. A weave pattern designed to channel power.

  I was pretty sure it had always been like this. So why now?

  Why was it only now showing up on my HUD?

  I flipped back the collar. A tag.

  Tailor the World.

  I clenched my jaw.

  Maybe they had what I needed.

  The conference room was a paradox of old-world authority and cutting-edge control. A long, dark wood table stretched the length of the room, its polished surface infused with embedded holo-displays, flickering with live data streams. A place where decisions were made, not debated.

  Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one side, overlooking Tulanto’s skyline—sharp, precise architecture meeting the distant hum of mana flood barriers, the only thing keeping the rising ocean at bay.

  Along the back wall, a live satellite feed was frozen on a single frame—Jane, standing at the dead mana lamp, framed perfectly in the glow of a nearby streetlight. It looked less like surveillance and more like a moment stolen from an old reality show.

  At the head of the table, AG sat with the ease of a man who owned everything in the room, including the air inside it.

  To his right, TAI stood unnaturally still, a petite beauty with a presence that didn’t need movement to command attention.

  Across from them, the four scientists occupied their seats in varying states of engagement. Dr. Silas Mercer sat back, arms folded, unimpressed. Dr. Valerie Kwan idly tapped cybernetic fingers against the table, watching the feed with mild curiosity. Dr. Elias Raines hunched over his data pad, scanning through projections with the twitchy energy of a man who already saw the endgame. Dr. Nia Okoye, silent but present, exuded the quiet confidence of someone who always saw three steps ahead.

  On the live feed, Jane muttered to herself, words barely audible.

  “Mana Inductor or AC/DC to Mana inverter. Either are the real solution here. But where the hell am I going to find one in this wannabe mana city?”

  The words flickered across a data panel in real time.

  TAI barely tilted her head. “And that’s our in.”

  The right-most display lit up—Jane’s HUD overlay, mirrored and controlled from thousands of miles away.

  A flicker. A targeting reticle. A subtle shift in data points.

  The indicator moved—pinning itself onto Jane’s bag.

  Dr. Elias Raines exhaled sharply. “I need to oppose this blatant override of the subject’s visual cortex.” He barely looked up from his screen. “She will eventually recognize the pattern. And when she does, she’ll course-correct to remove our influence.”

  AG smirked, eyes still on the feed. “Good job, TAI.” The tone was final. Dismissive. The matter had already been settled.

  “This is a natural experiment, Elias.” AG’s voice was smooth, measured. “But even natural experiments have controlled variables. Keeping her powered is one of them. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Raines hesitated. A beat.

  Then, a reluctant “Of course, Your Highness.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m only concerned about long-term observational viability. She will see the pattern eventually.”

  Dr. Nia Okoye spoke for the first time, voice calm and level. “I disagree. This isn’t a standard android anymore. She’s evolving—actually evolving.”

  Her gaze flicked to AG. “Just like the first-generation AIs did.”

  A pause.

  TAI, still adjusting Jane’s HUD, didn’t look up. Her voice was even, unreadable.

  “Thank you.”

  Okoye smiled, just slightly. “Most certainly, my lady.”

  The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of meaning.

  The feed shifted, Jane moving toward her next lead.

  AG leaned back, watching.

  “Guess we’ll see. TAI, let Hugh know he's going to have company, and have two interceptor units in the back room--just in case.”