As far as wearable technology went, getting this one installed hurt like a bitch. Although, grafted might be a better word.

  I looked down through the tears collecting in my eyes, blinking into focus the opaque, flexible screen now permanently attached to my left inner forearm. The device—called the bio-screen, which I though was wholly uncreative—was still blank, casting a hazy sheen over my irritated skin. After a few uncomfortable minutes, or maybe just seconds, the numbing solution coating the millions of tiny hooked needles finally started kicking in, easing my pain and allowing a breath of relief.

  The same breath huffed out quickly when the surgeon reentered the room.

  “How does that feel now?” he asked detachedly.

  I nodded and swallowed once before answering. “Better.”

  “I need to make sure it’s a solid connection. This might hurt a bit,” he warned. He placed a gloved hand on the screen and pressed down, hard.

  I bit back a hiss of pain and clenched my right hand, nails biting into my palm. He pressed down again, harder this time, and my gaze snagged on the security camera installed in one of the corners. I stared at the blinking red light, counting the seconds between blinks—seven—until the surgeon let go and stepped away.

  “It looks good.” He nodded once, to himself, and turned to leave.

  I was going to have words with Leo later. My best friend had assured me that this plastic surgeon, specifically, was the most qualified and most meticulous at installing the bio-screens. And while he may have made sure my screen was perfectly centered and aligned on my arm, the ends equidistant from my wrist and elbow, his bedside manner was severely lacking. It was probably why he was working for Farley Tech instead of having his own ludicrous practice somewhere.

  After spending more than my fair share in doctor’s offices and hospital rooms over the last several years during the diagnosis process and subsequent attempts to treat it, being treated like a person and not just my medical chart was more important to me than having the best of the best care for me. Having that friendly face went far in making my stays and visits more pleasant. And this surgeon did not have that friendly face.

  “Thanks,” I said to the man’s retreating back, not meaning it but unable to be impolite. He had done an impeccable job.

  After a small eternity of waiting, giving the numbing solution had time to work its magic again, the nurse popped back in. Her personality was in complete contrast from the surgeon, bubbly, kind, each emotion clearly visible on her face.

  “How you feeling, honey?” Tori, according to her badge, asked. She gently took my arm and put it through a series of maneuvers, twisting my wrist and bending my elbow in ways I would never do myself. “As soon as we’re done here, we’ll get your discharge paperwork all together. You remember where you have all the aftercare information?”

  I nodded and offered a smile. Everything was saved in my email. Not to mention that I’d already read through it twice. The list was extensive of what not to do for the first forty-eight hours: no drinking alcohol, keep it dry, no direct sunlight, no tight-fitting clothing, keep it protected from direct contact, do not pick at the edges, do not try to remove it, if painful or irritated take pain medicine, be careful around pets, don’t sleep on it, no heavy lifting more than fifteen pounds. And that was about a quarter of the included rules. Leo had told me the bio-screen was essentially an open wound, even though the skin was covered. Any strain could put the healing process at risk, misaligning the screen or causing damage underneath. The screens needed a strong, secure bond to work properly.

  “Excellent.” She released my arm. “Looks perfect. George always does the best with these. Go ahead and try moving your arm and wrist around for me, Callie while I’ll go grab your paperwork. Let me know if there is any discomfort or tightness when I come back.”

  Tori left again. I took her instruction and wiggled my arm around, flexing my fingers and wrist to test for any issues. The bio-screen moved seamlessly, attached like a second skin. I raised a curious hand to it, stoking the smooth material and feeling the touch as though it was my own skin but numbed. After the forty-eight-hour calibration time, it should be fully attuned to me and behave exactly like my own skin, all nerve receptors included. It would be impossible to remove without surgery at that point, when it would be fully adhered to my body.

  It was impressive, really, that I already had some feeling with it. For some, the screen never calibrated properly and it had to be removed. That process was more painful than getting it on in the first place, and usually those people were put under some heavy sedation for it. It had been part of the warnings and side-effects that I’d been required to actually read through before signing up for this clinical trial. I shuddered at the thought of something going wrong. With the added bonus of needing it removed, those individuals almost never qualified for a replacement. The private grant sponsoring the trial only covered so much. Insurance wouldn’t even get involved until it was fully approved by government agencies, after the clinical trial was deemed a success.

  I was lucky that I had a connection in the first place; otherwise, it was probable that I would have had to wait another few years. And a few years for me, for most of us with LaShoul’s, could literally be the difference between being alive or dead.

  Tori swooped back in and stood next to me, a waft of vanilla enveloping me as she brushed her braided hair back over her shoulder. Professionally efficient, she reviewed the discharge instructions, asked again how the bio-screen felt, and quickly sent me on my way with another smile and assurance that I could call, at any time, if I started experiencing problems. I paused at the front desk on my way out to scheduled my activation follow-up in two days, and I scanned the digital business card, just in case.

  I was giddy with anticipation as I left the stark white building, the name Farley stamped vertically on it in a different shade of white. I tapped my ear cuff that mimicked a conch piercing and sent a voice message to Leo that I was on my way. He’d promised to meet up with me after the short procedure to go over the basics with me. His had been activated weeks ago, as one of the first—if not the first—recipient. Being the son of the CEO of the medical technology company—Farley Tech—that designed and produced the bio-screens certainly had its perks.

  Maybe we would finally get some answers that could help find what was causing the variety of symptoms that got lumped into the single, catch-all diagnosis of LaShoul’s we both dealt with. Better yet, perhaps the bio-screens would allow doctors to develop individual treatment plans, catered to each individual’s symptoms and statistics. I doubted the screens would lead to an actual cure, not in whatever was left of my lifetime. But this could be the first step in stopping this terminal illness.

  Despite the grim direction my thoughts had turned, my steps were light as I made my way to my favorite cozy coffee shop, ducking under the awning just as the first peal of rumbling thunder sounded not far in the distance. I hesitated before going inside, watching the sky darken marginally as the clouds rolled in and taking in a deep breath of petrichor that soothed my senses. I was glad I’d taken the entire day off for my appointment; later I would snuggle up in blankets and pillows, lights dimmed, and windows open to the soft pattering of the rain. It was one of my favorite ways to relax, but it didn’t happen often. Lucie, my cat, also watched the rain, thinking is an abomination that needed to be closely monitored for signs of demonic activity.

  Leo was already there when I finally pulled the door open, sitting in my usual spot next to the windows. He nursed a cup of what I knew was black coffee and frowned at a tablet held in the other hand. His hobby was his work at his father’s company and I wasn’t surprised to see him using any free time to get something done. Workaholic, I’d called him on more than one occasion. He often countered with dedicated or I’m this close to getting it straightened out.

  When he noticed me approaching, he set everything aside and stood up to envelope me in a hug. I instantly relaxed, breathing deeply. He always smelled a bit like cinnamon, and I loved it. Not that I’d dare tell him that, or that I harbored slightly more-than-friendly feelings towards him.

  “How’d it go?” he asked as we sat across from each other, sliding a frozen concoction towards me. I set my small bag on the table between us, grabbed the drink, and took a sip. I nearly melted into the chair from overwhelmingly happy taste buds.

  Leo grinned at me. “You like it?”

  “Holy shit, yes. I can die happy now.” It was a bit of a morbid joke we had going. Neither of us knew exactly when we’d reach our expiration dates, although from what symptoms we both had they seemed at least a few years away. And if I didn’t laugh about it, I would cry. “What’s in this?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “They have a new marshmallow syrup,” he answered.

  “It’s perfect.” I took another sip of the chocolate and marshmallow pairing, resisting the urge to close my eyes and just chug the whole thing.

  “How’s your arm?” he asked, bringing me back to the entire reason for our meeting. Either he was eager to show me the tech he had a heavy hand in developing, or he wanted to get back to whatever his next project was. With Leo, I never could tell.

  “It’s…fine?” It was more of a question than an answer. “I’m not really sure how it should feel. But I think it’s normal?”

  “Can I see?”

  I carefully pulled back the long sleeve of my shirt and held out my arm to him. He took my wrist in gentle fingers, turning my arm side to side as he looked. I willed my pulse to calm down; it was just a friendly gesture and meant absolutely nothing. But would my heart listen? No.

  “It looks good. Does it still hurt?” I shook my head, taking another drag at my straw to give me something to focus on instead of his hand wrapped around my wrist.

  He dragged a finger across the blank screen, sending a shiver up my spine. He noticed, looking up at me.

  “That tickled in a weird way,” I offered as an explanation, tucking my loose hair behind my ear.

  “Once it’s fully attuned to you, it’ll feel just like your own skin. Except, you won’t be able to injure it. But please, don’t try to test that.”

  My eyebrows went up. “Have others?”

  Leo heaved a sigh, letting go of my wrist and leaning back in his seat. “Yes. A few have, and ended up hurting themselves in the process. Though, in all…four instances, the bio-screens were fine. We’re probably going to have to move forward with creating a subsidiary because of it, just for added protection. My father told me to come up with a name by the end of the week. But everything I can think of that’s halfway decent has already been used. Like Biowear. Spelled w-e-a-r at the end, but didn’t want people to get confused with a company that formed in the late 1900s.”

  An especially strong peal of thunder sounded, and we both turned to face the rain-splattered window. The sky had darkened further, prompting a few streetlights to flicker on. The rain was a steady drum against the window, meaning I had probably forgotten to pack an umbrella in my bag.

  “I love days like these,” I sighed, starting to curl my feet up into my chair before realizing I wasn’t at home and no one wanted the bottoms of my shoes all over the seat. I turned back to Leo to find him giving me an odd look, his head slightly tilted. “What? Don’t give me that look.”

  “What look?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes didn’t match; they were serious, trying to decipher something in my expression.

  “Like you think I’m crazy for preferring gloomy weather,” I answered as I gestured widely to the windows on my right. Leo just shook his head at me and took another swig of his coffee.

  I leaned forward, setting my drink down to pretend I had some semblance of control when it came to sickly sweet drinks, and asked, “So, are you going to show me how this thing works?”

  “Oh! Right.” He grinned and moved farther to one side of his bench. “Come sit over here. It’ll be easier.”

  After just a moment’s hesitation, I gingerly sat down next to him, being careful not to accidentally brush against him and his fancy, tailored, probably expensive work suit. He rolled up his sleeve, exposing his left forearm where I could see a whole lot of nothing.

  “Okay, so obviously it’s always powered on, running off the energy your body already generates as heat. But any sort of accidental touches won’t trigger it to light up.” He demonstrated with a few random swipes on his outer forearm. Nothing happened. “A double two-fingered tap or a diagonal swipe from top left to bottom right will wake the screen. And if you stare at it for three seconds, it will give you a general ‘all systems go’ sort of reading.”

  Leo demonstrated, staring at the screen on his arm. In the top right corner, near Leo’s wrist, a green light blinked twice. He then swiped the screen from corner to corner, and the display lit up, glowing a soft blue. It automatically adjusted to the amount of light present, nowhere near the beacon I’d feared it would be. It was difficult enough having an invisible illness, especially one with random symptom onset, and a billboard display on my arm to announce it to the world would not have made things easier.

  “This here is the home screen, for lack of a better term,” Leo began.

  I interrupted, “You need to come up with an actual name. By the end of the week.”

  “Funny.” He cut me a look. I pursed my lips together, and he sighed. “Okay, you got your tabs across the top.” Leo pointed at his screen, and I noted the different colors, in ascending rainbow order, across the top. Home, Basic, Advanced, Trends, Settings. “Unless you’re especially curious about something specific, the home or basic tabs will be the most useful to you. So, if you look here, you’ll see…”

  Leo took about thirty minutes pointing out and explaining all the stats the screen monitored at all times, going way beyond the basics he’s told me he’d explain. Pulse, blood pressure, oxygen levels, blood sugar, vitamin levels, cortisol, temperature… It was a long list, and most of it didn’t affect me. I’d undergone what had to be over a hundred tests both before and after my diagnosis, and nothing was ever out of the normal acceptable ranges. No doctor or scientist could explain the headaches, nosebleeds, broken vessels in my eyes, racing heart, sweating, or the dizzy and fainting spells.

  That’s part of what made the disease, condition, whatever it actually was impossible to isolate, let alone cure. Doctors could never find any underlying problem to treat, only managing to ease some symptoms. Many doctors started new diagnosed patients on anti-depressants at the same time because of the mental toll it took. I’d refused when my doctor had offered the same for me, using books instead to escape my grim reality.

  “On the last tab here are the settings that you can calibrate. If you want to keep track of anything in particular, or everything in general, you can switch on the vibrate notification.” He tapped on his arm several times, showing me how to navigate to the settings and turn on and off the vibrations for specific stats.

  “It’s a learning program, right?” I asked as Leo toggled back to the main screen.

  He nodded. “It’ll look for things that change for no apparent reason and focus on finding what the trigger was. Say, if your temperature increases exactly one point three degrees, followed by one of your attacks, it’ll start looking to what caused the temperature spike.”

  “But, if, for example, I was to spot a spider in my bathroom and start panicking…”

  Leo shrugged. “There are some things that it obviously can’t detect. It’s really good, but not perfect. If you see or hear something that startles you into a biological response, apparently like seeing something as harmless as a spider—”

  I whacked his bicep with the back of my hand. “You take that back. Spiders are not harmless.”

  “They are, you arachnophobe.” I narrowed my eyes in mock accusation, but Leo pretended not to see. “If you know there’s trigger that it doesn’t detect, you can manually type it in, or flag it, at the very least. It’ll help the algorithm from getting bogged down with false positives, looking for a biological cause that doesn’t exist. And if you get an attack seemingly randomly, you’ll have the ability to log what you were doing at its start, to maybe identify a pattern.”

  “Is there an option to have, like, a favorites list of things that stress me out? Like spiders, or stupid people who don’t bother to learn the return policy?”

  Leo leaned back and looked at me. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll add it to the list.”

  “The list?”

  “There’s a lot of technology in these things.” He tapped his bio-screen. “The programming is just limited to monitoring vitals right now and running the program to figure out any causes, correlations, whatever. You add to its programming, and it can do almost anything. There’s more than enough storage on these things.”

  “What can’t it do?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “Well, there’s no camera, just sensors, so traditional video chat wouldn’t be possible. But because it has the sensors to know when you’re looking at it, over time it might be able to be programmed to create an avatar that looks like you, that can then be sent to other screens. Like a virtual video call.”

  “Is that on your list, too?” I was trying to hold in my laugh. I never understood how Leo got so involved with all the technology, even though his dad owned and ran the company. It was extremely complex and ever-changing, not to mention an expensive hobby to fund. But then again, Leo had a billionaire—or was it trillionaire by now?—father who covered everything for him. What was it to him to rack up a hefty bill when someone else would pay it?

  “There’s a lot of things on my list. Like, what if we’re being exposed to some chemical in the environment that’s setting off these attacks? That’d be useful to know, but the bio-screens aren’t searching for external factors like that. At least, not yet. But hopefully some of the, shall I say, improvements I make will be added down the road. This is just to get us started.”

  “That’s really something, Leo. This could really make a difference and help a lot of people.” I sighed, grabbing my melted drink and taking a drag at the straw. My brain began reminiscing on my own lack of meaningful work and the reasons behind it. I glanced back out the window to watch the people rushing by, umbrellas open and heads covered with whatever was available.

  One would think that with all the technology available to us that someone would have figured out a better solution to umbrellas by now. But the focus all those years ago had been on clean energy, mainly solar, wind, and water. There were a few geothermal stations in the world, if I remembered my history lessons correctly. But other technology didn’t advance as quickly as energy, meaning people were left using their briefcases or scarves to fend off the rain.

  Leo would leave his mark on the world with these bio-screens. Even if people didn’t know him by name, he was working towards something incredible that had the potential to make people’s lives better, and even might save them.

  And what was I doing?

  Working retail in a high-end accessories store, catering to the wealthy and the wanna-be’s. I spent my days helping men and women find the right hat to wear on their yacht or the best diamond necklace to wear to a charity gala or the flashiest cuff links to show off at the next dinner party. Or I helped cheating spouses find the perfect apology gift while simultaneously picking out something for their other significant other’s birthday. Rarely did I have a truly positive customer interaction, usually when someone was investing in a new set of ear cuffs or health monitor ring for themselves. It was the people wearing the worn jeans and faded shirts that I connected to most; people like me.

  The actual problem was I had no drive anymore, no burning desire to accomplish anything in my life. Once upon a time, I’d wanted to help people. But now all I wanted was to read books, snuggle my cat, and just be at peace with myself while avoiding the general public. Why bother with goals when you wouldn’t live long enough to see them through?

  The brush of Leo’s hand against my shoulder as he moved my hair out of my face brought me back. “Where did you go?”

  I shook my head and gave him a sad smile. “Nowhere.” I let out a sigh. “That’s my problem.”