Thursday, August 28th, 2042, NEURASphere seventh floor, Virtual Reality.

  Since her bathroom trip, Emmy managed to get through the rest of the morning by hyper focusing on work. Even before the forced outfit change, she had been drawing stares with her pointed ears, freckled face, green hair, and mischievous blue eyes. The woman in a man’s suit’s aesthetics also had taken a few by surprise.

  But it all paled at how much attention she was now getting.

  Emmy was incredibly thankful her virtual headset had adjusted itself to her size and ears. She had activated the noise cancelling function, which had brought her some respite from the surrounding noise.

  But right now, a message from Elliot popped up and broke Emmy’s concentration. She clicked the notification.

  “Hey everyone? I just received confirmation for my time off request. I’ll be logging off now. Stay safe.”

  Earlier in the day, she had received an invitation from him to join a support-group private channel he had created.

  #VictimsOfTheGlitchSupportGroup

  She had joined, of course—she had to. After all, she had to maintain the pretense she was distressed about her current situation.

  To her surprise, however, the group was more than the six gender-bent employees who were in the meeting with her. Everyone affected by glitch, whether they had cross-played or not, had been invited. Everyone had their own worries. For instance, those who had picked dwarves, halflings, or Pint burrovians suddenly struggled with the height of things.

  When she had seen Soraya’s name listed as a member of the group, she had finally managed to put a name to the Kindred dracan’s face she saw in passing earlier.

  What had puzzled Emmy, however, was how Elliot had managed to assemble everyone in the private chat.

  I didn’t introduce myself, so how did he find out that was me?

  The answer to that question had devastated her. She had discovered a public chat channel created earlier in the day.

  #GlitchHuntersBettingPool

  That morning, employees had spent hours taking bets on who was the player behind all the transformed avatars. They had collected screenshots of everyone in a thread where people made assumptions and wild guesses, often based on what people thought or knew of their colleagues. Later, a second thread had appeared. In this one, screenshots of evidence—featuring the employees sitting at their desks or similar proof—had been used to determine the winners.

  The worst part? No one thought they’d done anything wrong.

  Emmy had left the threads alone. She did not want to know how easily people had associated Elyssia with her. Learning that people could connect the dots, linking her with her avatar? It was bad enough that they did—the proof was in Elliot’s invitation. But she wanted nothing to do with the details of how that investigation had unfolded.

  But equally horrible was the idea of everyone guessing it wrong then being surprised when evidence finally surfaced and revealed who she was. “What, that’s M-E? Really? Wow, I would have never guessed! He’s so tall, he’s so confident. This little thing, meek as she is? He could have fooled me all day. A real Admiral Ackbar moment, amirite?”

  Even though this conversation was entirely the product of her imagination, Emmy fought back tears, just thinking about it.

  Why does the very idea of people talking about me hurt so much?

  The thought looped in her mind like a broken record, getting louder, drowning out everything else.

  She clenched her jaw, her chest tight, the weight of everything pressing down on her until it felt like she could hardly breathe. The more she tried to convince herself that this was all hypothetical, that no one had actually said those words, the more the imagined conversation grew vivid in her mind. The sneers, the judgment, that they might not just be talking about her—they would be laughing.

  “A real Admiral Ackbar moment, amirite?”

  The words echoed in her head, and a wave of nausea rolled through her stomach.

  Her throat burned as she swallowed down the sob threatening to rise.

  Keep it together, girl. Don’t fall apart now. Not here.

  She repeated those words like a mantra, desperately trying to recentre herself.

  But the tears blurred her vision, and she was thankful for the half-partitions all around her desk. Maybe, hopefully, no one would notice the wetness in her eyes. Her fingers trembled over the keyboard, unable to focus on the code in front of her.

  I’m supposed to be free. I’m supposed to be myself. I get to dress this way, to look like myself. So why does it hurt so much?

  It had finally happened to her. A miracle; being able to be Elyssia at long last—the real Emmy, not the M-E people knew. That should have been a good day. A wonderful, happy day. All she had to do was keep up the fa?ade.

  Act as if you’re annoyed at the glitch. Channel your inner himbo, your inner Chad. Just join in the boys’ circle and make light of the moment.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  But now, it felt like the mask was suffocating her. It was just too much.

  She brought her right arm sleeve to her face, intending to wipe the tears freely flowing down both cheeks. But she suddenly froze; someone had just put one hand on her left shoulder.

  Hesitantly, Emmy reached for her headset, and pulled it down around her neck. Had someone just called her name, moments ago? Between her monologue and her ringing ears, Emmy could not tell.

  “M-E?”

  It was Priya’s voice, full of concern.

  Why is she behind me? Had she tried to call out repeatedly, and I never realised?

  Emmy wanted to log out. To disappear. Elyssia’s dash ability would work in a pinch. Just chain its use all the way to a dark corner, and jump up to hide in the rafters or something.

  With her other hand, Priya softly spun Emmy’s office chair. As she slowly circled around, Emmy first saw Jamal’s face, a mix of concern and confusion, staring at her from his cubicle. And then she looked up, seeing Priya’s face, who was standing close. Very close. Even bending her knees, she had to look downwards at her to look in Emmy’s eyes.

  Her face looked like a mother’s, full of worry for her teenager after a heartbreak. Even though Priya was barely half her age.

  Her colleague did not wait for permission or for Emmy to speak up—she simply pulled her into a warm, protective embrace.

  “It’s a bit a much, isn’t it? You don’t have to hold the tears back.”

  Emmy froze, her body stiff in Priya’s arms. She was not supposed to break—not here, not now. But as soon as Priya’s arms wrapped around her, something deep inside cracked. The warmth, the comfort—it was too much. She tried to hold it in, to keep the mask up, but the fa?ade was crumbling, bit by bit.

  At first, Emmy resisted the embrace, her body going rigid as if holding on to the last thread of her composure. But Priya never relaxed her grip. The warmth of her arms seeped through, and the mask she had so carefully constructed—the one she had forced herself to wear all morning—shattered.

  The sob that had been building in her throat broke free, raw and ragged. Her hands clutched at Priya’s blazer, fingers trembling as the tears flowed, soaking the fabric. Only now was she realising how much she had been holding back, how much pressure had been building behind the lie. And now that the dam had broken, she could not stop the tears. But even if she could, she was not sure if she would have.

  She really needed this.

  A small part of her, however, tried to play it cool. She pulled back, weakly, and watched the disaster she had inflicted on her colleague’s blazer.

  It’s a good thing stains on virtual blazers are easy to clean.

  Out of the corner of her tear-blurred vision, she noticed Jamal standing awkwardly nearby. He shifted from one foot to the other, rubbing the back of his neck as he waited for them to finish. His eyes flicked to Priya, then back to Emmy, a crease of concern forming between his brows.

  “Uh… you’re doing great, M-E,” he muttered, his voice soft and uncertain.

  Emmy would have burst out laughing if she had not been so busy trying to hold herself together. His well-meaning words, so out of place, were a balm to her frazzled nerves. She knew from a glance just uncomfortable this scene made him. But he stayed by their side, anyway. His presence, awkward as it was, still felt solid, like a tether keeping her grounded.

  Emmy gently pushed herself away from Priya, who offered no resistance.

  Jamal’s head turned to look at nothing in particular, still rubbing the back of his neck.

  “So, huh… lunch o’clock…?”

  “We’ve been trying to get your attention. At first you simply seemed focused on your coding, but then you just froze and…”

  Emmy noticed the time. It was five past noon. They must have been trying to get her attention for the last five minutes.

  They saw everything? They kept vigil, waiting for me to… what? Crumble to pieces? To catch me as I did?

  But neither of them mocked her for it. Better yet, they made no mention of it, actually. How could either of them understand what she was going through? It was impossible. But maybe understanding was not strictly necessary, in this case. Priya and Jamal did not need to have all the answers or to see the whole picture.

  Cisgendered individuals could never really know the struggles that people like her went through. But right now, the divide did not matter at all. Priya did not care to know why Emmy was crying. Jamal did not have to understand the weight of her mask to offer her an awkward but sincere smile. They were there, just... there. Available for her.

  For a fleeting second, Emmy let herself think how lucky she was. Perhaps, today, it did not matter whether she had done anything to deserve this. Maybe she could accept their support, anyway; let others hold her, care for her, without explaining, without performing. Just for a little while.

  Priya, apparently, somehow saw right through her defences. Emmy had thought no one could see through her carefully constructed walls, years in the building. But a simple embrace had been all it took to shatter them. Maybe Priya knew more than she let on? Maybe that was why she was here now, holding her together as she fell apart in pieces.

  Jamal lacked Priya’s tenderness, but Emmy knew he cared—awkward as his words were, he was trying. He had always been there, through every dumb joke, every late lunch. Maybe he did not get it, but he was still standing there, waiting for her to be okay. And that counted for something.

  What had she done to get friends like them? She did not deserve either of them. Would she have ever done the same for them? She honestly doubted she had the emotional intelligence necessary to notice the turmoil in anyone else’s heart. She had spent decades to realise how her own sense of self was… bent so much out of shape.

  Reading others? Pfft.

  But then she remembered the sayings “Love yourself first before others!” “You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

  Nobody expected you to be there and help others while you still needed help yourself.

  I’m the worst kind of friend. A fraud.

  She had let them befriend her, get attached to her. But no, they were not friends with Emmy. It was M-E that they knew and got attached to.

  They had never even met the real me, because I’ve kept them in the dark about it. Kept lying.

  But despite not knowing her true self? Today, they were here, showing their support, despite Elyssia’s form. Emmy’s true self.

  Other than yesterday’s brief chat with Ewan and Maya, the only other person who had really met Emmy’s true self? Her childhood friend Jason. And unlike others, he had met her many incarnations. Elyssia, Elara, Elowen, Emberlyn, and all the other names she had used over the decades. So many times, she had clearly introduced herself to Jason. “This is me.” She could truly drop all pretense of who she was around him.

  Jason, with Vaelith’s wise but hesitant voice, had said it so simply, as though the truth of it was so obvious. “You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. You just... are.” The words had felt like a warm balm, but now? Now they felt like a lifeline. Emmy clung to them, desperate to believe in that simplicity—that maybe she did not have to justify herself. That who she was could be enough, even if no one else fully understood.

  “Come on, Em. Let’s head to the cafeteria.”

  Emmy looked at Priya in surprise.

  Em?

  The name echoed in her head.

  That’s a first.

  Despite being one step closer to her deadname—which should have rubbed Emmy the wrong way—the softness with which Priya had spoken the name? It sounded like a completely new name. It sounded like her.

  Yes. Em. I can live with that.

  She stood up, wiped her eyes with her sleeves. These were not tears from breaking down anymore. They were something else. Something softer. Something like… joy.

  “Yeah… Let’s!”

  fiction.

  deep breath.