“I feel it important to iterate that you do not have to fear me, nor be cautious. I am here for the sole purpose of helping you, Aster.”

Aster said nothing, and acknowledged nothing else but the floor she kept her gaze glued to.

Marienne told her not to fear, but it was impossible for Aster to feel anything else for the woman before her. Though she bore the title of therapist, she was cut from a wholly different cloth than those of the past. The therapists that she had always known were a class of society that represented one of the most important appendages of the state's intelligence apparatus.

They were the result of a society that had to come to terms with its own invalidation overnight— the desperate search of millions for anything that resembled the purpose their careers had given to them. In a consumerist society, it was necessary that each individual must produce in order to consume— but when the act of production was handed over to artificial intelligence, a collective cry of terror bellowed forth from a humankind left adrift.

Society had changed so radically, so quickly, that the souls left disillusioned, suicidal, and wandering in its wake were near innumerable. It came naturally to be that therapy, one of the very few careers left untouched by the AI revolution, had now found a growing market for its trade, and the disillusioned themselves had now found a meaning to tether their lives to.

The state itself looked upon the millions of its citizens eagerly engaging in the trade of others' secrets with eyes of unimaginable gluttony, and happily supported the propagation of it through any means necessary. In short years it transformed from the career of average people into a venerable caste— the most esteemed of those unrivaled in their ability to draw out information from their patients— and accordingly kept close to the state's bosom. This was the affair of Marienne, exceptionally awarded and successful among her peers.

Having been informed of Marienne's accolades in the field by her father, Aster could think of no reason why they should allow her to head their session, other than a personal relation between Marienne and her parents that her father had hinted at.

But her father, her conduit for Marienne's attention and inquires, was now gone from the room. In the face of his absence she couldn't help but feel the grasp of her debilitating anxiety once more tighten around her, insatiable in its lust for any single morsel of happiness or calm that might dwell in Aster's person.

She knew Marienne was deceit inside and out. The language she spoke was one of lies and strong-arming, which angered Aster in just how closely it resembled Johnny Vallerie's self-serving, pompous habit of talking down to others, though Marienne was far more subtle about it.

However, it was that subtlety that terrified Aster deeply.

She had confidence in her father, someone she knew to speak well, who seldom ever lost an argument. But Aster knew very well that she was not equipped with the same argumentative talents, and that her anger often got the better of her.

She suddenly found herself wondering— when had she ever truly talked to anyone without it becoming an argument? Sylvia?

“How about we start with your childhood, Aster?” Marienne began, snapping Aster finally from her daydreaming. “Were there any moments in it that you feel have affected you?”

Aster could bring to mind several off the top of her head, though nothing mundane enough she would feel comfortable trotting out to Marienne as a convincingly heartfelt answer. She had not shared her childhood experiences with a soul in the world, and had scarcely unpacked the meaning of them for herself.

To that end, Aster began to reflect on numerous moments throughout her early childhood which left an indelible feeling of alienation and loneliness upon her.

She had little understanding of why at the time, the fellow children who inhabited the megascraper were unrelenting in the lash of their tongues. Always quick with snide remarks about Aster's strange proclivities and fascination with antiquated culture. They were never forwardly open with their bullying Aster recalled, but would not miss a chance to deliver some remark to her whenever the opportunity arose.

It began with her enchantment with the music she often heard her father listen to. She remembered a juvenile eagerness towards it which propelled her to attempt to share her excitement of its discovery with her peers, only to be met by naked apathy and confusion.

Little by little, Aster's exuberance wilted away as she began to realize everyone's grand disinterest. Like a source of warmth on a cold night, she began to hug her passion tight, held closer and closer to herself until it took the place of any need for companionship.

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It had to, for there weren't many people in Aster's life.

With that thought, she recalled one person who was there. A nameless boy, her nascent friend.

The one who, with such a simple phrase as "leave her alone", had shattered the fog of solitude which had encroached upon the lonely little girl. In that simple act, those who taunted her never again did so as noticeably, instead fading into a cowardly siege of disapproving looks and whispers until the day Aster left those juvenile socialization groups.

Nevermore did she see her friend after she graduated from them, though she remembered that he lived down the same hall as her.

She wondered why she had never thought upon it till that moment, the memory now struck her with such intensity. She wondered why she couldn't recall much about him, was she simply just that aloof?

That recollection and the musings it inspired changed the complexion of Aster's expression from one of irritation and disinterest to a visibly pained thoughtfulness, though she gave nothing to Marienne on what she had just reflected.

"No, it was mostly boring," she squeaked out unconvincingly.

Marienne appeared totally unphased by Aster's attempt to lie, but let her proceed, moving on to more mundane questions as the minutes whittled by.

Aster deflected each inquiry with similar aloofness, almost unable to bear her anticipation of the end of the session as it drew ever closer.

"So, tell me about your guitar teacher, Nancy."

Aster's heart stopped.

"Why— why is that necessary?"

Fucking idiot, how does that at all sound subtle?

"Well, if you'll indulge me, it's more of a personal curiosity. I hope that's okay," she replied, smiling slightly.

"It's just very rare nowadays to find people who teach things like physical instruments in person— especially a centenarian! Normally they go off to retire in Eden devices—"

Aster began to shake violently at the mention of its name.

Aware entirely of what suspicion this could broadcast to Marienne, she tried desperately to subdue her absolute panic.

"Well, she is pretty strange—" Aster's voice trembled and broke. She hoped to convey some semblance of confidence and normality, and could imagine the cadence inside of her mind, but her whole body trembled with such intensity that even her vocal cords could not eek out a stable tone.

Marienne did not react to Aster's intense panic.

"Isn't she ever? She's got quite the name for herself, an actual star from the sixties! I think my great grandmother was barely a toddler back then. You're definitely under the tutelage of some experience. Though her association with the Vanguard is irksome."

Aster's mouth went dry. Her eyes opened wide at the revelation, her veneer of disinterest now totally cast aside.

This time, Marienne reacted to her expression.

“'Oh don't worry, I properly looked her over. It's an association that goes back decades, from before their radicalization. But I would be careful if I were you, as a young upstanding citizen. You never know how corruption will find you.”

—

“—is what she said."

Aster looked to Nancy with an expression of pure disbelief.

"What does she mean you know the Vanguard? How does she know?! How the fuck did she find out about you? Why the fuck didn't you try to be less noticeable—"

"Does it matter? She knows now. But you said it yourself, she has no worries about the association. Now, she's almost certainly lying about that lack of worries, but there's nothing we can do about it at the moment."

"Am I not fucked for just even coming back here?"

"She's not tailing you. She's just hoping that you crack and lead her to what she wants."

Aster looked at Nancy wide-eyed, desperate for some remedy to the clawing fear she felt eager to rip out of her heart.

"But why me? What the fuck is the point of destroying me?!"

Nancy turned away at Aster's question and waited momentarily to answer.

"Well simply, the more people she can get to re-education, the better it is for her."

"So she's just looking to ruin whoever she can?"

"Essentially. That's why it is imperative Aster that you use that biting wit you always seem to have lying around to try and save yourself. You are not dealing with someone who does this just to give themselves something to do. She's made a career of it for a reason."

The look of utter helplessness and abject fear in Aster's expression pained Nancy deeply. The wounded, searching animal, frantic for release. She wondered if it was divine punishment, though she had lost faith in God almost a century ago.

Maybe it was an ordained punishment, at the end of her long life, to see this bright light being snuffed out before her. Or perhaps, more likely, it was just the price she had to pay for being so greedy with her life.

She was aware that she should've died decades ago.

Yet the fear of death was too powerful. When the Vanguard arose with the ability to reverse cell death and aging, it seemed like a chance heaven sent to Nancy— the aging bohemian queen with her mountains of wealth, audience to the passing of all those she knew and loved.

She knew that in extending her life, she'd only watch more of those who she held dear lose their own. However, even though at the time she was already well into in her nineties, she realized that in many ways she was still a child. An immature existence, that hadn't even a century under it's belt.

How could she grasp such a heavy concept that millennia of humankind before forever dreamed of and aspired towards? How could she ever even begin to reckon with shrugging off death? Any living being would eagerly accept more life, even if it hated it, for the promise of it getting better was a deal that always won with its temptation.

But now she realized, there was no recompense for the loss of everything that made life worth it, even if the act of it continued indefinitely.

And so she gazed upon her avatar of hope, her one chance to make her greed worth something, and affixed that obsidian device under her blunt bangs, nestled up against her temple.

They may kill me, but I will not let them kill you.