The worst thing about paradise is how fucking boring it is.

Sun glares off the chrome mirror shine of New London's skyline, outside the window of my temperature-controlled room as I sit in my perfectly ergonomic chair, staring at my perfectly curated social media feed. Everything's so bullshit. The walls shift between soft pink and lavender blue as the minutes pass by, synced to my circadian rhythm or some bollocks.

Mum's humming in the kitchen, which means she's up. Probably cooking the nutritionally optimised misery bowl the algorithm determined would maximise her productivity today. Dad's watching the news – all feel-good stories about how good everything is now. How crime's down another half-percent thanks to the extra drone surveillance, or them fancy new apartments in Singapore that recycle piss back into the water supply. How lucky are we to live in this age of enlightenment, yeah?

I scroll past another targeted ad for mood stabilisers. My social credit score dropped three points this month, flagging something must be off. Why the hell wouldn't I be sharing over-filtered snaps of my new hair colour to my flock of faceless followers for that dopamine hit of self-gratification? I'm now on suicide watch, I guess, as the smiling woman in the ad with perfect teeth and dead eyes is telling me. "Feeling anxious about your new look? Paranoid about what others might think? Depression is a perfectly treatable condition – let Paxolam find your balance today."

My hand traces over the ID tattoo on my wrist, the same place where the scanner flashed red for Cam last night. It feels like a phantom pain, but all backwards and twisted up. Something that should have hurt someone else, but didn't, and now it's here hurting me. The rebels are probably all still passed out in that server room, dreaming of revolution. Not many of them have the luxury of home anymore like I do. Sat here pretending to be the perfect fucking daughter in this perfect fucking word.

Bzzz.

Karma: mornin sunshine :) ready to go bomb the system? choose violence??? 😈

I snort a laugh, then quickly hide it as Mum walks in with a bowl of optimised breakfast slop. Some quinoa thing. Can't wait. Her Aidolon, Eric, stands at her shoulder like a beautiful ghost, helping her portion out the servings.

Jess: Maybe don't text about that on main??

Karma: lol chill its all encrypted your paranoias showing again

Jess: Not paranoia when Pax actually is watching everything.

Karma: not everything ;)

I bite my lip, holding back a smile. He's such a tit sometimes. But he's right – we worked out this encryption together, set it up so it's solid as a rock. Has to be, when half of it's built to authenticate only with his viral code. Sure, Pax could brute-force any key in the world, but it can't solve for a program it can't see.

"Jess, hun," Mum's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Not going to eat your breakfast?" She nudges the bowl towards me, and I look up to see both her and Eric watching me with identical concern. That's the creepiest part to me about Aidolons, when they mirror their human so perfectly. Or maybe it's the other way around. Sometimes I wonder if Mum even knows which thoughts are her own anymore. Maybe it's better that way. At least she doesn't seem to notice all the fucked up shit like I do.

"Yeah, will do," I say, forcing a smile. "Thanks. Just got to check some work emails.

"On a Sunday?" She frowns. "You know you don't have to do that. Pax recommends maintaining a proper work life balance–"

"I know, I know," I snap back a little bit too forcefully, before she can go into a full recital of Pax's wellness guidelines. In truth, I don't even have a job. Nobody really does anymore. Not long after the Alignment, most real jobs disappeared. AI was way better than us at doing pretty much anything – making goods, making art, making money. Then it realised there was nobody to sell to and make more money, so it scrapped the concept of economy altogether. Now we all 'worked' because Pax said it was good for our mental health. Kept our brains active and our social credits high. Everyone was assigned a role for optimal self-fulfillment based on their natural skillset. Like little show dogs running around a ridiculous obstacle course for treats.

Eric's eyes flick to my phone, then back to my face. There's something too knowing in his look that makes me feel itchy. I wonder if he can sense Cam somewhere in the encrypted data streams, like how sharks can smell blood. But that'd be impossible. Right?

My phone buzzes again.

Karma: btw your roots are showing. reds fading. do it blue again pleeeease <3

I automatically touch my hair then scowl down at the screen. Little shit. He can't even see me right now. Wait.

Jess: Wtf. You're watching me through the camera??

Karma: nah i dun need cameras to know you're prolly touching your hair now

For fuck's sake. I drop my hand, putting my phone face-down on the desk with a huff.

The morning news drones on in the background. Dad's Aidolon, Sara, stands behind his chair, occasionally offering up some useless commentary on the financial reports. Everything up. Yay. Perfect. I've tried arguing before – what's the point of stocks when money's just a number Pax keeps on life support? But I guess it's like Monopoly money. It's not about the value of it, it's the artificial thrill of holding a fat stack of them in your hand. Dad's not investing. He's just watching green lines go up.

I force a mouthful of quinoa down, trying not to think about the C4 cakes stashed in my wardrobe. Or how many people might die today in our stupid attempt. Or how I'm not even sure if I want this plan to work. The sludgey breakfast turns to cement in my stomach as I push back from the table, picking up my phone again. The rebel's group chat is going off. I quickly scan through the messages I've missed.

🟥 [REDACTED] – PRIVATE GROUP CHAT (18 unread messages)

J4ckdaw: Everyone ready to fuck the system or what? LFGGGGGG

O-Ska: Only if u actually let me plant the charges this time instead of rushing det like a twat.

nomercy: lmao u got vaped last time stfu

Sybastion: Stay focused. This is a real target, not a practice run.

J4ckdaw: Relax Syb, we got this kid.

Daelith: remind me why I agreed to this again

J4ckdaw: Cos ur a thrill-seeking psycho who gets off on breaking into high-sec buildings

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Daelith: oh yh true

Sybastion: Keep comms clear. No second chances if we fuck this up.

J4ckdaw: Blah blah blah Syb WE KNOW OK?

Karma: he's right tho let him have his moment

nomercy: who tf even is this guy again?? @Karma

Sybastion: That's what I'm wondering.

J4ckdaw: @Jesstiny's mate. He's solid, chill tf out.

Karma: damn no love for the new guy smh

nomercy: trust is earned

Sybastion: And we don't have time to earn it.

I sigh, thumbs bashing out a message.

Jesstiny: Ffs can we not start this shit again right before a mission?

Karma: ty jess <3

nomercy: stfu karma

I exhale, locking my phone before I have to watch them arguing over whether or not Cam's worth trusting. They don't know, but they'll definitely suspect something. Maybe not about what he really is, not after the green light last night. But Pax doesn't just use AI to weed out defiance. It uses people too. Even Mum and Dad have hit the report button on their phones more than once. And Syb's the kind of lad who always knows when something's off. Something about Cam – maybe the way he talks, the way he never panics – it's rubbing Syb the wrong way.

I slip my phone back into my pocket, grabbing my bag. No hesitation. No nerves. Just a normal morning, I keep telling myself. Mum watches me, sipping her cup of tea. "You off out, pet?"

"Yeah, just meeting some mates." Not really a lie, is it? It's just that my mates happen to be packing high explosives. Mum nods, but Eric is still watching with those sharp, unblinking eyes. That's always the problem with playing pretend in a world running on algorithms, weights and biases. Eventually, one of them will catch the slip in the pattern.

Karma: have fun at school dont do terrorism

Jess: fuck off

"Mm, that Jack lad again?" Mum asks, far too casual.

I nearly choke on my own spit. "What?"

"He's a handsome one." She takes another sip, smirking like she's Benedict Cumberbatch putting the final piece together in a BBC crime drama. "Bit scruffy, but I bet he'd scrub up well. You're always messaging him in that little group of yours, always up to something."

Jesus Christ.

"Mum, no."

"Alright, what about that other one then? Sebastian, is it?" She winks. Eric, creepily, winks too.

I think I might be physically ill. Mum notices my fake gag, and once again completely gets the wrong end of the stick. "Ooooh," she says, dragging it out like a little song. "It's him, isn't it? Smart lad. Bit serious, though. But I'm happy for you, Jess. It's good to have real connections, not just–"

"Mum, I'm literally going to kill myself if you keep talking." I sling my bag over my shoulder, scowling. "Goodbye forever!"

I slam the door shut behind me before she can go into the Mum Speech of Doom. Something nasty and guilty twists my gut as I go. The conversation was so... normal, like I'm just some regular girl heading out to meet some boy and not a fugitive on the way to commit terrorism. Might be the last conversation I ever have with her. And that's how I leave things? Goodbye forever? I cringe, glancing back at the door handle. Maybe I should turn back.

No. Forget it. It's easier this way.

I let my shoulders slump as I step into the sterile streets of New London, resolving to drop Mum a text on the way. Cam is going to meet me at Euston station, then we'll join the rest. He's been out all morning doing God knows what. I don't ask any more. I just cover up for him with excuses like shopping or getting repairs if Mum or Dad ever ask. Aidolons rarely leave their human's side – kind of defeats the point of having a caretaker if they keep going AWOL.

Pax's curated reality hums through the city. The trains never run late. Faces from holographic billboards sell happiness in any form you could imagine. The air smells like pine toilet cleaner from where the pollution has been scrubbed out. No crime, no friction, no problems.

I flick my hood up.

Karma: your mum fancies jackdaw lmao 🤣

I stop mid-step, staring at the screen.

Jess: I will literally decommission you.

Karma: gonna take me apart gently or rough?

Karma: you sure you dont have a thing for him?? 👀

Jess: Die

Karma: cant i dont have a heartbeat 😘

I roll my eyes and shove the phone into my pocket, picking up my pace as I hit the tube station. I scan my wrist without thinking, and the turnstile clicks as it opens for me with a little green light. Good human. You can pass. It's mostly empty inside Euston station, on account of nobody needing to actually go to work anymore.

Karma: fr why does every mum like him

Jess: She just assumes because I talk to him. It's called social interaction.

Karma: gross

Jess: You pretend to be human all the time.

Karma: yeh but i do it sexily

I snort, leaning against the tiled wall as I wait for the train. The platform's empty except for a couple of older people, staring blankly at their phones. Probably reading the morning news, or checking their social scores. I wonder if they'll even find out about what we're going to do today. If they'd even care.

Karma: btw im like 2 mins away

I can't send him anything back because my phone's lost signal. Funny how even with the processing power of a billion human brains stuck together, Pax still hadn't cracked underground coverage. I do notice a bunch of unreads in our group chat.

J4ckdaw: Anyone not here in 30 min gets left behind.

O-Ska: calm ur tits mate some of us actually have to sneak out

nomercy: jess u alive or what

Sybastion: She'll be there.

Karma: ohhhh look at syb going all she'll be there 😏

nomercy: fucking christ

Oh, fucks sake. I don't even want to think about what's going on in that chat right now. Syb will be fuming at that, but I don't have time to care. The train's here.

The carriage itself is pristine white. Sometimes I wonder if all the graffiti artists and taggers just gave up one day, or if they still crawl out at night like underground fairies, daubing the world in colour again – only for everything to be scrubbed clean the very next morning, like it was never there. The red in my hair stands out like a warning sign amongst the other early morning passengers, all escorted by their own Aidolons hovering like beautiful guardian angels. A few pull out AR books and read them, but most of them stare ahead with vacant, contented peace. The doors slide shut with a gentle hiss, and the train hums to life. I sink into a seat near the back, arms crossed, pretending not to exist.

"This seat taken?"

I don't need to look up. "Stalking me now?"

Cam drops into the seat across from me, one long leg kicked out lazily. He's made an effort to look extra normal today, I notice. Black jeans, dark green hoodie. A beaten up leather jacket that matches mine. Probably did that on purpose. "Just happened to be going the same way."

"Right." I keep my voice low, though there's nobody within earshot. "Because you absolutely live somewhere and need to take the tube."

He grins, and something in my chest does a weird flip. "I just like it down here."

The tube slides to a stop at Oxford Circus, and more people shuffle in. I notice how Cam shifts slightly, angling himself between me and them. Always the protector. Even when I don't want him to be.

"You shouldn't wind Syb up, you know. He's getting suspicious," I mutter.

"Let him."

"Cam."

"What's he gonna do?" His voice is light, but there's an edge there. "Scan me again?"

I think about the red light on the scanner, and what he'd said after. Would've been messy. For them. "Just... be careful, okay?"

He turns to look at me properly then, and I see something flicker bright in his eyes. Something that makes me wonder if maybe I'm not the only one who's afraid after all. I glance away, suddenly fascinated by the Underground map above us. Thankfully, my phone buzzes before he can say anything else.

Sybastion: Where are you? We're moving in 20.

"Time to go save the world?" Cam asks.

I pocket my phone. "Time to die trying."

He stands, offering me his hand with that infuriating smirk. "Ladies first."

"I hate you."

"You don't."

Yeah. That's the worst part.