Six years ago.
The lights were pouring down hell-like heat, causing Laurel to sweat profusely in the dress she had just been sewn into, a lovely deep-blue taffeta number with embedded micro-holoprojectors that caused a swirl of galaxies to hover just over the material and swirl whenever she took a step.
She thought that this time it was something people would actually wear, and that was nice. Often, she was used as a canvas for ...underwhelming designers that got a lucky break early on. She stood in the queue, two back, a full head taller than the others, her alabaster skin, sprinkled with a few freckles was magnified by her wild spray of ginger locks, pulled into a forty five degree angled ponytail which made it look like a curly ginger rooster's tail, caused her to stand out from the rest. As she patiently waited her turn, she scanned the audience.
She knew it was bad form to acknowledge them, as it was standard operating procedure to do your catwalk, throw a few poses at the end, and make your way back so the next could do thiers, all the while oblivious to the people around you.
The disconnect helped you focus. She knew that. However, she looked around, and saw a few sets of lustful eyes that were focused intensely on her. This, not unsurprisingly, turned her on, and the familiar tingles made her smile slightly as her nipples rose in response.
She had, much to her disappointment, a huge void in her love life. Her job kept her extremely busy, and because of that, she remained single. She would be going solo tonight, as usual.
What Laurel didn't know, was that she was the target of hate from (to put kindly) a few spiteful bitches. They saw the attention she got from the men, and it infuriated them. After a long string of awards and easily won contests, They snapped. Today they would teach her a harsh lesson on life.
A figure in black wearing a holographic mask of an Oni, stepped out from behind a curtain, wielding a club.'
Unseen by the audience, and unnoticed by most of the models, the armed figure rushed up behind Laurel and struck her on the head with his club.
Stunned, her eyes rolled, and she staggered forward, somehow managing to stay standing, as blood flowed into her eyes. The second blow knocked her to the ground with a scream of pain as she culred up in the fetal position.
The audience erupted into chaos, people were donning thier castgoggles to call for help, while others donned them to record the assault, and yet others fled the scene.
A third blow stopped Laurel's feeble attempts to stand. Oddly, she remained concious througout it all. She lay there twitching, as the club smashed her skull sening bone fragments into her grey matter. As she lay there, unable to move, save for the uncontrolled spasming that was her brain desperately trying to move her body, she heard a voice as she sank into blissful unconcious which said,
"That'll teach you to be so high and mighty."
***
A few years of reconstructive surgeries and delicate brainwork, returned her to more-or-less the same state as she was before the assault, except or one thing. She had no fine motor control. She would quake and spasm whenever she saw movement or heard anything above a certain level of loudness. This left her alone in her apartment, where the solitude would let her have a halfway normal life.
A few months later, she had received a call from her doctor's nurse. In this call, she was informed that there was an option that would resolve her lingering damage. A very illegal option, but an option nonetheless. It took all of three seconds for her to make the descision.
One week later
Laurel's wheelchair dutifully guided her through the winding streets of Shanghai, down dark alleyways. Her castgoggles projected her path ahead of her, and translated half-caught mutterings from the natives as she went further and further down that rabbit hole.
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At the end of her journey, A security camera hung above a simple unmarked door, with not so much as a door handle thjat took up most of the wall that was the end of the narrow alley that she had traversed to get there. A few moments later, it opened and a young chinese man smiled at her.
"Miss Pendegrass. I'm pleased to finally meet you. Come on in."
Laurel studied the man briefly. His face was a cool emotionless mask, he could be considered handsome, given the proper outfitting. As it was, he was wearing immaculately clean and pressed green surgical scrubs. She paused a moment, but urged her wheelchair to take her inside.
The doctor, who had never named himself, sat behind a simple desk with a small object the size andshape of a quails' egg that was sitting on a small display pedestal made of lucite. This object was the reason she had taken a hop around the world. It was a nano egg, An artificial shell containing a black goo of nanomachines, which would diassemble the shell and use its material (and themselves) to construct the needed implant.
The legality of this implant in Cascadia was most definately not in question. Following the Dallas Nano outbreak, which had devoured most of that small town in the west side of the Salem Megacomplex beore the nessicary amount of deactivating reagent could be brought into play, nanomachines had ben outright banned. Not only did this implant use nanomachines, it was also a live connection to the castnet. This was also highly illegal, since the terrorist group Outbreak managed to hack the livecast implants over the net, killing thousands of innocent people whose only crime was wanting to have the newest and shiniest technology, they too were banned. Luckily, after implantation, there would be no visible evidence of it, and the implant itself was composed of fabricated organic matter that could not be seen on normal scanner unless you knew what you were looking for.
The implantation was the easy part. A simple insertion of the egg, and it would do the rest, even the healing of the wound. The process took less than an hour, thanks to the robotic surgeon that had performed the procedure with the utmost precision and speed. She was back on the hop to Seattle an hour later with the address of a physical thrapist that would help her train the implant that would eventually give her full, normal control of her body.
It was a few years later, that the sessions had finally given Laurel a more-or-less normal life again. However, A model has a limited shelf-life, and her aggressors had grown in popularity since she had been forced out of her industry, she found that no-one would hire her. She had been blacklisted. Lucky for her, she had inherited a condo in the swanky section of Seattle, and had managed to save quite a lot of money from her modeling work, which was invested wisely. She would, barring an act of god, never need to worry about money.
***
Three years ago
Laurel entered the shop, and a little bell, --an acual, honest-to-goodness analog bell!-- rang, announcing her entry into the little game shop. Its walls were covered with cheap holo posters of Comic book covers and advertisements or games of various types. As she browsed through the aisles, she was pleasantly surprised to see not only a wide selection of board games, but modern AR games that would be played through CLARA, as well old-fashioned board games! This was apparently quite the niche shop.
At the counter was a short, dark skinned man, with a thin, well groomed and shaped moustache, short line-beard and intelligent eyes and a cheeky smile that highlighted his well deined dimples. --clearly a latino of some derivation. He stopped for a moment and did a double take as he saw her. He was exactly her type, and her body started to react to him. With great effort, she managed to calm down, lest she lose control and have a seizure. She managed to clear herself of emotion.
The clerk smiled widely, as Laurel approached the counter.
"Excuse me," She began, somewhat nervous, "I'm interested in a game that can be played solo or with a group."
The man perked up, "What kind of game? Fantasy? Sci-fi? Retro? AR?"
Laurel paused, on the verge of panicking. This had been the first real outing in a few months, and her anxiety levels were soaring. She focused, glad that anxiety was not a trigger for her seizures.
"Ah," she said brightly.
The man, whose nametag she had finally managed to notice, read 'Jose' leaped to the rescue, "Who is it for? You? Your kids?"
"Ah," she managed to repeat herself, "I don't have kids."
"Well, do you like board games?" He pressed
"Y-yes. Do you have a recommendation?"
"Why yes I do! It just so happens that I'm receiving a few really rare games tomorrow that just happen to meet your requirements. Would you like to come in tomorrow afternoon and have a look at them?" Jose asked, his dimples in full effect.
Laurel knew at that point that this man would be hers by hook or by crook. She just had to go slow, in case he might get scared off by her ...condition.