Eva Volkov was perfect. Hot, as they say. Sofia, on the other hand, was not. She wasn’t dead, no, at least not yet. But she had grown cold and was deeply buried, for the time being.
The cameras captured flawless angles as she sat, poised in the most meticulously planned position to maximize viewer impact. Her platinum blonde hair fell in soft, man-made waves down her back, framing her sharp, sculpted jawline and laser-cut cheekbones. Her lips, filled with fat from her arse and painted in a bold red from whatever brand she was promoting, parted into a professionally trained smile. Eva Volkov was the materialization of success, beauty, influence, and tacit control.
Sofia Ramirez—the woman behind Eva’s sparkling eyes—was almost cast into oblivion, buried under exhaustion. But at least I haven’t become merch, not completely, not yet, she thought.
Her team buzzed around her, adjusting lights, perfecting makeup, and double-checking every meaningless detail. Sofia quietly counted the minutes until it would all be over, like a captive hostage counting the seconds until their captor releases them into the woods. She’d take bears and monsters over the assholes surrounding her any day. Another live stream, another lucrative payday. The routine had become second nature. She could recite the sales pitch for tonight’s stream in her sleep, and probably had, considering how little rest she got these days. Sofia was vanishing as Eva prospered, but this was a choice, so what point would there be in confronting the latter?
“Eva, darling,” her manager, Marcus, called out from behind a massive control panel. “This is it. The biggest stream yet. You’ve got record numbers waiting. We’re talking millions tuning in. And the government’s watching this one closely, so stay on message, okay?”
She nodded, plastering a smile on her face. “Of course, Marcus. I’ve got this.” Sofia rolled her eyes, while her assistant—Karen or whatever—chewed the loudest gum ever made. “Just breathe and don’t hit anyone.”
Stay on message. Always the same warning. She had been walking the tightrope between neutrality and government-endorsed messaging for years now, carefully avoiding anything too political, anything that might jeopardize her neutral brand. It was safer that way—more profitable, too. She knew how lucky she was to be born in a coalition of countries that remained above the deepest effects of that damn drug. At least for the most part. She couldn’t imagine being born in Brazil, for example. Sometimes she wondered how her life would be in one of those places, where people were so affected by a tiny pill. A forever civil war. But she wasn’t a reporter. Or a politician. Or an intellectual. That was by choice. She was nothing more than a plastic bag full of candy, at least that was how Sofia saw the situation.
Well, anyway, tonight felt different. This wasn’t just another product launch. This was a tacit cover-up. She knew it. Marcus knew it. Hell, even the interns knew it. No one would say it, of course. They were pros at diverting attention from whatever disaster the suits had caused. A distraction, Sofia thought bitterly, as she waited for the countdown to go live. The government needed this. Civil unrest in the lower districts had been escalating, and people were starting to ask too many questions about rising inequality.
And here she was, the smiling face that would sell it. “Three minutes,” Marcus called out, snapping her back to the present. “Let’s make it perfect, Eva.”
She adjusted the earpiece hidden beneath her famous platinum locks. Stupid hair, Sofia thought. But this was no time to dwell on that. Eva Volkov didn’t question the world. Eva Volkov was flawless, living to show her millions of followers the best, brightest, and most colorful parts of life—a life kept safe from the harms of the world. Safe from the claws of that tiny white freaking pill. Safe from the Wildhearts. Safe, thanks to their strong military government. A bunch of forked-tongue people who signed her fat contracts with big gold pens. If she kept her head down and played the game, that is. So what if she didn’t agree with the way things were run? What difference could she make?
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Two minutes.
She glanced at her reflection in the nearby monitor, seeing Eva staring back at her—a version of herself so perfected, so surgically enhanced, that she sometimes struggled to recognize the woman she had once been. A younger Sofia might have cared about the injustices around her, but that was years ago, before she’d found success as Eva. Now, she simply kept her thoughts to herself. Survival meant staying quiet, staying profitable. She knew what was on the other side of the fence. She knew what happened to the faces that refused to smile. Holding a fake smile hurt less than having one carved.
“Two minutes, Eva. Looking gorgeous as always,” Marcus chimed in again, giving her a thumbs-up. She smiled, her lips stretching with the ease of someone used to faking enthusiasm.
One minute.
Eva took a deep breath. This was routine. It didn’t matter what was at stake for the government or how badly they needed this distraction to work. She just had to play her part, sell the product, and go home to her lavish penthouse, far removed from the chaos outside.
The screen in front of her blinked to life, showing the countdown: 30 seconds.
Her heart pounded as the final seconds ticked away. She pushed down the unease growing in her chest. This was what she did—what she was best at.
10 seconds.
She could hear the hum of the control room quieting as the final preparations locked into place. Marcus gave her a final nod, and she smiled—bright, confident, perfect.
And we’re live.
“Hello, beautiful people,” Eva began, her voice smooth and melodic as she leaned forward. “I am beyond excited to be here with you all tonight. What I’m about to show you is going to change everything you thought you knew about the way we connect.”
“This is more than just a product—it’s an experience. Imagine a world where your digital life is completely integrated into your reality. With just a touch, you can bring your social feeds, your messages, and your entertainment into your day-to-day life like never before.”
The numbers on her monitor spiked as viewers poured into the stream. Millions. This was the moment the government had been waiting for. A clean, seamless distraction from the growing unrest in the streets.
But then, something happened.
The screen flickered.
Just a brief glitch—hardly noticeable to the untrained eye—but Sofia saw it. Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t let it show on her face. The control room would fix it, no problem. She kept talking, gliding effortlessly through her script.
But then it flickered again.
The images on the screen behind her warped, replaced with static.
Eva froze. Sofia woke up.
In the next instant, words began flashing on the screen, bold and undeniable, filling the entire frame for her millions of viewers to see.
“YOU ARE BEING DRUGLESSLY CONTROLLED.”
She blinked, unsure of what she was seeing.
“THIS IS NOT A SHELTER. YOU ARE NOT BEING PROTECTED.”
Her pulse quickened as the message repeated, over and over again.
“LIES ARE LIES. RISE AND UNDERSTAND WHAT HAS BEEN TAKEN FROM YOU. RISE.”
The control room exploded into chaos as Marcus screamed into the headset, demanding the stream be shut down. But the words kept flashing.
“THE GREAT THREAT IS NOT THE DRUG. IT’S THE FEAR SOLD TO YOU.”
Eva screamed. “SHUT THIS OFF IMMEDIATELY! I’M LOYAL TO OUR CONTRACT, I HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS. I’M A PROFESSIONAL!” Sofia’s heart raced as she hissed. A strange reaction, she thought. “I guess that makes me the snake in the garden, after all.”
But this wasn’t part of a secret plan. This wasn’t part of anything.
And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the screen cut to black. The stream was over. Many things were over.
Eva sat, motionless, staring at the dead monitor in front of her. The weight of what had just happened settled over her like a suffocating blanket. Her team started to flee.
Millions of people had just seen that message. Her face was now tied to a rebellion she wanted no part of. How come? Why her? She was Paxxin-oblivious, she never gave out a hint of dissidence. She was popular, yes, but no one would buy it, no one would believe she was involved with this, would they?
Eva contemplated. Sofia acknowledged.
Her world—the flawless, polished world of Eva Volkov—had just collapsed.