Survival of the Fittest

There was a quiet beep, and a cool voice spoke in Cassia's head. “Live-streaming in ten minutes.”

Cassia waved the reminder away and turned back towards the mirror. “Ten minutes. Gotcha. Narra, run Vibe Check.” The hologram beside her turned their head. A beam of red light flashed across her body, highlighting her reflection in the digital mirror with corrections.

“Priority,” Cassia ordered. “Narra — audio.”

Several of the comments shimmered into greater prominence, and her sponsorship agent spoke. “In order of priority, MoonPrincess: your hair is asymmetrically brushed. Your eyebrows are considerably thinner than average. Your stomach is 14% more bloated than usual — I suggest a higher-cut skirt. The curve of your hips is not full enough. Your left mascara is smudged. There are 1.2 pieces of arugula stuck in your teeth—”

“Alright, alright!” Cassia flicked Narra’s volume to zero, cheeks burning. She ran a brush through her hair and reached for the eyebrow liner while kicking off the skirt. After hesitating, with a glance at her robotic sponsorship agent she attached two ThicPads to her hips. The synthetic rubber sealed smoothly into place, broadening the curve of her bony hips, and darkened to match her skin tone.

Her grandmother had snorted when she first saw the synthetic pads. What’s next? Rubber masks for your face to make you look like a plastic doll? Cassia, sweetie, you don’t need fake padding to be beautiful.

“Sorry, Gigi,” she muttered, flicking out the arugula and leaning closer to examine her makeup. “Algorithm didn’t think so.”

“Live-streaming in five minutes,” Narra added, then clicked off again.

Cassia sucked in her stomach and took a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her hair. If everything went well, with luck this stream's money would be enough for rent this month. She switched her mirror to camera mode.

“Hey, guys,” she whispered to herself, giving the blank screen the biggest smile she could muster. “Super-awesome episode today—”

“MoonPrincess,” Narra interrupted, “one more priority. Your locket is covering up portions of the sponsor’s logo on your shirt. Please correct this immediately.”

Cassia pulled at the little golden heart on her chest and frowned. It had been a gift from Gigi when she was eight, several years before the smog sickness had reached her grandmother’s brain. She hesitated for a second and pulled it closer.

“MoonPrincess,” Narra repeated. “Please adjust your locket, or your sponsorship may be compromised.” When Gigi’s seizures had started, it was the locket Cassia had clung to, whispering desperate prayers into its metallic surface. Every time, it had worked, even as Gigi’s grip on reality loosened with each seizure that passed. Everyone needs a magic charm, her grandmother had said as Cassia clung to her afterwards, shielding Gigi from the demons she was sure she saw looming around them. I’m glad you found yours.

Cassia folded her arms, glaring at the holographic agent. “I’m keeping it.”

Narra waited a moment, then clicked their disapproval. “Very well.”

The status bar at the corner of her vision drained slightly, and Cassia winced. The bills were stacking up fast enough already. Between rent and Gigi’s meds, she was barely eating. They needed this stream.

Forcing the thought away, she twirled once more in the mirror, making sure everything was in place. “Narra, everything ready?”

“Everything is ready. Live-streaming in 3… 2… 1…”

Cassia’s vision lit up around the edges, and several icons appeared in the corner. A live voice feed sprang to life at the back of her skull, sending a buzz of coughs and murmurs echoing through her brain. From now on, every move she made would be recorded for the world to see.

Cassia winked at the camera, fluttering her skirt. “Hey, guys!”

Pushing all thoughts of Gigi out of her head, she giggled and flashed the screen her brightest smile. “MoonPrincess here!” It was greeted with cheers and whistles. She rolled back on her bed and let her gaze drift up to the pink lace canopy hiding the water stains on the ceiling. “Super special episode today: as you all know, tomorrow is… my birthday!” She squealed and bounced up again. “And boy, do I have a special gift for you all!”

More whistles broke out in her head, and donations fluttered in, each depositing their credits in her account with a delicious ching. Cassia swiped an icon on Narra’s head.

After a year of worsening seizures, Gigi had arrived home one day with a cardboard box full of supplies and a cloud of despair. Well, Cassia, looks like it’s just you and me now. The jobs they managed to work barely kept them fed and did nothing against the rats, the dirt, the growing cracks in their life’s foundation.

The drumbeat of her signature song rolled out. Cassia smiled grimly, fingering the edge of her skirt. It was time to pay the rent.

She stood, moving her shoulders to the music, and slowly pulled the cardigan from her shoulders, tossing it to the side with a wink. The donation icons fluttered to life as she gyrated her hips, reaching for the poles at the corners of her bed. This is for you, Gigi.

A logo materialised along the side of her vision: Requests.

Cassia let out a small breath. Ordinary donations were only a few credits each, enough to buy half an electric pencil if you were lucky. A beta feature, Requests could be up to thousands of credits, in return for doing what the donor wanted. She normally only fulfilled one or two per session, but Gigi’s seizures had just taken a turn for the worse. They would need new medication soon. She swiped the icon.

Instantly her view flooded with comment bubbles. kiss me was the first she saw, for twenty credits. She shuddered, imagining who might have written it, and kept dancing. Fat chance.

turn around & bend over, another said, for seventy-five credits.

That was groceries for a week. Cassia obliged, swishing her hips a little, and it lit up, depositing the money in her account with a beautiful ting.

subscribe 2 me?????? for five. She ignored it.

Let that pretty hair down ;) for two hundred. Cassia touched her pigtails doubtfully.

Gigi had loved her hair. My little girl, she had said with a gentle smile, pulling one of them playfully.

Two hundred credits was medication for a month. Cassia straightened up and, with a wave of her torso, snapped off the elastics that held her ponytails up. Her hair streamed out behind her. She twisted a strand along her finger and fluttered her eyelashes, blowing a kiss to the screen.

The Request lit up and vanished, and her account balance whirred upwards. Still negative, of course, but if only they could get out of debt they might be able to apply for a more prestigious address, one that looked better on resumés. Her voice stream filled with cheers, and the donations flocked across her sight like plastic in the wind.

A new Request flew in, bigger and brighter than the others. She squinted closer. Take off ur shirt?

Cassia dismissed the message. She might dance for a living, but she had her standards. The locket around her neck was a reminder of that.

The amount flew in and lit the comment up again. 100,000 credits.

Cassia almost fell over.

One hundred thousand credits was six months’ salary. It might buy rent for the next two years. Even with their miserable insurance, it could even pay for one or two sessions of the neurotherapy Gigi needed.

Darling, Gigi had told her, stroking her cheek, sell your time. Sell your effort. Sell your products. But don’t you ever sell your values.

She would be exposed to as many people as cared to watch. The locket dangled heavily against her chest. She couldn't do it.

The last time Cassia had visited, Gigi had been slumped in a battered chair at the hospital, mumbling nonsense to herself. With neurotherapy, she might live another ten years, the doctor had told her. Without…

That was three months ago. Now, with half her days spent stacking crates in the warehouse, choking on the same bio-smog that was killing her grandmother for twenty credits an hour, Cassia had barely seen Gigi since. The shell of her grandmother that remained was almost unrecognizable as the woman Cassia had loved.

I have sold everything, Gigi. There is nothing left. As the music coiled to a pause, Cassia pulled her shirt off in one fluid motion, baring herself to the world.

With a last crash of cymbals, the song went quiet. Cassia lifted her head just as the Request lit up and vanished. One hundred thousand credits.

She was thrown backwards as her head flooded with whoops and whistles, yelling so loudly that even Narra’s voice, scolding her for removing her sponsored shirt, was dimmed in the chaos. Even when she squeezed her eyes shut, the recording screen danced in her vision. The comments were a solid wall of purple emojis.

“Alright, boys,” she managed, clutching her shirt against herself. “I — I hope you —”

“MoonPrincess?” Narra’s voice was emotionless as ever. “Our algorithms have calculated that the stream would receive 43% more income if you removed your arms from your chest.”

Cassia stumbled back, wrapping her arms around herself even more tightly. Her voice was shrill in her ears. "Hope you enjoyed! Um, please subscribe thank you to Dextrii for sponsoring STREAM OVER!"

Only when the glow around her vision had faded to nothing did she relax, running a shaking hand over her eyes. Her heart raced furiously, and the press of ten thousand eyes still burned against her chest.

One hundred thousand credits. She should be celebrating. They had money now: food, rent, medicine. At least if her patron had even kept his promise. Are you proud, Gigi? Are you happy?

When she reached for the locket, her fingers caught on nothing but cold skin.

Cassia crept forwards and crouched over the tangled heap on the floor, pressing a hand to her mouth. The shirt had sent it flying. Its string had come apart; the golden heart was split in half along the middle.

She reached for the frame with trembling fingers. With a small tinkling noise, her grandmother’s image slid out and shattered into a thousand pieces.

As she cried out, reaching a disbelieving hand towards the fragments, the city clock struck midnight.

November 10th, 2051. It was her birthday.

The clock was tolling, and she was fourteen years old.