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Michael had never been with a girl. Yeah, he was already pushing forty, and sure, he had landed a pretty decent job at a large home appliance company, but despite all that, the fact remained — he was a forty-year-old virgin who didn’t know how to deal with women.
He didn’t understand them, didn’t know how to talk to them, avoided their gaze, and even in messages to female coworkers he kept things as formal as possible — brief, dry, and emotionless. Michael Banks was a reclusive, almost asexual tech guy, and at thirty-nine, the thing he was most proud of was his work in the R&D department at NuroLink Industries.
— Mike, did you sync your profile to the new “NeuroHomeSync”? — asked Jason, his office neighbor, with a smirk. — They say now you can just think about coffee — and the coffeemaker turns on by itself.
— I’m not a fan of that crap, — Michael grumbled, not even looking up from his screen. — The brain should stay autonomous. No interference.
But that exact “interference” was what he’d done last night — purely out of professional curiosity. He had connected the module to his temporal lobe, let the device read his “cognitive imprint” to test the synchronization speed with home devices. The protocol didn’t just upload commands — it pulled subconscious patterns... And he hadn’t realized he forgot to disable memory upload, and by the time he figured something was off, it was already too late. His consciousness had fully transferred into the cloud and got archived.
This wasn’t the first case of such “archiving.” The secret department at NuroLink Industries was aware of these incidents, and when the cops found Michael’s body, specialists had already worked on it to make it look like just another case of “severe burnout.” They had already accessed it, understood that the body was no longer functional, and redirected his consciousness from the module into an isolated test container on the Cognitive Security Division’s server. Dr. Emma Collins, head of the “NeuroHomeSync” project, made an indifferent note in the log:
— Thirty-sixth case of unintended transfer. Recovery protocol not possible. Archived.
Michael Banks, once a nobody engineer, became just “Cognitive Image No. 36.”
But decades later, unknown hackers breached one of the servers, pulling off a sabotage against the company that had taken too much of the market. Maybe it was the work of competitors, or maybe just some enthusiasts, but they dumped everything into the open network — including the encrypted cognitive images.
…
— Siri, post-workout stretching playlist, — Mila mumbled as she peeled off her jeans. She had just returned from an intense morning jog through the park by the lake, and her muscles were pleasantly aching. The jeans slid down to her hips, revealing snow-white hipster panties and a tight sports top that accentuated her firm tits. She stretched, about to slip them off completely, when suddenly...
A sharp, throbbing pain pierced her temples. Mila froze, one hand still gripping the waistband of her jeans, the other instinctively clutching her forehead.
— Oh... fuck, — she hissed through her teeth, eyes squinting from the uncomfortable sensation. The pulsing in her temples didn’t subside — on the contrary, it was getting stronger, as if someone was banging inside her head, demanding to be let in.
Mila tried to...