We rode a tilt-jet helicopter over the countryside back to Elon. Good god, the weather was beautiful— an iron-solid cloud base as black as African slums, high winds aloft that even the jets struggled to fight, and a vertical river of a rainstorm. Better yet, that storm was a moon-killer— rain 'til the sun rises. I made the mistake of looking out the window. We were between Falstead and Duryset, right above the low-income boondocks. Then came the memories. I used to drive through that place to get my brain-meds, back before I took control of my mind. Just seeing the poverty made me sick. After all I'd done, there were still people who refused help. I didn't understand it. When I was young and had headcreeps, I screamed to the world for help. Then I met a collegian who rathered to take to the noose than admit he had issues.

I don't get people. Never have, never will. That's why I have Dota.

"Sun City's is lookin' mighty fine this time 'a year," I said.

"That's nice," Dota said.

"Figured we could go walking. Enjoy the cold front. Check out the parades before it rains."

"Do they make you nostalgic?"

I didn't expect that question and stumbled through "We could get beignets afterwards" before replying, "Yeah. Yeah, when I was reeeal young, my dad used to take me around New Orleans to see all the lights. It was nice."

Dota turned to meet my eyes. "Can I drive?"

I shook my head.

"Sorry. Imagine if something crazy happened, and we got stopped. You wouldn't be able to react quickly enough, and the police would notice. Down here, outside Elon? Ever since Marshall became mayor? They're dying to bust me on some trumped up charge. Take me down a few."

"I understand."

We reached Janvier Tower and set down upon a rooftop helipad. The detail opened the door. Dota stepped out first, but I led her to the suite. I know I said the weather's beautiful, but I'd be lying if I said it were comfortable. I was almost scared to breathe out of fear my lungs would freeze, not like the sleet was going to do anything different to my face. In that moment, I think I first saw Dota for what she really was, and became self aware of the life I was living. Her hands were in her jacket pockets. However, there was no cloud by her mouth. That was unique to me.

Her hair was jet black and well sheened, and was formed in a cross between that of an emo and a '50s housewife— a huge flair over her left eye and long hair that ended in curls. Ultra-pale skin with a baby-face— I'm one of those freaks who doesn't care for high cheekbones. Bright, cherry red lipstick. Black eyeliner. Bright, cherry red jacket. Black leather tights, and black knee high boots. As much of a physical goddess as she was, the only thing that actually attracted me to her— the only thing that attracts me at all— was the truth underneath.

Dota's a gynoid.

All my life, I felt that I saw that somewhere before, and was so turned on that it left a permanent imprint in my neurons. Don't know where. Blade Runner? Neuromancer? It felt so cyberpunk, like a sort of stereotype. Such obvious artificiality. And this scene— of the business executive and his doll of a gynoid waifu exiting a tilt-jet jumpship and entering their megacorp's ultra-high tech office suite— rang familiar to me, too. Deja vu. Now, the suite was toasty and amber-tinged, but I kept my eye by window just to adore the deteriorating weather. Moville— my personal ASIMO— had a glass of ice-cold root beer at the ready.

Clink. "To Elon! To Izumi!"

That room was indeed toasty. Outside, the air was colder than the devil's heart, and sleet kept pattering at the windows. I sipped some root beer, sat back in my chair, and flipped on the telly. At the time, nothing was on. Just reality shows, cop dramas, and adult cartoons. Silly that I said that, since those are what I watch the most— no, what I wanted to see was the local news.

It took me a few minutes to remember that I needed only to search an online videocast.

"Dota-kun, you wanna know somethin' strange?"

She replied, "The world's fulla strange things."

"Yeah, but I mean— I'm a Millennial. I grew up with this stuff. And I still forget that the internet exists."

Google's homepage flashed on by. I didn't need to type anything in— thank God for neural implants— so my mind scrolled and my eyes followed the links. Elon's premiere local news agency owed their existence to Izumi Corporation. Long story, that one. I thought of it whenever I saw that blooming blossom at the top of the screen. 'It should've been a Zapatista star,' I always thought. It worked well enough.

"Oh look— the parade's definitely still going on! Looks like this messy weather won't be sticking!" I thought I sounded like a ponce when I said that, but Dota giggled and wrapped her hands around my chest.

"You're such a dumbass."

Couldn't argue with that. I liked being a dumbass. Now that I had made it in life, I lived for moments like that— where I could put my feet up on an ottoman, sip my favorite drinks, and enjoy the bleeding edge in sci-tech.

I had her— Dotaton Charming, a gynoid designed entirely by myself. There stood Moville and Barry— my very own utility droids. Over in my garage, I had a Tesla Universe, the finest passenger drone there was. And best of all, my heart rested easy knowing EVA lived with us.

This is what I always wanted— to live in the Future™. The best part of all was that I had a hand in creating this world.

As decent as the world was, to say there weren't problems is a lie. That's the nature of us humans— no matter how good things are, if a problem can be found, we will find it. Little problems unattended grow, fester, mutate until they become something so much darker.