His vision was blurry; John’s first thought springs to mind as consciousness returns. “I’m getting tired of waking up.”

  All around him he can make out the sounds of… something happening. Just without any details. A humanoid figure emerges to his right; a familiar face. An annoying beep becomes tangible as it also grows clear he is lying on a slab of a bed.

  It's better than the floor at least. He reaches his hand out to the figure, his words a mumbled slurry. “Mmmmm… Ammm… Amyyy?”

  The figure turns to him and answers. “Yes. It’s me.” He watches her stand from what must have been a seat next to this bed. Up above, he can see a TV running an advertisement. It is clearly old and outdated as the visuals reek of early AI-generated artifacts. He wonders if whatever company it is is even open anymore. As his hearing clears further, he can make out a sound playing over the radio. Some music.

  A song he recognizes as ‘Subways of your Mind’ by FEX. Once, the most mysterious song on the internet. And now? There is no such thing.

  Amy comes back, having returned from closing the fake blinds, still wearing his old clothes. She takes a seat on the side of the bed to lean in closer. “We can go whenever you're ready.” She says.

  “Hospital?” John asks. “Am I in hospital? Where was I last?”

  Amy grabs his hand as she explains to him. “They put you under once we got in the medicopter. And, I don't know how else to tell you but your leg is missing.”

  The news begins washing over John. “...gone?”

  “Yes.” Amy continues. “They had to amputate it because it was rotting. They've replaced it with a cybernetic one.”

  John's vision fully clears. “They… they— wait— WHAT? REALLY?!”

  He sits up in his bed, throwing the blankets off of him to observe his new cybernetic. It's blocky and cumbersome-looking; metallic with faint neon accents.

  He tries to move his toes; his left foot is fine, but his right foot doesn’t have any toes to move. “Wow… I guess that's lucky?” He questions, looking to Amy again. “But… I never asked for a replacement?”

  “No you didn't.” She says.

  “Then… why didn't they just cut it off?” He asks.

  “I don't know.” She replies. John looks around, the pastel beige of the plastic walls and single-ply medical curtains proving to be an ugly sight.

  “Then we'd better get out of here. I hope to God this thing doesn't surge while I break it in.” He quips, pointing to his new leg.

  He pushes himself upright, his legs hanging to the side of the bed.

  He stands up for the first time in what's felt like days. He asks Amy. “Oh, and how long have I been under?”

  “Three days.” She replied, rising with him. “Even though I was here for a lot of it… I…” Amy pauses for a moment. “It's finally good to talk with you again.”

  “Likewise. Now, let's get out of here before they throw someone on top of me.” He responds, a rare smirk seen on his face.

  The pair walked to the right side of the room, headed down a ramp to their left and through a door.

  John’s new leg is heavy and unfamiliar. But seems to function more-or-less the same. It is only as much a part of himself as he is willing to accept.

  He limps, not out of pain, but unfamiliarity. Amy opens the medical door for them to be greeted by mass-produced clones of the very room they just came from, lined in rows as if dormitories for an education camp.

  Dumped within this unessential park of North Platte City; the tar-soak poison ground, muddy and thick.

  People, robots, and mutant creatures, strewn about on stretches, being escorted by android staff to God knows where. Medicopters and auto-ambulances dumping in more ill, injured and disfigured for the hospital.

  One that was meant to be temporary once upon a time for sure.

  Yet, as they say, there is nothing more permanent than a temporary government program. Especially if it serves the interests of investors.

  John follows Amy as they approach a chain link fence. Likely the exit.

  “How far is the apartment from here?” He asks.

  “Believe it or not, that's it right there.” She answers, leading him towards the lobby of the monolithic building just across the road. Inside are black marble pillars with neon gold accents. They support the massive interstellar roof up above.

  Going up a small set of stairs decorated with red suede, the two approach the bot acting as the receptionist for the lobby.

  John goes first, putting his hand on the counter. “Hey there. We’re here to register the apartment under the tenets John and Amy?”

  “Ahh yes. You. Must be John. Correct?” The bot replies, its use of language meagerly attempting to inject life into its soulless, monotone voice.

  “Yep, that's me.” John replies. The bot moves from behind the counter, its single omnidirectional wheel carrying it.

  “Great. Please. Come right this way. And I will show you. The—”

  John cuts the bot off mid sentence.

  “That will not be necessary. My escort will show me the place.”

  “Escort?” The bot question. John looks confused by the question, unable to reply before the bot continues.

  “Biological pleasurers from beyond building grounds are strictly prohibited. Please seek the services of Pleasure Commission sanctioned android products if you require adult services.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  John looks at the thing with looks that could kill, opting to instead correct the bot. “Escort as in guide you fucking idiot. Not a prostitute.”

  “Apologies, valued citizens. Please continue.”

  The bot replies, yielding the way for John and Amy to take the elevator. John looks at Amy who follows behind.

  “Can you fucking believe this shit?” He exclaims.

  The elevator, huge and roomy as they ascend. The place is oddly quiet, like a recording booth compared to their old place in Detroit. They reach floor one hundred and seventy three, their room being the one farthest from the elevator on the right side.

  Amy scans the door and opens it for him, his new limb thumping the floor as they enter. He looks around the place, the room lit with a purple reddish hue.

  The lights and accents soften against the roaring oranges, pinks, blues and violets of the dense cityscape beyond the windows. A huge one-piece window formed the entire opposite side of the room. The center of the room houses a consumption suite and a lounging area.

  The wall itself is decorated with abstract art, stripped of the little meaning it may have had by being reprocessed, reprocessed, and reprocessed again by artificial intelligence.

  On the right side were the two bedrooms, and on the same wall as the entrance was the door to the sanitation room. The lounging area was a bit lower than the rest, closest to the panoramic window overlooking North Platte City. Or at least, this small slice of it.

  John’s jaw absolutely dropped at the sight, his pupils dilating at what lay before him. His dripping wet uniform, sullying the sanitary vinyl floor of the apartment.

  “Oh my God…” He says, genuinely shocked.

  “...I must have died and gone to heaven…”

  Walking past him, Amy takes a seat on the synthetic leather couch before responding. “I know right? But don't get too excited, there's a message that I've been waiting for that I haven't opened.”

  John is snapped back to reality. “Oh god. The tenancy agreement?”

  “I think so.” Amy replies, handing John the flexiscreen tablet holding the message.

  He opens it and unfolds it, it's fancy glowing text reading as follows.

  “Greetings, valued tenets; - JOHN - and - AMY -.

  It is our pleasure to welcome you to the Grand Briggs Plaza.

  As the tenets of - APARTMENT A.H4279Z - we have provided you one of our most luxurious, excessive, and prestigious suites.”

  John scans the next paragraph, looking for the bad news.

  “Please enjoy our facilities at a 50% discount, and take solace in your special weekly rate of only - FIFTEEN CREDITS - per weekly charge period.”

  John has to read that again. “Fifteen credits per week” His mouth creates a huge smile as he slowly turns to Amy.

  “Amy. Guess how much this costs?”

  “Indentured servitude?” She asks.

  “Only fifteen credits per week.” John replies.

  Amy juts around to see it for herself, not believing it for a second. “What?! No way. Read it further. That can't be it.” And so John reads further.

  “All of the above have been negotiated between your transferring agency and the owners of Briggs Plaza. If you are unhappy with any of the terms herein, contact your relocation representative at your earliest convenience. Please allow personal possessions and additional days to transfer after your arrival.”

  “Looks good so far.” John informs as he keeps reading.

  “The following place is reserved for messages written manually by an actor within one of the parties involved. If it is blank, please ignore it.”

  John looks to the bottom of the page.

  “Due to a lack of sufficient funds to cover your recent emergency cyber-procedure, you have been assigned an unpaid internship under the employment of Imbondeiro Shipping Solutions LLC?. You have until Monday to adjust to your new augment; after which you are expected to attend your workplace safety briefing. Failure to comply will have you evicted, and your debt collected. This information is reserved for John and relevant entities. Do not distribute.”

  John doesn't know how to react to the news. At first glance it is bitter sweet, but as time goes on it grows more and more sour.

  “Well, it's not all great.” John tells Amy. “The apartment is fine but it looks like I've found a job.”

  “Wait, really?! That's great news!” Amy squeals, the excitement fading as John clarifies.

  “Well, no, not really. A job has found me. And I won't be getting paid for it at all. They've thrown me in a scheme, it seems.”

  He tells her, coming to sit beside her on the comfortable couch.

  “But… it's not all bad. We have this view, each other, some low expenses and… well…” John struggles to find other things to feel happy about.

  “...and this couch is really comfortable! And this view is, uh, really nice I guess.” Amy doesn't share his attempted outlook.

  “Look John, something changed after that crash. I don't know what it is but I'm really struggling to care that much about how nice this is. Like, times have been tough before then, but it feels like all of those problems were there for… nothing, y'know?”

  Amy looks up to him even as he is seated, searching for a reaction.

  “Yeah.” John replies. “I get what you're saying. Really, I do. But I also don't want to be ungrateful for this opportunity we now have.” John asserts, trying to convince himself of their newfound vanity.

  “But that's what we've always done.” Amy replies. “All we ever seem to do is try to answer the question of why we're even bothering in the first place. Why can't it just be self-evident?”

  John stares at the fake fur-hide on the floor, having to confront once again the now-shiny emptiness of his surroundings.

  “Maybe you're right.” He says, knowing he's the very person who brought that idea to her. “But at the same time, there is nothing else we can do.”

  Amy keeps looking at him even as he looks to the floor.

  “I believe there is something we can do. We'll just have to wait for the right time and opportunity.”

  John looks back to her, his smile battered, a storm looming over him. “I hope that you're right on that too.” He tells her, thinking back to their mutual solitude in the cave. “Well, how were things while I was gone?”

  “It was fine.” She says. “I tried talking with SERaMACs but it isn't the same anymore. It's like I'm talking to a window now.” John wraps his arm around her. “Well that's unfortunate. I think you'll be better off now.”

  “I agree.” Says Amy. “Which means I have something to ask of you, stop having to go away for extended periods.”

  “No guarantees.” He says. “It depends on how shit goes, but I'll send you messages while I'm at work. And, I'll do something even better for you. I'll write you a story for every day I have to leave for over twenty four hours.”

  Amy smiles. “That sounds nice. I'll take images of them and keep them on my digiphone.”

  John smiles, fluffing up her hair as he stands. His stomach aches, and so with this newfound free-time, he asks her. “Hungry?”

  The two dwell in this new apartment for the next couple hours, its hollow comfort failing to fill the void that has been so thoroughly unobscured since the accident.

  They eat a delicious meal, which heightens their spirits.

  And, as they retreat into their separate rooms, and lie upon their fully customizable beds, they accept the replacement of their old set of problems for the new set. Surrounded by the haze of the fact that, in all, the problems haven’t changed.

  They just evolve.