There was an old popular song that went,

  Proxima, the jewel of Chiron; the city where I found happiness and lived my nightmares.

  Like any powerful nation, Chiron prided itself on having one of the world’s most important metropolises as its capital.

  Proxima was so lavish that many considered it one of the flagship cities of the Rodinian continent, and as such, its cultural identity was summed up in its diverse architecture: small houses, towering buildings, unreachable skyscrapers. Old and new buildings, one after the other; beasts with glass skins, concrete muscles, and steel skeletons, forming a sort of food chain, where each structure loomed over the smaller ones in front while bearing the weight of the larger ones behind.

  In addition to being the headquarters of numerous international corporations, whose executives were insatiable diners savoring the banquet of success, Proxima was a cocktail of the best cosmopolitan elements from cities around the world and the worst of their slums.

  A blend of heaven and hell, where indulgence was the main course for politicians, media personalities, movie stars, and anyone else who stood out among its thirteen million inhabitants.

  That Friday, September 21st, Adam pulled up to Trevor’s place in his blue 909 compact—the latest model from Tor—to, as Trevor put it, ‘keep indulging that inner teenager.’

  Happy, Adam greeted his friend, who had ditched his formal clothes for something more casual—or at least he had tried.

  “I warn you, Trevor, if the night drags on, you won’t make it to your golf game.”

  Trevor tapped the collar of his polo shirt. “I bought it today, just for tonight. And it’s better than that boring white tee you’re wearing.”

  “Hey! It matches my last name! And I’m not criticizing you. The fact that you’re not in a suit and tie is already an improvement.”

  In Adam’s opinion, Trevor Homam’s way of dressing was a true reflection of his personality: too neat and conservative, so respectful it bordered on unsettling. No one could be as perfect as he seemed to be. Trevor must have a wild side, hidden under several layers of good manners, just waiting to be unleashed in a fit of madness.

  But that day, it didn’t seem to be coming, and as time passed, Adam began to think maybe it never would. Perhaps Trevor’s unshakable politeness had been fortified by his father’s tough upbringing and his mother’s equally strict religious doctrine.

  As he settled into the passenger seat, Trevor noticed two holo-magazine cards on the dashboard. A light tap confirmed his suspicion: both issues of Loud projected their covers in miniature, casting holographic colors across the cabin. A shirtless Adam in all his former glory, and the headline, ‘The Best Models of the Decade.’

  “Souvenirs for the girls,” Adam said.

  Trevor laughed. “You really know how to sell yourself, don’t you?”

  “You can ask my boss,” Adam joked, and continued driving to meet the rest of his party.

  Both women must have been around thirty, and their slender bodies were dressed to blend in as much as possible: blonde hair cut just above their shoulders, bright and colorful outfits, shirts that were a little too revealing for their own good, shorts that might as well have been miniskirts, and ankle boots that probably weighed almost as much as they did.

  “Mint and Strawberry,” Trevor said, watching them approach the car. “Are those really their names? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, and they have a brother named Kiwi. Their parents were into naturism.”

  “Where do you find these people?”

  “Leftovers from my past life,” Adam laughed. “And now, show some respect for them, damn it! Mint and Strawberry were the most famous supermodels on the runway for a whole month, ten years ago.”

  After a brief drive along the coastline, Adam took them to a fabulous seaside restaurant. When he handed the keys to the valet, the conversation he’d had earlier with his secretary, Rita, returned to his mind and he smiled.

  Even though most restaurants had young valets, this particular place used a Cyclops android dressed in formal attire. The black bowtie accentuated the silver shine of his head and the bright red of his eye. It was a C14-R8, an earlier model than the current ones—Adam could tell by the shape of its head and eye. The C14’s head was more square-shaped than that of the newer D02-R8s, and its visor was slightly larger.

  “They’re cute, aren’t they?” said Strawberry, kissing the android on the cold cheek.

  “Just as handsome as me!” Adam said, forcing a smile. He glanced at the android’s nameplate, pinned to his suit, and gave him a small pat on the shoulder. “Alright, Atsu, take good care of my car.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Atsu’s red eye blinked once, confirming the request.

  The dinner went smoothly, though if it hadn’t been for Trevor’s presence, the evening would have had little new to offer in Adam’s collection of dinner gatherings. To him, it would have been just another part of his nightly routine—except for Trevor… and what happened after Adam paid the bill.

  As he stood up from the table, a strange tingling sensation traveled from the top of his head to his feet, like the dizziness one feels when standing up too quickly, so intense that it nearly caused his body to collapse.

  The sensation lasted only two or three seconds, but it was strong enough that Adam had to sit back down.

  “You okay?” Trevor asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, thanks.” Adam took a breath and stood up again. “I must’ve gotten up too fast. That’s all.”

  “And you didn’t even try those Margaritas,” Strawberry commented.

  “Hey…” Trevor put a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re not feeling great, maybe you should call it a night.”

  Adam chuckled. “Nice try, man, but you’re not ditching me that easily. Let’s go—B-Crush is waiting for us!”

  B-Crush was in Ciccone, a small neighborhood in the Magenta District known for its exclusive bars, restaurants, and clubs. Adam loved the area; he’d been there the previous night and the nights before that, too.

  As always, in front of B-Crush, a long line of eccentric people stood behind a velvet rope, waiting for the bouncers to let them in.

  Avoiding the crowd, Adam led his group through the VIP entrance. Just as they were about to dive into the chaotic mix of voices and music, a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  “And then there are those who try to sneak in,” said a deep voice.

  Adam turned around, slightly startled, and found himself face-to-face with one of the bouncers—a guy nearly six and a half feet tall, bald, and looking like he might’ve been a pro wrestler back in the day.

  “Hey, Little John!” he said, relieved. “You scared me for a second, man.”

  The big guy frowned. “Adam?! Sorry, I—”

  “What’s going on, John? I step away from this zoo for one week and you already don’t recognize me?”

  “No, it’s not that…” Little John looked toward the club entrance, puzzled. “Swear I just let you in a few minutes ago,” he said, pointing.

  “Really? Well, here I am.” Adam gestured at himself with a grin and gave the big guy a couple of friendly pats. “Relax, man. Easy to get confused with so many people around.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Little John nodded, a sheepish grin spreading across his oversized face. “Must’ve been that fake beard you were wearing or something. Really threw me off, y’know?” he added before getting back to work.

  “Fake beard…?”

  Not really sure what the big guy meant, Adam walked off to rejoin Trevor and the girls, and as soon as he crossed the threshold, everything became nothing but silhouettes in the gloom—figures moving through clouds of artificial smoke and strobe flashes, swaying to a beat that mixed tribal percussion with electronic sounds.

  Mint and Strawberry were swept away by the music, dancing like they were the only ones in the club. Trevor, however… Well, something told Adam the DJ would have to work extra hard to impress the always-reserved businessman.

  “No matter how advanced we get,” Trevor said, “we’re still trapped in the same old rituals. What a disappointment.”

  Despite the loud music, Adam heard him clearly.

  “What the hell are you talking about, man?”

  “Don’t you see it?” Trevor gestured to the crowd. “Change their clothes for animal skins, swap that mirror ball for a bonfire, and trade the lab-made drugs for hallucinogenic herbs, and you’d be looking at the same scene in a different time period. Look at them—modern-day aborigines dancing around an imaginary fire, high on the pounding of electronic drums.”

  Trevor finished his rant, and Adam, baffled, let out the laugh he’d been holding back.

  “Who even talks like that in a place like this?” he asked.

  “Am I wrong, though?” Trevor shot back.

  “Modern-day aborigines, huh?” Adam echoed, now observing the crowd. “Well… I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I guess you’re right. Cool, don’t you think?”

  “I’d say primitive,” Trevor muttered, turning to look around. His gaze seemed lost behind the glare on his glasses. “Doesn’t it scare you—the idea of giving everything you’ve got for the future, only to end up reliving the past? No matter how far we think we’ve come, we’re not really moving forward—we’re just going in circles.”

  Adam snorted.

  “Oh, come on, Trevor! Still hung up on that ‘new paths and letting go of the past’ crap? Weren’t you the one who said those were the words of a spiteful girl? Besides, you run a damn company that builds robots, and you’re saying there’s no progress?” He pointed at a Cyclops unit standing with its red eye glowing beside a door marked ‘Private,’ not far from them. “Look at that. Who’s to say, a few years from now, we won’t have androids like him dancing, not just guarding the entrance to Lisandro’s office?”

  “Uh-huh. But wouldn’t that just prove my point?” Trevor insisted. “We create something to help us with the hard stuff, only for it to end up copying our patterns?”

  “Exactly! Which proves my point,” Adam shot back.

  “Which is…?”

  “Which is…” Adam shrugged. “That you and I might have different ideas about what it means to ‘move forward’? Sounds to me like your version is charging ahead and ditching everything behind, while mine’s more like… I don’t know… enjoying the view and picking up a few things along the way.” He rolled his eyes. “Gee, what is it about today that’s turning everyone into a philosopher?”

  Trevor tried to smile.

  “Sorry, it’s just—”

  “I know, man. I get it. A night at the club’s no night at the opera, but you gotta loosen up. Let yourself enjoy these ‘ancestral rituals’ for a bit. It won’t kill you.” Adam nodded toward Mint and Strawberry. “Look, those two fine priestesses over there could use a refresher in the sacred rite of modeling, and high priest Lisandro might just be able to help. Let’s go see him now, and we’ll talk about the past another time. Sound good?”

  “Ugh, do I really have to come with you? You know Lisandro is…”

  “A spoiled little brat, yeah, I know,” Adam cut in, stealing the words right from his mouth. “But come on, Trevor! You just need to find some common ground, and you’ll see things flow a lot smoother between you two.”

  “And what could I possibly have in common with that… monster?”

  Adam gave him a look.

  “Are you kidding? How about starting with ‘strong last names’ and ending with ‘owners of powerful companies’?”

  “No, I wouldn’t go that far, Adam. Sure, we both inherited stuff from our fathers—but that’s it.”

  And then Adam stopped in his tracks, like a thought had just struck him.

  “Stuff your fathers, in turn, inherited from theirs, and so on, for generations,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Hey… you were talking about the past and going in circles—aren’t those inheritances another way of keeping the cycle alive?”

  Trevor had nothing to say to that, and Adam gave him a friendly tap on the cheek.

  “Looks like all this talk even woke up the philosopher in me,” he said, and Trevor, after a not-so-enthusiastic ‘Hmm,’ agreed to follow his friend.

  Behind them, a figure stood still among the dancing crowd. His amber, unyielding eyes locked on Adam.