🎯 SciFi Noir
👁️ The Last Life of Elena Marlowe
by Rodriac Copen
The city of Santa Isabel had not died. Perhaps that would have been simpler.
Dead cities have the decency to remain still. Santa Isabel , on the other hand, continued to function like an old machine that no one dared to turn off.
Its avenues were covered by a permanent rain of industrial origin that meteorologists called controlled climate alteration .
The
locals simply called it dirty rain. At some point, humanity had learned
to modify the weather, but forgot something more important: how to
improve life.
The
tallest buildings touched the artificial clouds while the lower streets
survived among exposed wires, neon signs and old structures that looked
like skeletons from a more optimistic era.
In Santa Isabel everything had an improved version: the phones, the vehicles, the bodies.
Everything… except people.
The
inhabitants walked with vacant stares, dragging along a weariness that
no medicine could cure. They had conquered artificial intelligence,
genetic engineering, and orbital travel, but they still woke up every
morning with the same question: "Is this all? "
Like every megacity on Earth , the city had almost no poverty. But it had something worse: resignation.
It was at that moment that an emblematic company appeared: Cortex Dynamics .
The
company promised something that no religion, philosophy, or government
had managed to offer for centuries: the enjoyment of another life.
And it wasn't a metaphor. Nor a promise for after death. It offered a real-life experience.
At least real enough to make the mind stop worrying about the difference.
Its offices occupied a black glass tower in the Santa Isabel
financial district . The building was so elegant that it seemed
designed to remind the rest of the world that misery could also be seen
from above.
Cortex 's slogan appeared on thousands of screens: "You are not limited by who you are. Experience who you could be."
It really was a beautiful phrase. But the best traps always are.
The system they offered was simple: the customer chose an experience.
In
a vast catalog of possibilities, anyone who paid could become a space
pilot, private detective, explorer of unknown worlds, famous musician,
elite soldier, or any other fantasy available in the vast catalog.
Once
the contract was signed, the procedure began. The person entered a
medical capsule and their mind was temporarily transferred to an android
designed to experience that.
The
original body remained in an induced coma, connected to life support
systems while the consciousness lived an alternate existence to the
client's real life.
A few hours could turn into weeks, a month could feel like a decade. Reality was simply a matter of perspective.
And Cortex Dynamics had discovered that the prospect of an unsatisfactory world was a very profitable product.
The company executives insisted on calling it " experiential tourism ".
They never used the words " escape " or " flight ." Because negative words were bad for stock market performance.
In
Santa Isabel, even despair had a trained marketing department. The ads
showed smiling people waking up satisfied after having lived through
their experiences.
" I came back renewed. ", " I discovered my true potential. ", " I was able to be someone different. "
But
nobody asked what happened when someone returned and discovered that
the false life they had chosen had been better than the real one.
Because that was the question no one wanted to ask: What if the dream was more human than reality?
In the slums of Santa Isabel , where old androids ended up repairing pipes or carrying goods, people stared at the lights of the Cortex tower as if observing a star too far away.
Some dreamed of escaping. Others had already done so.
And
a few were beginning to wonder if there was still anyone left inside
those artificial bodies that were walking back through the streets.
Because
in a city where everyone wanted to be someone else... no one was
entirely sure who was left when the mask finally came off.
Aidan Volk
began his day as all his days had begun for several years: with a cup
of bitter coffee, an office that was too small, and the uncomfortable
feeling that the world had moved on too fast to leave it behind.
His office was on the twelfth floor of a building that had been modern forty years before. Now it was just expensive.
The rain pounded against the windows as the lights of Santa Isabel
flickered on even in the morning. The city no longer waited for
nightfall to reveal its miseries. It had learned that decadence could
thrive during working hours as well.
Volk
looked at the pending reports on his desk: identity fraud, digital
memory theft, divorces between people and his own artificial copies.
Cases that previously would have seemed impossible to accept, but which were now another way to pay the rent.
Humanity had managed to solve many problems, but unfortunately, it had created even better ones.
At about ten in the morning, someone knocked on the door.
Volk looked up.
-"Forward." -
The man who came in seemed to have aged too quickly. He said his name was Nathaniel Samuels .
He
wore an expensive suit, but it was wrinkled. As if he'd spent the night
fighting a vending machine full of bad news and lost. He sat down at
the desk.
He
said nothing for a few seconds. For some inexplicable reason, many
customers did that. Perhaps they hoped that silence would cost less than
words.
—“I need to find my wife.”— he finally said.
Aidan Volk lit a cigarette. In Santa Isabel,
there were still places where smoking was illegal. His office was one
of them. But it was also one of those places where the laws came after
the problems.
—“How long ago did he disappear?”
Samuels swallowed before answering.
—“Three weeks.” —
Volk picked up a notebook. “ Another case of infidelity, ” he thought as he asked:
—“Have you spoken to the police yet?”
The
man let out a dry laugh. It wasn't exactly a funny laugh. Rather, it
was a laugh that had lost all hope and now served only a biological
function.
—“The police say there was no crime.”
—“And why not?”—
Samuels looked uneasily towards the window.
Out there, millions of people walked in the rain, pretending that their lives had some kind of direction.
—“Because technically my wife didn’t disappear.”—
Volk stopped writing to pay attention.
—“Please explain.”
The man placed a small device on the desk. The logo appeared on the screen.
CORTEX DYNAMICS.
Volk
sighed. He'd been seeing that symbol far too often lately. And he found
it odd. People used to fear large corporations because they could
control their lives.
Now they admired them because they could allow them to escape from them.
“My wife’s name is Elena Marlowe, she signed up for an advanced experience program,” Samuels explained . “For thirty days.”
—“What experience?”—
The man hesitated. For a second. That brief moment spoke louder than any answer.
—“I wanted to be a prostitute in New Babylon.”—
Volk knew the name. Everyone knew it. New Babylon was one of Cortex Dynamics ' most exclusive virtual destinations .
A
place designed for those with too much money and too few genuine
emotions. There, clients could experience a life without limits.
They
could be criminals, spies, decadent kings. Or simply people who wanted
to do things they would never dare to do in the real world.
A complete experience, without consequences. Without guilt. And without uncomfortable memories the next day.
The modern version of sin, but with technical support included.
—“What kind of prostitute?”—
Samuels lowered his gaze.
—“A luxury companion.”—
Volk
remained silent before answering. He had learned that some details
didn't need inappropriate comments. People always found new ways to buy
loneliness.
—“Was it your own idea?”—
-"Yeah." -
The response was immediate, without a moment's hesitation. Volk noticed.
Husbands lied better when they talked about money. When they talked about love, they always left some cracks in the story.
—“Tell me, what happened?”
Samuels clenched his fists.
—“The contract ended three weeks ago.”
—“And the android?”—
—“He never returned.” —
The rain hit the glass harder. Or maybe it was just the city trying to listen.
The detective said carefully:
—“You know, sometimes… your wife might want to extend that vacation a little longer…”—
The man didn't seem offended. He simply replied:
—“I’m aware of that. But I’m worried.”—
Aidan Volk nodded. And continued asking questions. According to Cortex Dynamics , there had been a technical error. An unforeseen failure. Or a synchronization problem.
One of those fancy words that companies used when they wanted to say:
"Something went wrong, and we'd prefer you didn't ask too many questions."
—“They say they are investigating.”— Samuels continued .
Aidan smiled slightly.
—“When a company says that, it usually means they’re researching how long it needs to take for people to stop asking.”
The man looked up.
—“I think he may be dead.”
The phrase hung in the air at the office. Volk
had heard many accusations during his career. But this one sounded
different. Because he wasn't talking about a disappearance. The man said
it with a certain fatalism.
—“Why do you think that?”
Samuels looked at Cortex 's device on the desk.
—“Because Elena hated that experience.”
Volk frowned.
—“So why did he hire her?”
The husband took a moment to respond.
Outside, Santa Isabel
was still operating. Thousands of people were going to work. Thousands
of people were dreaming of no longer being who they were.
—“Because he told me he wanted to know what it felt like to be someone else.”
He paused.
—“And perhaps he discovered something he shouldn't have discovered.”—
Volk put out his cigarette. The gesture gave him a few seconds to think. He had heard that phrase many times.
In
her profession, it almost always meant that someone had uncovered a
truth too precious to keep. But in this particular case, it was more
likely that the woman was enjoying her affair more than she was going to
admit to her husband.
She looked again at the Cortex Dynamics logo . A company that sold alternative lives. A city that bought oblivion. And now a woman lost in the middle of a fantasy.
Volk picked up his coat as he answered:
—“I’m going to investigate.” —
Samuels seemed relieved.
But the detective knew that tranquility was a temporary luxury. In Santa Isabel, no one found easy answers. They only found more expensive questions.
Aidan Volk 's first visit
to Cortex Dynamics ended as almost all conversations with large corporations did: with a professional smile and no useful answers.
The black glass tower seemed designed to make anyone who entered feel small. And it worked.
Modern buildings had discovered something important: they didn't need armed guards if they could intimidate with architecture.
A receptionist with a perfect face greeted him with a fake, programmed courtesy.
—“I regret to inform you that Mrs. Marlowe’s case is being analyzed by our technical department.”—
—“And where is that apartment?”—
The woman smiled as she answered.
—“It’s a department with access only to authorized personnel.”
Volk looked at her for a few seconds. He had known criminals who were more honest than that.
At least the thieves had the courtesy to admit they wanted to rob you.
Corporations preferred to do it while explaining that they were improving your experience.
When he left Cortex , the rain had returned.
In Santa Isabel,
it always rained whenever someone discovered something unpleasant.
Perhaps it was coincidence, luck, or maybe the city just had a sense of
humor.
Volk decided to wander aimlessly for several hours, exploring New Babylon .
The
district where the rich paid to forget who they were. There, the
streets glittered with neon lights reflected in dark puddles. The
advertisements promised forbidden thrills, impossible adventures, and
experiences that could be bought with a credit card.
Humanity had spent centuries searching for the meaning of existence.
Finally, she had found a solution: rent another one.
The bars of New Babylon
were strange places. From the outside they looked like temples of the
future. Inside they were exactly like all the bars of the past. Tired
people, with broken stories. People trying to drown thoughts that knew
how to swim all too well.
Volk entered a place called Paradise Lost , a hangout where Cortex 's old clients used to hang out. Some had returned too soon. Others had never really come back.
He
sat down at the bar and ordered a whisky. The bartender looked at him,
seemingly recognizing his profession based on his experience.
-"Issues?" -
—“No. Just work.”—
The man smiled as he served her.
—“It’s the same in this city.”—
Aidan didn't answer. Because he knew it was true. Two hours passed before someone responded to the name Elena Marlowe .
It was an old man named Bruno Kass .
A former virtual experience programmer who now spent his time drinking and reminiscing about times when he still had a future.
A fairly common combination in Santa Isabel .
—“So Cortex says it was a technical error.”— said Bruno , as he shook his empty glass.
—“And what do you say?”—
The old man smiled.
—“That machines fail. Or are made to fail.”—
Volk lit a cigarette.
—“I need to find Elena’s android.”—
Bruno looked around, as if even the walls could sell information.
—“There is a place. Where they get rid of androids. I would start there.”—
-"Where?"-
—“In the old industrial zone.”—
Volk frowned.
—“There go the recyclers.”—
The old man took a sip as he replied:
—“Exactly. That’s why I wouldn’t waste any time.”—
The
industrial zone resembled an old photograph of a future that never came
to pass. Abandoned factories, rusted power lines. A few old robots
wandered aimlessly among mountains of discarded technology.
It was curious.
Humans
discarded machines when they ceased to be useful. Machines, on the
other hand, kept trying to function. Perhaps that's why they were more
human than we admitted.
Volk found the android woman near an old electronic waste dump. She was sitting against a wall. Still. Her battery was dead.
At first glance, it looked like an abandoned casing. But something caught his eye. The unit still had the Cortex Dynamics identifier :
Model: Advanced Personal Experience.
Personal Registry: Elena Marlowe.
Volk felt a weight in his chest. It wasn't that it had taken him by surprise.
It was something worse. Confirmation of what I suspected.
He loaded the android into his vehicle and drove to the workshop of his old acquaintance, Samuel Kline . Kline was an engineer who had spent twenty years repairing corporate artificial intelligence.
Now he would fix anything that had wires as long as there was someone desperate and willing to pay for the repair.
In Santa Isabel there was little difference between a technician and a doctor.
Both were trying to keep things running that should have died long ago.
—“I don’t like this.”— Kline said after undressing her completely and giving the unit a first look.
Volk watched from behind.
—“What did you find?”
The
engineer didn't respond immediately. He was focused on reviewing the
internal systems. Then he moved on to the circuits, the registers, and
the artificial memory.
With the full picture in hand, he finally shook his head.
-"Nothing."-
—“Didn’t you find anything?”—
—“That’s the strange thing. Nothing.”—
Kline pointed to the artificial body.
—“This doll is intact. If it had been stolen… it would have been dismantled and the data extracted and erased for reuse.”—
Volk approached.
—“So Cortex lied. It wasn’t a technical failure.”—
-"Probably."-
—“And then…?”— Aidan left the question unfinished.
The engineer looked up. And for the first time, he seemed genuinely worried.
—“Aidan… this android woman was not violated.” —
—“And what happened?”—
Kline stared at the empty machine. It was a perfect body. The typical prison without a prisoner.
—“I think someone removed his mind and transferred it to another model.”—
Silence
filled the workshop. Outside, the rain lashed against the old, rusted
factory signs. They'd gone to great lengths. If someone wanted to
disappear, they simply changed the android's serial number and some
internal memory codes.
But a mind transfer was something much more elaborate than a simple disappearance.
—“Are you saying someone transferred Elena’s mind?”—
Kline nodded.
—“Yes. I think that was the case.”—
Volk looked at Elena Marlowe 's artificial face . It was strange. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to disappear and leave the original android behind.
Until
that moment, he had always thought that finding the body was the most
important thing. Now he was beginning to suspect that perhaps it was the
start of something more intriguing.
—“And where could he be now?”—
Kline turned off the screen.
—“Well… that’s the part I don’t like.”—
-"What are you talking about?"-
The engineer looked at him.
—“Not just anyone can extract a mind from an artificial body... and put it in another.”—
Volk watched the rain through the workshop window. Santa Isabel continued to shine. Thousands of people dreaming of being someone different.
And somewhere in the city, perhaps Elena Marlowe was still living.
Except that nobody knew under what persona anymore.
Aidan Volk ordered Kline to copy all available data from the unit's memory for review. He then took the android woman back to Cortex Dynamics the next day. Not because he trusted them. In his profession, trust was a surefire way to make mistakes.
He
did it because he needed to see their reactions. And reactions were one
of the few things that still couldn't be completely faked. Although
corporations had been trying for years.
Cortex 's reception area remained
unchanged from the first time: black glass, white lights, and employees
with perfectly calibrated smiles. Everything was orderly, clean, and
meticulously mechanized.
The man who received him was named Victor Hale
, a representative from the company's legal department. The detective
got the impression that he had a face specifically designed to be
unforgettable.
—“Detective Volk.”— he said kindly —“We appreciate you locating the unit.”—
—“I didn’t actually find her.”—
Hale raised an eyebrow as he asked:
-"Sorry?"-
—“I found it abandoned in the middle of an investigation.”—
A
small detail. In his profession, he had learned that the truth is often
hidden in the details. The executive observed the android closely,
while his expression showed a barely perceptible change.
To someone else, it might have gone unnoticed. But to a detective, it was almost a confirmation of his suspicions.
—“Well, whatever… unity has returned.”— he finally said.
-"That's how it is."-
—“That’s positive.”—
Volk looked at him while he asked.
—“Positive? Why do you say that?”—
—“Well… it means we’ve recovered the physical support.”—
The detective held her gaze.
—“But they didn’t get Elena back. The unit’s memory is empty.”—
An
awkward silence immediately fell. The kind of silence that appears when
a company discovers that its prepared speech is useless against someone
who is a couple of steps ahead.
—“The android body returned,” Hale replied carefully . “But the client’s mind did not.”
—“And is there a backup plan?”—
—“Consciousness
transfer is not a simple process. We can’t just… revive Mrs. Marlowe
like that. We have an emergency procedure for these cases.”—
—“But…? There’s a but… right?”—
Hale sighed.
—“Of course. The “ but ” is that the process takes time. And additional costs.”—
There
it was. The phrase that always appeared. Even when someone lost a loved
one, there was always a bill waiting at the door. Humanity had managed
to turn eternity into a premium service.
Volk returned to Samuel Kline 's workshop that same night. The engineer had called him urgently, and something about his voice didn't sound right.
The
men who repaired machines could remain calm in the face of a destroyed
engine, but when they encountered something they didn't understand...
and which involved a human life, they remembered that they too could
fail.
—“I found something.”— said Kline as soon as Volk entered the laboratory.
The atmosphere was semi-dark; only the screens illuminated the place.
The computers were analyzing Elena 's android memories .
—“What did you find?”—
Kline didn't respond immediately. He opened a screen to show her a video of a recorded memory.
It was a small room with old, peeling walls. It was a completely different environment from the one Nathaniel Samuels had described to the detective.
—“This was in the android's memory.”—
Volk looked at the images.
—“A memory of Elena?”—
—“It seems so.”—
-"Impossible." -
Kline asked slowly.
-"Because you said so?"-
According to Nathaniel Samuels , Elena Marlowe was born into a wealthy family. She had studied at good schools. She had had a quiet and orderly childhood.
The
kind of story people tell when they want to show they've done well in
life. But the memories stored in the android's memory showed something
else entirely.
A
girl in a poor neighborhood, a small house. A father consumed by
alcohol. A violent childhood, filled with screams and fear. An adult
abusing her. A childhood built within walls that seemed more like a
prison than a home.
Volk
watched the images without speaking, because he had learned that
memories were dangerous. A lie can be created to mislead. But a
repressed memory needs a reason to be hidden. And Elena had had a powerful reason.
Kline continued showing him the recovered files.
—“There are more fragments of memories.” —
Another face appeared. It was that of a young man with a hard gaze. A simple smile made him seem very self-assured.
—“His name is Gabriel.”— said the engineer.
Volk approached the screen.
-"Who is it?"-
—“I don’t know. But it’s clear that he and Elena were very close.”—
She appeared constantly, in old memories. In private sex scenes. At times they seemed to be part of a completely different life.
A life that Elena Marlowe , according to her husband, had never had. But memory records showed Gabriel with her in multiple intimate situations.
There
seemed to be a mutual relationship of dependence, exchange, and power.
It wasn't a romantic story. It was a rather bizarre one.
Then
came the darker memories. Elena having sex with multiple lovers. Orgy
scenes. And confusing images of injured people in unfamiliar places.
Moments in which the figure of Elena Marlowe seemed to be related to violent acts.
Volk
watched the screen intently. He wasn't looking to judge; he had learned
that the truth almost never appears dressed in black or white. It
usually arrived covered in mud.
—“Do you think she did this?”— he asked.
Kline stated categorically.
—“They are his memories, there is no doubt about that.”—
—“Why invent a completely different story?”—
The engineer looked at the android.
—“Because
at some point Elena may have changed the course of her life. A husband
who gives her security. Money. A radical change of life.”—
—“That makes sense. Her husband would never get involved with someone who has a past like that.”—
They remained silent as they watched the videos. A missing woman, an empty body, and memories that seemed impossible.
And an identity formed by several different lives. The question was no longer where Elena was , but who was Elena really?
At the detective's request, Kline extracted two images. The first was Gabriel 's face . The second was a photograph of Elena 's android .
She placed them side by side.
—“We need to know who he is.”—
Volk took the pictures and left the lab to continue investigating.
Outside, the city of Santa Isabel continued to be drenched in rain. It was the city of a thousand masks. The city where everyone could become someone else.
Perhaps that was Cortex Dynamics ' true business : not selling other people's lives. Selling the possibility of forgetting one's own.
Volk
put the photographs in his coat. He had started out looking for a
missing woman. Now he was beginning to suspect that perhaps he was
looking for someone who had never existed.
Samuel Kline continued working with the android's memories, while Volk left the workshop to continue his research.
In the morning, Santa Isabel
was covered in that gray light that never quite turned into day. A city
trapped between night and morning, like its inhabitants.
The detective got into his car and drove toward New Babylon , the district where dreams had a price. And where nightmares were free.
The
district hadn't changed since his last visit. The neon signs still
advertised impossible pleasures. The bars were still full of people
trying to forget things that were probably unpleasant and deserved to be
forgotten.
The difference between a bar and a church, Volk
thought , was that in bars no one pretended to know the answer. He went
into several establishments to talk to bartenders, gamblers, and drug
dealers. And former clients of Cortex .
The people in the area lived in neighborhoods where the law was slow to arrive and necessity came first. In the upscale neighborhoods of Santa Isabel , many hid secrets behind reinforced doors.
Gabriel 's name came up several times in the conversations. But never accompanied by good news.
—“Gabriel is not available for interviews right now.”—
an old gambler told him cheerfully.
Volk raised his eyebrows as he asked:
-"Because?"-
The man took a drink and then wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
—“Because he’s dead.”—
It wasn't the first time someone had given him important information with the same ease with which they asked for another round.
—“When did he die?”—
—“A couple of weeks ago.”—
-"As?"-
The man smiled.
—“In New Babylon there are many ways to die.”—
he paused —“But in his case, it was massive lead poisoning.”—
—“Do you know why?”—
—“I suppose it’s because I bothered the wrong people.”—
said the old man as he made a toast.
Gabriel
had been a known criminal on the streets. A dealer of synthetic drugs,
he sold happiness in small doses and charged interest when people wanted
to stop buying.
He had been killed in an attack on an empty street.
And the message was clear: it was starting to become important. In Santa Isabel,
even the murders had a communications department.
But there was one detail that caught Volk 's attention : everyone was talking about Elena . But not Nathaniel Samuels ' wife . It was a different Elena .
The woman in the android's photograph. She was the last woman who had shared nights with Gabriel .
"Did you know her?" Volk asked an old bar manager.
The man looked at the image and replied without hesitation:
-"Clear."-
—“Who was it?”—
The man burst out laughing.
—“Gabriel’s favorite prostitute.” —
Volk looked at the photo.
—“Was she good at that?”—
The waiter cleaned a glass.
—“She slept with anyone who had money to pay her. Yes. She was successful.”—
And in that city, sometimes it was the only profession that mattered.
—“And do you know where it is?”—
—“She disappeared when Gabriel was killed. I suppose they took her out.”—
Volk continued searching. He found other prostitutes who had worked in New Babylon . Some were still working. Others had left that world. They all told him that New Babylon was not a place for making long-term plans.
Many recognized the photograph of Elena 's android . The girls' answers varied, but they all had one thing in common: Elena was not a woman forced into her position.
She wasn't a victim trapped in a fantasy created by Cortex . It was something far more unsettling: she had chosen to be a prostitute.
—“She liked that world.”— said one of them.
Volk did not respond to let her continue.
—“He liked promiscuous sex. Money. And power.”—
-"Can?"-
—“Sure. Do you know how much money you can make extorting people? Of course… it’s a fast track to the grave.”—
In New Babylon, everyone bought something. Some bought drugs.
Others bought experiences or people. And others, silence.
Elena had discovered that she could also extort clients. And earn more money than anyone who worked honestly for twenty years.
That night Volk walked alone through the wet streets.
The
neon lights reflected in the puddles like shattered memories. She had
spent her life searching for the truth. But the truth had one flaw: it
was never comfortable.
Nathaniel had described Elena
as a quiet, elegant woman, raised in privilege.
But the android's memories revealed a miserable childhood and a double life. And the inhabitants of New Babylon spoke of a perverse, powerful, and independent woman. And very dangerous.
Several versions of Elena . And they were all true.
Aidan
thought that people weren't neat files. They were more like rooms full
of closed doors. And some of them had been trying to open them—or close
them—for years.
Volk
lit a cigarette in the rain. He had started by investigating the
disappearance of a loving wife, who wasn't really a loving wife at all.
Now he was tracking a woman who seemed to have disappeared long before Cortex Dynamics entered her life.
The question was no longer what had happened to Elena.
The real question was: How many times can a person die before becoming someone else?
The detective entered a bar called
The Last Chance
. Amused, he thought it was too optimistic a name for a place where
most of the customers seemed to have missed their first, second, and
probably third chance.
It was one of those places in New Babylon where the neon lights tried to hide the identities of the customers without much success.
Volk sat at a secluded table, staring at the photograph of Elena Marlowe . Or rather, whoever Elena Marlowe had been . By now, the woman seemed to have more identities than memories.
And that was saying a lot in a city where people bought fake souvenirs to feel better with the real ones.
A
man appeared near midnight. He was around sixty years old and wore
cheap clothes. His eyes were those of someone who had survived too many
knife fights. A true, proud hitman.
He sat down at her table without asking permission, but without aggression.
—“It is said that you are looking for Elena.”—
he said simply.
Volk felt the weapon he was carrying under his coat, without taking it out yet.
—“It depends on who asks.”— he replied calmly.
The man smiled.
—“Good answer.”— he looked around and then continued —“My name is Marcus Vale.”—
-"AND…?"-
—“I worked for Gabriel.”—
Volk nodded silently. He knew that during investigations, important words needed incentives to come out.
-"What do you want?"-
The man shrugged, as if the answer were obvious.
-"Money."-
—“At least you’re honest.” — the detective smiled.
Marcus burst out laughing.
—“Honesty is a luxury we poor people can afford. The rich have lawyers for that.”—
Volk
placed some credits on the table. The man took them with a quick
gesture. He didn't even feign embarrassment. Because embarrassment was a
feeling that quickly disappeared when you paid bills.
—“When Gabriel was killed,” Marcus said , “Elena was in danger.”
-"Because?"-
—“Because
besides being his wife, she was his partner in drug trafficking. And
they wanted to eliminate her just like they did Gabriel.”—
—“If they killed Gabriel, why her too?”—
Marcus lowered his voice.
—“It’s
clear you didn’t know Elena. She was a vicious bitch and she was going
to take over the distribution area that Gabriel managed.”
The answer didn't seem rehearsed. It was probably true. Marcus
recounted that after the murder, Elena
desperately sought help.
I couldn't go to the police. I couldn't trust anyone either.
In New Babylon , people disappeared too easily, especially when they had secrets.
—“He sought out a clandestine transfer operator,” Marcus continued,
“One who could transfer his mind into another body.”
Volk frowned.
—“Another android?”—
-"Yeah."-
—“And do you know who Elena transformed into?”—
Marcus smiled.
—“No. But I can give you the name of the operator who did it.”—
—“Let me guess, for money?”—
Marcus just laughed.
—“For money, of course.”—
The detective liked the guy. He gave him the money. And Marcus
gave him a name: Leon Varek .
An
unlicensed technician who operated like a ghost within the system. One
of those specialists who exist because the law can't keep up with human
desires.
Volk found Varek
three days later. He was living in an abandoned building where the
elevators didn't work and the electricity went out intermittently. The
man didn't deny anything.
—“Elena is alive, with another identity.”— he said.
Volk
felt an uncomfortable tension that wasn't relief. It was more like
finding a door after searching for hours and realizing you don't know if
you want to open it.
—“Where is he? What’s his name now?”—
Varek shook his head.
—“No, man. That bitch is completely crazy. If I tell you, I'll die.”—
After a few minutes of negotiation, the detective concluded that everything has a price. The operator told him:
—“Elena doesn’t exist anymore. Now she’s called Sonia Clenton.”—
—“And what about her appearance?”—
—“It changed too.”—
Sonia Clenton was a high-class escort. Her face appeared in New Babylon 's public records .
And in brazen advertisements, she offered herself as a companion to
businessmen, politicians, and anyone who could afford her services.
He offered “ personalized experiences ,” an elegant image, and a different face. But Volk recognized something: his eyes. And it was strange: after so many lies, the eyes remained the hardest part to replace.
He returned to his friend Kline 's workshop , who was looking at the internal memories of the android that had contained Elena Marlowe .
—“Aidan… I found something.” — the engineer’s voice sounded different. Perhaps tired.
-"That?" -
Kline showed him a series of hidden files.
—“Cortex’s
clients can choose entire lives. They can be criminals, spies,
assassins, artists, political leaders, space explorers...”—
Volk slowly denied it.
—“People pay to become monsters.”—
-"Sometimes."-
Kline looked at him.
—“But sometimes you only pay for stopping pretending you're not.”—
Then the truth emerged. Elena 's experience hadn't been a fantasy created by Cortex . She wasn't a bored housewife looking for an affair. Nor was she a wife temporarily escaping her marriage.
It was more complicated than that. It was a person trying to return to a life they had abandoned. Before Nathaniel Samuels . Before the elegant surname.
Before expensive dinners and family photographs. Before becoming someone acceptable.
Elena had met Nathaniel
at a private party. One of those gatherings where some rich guy would
bring an escort and pass her off as his girlfriend or wife.
He saw her and was drawn to her. She saw a possibility for change. Perhaps an escape from her way of life.
Nathaniel
was kind and polite. Something different from the men she frequented
and slept with. And for the first time, she imagined a quiet life. A
house, a family, a normal existence.
The
problem was that normality can seem like paradise when you're on the
run. But it can feel like a prison when you're living day to day.
Over time, Elena began to feel trapped in the perfect life Nathaniel offered her. It was too quiet, tidy, and clean for what she was used to.
As clean as a hotel room where no one had actually lived. Then he found Cortex Dynamics .
And
she didn't seek to become someone else. She sought to become herself
again. That's why the experience she chose wasn't a fantasy. It was her
own memory. A part of herself she had hidden from
Nathaniel .
And when he arrived in New Babylon to live as he always had, there he met Gabriel . And Gabriel made the most human mistake of all.
He fell in love not with a mask. Nor with a perfect wife.
He fell in love with Elena . The real one.
Volk turned off the screen. For a few seconds, no one spoke. Outside, Santa Isabel continued to shine in the rain. It was a city full of people buying better versions of themselves.
—“So,” Volk said , “she wasn’t kidnapped. Nor did she run away from Cortex.”
Kline denied it.
-"No."-
The detective looked at the photograph of
Sonia Clenton , the high-class escort.
—“She simply wanted to stop being Elena the wife.”—
The engineer nodded. And for the first time in a long time, Volk
felt something akin to sadness. Because he had finally found Elena Marlowe . But he hadn't found a victim.
She had found someone who had spent her entire life trying to escape something far more dangerous than any enemy. Herself.
—“And that’s not all. I found something else.”— said Kline .
—“Every time you say that, my day gets a little worse.”—
The engineer barely smiled.
—“It’s because I keep finding something worse.”—
It was an honest statement, and for that very reason, uncomfortable.
The
recording appeared on the screen. At first there was only noise. And
some interference. Until a shaky image appeared, and the face of a
woman.
Aidan recognized Sonia Clenton's face .
Volk
already knew that name was just another mask. The woman looked directly
at the camera. She didn't seem scared. Just a little tired. Like
someone who had made a decision long before.
—“If you’re seeing this…” — there was a pause —“It means they found my android body.”—
Volk felt a small punch in his stomach as the sentence continued:
—“But they didn’t find me.”—
The recording remained silent for a few seconds. Then, the woman previously identified as Elena continued:
—“Don’t try to find me.”—
Her voice was soft and calm. It contrasted sharply with what you would expect from someone who was disappearing forever.
—“I don’t want to go back.”—
Volk
stared at the screen. He had investigated kidnappings, murders, and
disappearances. But he had never investigated someone who had simply
decided to abandon their own life.
—“Nathaniel didn’t do anything wrong,” she continued . “That’s the problem.”
The image showed a small, sad smile.
—“He gave me exactly what I was looking for. What many people are looking for.”—
The woman in the picture paused.
—“She gave me a perfect life.”—
Her eyes lowered for a moment.
—“But I discovered that I didn’t want a perfect life. I wanted my own life.”—
The recording ended. And for a few seconds, only the sound of the workshop equipment could be heard. Machines working around a human mystery.
It
was a fitting irony. Humanity had built artificial intelligences to
solve problems. And now it needed machines to understand itself.
—“She knew someone would find the android’s body.”— Volk said .
Kline nodded in response.
-"Yeah." -
—“Then he took the trouble to leave an explanation. A farewell.”—
Volk
stared at the blank screen for a few moments. Part of him hoped to find
a victim. That would have been simpler, especially since victims
usually had perpetrators.
After some thought, Volk
returned to New Babylon to find the operator Leon Varek . The clandestine operator lived in a neighborhood where makeshift hacker antennas protruded from the semi-abandoned buildings.
When the man opened the door and saw the detective, he didn't seem surprised. Rather, he seemed resigned.
—“You already know, right?”—
he gestured for the detective to enter.
—“I want to know exactly what Cortex Dynamics did.”—
Varek closed the door.
—“He doesn’t want to know that.”—
—“Yes. Yes, I want it.”—
The man shook his head as he stared at him.
—“He wants to believe there’s a villain.”—
Volk remained silent, mostly because he hated it when someone was right. Varek sat down in front of an old terminal.
—“When Cortex began the experiments, they discovered something unexpected.”
-"What thing?" -
The operator lit a cigarette.
—“Many people didn’t like to come back.”—
Volk frowned.
-"That?" -
—“They thought customers would use the androids as a vacation. A week, a month. A temporary fantasy.”—
He smiled bitterly.
—“But
many discovered that their artificial life was better than real life.
And others… wanted new lives tailored to their needs.”—
The phrase lingered. It was too simple a truth. And simple truths are often the most dangerous.
Varek continued.
—“Some people came back and became depressed. Others, like Elena, wanted to return to their previous lives.”—
Volk looked out the window. The city shimmered in the rain.
Millions of people walking to jobs they hated to maintain lives they didn't enjoy. Perhaps Cortex
hadn't created a problem. Perhaps he'd simply found one that already
existed and was just providing the solution. An effective escape.
—“So, they don’t just sell fantasies, right?”—
Varek took a while to respond.
—“Money
always finds a way. You can book a vacation, if you want. And you can
stay there in some cases. Or… you can use the system to stop being who
you are… like Elena and hundreds of others did.”
Volk
sighed. The problem was simple. Whatever the case, the original bodies
were still there. In the medical capsules, in a drug-induced coma.
Asleep while waiting for their owners to return.
And if a client decided to stay in their new life... Cortex would have to maintain an empty body for years. Too expensive. Too risky. And too many questions.
So they created a corporate and elegant solution. A monstrous solution.
—“They copy the original mind before the transfer to the android.”— Varek explained .
Volk looked up.
—“A complete copy of the mind?”—
-"Clear."-
-"And then?"-
The operator put out the cigarette.
—“If
the client doesn’t want to return, they claim to have a procedure to
recover the mind. It’s a lie. They simply implant that copy into the
biological body. For all legal purposes, the person returns. But in
reality, it’s a copy of the original.”
Volk felt cold. Not because of the temperature, but because of the thought.
—“But in that case, it’s not the same person.”—
Varek looked at him smiling.
—“That’s the question no one wants to answer.”
Thousands
of people had disappeared and been duplicated. Not because they had
died: because they had chosen to stay in their new life.
Businessmen.
Artists. Politicians. Ordinary citizens. All living other lives inside
androids. While a version of themselves continued walking the world.
A copy, a shadow, or a replacement. Call them what you will. In a way, humanity had achieved immortality.
And, as always, he had found a way to ruin it.
—“If you complain to Cortex,” Varek said , “they’ll tell you they have to implement a mind recovery process. Nonsense. They already have the recorded copy.”
Volk observed it.
—“What does that mean?”—
—“They’ll
say the body needs to return to its original state. And that the
emergency procedure takes time and, of course, a bit more money. That’s a
lie.”—
—“They will implant a copy.”—
—“And no one will be able to prove it.”
—“Exactly. That’s how the game is played. Everyone wins, because legally it will be the original person.”—
Volk left the building without saying anything.
Santa Isabel was a city where nobody knew anymore if they were talking to a person, a copy, or an improved version of a lie.
She had started by investigating Elena Marlowe 's disappearance . Now she understood something much darker. Elena hadn't disappeared. She had done something worse: she had left behind someone who could prove she had once existed.
Finding Elena Marlowe had been impossible. But finding Sonia Clenton was very simple. He just had to negotiate a rate over the phone.
The difference between Sonia and Elena was significant. In Santa Isabel , some people disappeared because someone was looking for them. Others because someone wanted to find them.
Sonia Clenton was one of the most well-known women in New Babylon .
Her
name appeared in private networks, exclusive clubs, and conversations
that began with a whisper and ended with a bank transfer.
She was a celebrity.
And
in itself, her life was a rather modern paradox. The city itself had
created a society where being famous no longer meant having done
something important.
Sometimes it just meant that enough people had paid to look at you... or use you.
Volk got a meeting, but not as a detective. He approached her like a client would. It was the only way to get close.
In New Babylon,
it was common knowledge that everything had a price. The difference was
that some knew it, while others spent their entire lives pretending
they didn't.
The meeting took place in a luxury apartment suspended above the city.
From up there, Santa Isabel
looked beautiful. Cities, like some people, seem beautiful when you're too far removed from their problems.
Sonia opened the door herself. A sheer dress hinted at the soft curves of her body. Her face matched the photograph, but Aidan Volk had already learned that a face was merely a suggestion.
Identity lay in deeper places.
—“You’re efficient. I thought it would take you a little longer to find me,” she said.
Volk did not smile.
—“Did you know who he was?”—
Sonia closed the door.
—“I have friends everywhere. I’ve been following you since you started asking about Gabriel.”—
He was silent. Then he walked over to a small cabinet near the window. He poured a couple of drinks. He offered one to Aidan .
The
magnificent window offered a view of the city, which glittered below.
Millions of lights. Millions of stories. And millions of people trying
to convince someone they were happy.
—“Are you here on behalf of Nathaniel?”—
Volk nodded. And in response, she sighed.
She didn't seem surprised. She seemed tired.
—“He’s still looking for me.”—
—“He loves you.”—
Sonia smiled sadly.
-"No."-
Volk watched her attentively.
-"No?"-
—“He loves the idea he has of me. He loves Elena Marlowe.”—
She turned towards him.
—“But that woman no longer exists.”—
Volk took a sip of his drink.
—“Your husband thinks you’re dead.”—
—“He’s a good man. Perhaps it’s better this way.”—
—“But he wants you back.”—
She let out a small laugh. It wasn't cruel. Her laugh was sad.
—“Recover.” — he repeated the word. —“What a strange verb.”—
She walked around the room as the
detective was enveloped in a wave of a unique and sublime floral
perfume. Everything there was elegant, expensive. Perfectly designed.
But
it didn't look like a home. It looked like a stage set, although
perhaps all homes are stages. And some had better sets than others.
—“Aidan, I don’t want to go back.”—
It was the first time Sonia had used his name. Not " detective ." Not " Mr. Volk ." Aidan . That made him more uncomfortable than he expected.
—“Do you know what it means to disappear forever?”—
—“Yes.” — the woman looked at her own hands. Sonia ’s hands .
—“It means I can choose.”—
Sonia
told him her life story, but not as a confession. More like someone
explaining to a friend a decision made long ago. She had returned to
being who she had been before Nathaniel .
A woman admired, desired, feared. A presence in New Babylon . She had acquired important clients. Powerful friends. Now she had a reputation.
And in a city where everyone was trying to be invisible, having a reputation was a form of power.
—“With Gabriel it was different,” she said while Volk
listened in silence. —“He knew who I was.”
—“The drug dealer?”—
She smiled.
—“What I was doing wasn’t important to me. No.”—
He looked at him.
—“For Gabriel, I was always just a person.”—
The phrase hung in the air because it was one of those small truths that hit harder than any revelation.
Gabriel had met Elena without disguise. As a prostitute, without a last name, without lies. Just as she was. And yet he had loved her.
For the first time, pain appeared on her face. And it wasn't an act. It was real pain.
—“They killed him. But he loved me just the way I am.”—
Volk walked to the window.
—“And now that Gabriel is gone, what comes next?”—
She shrugged.
—“I will continue living.”—
-"So?" -
—“What’s wrong with it?”—
The detective didn't answer. He immediately realized he had asked the wrong question.
She
had learned something in her work: people don't always want to be
saved. Sometimes they just want someone to acknowledge that they chose
their own disaster.
—“Don’t you miss being who you used to be?”—
Sonia looked at him. And for a few seconds she said nothing. Then she smiled a quiet smile. Almost sad.
—“Who says I was Nathaniel’s wife?”—
Volk frowned. She continued:
—“I tried. I tried to change my life. But in that life, nobody saw me for my own worth.”—
She approached slowly and sensually. The soft breath from her mouth enveloped the detective.
—“Everyone here is staring at me.”— she paused.
—“Do you really think I want to go back?”
Volk didn't respond. The answer was right in front of him. And for the first time, he understood something Cortex Dynamics would never admit publicly.
The
company wasn't selling fantasies. It was selling opportunities to
become the person you'd always wanted to be. The problem was that some
people discovered too late that this person was hiding behind a lie.
That night Volk stayed there, next to Sonia .
But not as a detective or investigator. As a tired man, seduced by a woman who had decided to abandon her own story.
Sonia wasn't a victim. And I didn't see her as a criminal. It was something much more complicated than that.
Sonia was someone who had found a life where she felt real, even though it had started as a simulation.
That night, Aidan and Sonia made love.
When dawn broke, Santa Isabel
was still the same. The endless rain kept falling. The advertisements
kept promising happiness. The city kept selling new identities to those
who hated their lives.
Volk left Sonia 's apartment while she slept naked between the silk sheets. The detective had no easy answers.
She had never expected them. But she carried something worse. A doubt that tormented her. Perhaps Elena Marlowe hadn't escaped from her life. Perhaps she had been the only person in the entire city who had truly chosen one.
Nathaniel Samuels listened to what Aidan Volk had to say, sitting in the same armchair where he had first told his story.
Volk was standing in front of him.
The detective had learned that delivering bad news was an easy task.
The difficult part was explaining that, sometimes, good news could be worse.
—“I found Elena.”—
Nathaniel 's eyes lit
up. For a moment, he was once again the man who had walked into his
office a few weeks ago: a man looking for a wife. A man looking to
reclaim his past.
-"Where is?"-
Volk took a few seconds to respond.
—“He doesn’t want to come back.”—
The silence was immediate. Nathaniel blinked, as if his mind had rejected information incompatible with his reality.
-"No."-
A small word, but full of despair.
-"It just can't be."-
—“Look, Nathaniel… it’s your decision.”—
Nathaniel got up.
—“I want my wife back.”—
Volk
looked at him. And for the first time, he felt something akin to
compassion. He understood his pain, but he also understood the lie.
—“That’s the problem, Mr. Samuels.”—
Nathaniel observed him.
—“What’s the problem?”—
Volk took a deep breath. He refused to tell her that his wife was living as a prostitute.
—“You want your wife back.”— he paused —“But your wife is living a completely new life.”
The sentence hung in the air. The detective mentally prayed that the man wouldn't ask for any more explanations.
Nathaniel slowly denied it.
—“You don’t understand.”—
—“Probably not.”—
—“She is my wife. I love her. We are a perfect couple. And we have a perfect life.”—
Volk looked at the photograph of Elena that Nathaniel was showing him as he spoke.
—“Perhaps he loves the version of Elena he knew.”—
Nathaniel clenched his fists.
—“So what difference does it make?”—
Volk refused to answer. Because that was the hardest question to answer without destroying the life of the man standing before him.
For centuries, humanity has tried to define what makes a person who they are. The body. Memory. Personality. Recollections.
Cortex Dynamics had found a way to turn that philosophical question into a legal problem.
Volk ended the meeting with Nathaniel Samuels knowing that there was no way to change Elena
's decision or her husband's wishes.
But she also refused to let Cortex Dynamics
continue playing with people's lives. So she returned to where it all
began: the Black Tower. Or the Crystal Temple, where souls had a price.
The owner of Cortex Dynamics
received him in an office with a view of all of Santa Isabel . The man's name was Richard Vossler . And he was an elegant executive.
Educated,
wealthy, and therefore dangerous. One of those men who never raise
their voice because they have enough power to have others shout for
them.
—“Detective Volk.”—
—“Mr. Vossler.”—
—“I was told that he is involved in the case of Mrs. Elena Marlowe.”—
Volk gently placed a folder on the table. Upon seeing it, Richard Vossler asked:
—“What am I seeing?”—
Aidan replied calmly:
—“Contracts
from your company. Reports of androids recovered without the minds of
their occupants. And reports of original bodies recovered from copies of
minds recorded at this same company. Thousands of people illegally
duplicated. And there is more.”—
They
both knew the value of that information. Thousands of original bodies
occupied by duplicate versions of people to avoid lawsuits.
Vossler looked at the folder. Then he looked at the detective.
—“What do you want?”—
Volk smiled slightly.
—“I’m surprised you didn’t ask if it was true.”—
The businessman shrugged.
—“I
didn’t come here without experience. If you hadn’t come to negotiate
something, I’d already have a pair of shackles on my wrists, wouldn’t
I?”—
An honest answer, which made the matter at hand quite unpleasant.
The negotiation didn't last long. The detective wasn't ambitious.
The rain was hitting the windows, and two men were talking about a woman neither of them really knew.
What Volk wanted, besides a few million, didn't mean much to the company's coffers. He didn't want fame, nor did he want to destroy Cortex .
Large companies don't die. They simply change their name and hire new lawyers.
But he did negotiate something additional.
—“And I want Elena Marlowe’s original body.”—
Vossler looked at him.
—“Do you want us to revive it using the copy?”—
—“That’s right. And that she be returned to her husband, Nathaniel Samuels.”—
—“Consider it done, detective. Anything else?”—
Finally, at the end of the meeting, they shook hands.
Cortex Dynamics would restore Elena 's original mind to her biological body. And she would return to Nathaniel .
Volk would remain silent.
I wasn't sure if the whole deal was fair, but it was a win-win arrangement.
In Santa Isabel, justice was a luxury that was not usually available. Only more or less affordable versions remained.
The procedure went unnoticed, like so many thousands of others. No press, no advertising, no cameras. Cortex didn't want the world to know that his greatest technological breakthrough was also his greatest moral problem.
Days later, Elena Marlowe woke up. Nathaniel
's wife returned from her induced coma. This was recorded in the records. Just as the contract stipulated.
Volk received a hug from a moved Nathaniel … and never knew what happened next. He didn't want to know.
Some investigations end when you find the answer. But others end when you realize the answer doesn't fix anything.
A few nights later, she made a call and returned to New Babylon . The city was the same: lights, rain, and broken promises. Some people trying to buy a more palatable version of themselves.
She arrived at the building and went up to Sonia Clenton 's exclusive apartment . Or the former Elena Marlowe . Or maybe neither.
As she opened the door, she smiled seductively. She said slowly and sensually:
-"Detective."-
—“Sonia.”—
There was a silence as the high-class escort let him into the apartment. Volk gazed at the lights of New Babylon through the large window.
The
detective thought about the borrowed lives of millions of individuals.
And for the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure what he was
looking for.
She bowed her head as she wrapped her arms around him.
—“What do you want?”— he asked suggestively.
Volk took a few seconds to respond. He barely smiled.
—“I wanted to ask you something.”—
-"That?"-
Volk looked at the window behind her.
—“I want to hire you.” —
She smiled gently.
—“For tonight?”—
Volk slowly denied it.
—“I’m not sure yet.” — There was a silence, and then he finished the sentence —“Now that I have a lot of money, I think I want to know how much it costs to stay with you . ”
Sonia
watched him for a few seconds. There was no surprise on her face. Just a
slight curiosity. Because in a city where everyone pretended to be
someone else, perhaps the most honest question was precisely that.
Finally he said:
—“Be careful, detective. Some people, when they pay, end up buying a life.”—
THE END
🔹 Go to the "SciFi Section"
🔹 Go to the "What's New on This Website" section
🏷️ Tags:
#ScienceFiction
#SciFi
#ScienceFictionNoir
#Cyberpunk
#DystopianFuture
#Dystopia
#SpeculativeFiction
#FuturisticNarrative
#StoriesFromTheFuture
#CrimeNovel
#Thriller
#Mystery
#DetectivesOfTheFuture
#FilmNoir
#Suspense
#CrimeInvestigation
#Identity
#ArtificialConsciousness
#ArtificialIntelligence
#WhatMakesUsHuman
#RealityAndFiction
#Memory
#PhilosophyAndFiction
#IndependentWriters
#IndependentAuthors
#FantasyLiterature
#ScienceFictionStories
#NewScienceFiction
#RodriacCopen
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)