iUpdate.Me

Here's the first section of a story I've started working on.

---

IN THE NEWS!

​SEP 4, 12:01 AM PDT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, iUpdate.Me!

BY Karen Bradley
FEDERATED PRESS

Today marks the tenth anniversary since iUpdate.Me opened its doors to the world. Based out of Silicon Valley, CA, the Nanotech startup developed the controversial system for personal enhancement. 
As many iUpdate.Me customers may not know, the process they use to change their hairstyle and skin tone started out as a revolutionary medical treatment for cancer. Microscopic robots, called Nanocytes, injected into the patient followed simple instructions to identify and destroy cancerous cells in the body. With the cure for cancer becoming widespread, the technology became a treatment protocol for a variety of medical conditions from cleft palettes to varicose veins.
It didn’t take long for the cosmetics industry to jump, offering their customers a new way to keep their appearance fresh throughout the day. Implanted Nanocytes mimicked traditional make-up. Unlike lipstick, foundation, and blush, the Nanocytes never needed to be re-applied throughout the day. And, instead of scrubbing off the old make-up to put on a ‘new face’, the Nanocytes easily altered their hue with a few changes to their settings via the phone app.
iUpdate.Me became the leading manufacturer of the Nanocytes, and the developer of the best-selling app, with their initial Basic plan: All the cosmetic changes you want at the push of a button. New hairstyles and skin tones flooded the club scenes overnight. Social Media and picture sharing networks became overloaded with the explosion of new looks people were sharing on a minute-to-minute basis.
With the market saturation of their starter plan, iUpdate.Me took personal improvement to the next level: the Morph program. 
Along with cosmetic upgrades, customers had the ability to change their bodies at will. 
Wanted that six-pack, but didn’t have time to go to the gym? There was a new app for that! 
Wanted to change your bust size without the pain and expense of surgery? There was a new app for that!
Any other physical changes you’ve been dreaming of making? You guessed it. There was a new app for that! 
Any physical trait you wanted to change, but couldn’t, was within reach and limited only by your imagination. 
Except height. Something about bones taking too long to restructure. So, I guess I’ll have to accept remaining short. But, I can go from plump to petite overnight!
With the launch of the Morph plan, the world’s obesity rates seemed to drop in a matter of months as the Nanocytes can either use fat cells as fuel or dispose of them through the body’s digestive system. Thank Heaven, because I can’t imagine my life without chocolate!
IUpdate.Me’s latest plan, Janus, launched a mere two years ago. But in that time, the question of gender identity has finally been put to rest. No more are the days when we question someone’s gender identity. If a man wants to be a woman, the Janus plan lets him change his body type from male to female with a few simple clicks. And, all without any expensive surgery or months of psychiatric oversight. And the best part is, she can change back to a male simply by resetting her gender parameters.
Happy Birthday, iUpdate.Me!

All the best,

“Currently Kevin” Bradley

---

Marco

​Marco Dvulikiy’s black-market phone vibrated for the third time in as many minutes, skittering ever closer to the night table’s edge. Eyes pinched, he stretched his club-stamped hand from under the white cotton sheet, feeling around to find the noise like a ball-peen hammer against his head. The snake tattooed on his arm slithered left and right as if searching for that elusive mouse for breakfast.
Marco’s fingers brushed across the polished wood stand, playing a game of Hot and Cold with the buzzing phone. With a groan, Marco slapped his hand around the nightstand until it landed on the source of his rude awakening. On the tenth ring, the phone went silent as the call went to voice mail. 
Bleary-eyed, Marco fumbled the phone across the glass surface, dragging it into his warm cocoon. The image of a Pekingese wearing a hot pink studded collar lit up his tiny cotton cave, making him squint even tighter. 
Oops! I forgot to pick up Madison from the kennel yesterday.
Marco laid on his side, rubbing the remaining grains of sand from his eyes. Squinting against the light, he gazed unfocused at the screen. 10:05 am. Four missed calls. One new voice mail message. 
Placing his thumb on the glass, the phone unlocked and went to the home screen. Marco launched the Dark Net voice mail app and listened as the message began to play through his auditory implants.
“Activate Tserber,” a Russian female voice emitted. “Dead drop at Hamilton’s Bar & Grill. 233 2nd St NW, DC. Women’s Restroom. 200K. Good luck.”
The hunt is on. Time to unleash the hounds.
He threw the warm sheet across the bed; fresh air blew across Marco’s muscular 5’9” frame, covered only by gray boxer-briefs. Gooseflesh erupted across his sun-kissed skin, culminating in a delightful shiver up his spine as he threw legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed his bristly face and buzzed head, massaging away the sleepiness.
A high-pitched moan from the other side of the bed brought back memories of last night’s reveries. Marco twisted toward his bedmate squirming under the jumble of bedding. One by one, arms and legs canvased with intertwining dragon tattoos and Chinese calligraphy found their way out from the bundle. A beautiful woman’s face with almond eyes and full lips pulled out from under a downy pillow. Her long black hair, matted on one side and frayed like a bird’s nest on the other looked like a Rorschach test against the white, silky pillow case. The ID of Dr. Makiko Yamada, Gender/Sexual Expression Therapist, appeared in his vision through the Augmented Reality (A.R.) Optical implants embedded on his retina.
Her eyes, half-opened and confused, took in the room. “What time is it?” she asked sleepily.
Marco stood. “It’s ten o’clock,” he said, pulling on the tan slacks piled on the side of the bed. “I think you’ll have to bill me for overtime,” he chuckled.
Makiko unwound herself from the sheets and stretched out on the bed in a red lace babydoll. “I don’t usually go to bed with my patients,” she pursed her lips with a coy grin. “But, after our session yesterday, I just couldn’t resist. I feel such a strong attraction to you. It’s been building over the past several weeks, and I just let go. How do you feel about last night? About our relationship turning from therapeutic to sexual?”
Marco stood silently in the darkness for a moment. “It was unexpected,” he murmured. “And I didn’t expect how overwhelming the emotional connection would be. But, I’m glad because I was starting to feel guilty for feeling attracted to my therapist. Thanks for making the first move.”
Makiko crawled across the bed, kneeling behind Marco with her hands on his shoulders. “I think we’ve made a real connection together. And I’m interested in getting to know you better as a non-patient. I’d like to explore all the truths behind who you are.”
Marco’s stomach turned. 
I don’t even know who or what I am. You’re falling for an illusion. I can’t tell you something I don’t know myself. 
He turned around, pulling her closer by her hips and kissing her hard on the mouth once before pulling her into an embrace.
“When do you want to do another session?” she asked, brushing her lips on his shoulder.
“Window!” Marco spoke upward. The window tinting faded from black to clear, letting in the light from the overcast skies. Marco slid out from Makiko’s arms and strolled to stand in the diffuse sunlight. Off in the distance, the Washington Monument peaked above the lush tree-lined streets. “I may be out of town for the next few days. I’ll let you know. When are you available?” he raised his eyebrows in her direction.
Makiko rolled off the bed, bent over and gathered up her purse, a small overnight bag, and a little black dress with matching stilettoes. She sauntered her lithe 5’7” figure to Marco, raking the tangles out of her hair before running her long red nails down his bare chest. “I can fit you in next Tuesday,” she purred. “But, I’ll let you know if that changes. I might not even be Asian next time. Any requests? I could even reconfigure to appear as a Nevo.” Her eyes smoldered at him.
“Hmm. How about a chubby German albino with birth-control goggles wearing a Nun’s Habit?” he chortled, unable to contain himself.
Makiko, mouth agape, smacked his chest. “Well, doesn’t that sound sexy? I’m sure my other patients will get right on board with that.”
They laughed together for a minute until the joke wore off. “But seriously,” Makiko whispered. “I want to help you. So, do you have any unfulfilled fantasies I can help you explore through our next therapy session?”
“Naw,” Marco shrugged. “I’ve therapized ‘em all. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Makiko pursed her lips. “Then maybe next time I’ll surprise you, and I’ll just pick you up in the bar.”
Marco snickered. “Sounds good,” he said, lifting her chin to plant another kiss on her full lips. “Now, I need to get to work. Can you see yourself out?”
Makiko pouted her lips. “What? No breakfast? Not even going to call me a cab?” she moved behind him, wrapping her free arm around his waist.
Marco smiled in spite of himself. Tapping his temple, he activated his VDA (Virtual Digital Assistant). “Madison, hail a cab. Passenger name, Makiko Yamada. Destination to be given en route.”
An Australian woman’s voice chimed from the ceiling. “City Cab Services has been notified. A car will be waiting outside in five minutes.”
“Charge the fare to my account,” Marco said, brushing the back of Makiko’s arm with his fingers. 
“City Cab Services has been instructed to Bill the fare to your personal account information,” Madison chimed. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Marco?”
Marco turned off his VDA as Makiko wrapped her arms tighter like a boa constrictor finalizing its dinner plans. “I’ll walk you to the door.” Marco unwound Makiko’s arms as he led her away from the day-lit window. Their bare feet padded across the cold tile floor of false wood planking of his 1200 SF studio apartment. The thirty-foot walk from the bed, past the kitchen area to the door, took all of twenty seconds.
Marco turned the five deadbolt latches and depressed the spring-mounted floor stop with his bare foot. The thick half-barrel hinges protested against the weight of the three-inch stainless steel hollow-core panel. Holding the door open with his body Marco guided Makiko toward the opening. “Thanks for coming,” he said as she dropped her belongings on the floor to slide the black dress over her lingerie in the doorway. “I’ll give you a call when I’m back in town.”
Makiko batted her eyes. “I’ll look forward to it,” she purred with a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “Think about my trans offer. It could be fun. Remember, don’t deny yourself the opportunity to connect with others when you feel an attraction. If it feels right, you’ll know it. Just let it happen.” 
Marco nodded, looking down.
Makiko’s eyes lingered on Marco’s face. “Are you going to keep searching for your biological father?”
Marco swallowed against the pain in his throat. “I need to know where I come from,” he croaked. 
“It’s not easy growing up without a father,” she whispered taking a half-step closer. “It’s even more difficult since you’re mother died in childbirth and you were brought up in State Homes.”
No one wanted to adopt the freak of nature.
Makiko opened her mouth to speak, but her wrist chimed an alarm. “Your cab is waiting at the curb.”
“Sorry, I’ve got to run. I’ve got a one o’clock session, and I need to get home and change. You’re going to be okay. I’m here for you.” Makiko leaned in, planting a lingering kiss on his neck before bending over to pick up her stuff and catwalk down the corridor.
Marco watched her hips sway down the hall and into to the elevator before he closed the door and relocked all five deadbolts.
Turning slowly toward the kitchen, Marco flipped on his Espresso machine on his way to the high table nestled against the faux brick wall of his breakfast nook. The diffused light from his studio’s only window cast soft shadows across the table’s surface.
As the espresso fumes wafted across the kitchen and into his nostrils, Marco sat down and activated his A.R. computer screen. Typing on the table’s surface, he logged in with his sixteen digit password. 
Opening the Web browser, Marco signed into the International Genetic Family Registry (I.G.F.R.). Swiping his finger through the air, he activated the SEARCH window and entered name given to him by the nurses after his mother died on the delivery table.
MISHA ROMANOV.
Double-tapping the enter key he held his breath against the spinning DNA icon gliding along the word “Searching…”
Marco wrapped his feet between the footrest and stool legs, arching back to nearly touching the floor with his fingertips. “Anything,” he muttered. “Give me anything new.” Seconds later, the laptop sang out a happy chime.
Marco curled himself up with closed eyes. 
Tri. Dva. Odin.
Selecting the RESULTS icon, he found the same results as the million times before.

BIOLOGICAL MOTHER: Ludmilla Romanov - DECEASED. CAUSE OF DEATH: COMPLICATIONS IN CHILDBIRTH. GET ADDITIONAL DETAILS HERE.
BIOLOGICAL FATHER: LIVING: CLASSIFIED. NO OTHER INFORMATION AVAILABLE.

“Chert!” he yelled, slamming his palms on the glass tabletop. Marco clenched his fists, cursing God, his mother and the I.G.F.R. for denying his quest for the only answers that mattered. “Who am I? What am I?” he screamed at the ceiling.
As he wrapped his muscular arms around himself, Marco’s shoulders gave a slight shake fighting against waves of despair. Ten minutes later, the espresso machine offered Marco a refreshing relief from his wallowing. 
With caffeine rushing through his system, he closed the forbidden corner of his mind. 
I have a new contract. Best to keep busy.
Marco closed the Web browser and double-clicked on the only other icon on the screen; a broken infinity symbol with two tails having an arrowhead on one end and a plus symbol on the other. The login prompt asked for his credentials. After entering his thirty-two digit password, Marco opened his most precious application. IUpdate.Me: Janus Edition.
“Who to send to the drop,” Marco mumbled to himself as he began flipping through the various profiles arrayed across the screen. Men and women’s faces, each identified by a first name only. Muriel. Dave. Amber. Umbutu. Jaime. A dozen faces of all races and genders.
The drop is in a woman’s bathroom. 
Marco clicked on a button marked XX, filtering his list. The male and androgynous profiles disappeared from the display. 
Marco scrolled through women’s profiles as if deciding which shirt to buy online. He re-sorted the profiles from “By Name” to “By Date Created”. The images danced around the screen like a sliding number puzzle. “What to wear, what to wear, what to wear,” Marco hummed repeatedly. His eyes kept going back to the first face on the list. Mikaela Yamagata. Half-Japanese, in her mid-thirties. Dark, medium-length hair. Green eyes. Cupid’s Bow Lips.
Marco selected the image, prompting an expanded profile to take up the screen. Height: 5’9”. Body Shape: Average. Weight: TBD. Marco eyed the profile’s body curves. A small torso with wider hips tapered down to firm calves and thin ankles. “She’ll do. Lucky for me I have little feet,” Marco mused. “Otherwise, I’d never pull off that look.”
Marco’s pupils dilated as he selected on the large blue UPLOAD CONFIGURATION button.
The odor of coffee grew stronger as Marco closed the virtual interface and stood, walking to a closet with a palm-print ID scanner attached to the wall. He pressed his hand on the plate; the glass glowed green with the click of an electronic latch. Opening the door, Marco stepped into what he jokingly called the “hot box.” Shelves and racks stuffed with masculine clothing on one side, and feminine on the other. On the wall opposite the door, a cylindrical chamber about the size of a tanning bed sat on the floor with the iUpdate.Me logo emblazoned on the top. The tube cracked open with a hiss. Marco closed the door behind him and disrobed as he crossed the room, grabbing a white silk robe draped on a padded hanger.
Marco tossed the garment across a dressing bench near the chamber’s head as the chest glowed to life. 
The interior looked like a swami’s nail bed rolled up and folded over like a giant clam. Thousands of needle-like pins protruded from wires and computer chips. Marco positioned himself in the lower half, pushing a button that lowered the lid.
“Welcome to the Janus Chamber, Marco,” a nondescript woman’s voice echoed in the tight space. “Are you ready to upgrade?”
“Proceed,” Marco replied, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth.
The needles extended, piercing his skin in a thousand places to deliver instructions to the billions of Nanocytes lying dormant in his body.
“Estimated time to update, six hours. Please lie still and relax. And remember, you can be whoever you want to be.”
That’s the marketing line that started it all.
Marco focused on remaining still as the pain of his body accelerated in step with the whirring of unseen pumps. His skin crawled with a billion microscopic robots that disassembled and reassembled his body on the cellular level. 

---

Mikaela

Six hours later, Mikaela emerged from the Janus Chamber, her skin still tingling from the electrical discharges of a million fire ant bites. She rolled off the pin cushion clam shell, wavering like a drugged asylum patient. 
I hate the cool-down period.
She wiped beads of sweat from her nape with shaky fingers. She shook her head, whipping herself in the face with her newly grown locks. Bracing herself against the upgrade chamber lid, she tweezed a few hairs from her mouth with her new half-inch nails.
 Taking two shaky steps, Mikaela reached for the robe draped across the bench. She closed her eyes with a sigh as the sheer fabric cooled her fiery skin. Mikaela swayed like she’d just run a marathon as she walked to the vanity, tying the robe tight around her pear-shaped waist.  
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said to her reflection. Mikaela’s green deadpan eyes stared back at her from the mirror. Lingering in a staring contest with herself, she hugged the silk tight around her shoulders. “I can be whoever I want to be. But, who am I?”
With a weary sigh, Mikaela picked up a hairbrush and untangled her black shoulder-length hair. Looking at the red LED clock resting on the counter the time read 4:36 pm. “That’s gotta be a new record for me,” she whispered to herself. “Seems like each upgrade takes longer and longer.”

---

What do you think? Tell me in the comments below!