A soft chime sounded at Mav’s bedside, coaxing her from sleep. The room’s lights began to rise in a slow, golden wash as Goo eased them up like a sunrise, letting her wake without shock. Minutes later, the chime came again.

  “Ugh… okay, Goo, please open the door,” she mumbled, pushing her hair from her face and using the bed’s handholds to roll over. “And raise the bed, please.” The bed lifted her to a seated position as she tugged her top straight and blinked toward the doorway.

  Three figures entered, Dwight, Anni, and Jim, Arthur’s tech assistant. “Good morning, Mav,” Dwight greeted warmly, stepping to her side and taking her radial pulse. “Jim, go ahead and fit the new contacts. Anni and I will handle her morning routine after that. We’ll need about twenty minutes, then you can come back for step two.”

  “Morning, Mav,” Anni and Jim said at the same time, laughing at themselves.

  “Actually, Dwight, I need to pop by the lab before we set her up for step two,” Jim said, glancing past him as something flickered across his HUD. “Arthur wants me to check something first, so the timing works.” While they spoke, Anni moved to Mav’s far side, uncovering her left leg and massaging the tissue to stimulate circulation.

  “Perfect,” Dwight said, retrieving his needle case. As Anni finished, he began inserting acupuncture needles into Mav’s foot and ankle.

  ‘It’s still so weird to not feel that,’ she thought, watching his hands. Jim pulled a high stool over to the head of the bed, setting a small case on the side table. Inside, two ultra-thin contacts gleamed faintly with layers of microcircuitry.

  “Okay, Mav,” Jim said, “I’m going to send a signal to Goo. You’ll need to confirm, and that’ll trigger your old adaptive biolenses to detach. Fair warning, it’ll be itchy. Very itchy and I’ll need you not to rub your eyes or they’ll reattach. Ready?”

  “Please begin.” She closed her eyes and laid her head back.

  Moments later, Goo’s voice came through. “Confirm lens release?”

  “Yes, Goo. I confirm.”

  The itching began almost immediately, sharp and wriggling, like tiny worms burrowing under her eyelids. She clenched her fists to keep from rubbing. Her eyes watered until the world blurred.

  “Almost there, Mav. Few more seconds,” Jim said, his hand touching her forearm for reassurance. Anni covered her left leg back to the shin, careful of Dwight’s needles, and began massaging her right leg. Mav heard Dwight moving behind them. The itching stopped and she sighed in relief. Jim gently held one eye open, then the other, plucking away the old lenses with delicate precision.

  “Better?” he asked, handing her a tissue to wipe her cheeks.

  “Yeah… wow. That’s intense. Does everyone go through this to play?” she asked, tossing the tissue into the small can he held out.

  “Everyone,” he said, smiling. “Players have centers where they get the procedure done. It’s part of their game packet, and we cover the cost.” Mav’s eyebrows lifted. ‘The cost must be astronomical. They could be doing so much more with that money.’

  Jim caught her expression. “You don’t approve,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he held up the first of the new lenses. She nodded. “Well, we don’t just give it away. It’s built into the subscription,” he said, placing the lens gently on her eye. “And Wannabe is rolling this out to students worldwide for free. Nanoneural teaching is going to revolutionize education. That’s something we’re proud to support. By the way, this next part will be just as uncomfortable.”

  “Oh no,” Mav muttered as the itching began again. She breathed deeply, talking to distract herself, “that’s actually amazing, though. So it’s not just about games. I didn’t see anything about that in my research last night.”

  “You wouldn’t have,” Jim said. “They’ve kept it quiet, using other holdings to deliver the assistance. It’s through a group called Second Sight. Heard of it?”

  “Yes, I have, they were all over the news a few years ago with their… oh damn…” Mav paused, surprised. She was blinking rapidly as the sensation faded into a snug tightness around her eyes. “That’s Wannabe too?”

  “One of their holdings,” he confirmed. “They revolutionized adaptive biolenses back in the early 2040s. But that’s all I’ve got, and if we keep chatting, Dwight and Anni won’t get you ready for step two. I’ll be back soon.”

  Jim left, and Dwight and Anni stepped in to complete her routine. ‘I have no idea what I’m in for,’ Mav thought, blinking against the lingering itch, ‘but this is kinda cool.’ By the time Jim returned, Mav had showered and been settled back in bed.

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  “Ready for step two?” he asked. Mav nodded and Jim approached with a small pill case embossed with the WannaBeWayneTech logo.

  “These,” he said, opening it for her, “are the science behind the magic. These three pills will introduce the nanomachines into your body through the GI track. First sets your stomach alkaline, that’s why we do it after a fast. That allows the next two to survive until they reach your bloodstream. From there, they travel to your brain. It’ll take about five minutes for the first to work. How are your eyes?”

  “They itch, but not badly. Will this make me nauseous? And… when can I bring up my HUD?”

  “Nausea’s rare, point-two percent, mostly folks with reflux or ulcers. Most people just get a warm stomach and get hungry. I’ve already asked Bobby to bring breakfast. As for the HUD? It’ll appear when it’s ready.”

  Mav smiled. “I’m already hungry.” She swallowed the first capsule with a sip of water.

  “Set timer for five minutes,” Jim told his AVA.

  “Oh! My HUD just came up,” Mav said, grinning. “Mind if I run the tutorial or would that be rude?”

  “Please do,” Jim said. “It’ll speed things up. I’ll grab coffee and be right back.”

  By the time he returned, she was finishing the calibration, her eyes moving in slow circles to align the lenses.

  “Time already?” she asked, looking up.

  “Yes. Take these two together,” he said, handing her the glass.

  She dropped both red gel caps into her mouth and swallowed in one go. Warmth bloomed in her stomach, spreading across her abdomen like a shot of bourbon, then climbing her spine before fading.

  “That’s it?” she asked, almost disappointed.

  “For now. It’ll take about an hour for the nanos to integrate and link with your biolenses. Then we’ll start the second tutorial.” Before Mav could reply, Bobby entered with a robosteward cart. “Perfect timing,” Jim said, greeting him with a fist bump.

  “Good morning Chef, how are you today?” Jim asked, “what’s on the menu?” Bobby returned the bump and lifted a tray cover, revealing a golden potato crusted quiche laced with mushrooms and the smoky perfume of gruyere. Fresh fruit and sprouted grain toast sat beside it.

  Jim’s eyes lit up. “Oh man, is that your smoked gruyere and mushroom? I’m gone.” He left with a grin. As Bobby set the tray before her Mav tried to stifle a yawn and failed miserably.

  “Didn’t sleep?” he asked, his easy Southern drawl curling around the words.

  “Not much,” she admitted. “I was up researching VR, TIER and gaming. Did you know how much time and money people spend on that? Think of what you could do with that time.”

  “Well, actually I do.” Bobby said with a guilty grin, “I have been a gamer for years, and enjoy it immensely. Now, don’t get me wrong, I live my life too, but gaming is a way for me to relax and unwind. After I got sober, it was a great outlet for my stress, and a heck of a lot better than hitting my bar before I went home, wouldn’t you say?” he asked as he lifted the cover off her tray letting steam escape into the air between them.

  “Shoot Bobby, I am sorry.” She said, looking at him. “I have such a blind spot for this, and I think I know why, but I shouldn’t be such an ass about it. Please forgive me?”

  “No forgiveness needed,” he said. “When I owned six restaurants and was chasing my second Michelin star, I was a madman. My wife suggested gaming, she played too. Next thing I knew, I was a fire-wielding mage having more fun with her than we’d had in years. Between sobriety and gaming together, we saved our marriage.”

  Mav was astonished. She’d spent half the night scrolling through case studies and personal essays, fractured marriages, families splintered by silence, the so-called Lost Generation in Japan who dissolved into isolation rather than connection. Page after page of bleak statistics. And yet here sat Bobby, accomplished master chef, former owner not of two but three Michelin stars before he sold the place, casually confessing that gaming had saved his marriage.

  ‘How many relationships actually get better because of gaming?’ she wondered as she lifted a forkful of quiche, steam curling upward. ‘How many grow stronger because they found a shared world? How many addicts use these systems to tame the static in their heads instead of feeding it? I need more research… a lot more.’ She chewed slowly, letting the layered flavors settle, buttery crust, velvety custard, a whisper of herbs she couldn’t name, each bite grounding her a little more.

  “Bobby, this is amazing,” she said honestly, setting the fork down with care. “Every meal you make blows me away. Thank you,really, for all of it. And… thank you for telling me that story. I need to get better at seeing those blind spots. Would you share more with me? I need stories like that to wrap my head around what we’re trying today.”

  “Oh, I’d love to,” he said immediately, voice warm, easy. Then, with a quick grin, “Mind if I eat with you?” He slid a second tray off the robosteward’s cart before she could answer, clearly hoping she’d say yes.

  “That would be great,” she replied, smiling as she set her fork aside. “Did you bring your breakfast up with you?”

  “Oh, hehe, no,” He smiled conspiratorially, “this is Arthur’s breakfast.” Bobby laughed, lifting the lid to reveal a quiche much larger than hers, surrounded by hash browns, bacon, sausage, and two muffins stacked like an offering to a hungry god.

  “I’ll just have my AVA order him another one.” He turned to the robosteward, issuing a string of commands; the machine chirped softly and rolled away on whisper smooth treads.

  Bobby set the oversized plate on a high table, dragged it to her bedside, and sat in the stool Olivia usually claimed during morning rounds. He picked up his fork, eyes bright, posture open, the kind of man ready to share not just a meal but something true and asked with an inviting smile:

  “Where would you like to begin?”