Tears welled. She flipped the switch back.
The mod was a sliver of black alloy, no bigger than a fingernail, with a microscopic toggle labeled: .
Cargo bay. Smell of recycled air. Loneliness.
For weeks, she lived double: long shifts in the real, then stolen hours in the xkj1’s “1” position. A loving spouse. A garden. A version of herself who hadn’t lost everything in the Corporate Wars.
