New Martínez

The trolley rattled against the pavement whilst the kid pushed it along, full to the brim of proteins and vegetables ready for a barbecue. The father looked intently, trying to remember where he parked his airvee. He often wanted to rely on memory rather than tech and kept failing miserably. His ocular implant pinged the location of the airvee and he motioned there. The kid saw it and yelled – “wait, Dad!”.

As they approached their airvee it recognised them both – “Welcome back little Jake and Colin, I can see that you got everything you needed for today’s event” – it opened its cargo bay while Jake started to put the contents of the trolley inside it.

Colin got inside the hatch, the seat accommodated to his frame with a small smacking sound while he mentally pinged Sophia that they were on their way. Time and punctuality were important when you hosted a barbecue for friends.

Jake finished emptying the trolley and it started moving back to the supermarket trolley park on its own. Efficient, sleek. Jake got inside as well and said – “let’s go home Arvee” – the airvee closed off the hatches and the cargo bay and started the takeoff maneuver back to New Martínez compound where the Morales family lived.

“Dad, it’s so inefficient to burn food these days – why do we do it?” Jake’s question hung in the recycled air of the airvee’s cabin.

Colin’s grin was involuntary, revealing the titanium inlay where three teeth had been before the Sector Riots. “Because that’s how food is supposed to taste, mijo. Before the corpos standardized everything.” His neural implant tingled as memories surfaced—real barbecues from his childhood, when animals still roamed fields instead of existing as cell cultures in industrial vats.

“That’s what grandma always says,” Jake replied, eyes fixed on the datastream scrolling through his vision courtesy of the budget implants Colin and Sophia had splurged on for his tenth birthday. “But teacher says traditional cooking wastes resources that could be better allocated.”

“Your teacher works for NutriCorp,” Colin said, his voice hardening. “They’d prefer we all just plug into feeding tubes and be done with it.”

The airvee sliced through the smog layer, revealing the sprawling development of New Martínez—a middle-tier residential compound that hovered a safe three hundred meters above the Ground Dwellers and their perpetual toxic fog. Not high enough to touch the rarefied air of the Executive Spires, but elevated enough that the Morales family could pretend they were part of the solution rather than the problem.

“Approaching home destination,” announced the airvee, its voice soothing in the way only artificial intelligence could manage, a voice engineered to never show frustration or contempt. “Weather control reports scheduled sunlight for your sector until 20:00. Perfect conditions for outdoor recreation.”

“Gracias, Arvee,” Colin muttered as the vehicle docked itself on the landing pad of their modest modular unit. The pad extended from the small garden space Sophia had insisted on when they’d leveraged themselves to the hilt to buy in.

Through the bubble-glass canopy, Colin could see his wife already setting up the entertainment zone. The miniature barbecue pit—a genuine reproduction of ancient cooking technology—glowed with the blue flames of clean synthetic charcoal. Small mercies that the HOA allowed actual fire, even if it was sanitized and monitored by six different safety systems.

The airvee’s hatch hissed open, expelling Jake first in the boundless way of children, then Colin with the stiff caution of a man whose natural joints were increasingly outnumbered by the synthetic ones.

“You’re late,” Sophia called out, but her smile betrayed her lack of real concern. Her corporate uniform was gone, replaced by leisure clothes that still bore the subtle NutriCorp logo on the sleeve—employee discount, impossible to remove without triggering the garment’s self-destruct protocols.

“Traffic in the lower airways,” Colin lied easily. They both knew he’d spent too long browsing the imports section, looking for ingredients that might taste of something, anything authentic.

Jake was already helping Arvee unload the provisions, his small hands moving with practiced efficiency. “Mom, Dad says we cook because that’s how food is supposed to taste. Is that true?”

Sophia’s eyes flickered—the telltale sign of her corporate loyalty implant activating. As a mid-level quality engineer at NutriCorp, she was contractually prohibited from disparaging company products or philosophy.

“Your father appreciates traditional preparation methods,” she replied diplomatically. The implant allowed that much.

Colin busied himself with the food, pretending not to notice the momentary blankness that passed over his wife’s features. It was the price they paid for stability, for the chance to live above the clouds. For Jake to have options.

“First guests arriving in fifteen minutes,” announced the house system. “Residents Dak Martinez and Miko Chen approaching by public transit.”

Colin nodded, beginning to arrange the proteins on the warming tray. Actual cellular meat for Dak and Miko, who could afford the real thing. Synthetic for the rest, though he’d sprung for the premium grade that at least had variable texture. He hadn’t told Sophia about that particular expense.

“When are Uncle Lenn and Aunt Zira coming?” Jake asked, arranging the vegetable platter with the precision of someone who’d watched too many cooking streams.

“They’ll be here,” Colin said, avoiding Sophia’s gaze. Lenn and Zira weren’t really Jake’s aunt and uncle—just old friends from Colin’s past, a past that grew more distant with each corporate promotion Sophia received.

The barbecue itself was an antique, restored by Colin over countless evenings when sleep wouldn’t come. A relic of times when people gathered not just to consume calories but to participate in ritual, in community. Corporate efficiency experts had calculated the exact loss in productivity caused by traditional food preparation and deemed it unacceptable for anyone below Executive Grade.

Yet here they were, playacting at normality. Pretending that food was still food and not just fuel. Pretending that friends could gather without corporate surveillance tracking every word, every microsecond of unauthorized leisure time.

“Dad,” Jake said suddenly, his voice dropping to a whisper as he looked toward the edge of their garden where it met the neighbor’s privacy screen, “who’s that?”

Colin turned, squinting against the artificially perfect sunlight. A figure stood at the boundary—humanoid but wrong somehow, its proportions subtly askew. It raised a hand in greeting, and Colin felt his augmented heart skip a beat.

The hand was mechanical, military-grade plasteel like nothing available on the civilian market. And though the face was obscured by a hood, Colin would recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Vexx,” he whispered, the name like ash on his tongue.

Vexx, who had vanished ten years ago during the Bypass. Vexx, who had been declared dead when Metacorp purged the old net. Vexx, whose specialized implants had made him a target for corporate headhunters—literally.

“Colin?” Sophia’s voice came from far away. “Who are you talking to?”

But Colin was already moving toward the boundary, toward the ghost at the edge of his carefully constructed life. The ghost who should not, could not be there.

“You’re dead,” he said when he was close enough that the surveillance wouldn’t pick up his words.

The figure tilted its head, the movement too smooth, too precise. “Was,” it replied in Vexx’s voice, impossible and familiar. “Got better.”

From beneath the hood, Colin caught the gleam of sensors where eyes should be. Not implants—replacements.

“You need to go,” Colin hissed. “Now. Before the system flags you.”

“Too late for that, old friend.” Vexx’s voice was exactly as Colin remembered, which was wrong. No one’s voice stayed the same for ten years, not with the atmospheric compounds they all breathed. “I’m already in your system. Been watching you for weeks. Nice life you’ve made. Safe. Predictable.”

The accusation stung. “I have a family now.”

“And I have a purpose,” Vexx replied. His hood shifted, revealing what remained of his face—a patchwork of scarred flesh and metal, a grotesque mosaic of man and machine. “They’re coming, Colin. Phase Two of the Bypass. But this time, we’re ready.”

The house system chimed pleasantly. “Guests Dak Martinez and Miko Chen have arrived at the main entrance.”

Colin’s mind raced. Dak and Miko—the last people who should see Vexx now. They had all been there that night, had all seen what happened when Vexx went too deep into Metacorp’s systems.

“Jake,” Colin called, never taking his eyes off Vexx, “go help your mother with the door.”

The boy hesitated, his enhanced vision no doubt picking up details of Vexx that Colin wished he couldn’t see.

“Now, Jake.”

The boy retreated, sensors in his clothing reporting his elevated heart rate to the parental monitoring system on Colin’s implant.

“You can’t be here,” Colin said, desperation creeping into his voice. “Not now. Not with them coming.”

Vexx’s mechanical hand reached out, stopping just short of Colin’s shoulder. “That’s exactly why I’m here. Because they’re coming. Because what they did to me is just the prototype.” The hand extended further, splitting open to reveal a small data crystal. “They’re planning mass consciousness transfer, Colin. Immortality for the executives, while the rest of humanity remains trapped in degrading meat.”

Colin stared at the crystal, remembering a time when he would have taken it without question. When he would have slotted unknown data into his personal system without fear of infection or corporate tracking.

“I have a family,” he repeated, the words hollow even to his own ears.

“And I have the only chance to stop this,” Vexx countered. “But I need the old team. I need you, Dak, Miko. Even Lenn and Zira.”

The door chime sounded again, followed by Dak’s booming laugh and Miko’s sharp retort. Sounds from another life, a life Colin had carefully walled off.

Vexx’s head tilted again, sensors whirring as they adjusted. “Decision time, old friend. You can serve your synthetic meat and pretend everything is fine. Or you can remember who you were. Who we were.”

The crystal gleamed in the perfect artificial sunlight, a tiny shard of rebellion against the ordered world Colin had accepted.

“The Bypass killed thousands,” Colin said.

“Phase Two will enslave millions,” Vexx replied. “Starting with your son’s generation.”

From inside came the sounds of reunion, of Dak and Miko greeting Sophia, asking about Jake’s growth, admiring the barbecue setup. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.

Colin looked back at the house, at the life he had built, then at Vexx—at what remained of a friend he had mourned and tried to forget.

“Give me the crystal,” he said finally, his hand trembling as it closed around the data storage. “But no promises. I need to see what’s on it first.”

Vexx’s face—what remained of it—formed something like a smile. “That’s all I ask. For now.” He stepped back toward the boundary. “Enjoy your barbecue, Colin. I’ll be in touch. Or rather, you’ll be in touch with me, once you see what they’re planning.”

As quickly as he had appeared, Vexx was gone, slipping past the privacy screen into the narrow maintenance corridor that ran between residential units. Colin stood frozen, the crystal burning in his palm like a coal.

“Colin!” Sophia called from the doorway. “What are you doing? Everyone’s waiting!”

He tucked the crystal into his pocket, feeling its weight like an anchor to his past. “Coming,” he called back, his voice steadier than he felt. “Just checking the perimeter sensors.”

As he turned back toward the house, toward the perfect barbecue scene with friends and family gathered around synthetic flames, Colin couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched by more than just the usual surveillance.

Somewhere in the toxic haze far below, something was stirring. Something that remembered what it meant to be human, even when humanity itself seemed to be forgetting.

Colin plastered on a smile as he approached the gathering. “Who’s ready for some real cooking?” he asked, his hand unconsciously touching the pocket where Vexx’s crystal lay hidden.

The barbecue smoke rose lazily into the controlled atmosphere, indistinguishable from the millions of other authorized cooking events happening across the suspended city. But this smoke carried something else now—a spark, a memory, a possibility of resistance.

And in New Martínez compound, as the artificially perfect day continued, Colin Morales felt something he hadn’t experienced in years: the simultaneous thrill and terror of genuine uncertainty.