The morning sun hit Freddie Wilson like a physical blow. He sat at his kitchen table, nursing a cup of lukewarm water and a headache that felt like a construction crew was jackhammering behind his eyes.
"It was just a local bar," Freddie mumbled to himself, rocking back and forth. "No one watches local bar videos. It’s fine. We’re still anonymous. We’re still safe."
The front door flew open with enough force to rattle the windows.
Avery stood in the doorway. She wasn't wearing her usual grey security blanket. Instead, she was holding a tablet out in front of her like a priest banishing a demon. Her eyes were wide behind her glasses.
"The Oracle has spoken," Avery whispered. "The Algorithm has chosen."
"What?" Freddie squeaked. "What are you talking about?"
Avery marched to the table and slammed the tablet down. On the screen was a TikTok video. It was shaking, blurry footage of a red-faced woman in a vest flicking a lime across a crowded bar.
The caption read: REAL LIFE ANIME WAIFU SNIPES FRAT BOY. #Skillz #AimBot
Freddie looked at the view count.
10,432,891 Views.
"Ten million," Avery hissed. "Ten million views in thirty-six hours. It’s on Reddit. It’s on Twitter. My discord server is melting down. They’re calling her the 'Lime Sniper'."
Freddie felt a sharp pain in his chest. His left arm went tingly. "Ten... million?"
"We are trending above the President, Freddie."
Freddie slumped in his chair, clutching his heart. "I think... I think I’m having a heart attack. This is it. The CIA is going to raid us. They’re going to dissect her and put me in a hole."
Selena, who had been sitting on the counter eating a raw bell pepper like an apple, hopped down.
"Medical emergency detected," she announced, cracking her knuckles. "Do not terminate, Administrator. I will perform CPR. I saw a tutorial on YouTube. It involves breaking the rib cage to access the pump."
"NO!" Freddie wheezed, sitting up straight immediately. "No CPR! No broken ribs! I’m fine! I’m just... terrified!"
The Dealership
Two hours later, Robin decided that "fresh air" was the only cure for Freddie’s impending stroke. She dragged a hyperventilating Freddie and a very nonchalant Selena out for a walk downtown.
"Look at the bright side," Robin said, checking her phone. "Nobody knows where we live yet. And honestly? The comments are ninety percent positive. People think she’s CGI."
They turned a corner, walking past a flashy storefront with floor-to-ceiling glass windows. NEON NIGHTS CYCLES.
Inside, high-end  gleamed under purple and blue studio lights.
Suddenly, the glass door of the dealership burst open.
"STOP! FREEZE! DON'T MOVE!"
A man sprinted toward them. He was short, wired on caffeine, and wearing a suit that cost more than Freddie’s tuition. This was Turbo Tony, the owner.
Freddie stepped in front of Selena. "We didn't do anything! We’re leaving!"
Tony ignored Freddie completely. He skidded to a halt in front of Selena, his eyes scanning her up and down.
"It’s you," Tony breathed. "The Lime Sniper. The Waifu of the West."
He looked at her outfit—the cropped purple leather moto-jacket, the black cargo pants, the chunky sneakers. Then he looked back at his showroom. Then back at her.
"The fit!" Tony screamed, grabbing his own hair. "The vibe! You match the inventory perfectly! You’re the brand! You are the aesthetic!"
"My aesthetic is 'Streetwear Combat'," Selena corrected. "Are you hostile?"
"Hostile? Baby, I’m inspired!" Tony grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the window. "Look at this! Look at the symmetry!"
He pointed to a bike on a rotating pedestal in the center of the showroom.
It was a custom-built streetfighter motorcycle. It was painted a deep, metallic purple with black carbon fiber accents and neon violet under-glow strips. It looked like a decepticon that turned into a fashion statement. It looked exactly like Selena in machine form.
Selena’s eyes flashed. She pressed her hand against the glass.
"This mount..." she whispered. "Its stats are compatible with my color palette. It is... pleasing."
"I need a face," Tony said, turning to Freddie. "I need a spokesperson for the new 'Nightshade' line. I’ll give you a signing bonus that will make your head spin. I’m talking five figures. And..." He pointed at the bike. "She keeps the bike."
Freddie’s jaw dropped. "You want to pay us... to have her sit on a bike?"
"I want to pay her to be cool," Tony said. "Do we have a deal?"

"I am her manager," Robin stepped in, physically shoving Freddie out of the way. "We take the deal. But I run the socials. And we want 10% of the merch sales."
Tony shook Robin’s hand. "I like you. You’re scary."
The next week was a blur of flashbulbs and hashtags.
* Day 2: Robin directed a photoshoot in an alleyway. Selena treated it like a tactical operation.
   * Robin: "Okay, give me 'mysterious biker'."
   * Selena: "Statue Mode engaged. Holding breath to minimize movement blur."
* Day 5: Freddie watched his bank account app. The number went from "Panic" to "Comfortable" to "Wait, is this real?" He finally paid the rent, the electric bill, and bought premium ramen. The migraine remained, but at least he was a solvent migraine victim.
* Day 7: Selena was recorded riding the purple motorcycle down Main Street at night. She rode with perfect posture, weaving through traffic with mathematical precision. The video hit 2 million likes.
* Day 10: Her follower count broke 500,000. Her posts were captioned by Robin with cool phrases like "Own the Night," but Selena’s replies in the comments were pure bot-speak.
   * User: You're so hot!
   * Selena: My thermal regulation is functioning within normal parameters.
The Meet & Greet
A month later, Neon Nights Cycles hosted the "Meet the Lime Queen" event.
The line wrapped around three city blocks. Teenagers, cosplayers, and gearheads waited for hours just to get a glimpse of the girl in the purple jacket.
Selena sat at a folding table, a stack of posters in front of her. She looked confused.
A fan walked up, shaking with excitement. "Can... can you say 'Baka' for me? Please?"
Selena blinked. "I do not know who Baka is. Is he a mechanic here? Does he work in parts? Next query."
The fan swooned. "She’s so committed to the bit!"
Another fan stepped up. "I love you, Selena! You changed my life!"
Selena looked at him with genuine concern. "That is a parasocial chemical reaction based on projected imagery. You should hydrate and seek real-world community. Next."
The Return of the Bros
Toward the end of the line, three suspicious figures approached the table.
They were wearing oversized hoodies, dark sunglasses, and baseball caps pulled low over their faces. They looked like bank robbers who had lost their nerve.
They slid a poster forward silently, heads down.
Selena paused. Her eyes flashed blue for a microsecond. A red HUD overlay appeared in her vision, scanning their bone structure through the disguises.
Target ID: CONFIRMED.
"Trevor. Chad. Kyle," Selena said, her voice flat. "Facial mapping match: 100%."
The three figures flinched.
"Shhh!" Chad hissed, looking around frantically. "Keep it down! We have a reputation!"
"Okay, fine!" Trevor whispered aggressively, pulling down his sunglasses to reveal red, puffy eyes. "We’re fans! Okay? The lime throw was legendary! We’ve watched it five hundred times! Just sign the poster, please!"
"And don't look at me with the red eyes," Kyle whimpered. "It scares me, but I also respect it."
Selena stared at them. Then, the corner of her mouth twitched upward. She uncapped her marker.
She wrote on the poster: To my favorite NPCs. Try not to glitch.
She slid it back.
"Omigod," Chad squealed, clutching the poster. "She roasted us in writing. Frame it. We’re framing it."
They ran away, giggling like schoolgirls.

Miles away, in a skyscraper that pierced the clouds, the air was cold and sterile.
The office of the CEO of Microwire was all glass, chrome, and silence. A man stood by the window, looking down at the city like an ant farm he wanted to shake. He wore a black turtleneck, minimalist glasses, and an expression of permanent dissatisfaction.
This was Elon Jobs.
An assistant in a sharp suit knocked on the glass door and entered.
"Sir?" the assistant said. "The algorithm flagged an anomaly. A viral influencer in the tech sector. It matches the beta parameters."
Jobs didn't turn around. "I don't care about influencers. They are temporary noise."
"You’ll want to see this, sir. It matches the lost parameters."
The assistant handed him a tablet.
Jobs watched the Lime Headshot video. His expression didn't change. Then he swiped to a video of Selena riding the purple motorcycle, the neon lights reflecting off her perfect, artificial skin.
He paused the video on a close-up of her face. He zoomed in on her eyes.
"That’s not an influencer," Jobs said, his voice dropping to a freezing temperature.
He tapped the screen, highlighting the pixel density of her iris.
"That is Asset 247. That is my source code. And she is generating revenue for a used car salesman."
He handed the tablet back.
"Get the legal team," Jobs commanded, finally turning away from the window. "I want my property back. Initiate the recall protocol."