Cookie Cutter

SwitchWitch or at least that is how Stephanie wants to think of herself, is staring in to the mirror. She is not looking at herself, no, she is watching her Agent device interface with the smart glass, showing her the look options she has for the day.

Images are flitting in and out of existence, superimposed over her naked flesh. Different hair styles, make-up jobs, jewellery set-ups and outfits shimmer and glitch on and off as her agent scours the local data pool for the ‘hot new look’ that might tempt Stephanie. Why had she paid a day’s salary for this upgrade option to her Agent’s A.I.? This brings more anxiety than anything.

She does this every morning, as if something will change, as if it will make a difference. If she really thought about it, she would have to admit to herself, no matter what face or hair or outfit she put on that day, she was still going to be Stephanie. She is not in fact going to be SwitchWitch.

Stephanie will not be swaggering into her job in the public relations cube at Theta Biotics. She will not be invited in to a meeting that is above her pay grade, where she can catch Corpo eyes and climbing that social and economic ladder. She will not be swept up in a post work party heading to Club Sanctuary;where she will definitely not be making a scene to be remembered with whoever or whatever she could find.

Stephanie knows, no matter what paint or cloth she throws on herself, she is still wearing Stephanie’s skin. She is still herself. She doesn’t hate herself; she doesn’t even dislike herself; she just wants herself to be bold, decisive and interesting. No, that isn’t right, she just thinks it would be better for her to be interesting to a specific crowd. She wants the Data Pool influencers to think she is interesting. Why can’t the right people find her interesting?

Stephanie sighs, and shuts her eyes. “Agent, stop fashion scroll. Show me the new over night soft.”

She thinks it might be better for her to just be on top of the trends conversationally. Maybe she can use her words and mind, after all, that was her profession. Her skill was in convincing people. Had she not been the architect of Theta Biotics’ most successful P.R.campaign in the last year? Had she not helped them cover up their mistake with the Manamals Project?

The scene in the mirror flashes like lightning, static briefly replaces her hair and make-up mock-ups and the general appearance of a post shower Stephanie resolves. To her left in the glass a list of her currently installed software and algorithm upgrades, to the right, new downloads available from the general Night City Data Pool released since her last scroll through.

She sees an app that clearly is meant to interface with a BioMon to tell you when you have had enough to eat, or drink called Say When. There is a Cybereye interface for the Agent to capture the look of passersby and tell you where or how to get it, with the catchy handle of TrndGetter.

Stephanie’s head tilts to the side as a new social networking algorithm catches her attention. It is called CookieCutter.  Her Agent notes her interest and brings up the marketing package for the algorithm without her even asking. Does anyone know her as well as her Agent? Is her best relationship with a glorified smart phone with bargain bin AI from StreetTech?

She shudders, and her BioMon readout shows several spikes in her hormones. Why had she splurged for the hormone and adrenal package? It was of no real help. She does not care to have a blinking red light on her Agent or Cybereye display when she is sad. Did it matter that she got a weekly readout of her feelings? She was there, she had lived them.

This thinking is running her in circles, and it matters not one damn bit. Stephanie is a drone, moving from her home cube to her work cube in a transit cube, and back again. Occasionally she would go to a Braindance cube or a restaurant cube. The sooner she accepted that, the better. She is in a negative spiral downwards. She wants something new. She doesn’t want to be a drone. She wants to be in charge of something. She wants power.

You do not have to accept mediocrity in life. You do not have to settle.You curate your 4D movies, your music, your wardrobe, your eating preferences, and now you can include your friendships, hell even your conversations. Of course you only want the best most interesting people in your life, who would settle for mediocre social engagements? No one wants boring conversations with boring people. That’s why we wrote CookieCutter.  It will interface with your agent and cybereye to tell you whether it is worth talking to anyone around you. Our hard data scrub of the Datapool will cut out boring, uninteresting, useless people.Whether you are gathered around the Clean Fresh Machine at work, waiting for the Bus or just meeting someone new, why wait for your heart, when our analyzer can share with you a chemistry score?

It seems absurd. On a certain level, Stephanie knows that this is just dating app tech taken to the next level, but a BioMon readout and interest matching system couldn’t possibly work fast enough to save anyone any time right? Can it even really figure out who is interesting?

She stares at the video of people using the algorithm. She knows she is being manipulated, she manipulates for a living, but still… Could half her dead-end problem be she is wasting her time? Is she simply boring because she chooses to talk to boring people?

Frack it, there is a free trial offer. Two weeks of CookieCutter. It will analyze her  interests and habits and then boom, outline people interesting in green, and uninteresting in red. The decisions are still hers to make, it was just a nudge. Maybe it is a nudge in the direction she needed to go. A nudge towards happiness and action, and away from listless boring nights.

The algorithm is jacked in. She says yes to the terms and conditions. It asks for access to her Agent data. She says yes. It asks politely for access to her BioMon. She grants it. It tells her it will take a bit of time to collate the data and figure her out.

The analysis of data is done by the time she enters her work cube.By lunch it knows that she does not like her boss, and that he is not hooked in to the Data Pool, so CookieCutter has no idea who he is.

It knows she likes Vat Grown Beef on Rye.

By quitting time, it is already highlighting people for her.

“Heya SwitchWitch, what’s the word in the Data Pool?” This meek sounding question came from Ted. Ted is a man Stephanie sometimes talks to out of boredom. Ted is now a red.

“No time to chat, Ted. I uhhh, have to pick up dry-cleaning.” Stephanie misses the sad, bewildered look on his face as she brushes past him.

Ted is one of the only people in her life to call her by her handle in person. It does not matter.

Ted is red. Ted is no longer worth her time. She feels a bit uncomfortable. Ted isn’t a friend exactly, but he was someone she talked to most days. That was the old Stephanie. That was Stephanie. SwitchWitch has no time for inane chatter that will lead to nothing. Ted is not a romantic possibility. Ted is not a professional possibility. Ted is just not. CookieCutter was right.

Stephanie’s life limps along until she is forced to make the only choice CookieCutter wants her to. Subscribe or Trash? It is true that she has made a few new connections at work. People she normally did not speak to are now daily must sees. They have information, gossip. The knowledge about who to grease on her way up is now hers.

Does she really need CookieCutter anymore though? Has she gotten everything she needs out of it? She has an invite to Club Sanctuary, the hottest goth corpo bar this side of the combat zone. She is headed in the direction she wants.

Her first attempt to delete the algorithm is met with direction to a list of the benefits that she will miss out on. When she hits delete again, it offers her a free upgrade to the dating profile version if she just subscribes now. This intrigues her. She isn’t exactly lonely, and she doesn’t believe she needs to be in relationship to be happy; yet, the thought of having a partner does give her BioMon the impression she wants that.

She agrees to the offer.

She thinks nothing more of it, as days become hit and miss. Red people and green people float in and out of her life. She tries to grasp the greens and pretends to be too busy for the reds. Two party invites, and some success. CookieCutter directs the people traffic, she does the rest.

Stephanie the SwitchWitch is waiting for her morning caffeine. Her Agent informs her that today feels like a Double Shot day with Synth Milk. Her BioMon told her agent that Stephanie is just a bit underslept.

She scans the drink kiosk area for interesting people. Only one appears. A green aura surrounds a man with dark hair, the suggestion of a mustache and a slight build. He is wearing a traditional leather trench coat. His hair is uncombed and he is ordering the largest most caffeinated beverage they have.

He notices her attention and speaks a command to his Agent.

Reprocessing. His green aura flashes and dissolves, a strong red aura resolves itself. He looks at her with a mirthful frown and shakes his head.

SwitchWitch has no time at all to process this new information because another person has slammed into her from behind. A man. Mid Twenties. Solid, trim build. Dark Hair. Green Aura and eyes.

He does not frown. He smiles. The eyes change to a warm orange. They talk. They plan. They meet. They eat. They retire to her abode.

Sometime later, Stephanie finds herself tied to a chair. This is not her kink.

“I love these new soft. They make people trust you.” He is pacing. He is monologuing. She knows now this will end poorly. “Oh sure, it takes a few hours to fake a Data Pool back story. A few bucks to buy black market Agent I.D. codes. A few days to fake the BioMon feedback.”

His eyes are rapidly changing color. He is excited. His cyber can’t keep up with his mood.. Why would he have mood based shifttacts?

“He picks up his Agent. “End program NewMe.”

Suddenly his Aura switches from green to flashing red. His Agent now communicates who and what the man truly is.

When the police enter the condo for a wellness check issued by her employer, Stephanie is no more. SwitchWitch is no more. Her Agent informs the data pool it is shutting down and posts a farewell message for those subscribed to her feed.