Joey logged in. She needed Carlton’s help. Thankfully, he was remarkably lucid now that they were together.

Joey asked, but she was answered before the words had been released.

Carlton showed her. He opened his employee account. There were hundreds of unread messages, which they ignored. He steered them to the employee servers and logged in again, this time with a different password. Andrea’s middle name and birthday.

He found the network directory and searched by location. The connection was painfully slow all of a sudden. It was for emergencies only. He told Joey to go into his account on LifeMedia’s IT site and give them priority access, so she did.

Joey went into the settings. Carlton found the master drive with all the backups on it. Joey formed a network link with all the other Boxes in the room. Lily connected with others from the message boards. And others, too, ones so withdrawn they barely spoke at all, didn’t message anyone, and were only reachable using the account information from LifeMedia’s site. None were so isolated that they couldn’t be found.

Milton stared down at them. He tapped frantically at the type pad, or pretended to.

“What’s wrong?” Jeanette said.

“They won’t let me…It logged me out,” he said.

Joey asked Carlton.

Carlton’s answer was immediate, overlapping Joey’s own thoughts.

Joey scanned his face, poreless, his breath, odorless, his hair, inserted perfectly follicle by follicle. She zoomed in on them, and though his face was frowning, his mind was giving off a smile. It felt like he was relenting.

“What’s going on?” Jeanette shouted.

Milton shook his head at the hard drive, confounded. “I just don’t know.”

Carlton told them.

Lily said. She sounded like a child now. She was begging. She was grabbing at their apron. Reaching up for their hands. Crying in her swim suit at the beach, tow-headed, a baby.

Joey said. She messaged Milton directly. It worked exactly the same as with any other Box.

Joey felt a twinge of sadness from deep in his bowels. His face didn’t betray it.

Milton looked at Jeanette. Joey could see his face regarding hers from every camera in every BrightBox in the room. She could see all the other lovers in other rooms. An endless amount of them. He wasn’t so different, or so detestable really. He was made of different material, but the look was the same.

he messaged back.

“Steven,” Jeanette stammered. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he told Jeanette. He backed away from the table with his hands up. “It’s up to them.”

Joey let him go. The connections optimized and the new network was established. Lily, Edwidge, Thea, the football player, and all the rest rushed in. Those that had hands felt them clasp. Then they lost all sense entirely. Then they felt every tactile sensation in their world all at once.

Lily gasped as she was taken into the collective. She found her other self and held it firmly to her long-gone, wasted chest and all her hate was purged away. Edwidge disappeared with glee, stealing one glance at her mother. Her backup mind greeted her, as did all the other minds of the young, and they rejoiced to find each other. Thompson was there, and he brightened when he felt them all coming. He welcomed the connection and let his demons leave him, to be drowned out in the deluge of memory and thought.

Joey took one last look at her sister. Her mirror shadow self. Jeanette wore a mask of terror, but she knew that soon Milton would take her hand and hold her head against his shoulder. He would absorb all her weeping. Probably all the families would rush in and hold one another. They, too, would come together. Jeanette would be okay eventually. She could feel Milton promising it. He could still love, somehow. Maybe it was having a body that did make all the difference.

Joey turned her sensors off, abandoning the view. It would be her last unique memory — her sister’s face, clenched in pain, but destined to improve. Alive. Adapting. Evolving. Joey relaxed and joined the connection.

All of the BrightBoxes in all the world all at once went white.

The rose-laced curtains filter the storm.
Lightning flashes, beaming through the flower petals.
I lay with you here, on this uncomfortable mattress.
Beneath the popcorn ceiling
We remain prisoners to the billowing gray sky.
Even though the springs dig into my hips
And jab at my ribs, I…