Chapter 2: Elara Voss’ Ride - Part 2

Jax pushed through the door of his apartment, the lock buzzing faintly as it recognized his palm scan. The place was the same as always—cramped and dim, rain tapping insistently against the grimy window like it wanted in. The faint smell of yesterday’s synth-noodles lingered, mixing with the metallic tang of damp concrete seeping through the walls. Peeling paint flaked at the corners, the sagging couch took up half the living room, and red-blue neon from the tower across the alley bled through the blinds in jagged stripes. It was functional, cheap, the kind of hab-unit you got when you drove nights and didn’t ask for more. Tonight, though, the familiarity carried a quiet promise. He’d done this before, and it always started like this: exhaustion from the shift fading into that low hum of anticipation.

He dropped his keys on the table, poured a finger of cheap whiskey from the half-empty bottle, and sank into the chair. The pad was already in his hand before he thought about it—habit. A soft chime sounded as he unlocked it: Desireprint notification.

Desireprint. The dark-web service that let you build and order a synthetic companion—voice, face, body, behavior, all fabricated from whatever scraps you could feed it. Jax had been using it for over a year now. Tonight’s target was different. This one he’d been watching for months: Elara, the woman who rode in the back of his cab almost every week.

“Biological sample (saliva/DNA) received and processed,” the message read. “Profile fidelity increased to 94%. Additional audio/video upload recommended for final personality matrix calibration.”

Jax gave a small, satisfied nod. Last ride she’d left a half-finished water bottle in the back seat. He’d waited until she was gone, then slipped it into the Desireprint sample kit they mailed with the initial profile setup—simple swab-and-seal, prepaid return envelope. The system had done the rest.