Mavis’s feet slapped lightly against the pavement as she ran along the sidewalk in the predawn darkness. The rhythm was uneven, more like the staggered beat of a drunk drummer than a steady pace. Her toned runner’s legs felt like lead, and her mind drifted aimlessly from one thought to the next. She glanced up and to the left, peering through her HUD with rich amber eyes, then groaned at the run monitor.

  3.12 miles / 24:35 time / 7:53 average min per mile / 7:33 mile split

  “Ugh,” she muttered aloud. “I’m soooo not feeling this run today. Time to change the music and kick this run into gear. Okay, let’s see…” Her voice trailed as she looked up and to the right, blinking twice. This activated her adaptive Googleyes contact biolenses, bringing up a HUD. With a few more eye movements and blinks, she pulled up her music playlists and selected the “Lead Legs” playlist.

  As the surge classic “WYGDN” by Harry Mack began pulsing through her headphones, Mav lifted her chin and picked up her pace, pushing her trained muscles to double the rhythm of the old song. The morning was perfect, cool air, no rain, but her run felt like a struggle, her mind consumed with worry over her upcoming work review.

  She’d joined the Mohegan Strategic Group straight out of grad school. Now her first year review loomed. With a master’s degree in creative and critical thinking, focused on want vs need game theory, the work should have felt like a natural fit. Still, reviews rattled her perfectionist streak and the quiet fragility beneath it.

  “Fuck,” she muttered, the word heavy with resignation. “It’d be so much easier if you guys were still here.”

  Her thoughts drifted to her parents, lost three years earlier in a rare free solo climbing accident at El Capitan. They’d been her foundation. Her dad, an athletics coach at the Olympic Training Center, had met her mom there, an gold medal winning obstacle course racing captain. Together they built a coaching group known for teaching presence under pressure, how to stay grounded when everything went sideways.

  From them, she’d learned that success, on the course or off it came from a grounded, observant place. Her dad’s words still echoed: ‘We live in the feeling of our thinking, not the feeling of our situation. Stay observant. The thinking shifts. The feeling follows. The path shows itself.’

  Her mom had passed on the love of movement and challenge. Spartan races were her favorite, the pain, the focus, the clean exhaustion that quieted the noise. This run was meant to be her last before the Carolina Ultra Beast: thirty miles, fifty obstacles. Instead, her mind refused to stay put.

  ‘Just show up and respond to what shows up, pumpkin,’ her dad would say, his voice still carrying traces of Okinawa and Taoist calm. ‘You can’t pre-plan. The outcome’s already out of your hands.’

  Her mom, halfway through a pull-up, sweat catching the light, would grin and add, ‘You can’t overcome it until you put your hands on it, my little warrior. Train hard. Stay present. Strength shows up when you do.’

  “Well,” Mav said under her breath, lungs burning, “I’m not there. I’m here.” She drew in a steadying breath. “And the only thing in front of me right now is my own damn mind.”

  She shook it off, picked up her pace. “So, dig deep. Find your breath. Get your run on.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The chime came at 5:16 a.m., soft, polite and filling his vision like a neon sign as he opened his eyes.

  Shelby service appointment: 05:00am pick up for Weissmann Combustion Atelier.

  Doug blinked at the ceiling for a moment before memory caught up. The Continental Grand Tour. He and Marie had finally committed, a combustion only heritage circuit stretching nearly 7,000 miles along preserved segments of the old Autobahn, arcing through Germany, northern Italy, southern France, then back north through Austria and Belgium.

  A great outer loop with smaller two and three thousand mile branches that cut toward alpine passes, vineyard roads, and coastal overlooks, each lined with restored grand hotels built for drivers who still believed in the romance of the wheel. If they were going to do it, the Shelby needed to be perfect.

  He silently groaned, realizing he’d slept through the 5am alarm and rolled out of bed, padding down the hall, already knowing what the notification meant. He’d scheduled a bonded transport unit to collect the car and take it into the city.

  That had been the only way to get the car to the garage based on the NT unnetworked vehicle laws, and now that time had come and gone. Now he found himself standing in the dim garage barn light, well past the pickup and soon late for the appointment. He stared at the midnight blue hood and hesitated, calculating and then deciding.

  His comm chimed as he placed the call. “Weissmann, hey Doug, it’s Fred, you missed the carrier man.”

  “Yeah Fred, I know, Ian and I have been up coding for days and I slept through the alarm and I see now your call, shoot. Is there any way to send another out today” He glanced toward the still dark road beyond his property hoping Fred would say yes.

  “Sorry Doug, no can do.” The mechanic and owner of the shop said, “I only have one carrier and he’s gone to get another ride down south. Can you postpone, or did you wait till the last minute like last time?”

  “Ugh! Yes, I did Fred, you know me too well…” Doug sighed and looked into the lightening dawn again, “what do you propose Fred, can we do tomorrow?”

  “Not if you want the full tune and prep, no. You’re supposed to leave in two days and we are to deliver the car to the transport company tomorrow.” Fred paused and there was a gentle exhale. “Doug, listen, it’s super early, no one will be out yet per the traffic models and it’s ten minutes away if you drive carefully, get her here and we’ll get Shelby fixed up and ready for her European vacation.”

  “I don’t know Fred,” Doug kicked his feet for a moment, pacing around the sports car. He quickly reviewed the information he had at hand. Combustion permits were restrictive for a reason. Autonomous corridors dominated the highways now, and manual drivers were statistical anomalies. The fine fines could be hellish, but again, it was barely past five fifteen in the morning, traffic minimal, distance short.

  Fred carefully spoke. “It’s your car, Doug. Roads’ll be empty at this hour. You do what you’re comfortable with but I can’t get her ready in time if she’s not here. Sorry. We can rent you a late model anniversary edition electric model if you want for the trip?”

  Doug was not entirely comfortable but as he thought it over he realized Fred was right, it was ten minutes down the road, fifteen if he was slow and then he’d get an autotaxi back home. “Fred, I’ll be there in fifteen.” He said calmly and opened the gullwing door sliding into the driver’s seat and gently touching the start button.

  Minutes later the midnight blue 2020 Mustang Shelby GT500 with silver strips and gray rims rolled out of the front gate of the campus and onto the surface streets in the predawn light. The engine’s low rumble vibrated up his spine. The wheel spoke back through his hands, the resistance, the feedback, the control things autonomous electrics had never managed to replicate.

  ~ ~ ~

  Feet landing lightly, chin lifted, arms swinging naturally, Mavis felt strong. Her limbs glistened with sweat, soaking her clothes and flicking off her hands as she moved. “Goo, what’s my pace?” she asked aloud, summoning her artificial virtual assistant.

  “Hey Mav, 6.29 miles, 60:13 time, 7:12 average minutes per mile, 7:06 mile split,” AVA’s voice responded. “You’re killing it today, lady. How much farther?”

  “Just cooldown. Can you change the tunes to something mellow, then check my emails and sort by priority?” Mav slowed to a walk, stretching her arms overhead to open her sides and lower back. She loosened her shoulders with arm swings.

  “Absolutely. Give me a, nope, done! Ha ha!” Goo laughed, loving how most tasks took nanoseconds. Like most Northern Territories citizens, Mav had received an AVA implant as a child, growing up with an AI best friend and nanny all in one. In adulthood, users could tweak settings, loosening restrictions and dialing down the nanny mode. AVAs always warned of consequences or danger, but they could be adjusted not to be “bitching Betty or Bob.”

  Catching her breath, Mav said, “Goo, toss those emails up on my HUD, please.” Without comment, her HUD displayed the emails, hovering in front of her, superimposed over the world. “Hey buddy, crank up the tunes too,” she said, focusing on the first email, blinking to open it.

  Goo reluctantly obeyed. He knew focusing on emails with louder music raised her accident risk by 13.57%, but that was within her set limits. Confidently walking and reading, Mav stepped into the road to cross toward her housing complex.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  ~ ~ ~

  Doug’s Mustang slid along the quiet, winding streets on the way to the mechanic. He drove slowly, muttering to himself while glancing at the dashboard screen, monitoring the app scanning for public safety drones.

  “AI is nearly sentient, and some closer than most realize,” he smiled. “Solar efficiency hovers near perfection. Green legislation has swallowed most of the world. The auto giants folded or adapted and private ownership has faded under cost, regulation, and inconvenience. Driving is a luxury, a privilege and one I’m being an ass about right now…”

  He turned a corner and crept down a side street, mindful of the road and the screen. Nothing yet, he was almost to the turn off for the garage.

  “Marie deserves this break,” He said to himself, “I’ve been a neglectful partner. The Great American Muscle Run was fun and Great Rift Grand Passage long, but this and The Dragon Spine Grand Circuit will be relaxing. He imagined the rolling hills and sharp edges of the Alps, the full fields of tulips in the Netherlands.

  At the edge of the mounted screen he saw a tiny red ping. His eyes fixated on the color, heart dropping as a public safety drone slid into the radius of the scanner. He gripped the wheel, looking up as he turned a sharp corner and slightly accelerated, his pulse quickening. Just as he made the turn he glanced again at the red dot nearing his position and the collision warning system screamed. Brakes locked, and he was slammed forward by the seatbelt just as his attention snapped back. He saw, and felt his car hit a person.

  “Holy shit!” he shouted as the body flew violently into the road, landing on a center curb. Time slowed. It was a woman, her hip and lower back slammed into the curb, her shoulder and head landing in the other lane. Her legs flopped into his lane. The car had stopped itself, but it was too late. She hadn’t seen or heard him. And because he wasn’t networked, her AVA hadn’t warned her.

  “No,” Doug yelled, unbuckling and scrambling out. “Navi! Call the authorities! There’s been an accident! Ambulance, now!”

  “Calling now, Doug,” Navi replied. “I’m communicating with her AVA, receiving her info. Police and medical services arrive in 57 seconds. Public safety drone in seven seconds… it’s here.”

  The drone he’d been monitoring zoomed out from the trees, circling the scene and syncing data with their AVAs. “Douglas Neill,” the drone’s voice instructed, “do not approach the victim. She’s unconscious but vitals are nominal. No medical aid needed.” Doug was already stepping toward her, reaching for a pulse. He pulled back, meeting the drone’s gaze, aware of the remote observer.

  “What should I do?” he asked, guilt heavy. “Nothing I can do?”

  He knew he was in serious trouble. First, and worst, he had hurt someone. For Doug, that was unforgivable, a direct violation of the philosophy he tried to live by. The legal consequences were almost secondary. Driving a combustion car carried heavy fines and possible seizure. Hitting a pedestrian while off network meant far worse: crippling penalties, lawsuits, revoked privileges.

  Jail wasn’t what it used to be. The system no longer dealt in uniform sentences; it dealt in tailored penance. Punishment matched the crime and the person, charitable forfeitures, status erosion, restrictions designed to sting where it mattered most. Doug dragged his hands down his face. “If this touches the company, Ian will kill me. He always said this car was a liability.” He exhaled shakily. “Maybe he was right.”

  “Navi, be ready to call in the cavalry as needed. Once we know what’s happening with her, align her with the best medical care available, no expense spared. Pull whatever data you can from the PS drone and compile a full dossier. We move fast.” He swallowed. “This is on me. I’ll fix it any way I can.” Doug stood, hands hovering uselessly at his sides, unsure what to do with himself.

  “Douglas,” the drone voice said, “turn off your vehicle, place the fob in the front seat, and sit on the curb with hands on knees. Rapid response will arrive in 16 seconds.” He heard rotor blades as rapid response helicopters neared. They wouldn’t land directly, rotor wash could injure him or the woman. Two narrow, large shapes descended through the trees, touching down ahead and behind.

  The rotors slowed but didn’t stop, ready to lift off immediately. Pilots stayed seated. Personnel in tech suits jumped out, planting posts and activating holoprojected fencing. Two rushed to the woman, who remained motionless as an autostretcher glided toward her. Two others approached Doug, hands resting on zipstick batons. Passing his car, one muttered, “Well, I’ll be damned, a 2020 Mustang Shelby GT500…”

  “Too bad,” the other replied. “It’s nothing but scrap now.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Mavis felt her body being lifted, and her eyes fluttered open. Hazy figures moved around her as she tried to speak. A woman’s face loomed above, kind eyes looking down. “Don’t try to speak, dear, just eye-click your answers,” the woman said gently. “Your name is Mavis Hudson, right?”

  Mavis eye-clicked yes.

  “Good,” the woman continued. “I’m Beverly, a response tech with Rapid Response, and I’m here to help.” She took Mavis’s hand. “You live at 2235 Baby Bear Road?” Mavis nodded with another eye-click.

  “Great. Now, please select the current year.” Mavis chose 2072 from the floating list.

  “Excellent,” Beverly said softly. “You’ve been in an accident, are you aware of that?” Mavis grimaced and eye-clicked yes.

  “That’s good, dear,” Beverly reassured her, squeezing her hand gently. “Mavis, we need to get you to the nearest healing facility. To do that, we’re moving you into a Bumblelift emergency vehicle. I’m going to administer a TCM electrical stim nerve block to sedate you for the flight. Or would you prefer a pharma-based sedative?”

  Mavis eye-clicked the TCM option as it hovered in her field of view.

  “Excellent again, you’re very alert. That’s good.” Beverly’s hand released hers, and Mavis felt a small device press into the base of her neck. A countdown, 3, 2, 1 appeared in her HUD. Sleepiness swept over her, and her eyes closed softly.

  “She’s out,” Beverly said, quickening her pace with the autostretcher toward the emergency vehicle, a sleek, twin-rotor VTOL with a broad canopy and medical markings along its hull.

  “Derek, run a full scan, focus on her lower lumbar and pubic regions,” she instructed her AVA. Her teammates had already run ahead, two storing the holofence projectors in the Bumblelift while another set up inside the cabin for their patient. The pilot tilted the rotors forward, increasing power for a rapid takeoff once they were onboard.

  Beverly’s HUD scrolled through the scan results, and she grimaced. She broke into a run, the autostretcher matching her speed. Dark red highlights marked the C4, C5, and S1 vertebrae, with lines indicating spinal injury and nerve damage. The right ASIS and upper femur were fractured, along with the collarbone and the upper humerus of the right arm.

  “Jack,” Beverly called out, knowing the onboard systems operator would hear her. The system responded to his name, opening a channel. “Set a fast course to the nearest neurosurgical wellness center…”

  “I’ve got the scans. Already plotted,” Jack interrupted briskly. Beverly nodded silently as she jumped into the vehicle.

  The autostretcher aligned with its bay, locking into place. The bay lifted into the cabin, and the doors sealed tightly. The autoloft lifted off immediately, curving over the small lake below and accelerating toward their programmed destination.

  ~ ~ ~

  Meanwhile, Doug sat by the roadside, furious with himself and wracked with remorse. His stomach felt twisted in a vise but his mind was already moving. Navi had gotten the woman’s name and that was enough. He’d mobilized a team of people at WBWT to move on gathering data on her injuries and what she’d need, now he waited for that information.

  He looked up at the Rapid Response public safety officer standing beside him who was looking into the air as someone did when reading in their HUD.

  “May I stand, officer?” Doug asked hesitantly.

  “Detective First Class Doughty, sir,” the officer replied, closing his report with an eye-click and offering a hand. “Or just Detective Doughty is fine.” Doug accepted the hand and let the lean, surprisingly strong man pull him to his feet. Looking up, Doug noticed the detective was older, far fitter than he appeared.

  “Why are you being so nice and not restraining me?” Doug asked.

  Detective Doughty looked at him knowingly. “You’re Douglas McNeill, the game design trillionaire, philanthropist, and co-owner of WannabeWayneTech. Not exactly a flight risk, are you Mr. McNeill?”

  “Of course not, Detective Doughty. I fully accept responsibility for my actions…” Doug said and paused as the detective cut him off with a raised hand.

  “You’re taking full responsibility? You know our AVAs and drones are recording everything live for the Judge,” Doughty said, raising an eyebrow. He hoped this would go smoothly, Doug’s nearly spotless reputation as a respected employer and citizen was well known.

  “Yes. Hang on.” Doug straightened his collar, squared his shoulders. His demeanor shifted to the confident titan of industry he was, the man known for lifting those around him. Looking directly into the PS drone’s camera hovering nearby, he declared:

  “I, Douglas Daniel McNeill, without coercion or prompting, accept full responsibility for my actions and any damages caused. I broke multiple vehicular laws, struck a pedestrian, and will submit to any penalties or fines the Judge deems fit.”

  He took a calming breath and continued, “Additionally, I am already using all resources at my disposal to support the victim of my actions. I will go above and beyond the Judge’s rulings to ensure she receives whatever she needs. I am truly and deeply sorry.” His voice cracked, and tears welled in his eyes.

  Detective Doughty stepped back, stunned. No begging, no evasion, just honesty and acceptance. His respect for Doug deepened. Turning to the camera, he said simply, “Heard and witnessed by Detective First Class Olan Doughty. Awaiting further instructions.”

  He then looked at Doug and extended his hand. Doug shook it firmly, meeting the detective’s sincere gaze. “You know, Mr. McNeill, my niece works for you in Chapel Hill. She can’t stop praising you and the company, how great it is, how well employees are treated. We thought maybe she was starstruck. Now I see she’s just telling the truth.” He paused, then nodded. “We’ll need to clear your car soon, the morning traffic will start.”

  The detective walked toward the Shelby and looked at the car with a critical eye. “Say goodbye to you’re car Douglas, one of the PS officers will deliver it to impound. It will most likely be recycled.”

  Doug hung his head and nodded. He slid into the driver's seat to retrieve his personal items from the car, mementos from he and Marie’s trips. “I’m going to miss you, Shelby girl,” he whispered, caressing the dashboard. With sadness, he slid out of the car and stood aside.

  “Yeah man, that sucks,” the one who noticed the Mustang first replied.

  “What do you mean?” his companion asked. “He confessed, no fight, no flee. Open and shut.”

  “It sucks because I don’t know how to drive that thing,” the first said, shaking his head as he walked past and towards the Bumblelift.

  “To bad for you, but procedure two for impound delivery…” His friend said slipping into the driver’s side and touching the starter. The engine rumbled to life, loud even with the backwash from the rotors nearby.

  “Hot damn.” The officer said turning around and sliding into the passenger seat. Doug watched the Shelby pull away then his eyes tracked the Bumblelift that carried the young woman away and his expression firmed into resolution. He’d make sure he did everything he could for her, and more