No Influence
year
2025
Type
Short Story
Genre
Sci-Fi Horror
universe
amalur
story
story
story
Chapter 1
Prisma Rodriguez-Liu adjusted her neural interface crown, its pellucid filaments reflecting the indigo light of Amalur's setting star.
She was late. Nothing was going to plan. She hadn't realized that 6:30pm eastern time meant nothing on this new world and that time keeping was not done on Earth's time.
As a result, her 500 million followers were getting antsy. Constant beeps and bonks went off on her wrist-mounted smartwatch.
One of them, which she skimmed as she hurried to her quarters, read, "Where ARE you, Primsa? Coca-Cola's CMO just gave me an ear full. He's threatening to pull the midrolls for your next 5 streams and just eat the termination fees."
Prisma didn't answer. It'd just slow her down.
She finally made it to her quarters only 5 minutes late. Those 5 minutes would cost her thousands of steloj, if not hundreds of thousands.
Out of breath and shaking she took a moment to center herself. She remembered what her yoga teacher had told her, "Remember sweetie, everything happens exactly when it's meant to happen. Just breathe and manifest your truth."
She breathed in slowly. Deliberately. On the in take of breath she moves her hands, palms out, towards her chest. Then when she breathes out, emptying her lungs, she pushes them away.
"Push away the negative energy. Only positive intentions now. Okay, Prisma, you got this. You. Got. This."
She switched on her holo-camera and practiced her smile a few times, showing her face from different angles. Then she noticed it. A slight smudge underneath her right eye. Her mascara had smudged on the way to her quarters. This would not do. It couldn't do. Could it?
It was too late. *She* was too late. Oh the agony. Any further time spent fixing her makeup would be more money lost. Perhaps entire sponsorship deals going up in flames.
The show had to go on.
Chapter 2
Her 1.1 billion followers were about to get the first-ever live holo-stream from an interstellar colony.
Well, not really. Truth was that the Consortium's social media team had live streamed the entire landing and conducted stilted interviews with key colony administrators in the days after landing.
But that didn't matter. Not to Prisma. That wasn't *real* content. It *barely* even got a billion views. Nor did it bring any *real* money. How much did they charge for their preroll ads? A cool mil? That's chump change compared to *her* numbers. There was a reason Coca-Cola, Nike, Adidas, GAP, and countless other brands wanted *her.* Paid for *her*. Sent *her*. And not anyone else.
She was the best there was. No one else could command buyers to do corporate bidding like *she* could.
Hitting the red 'START RECORD' button caused her crown's filaments to light up. They became a distinct shade of rose -- her favorite color.
The crown's delicate circuitry interfaced directly with her nervous system, allowing her subscribers to experience everything she felt -- from the artificial gravity's subtle pull to excitement bubbling in her augmented limbic system.
"Heyyyy star-babeeeees!" She beamed her signature greeting, her metaconscious automatically adjusting her mood stabilizers to project the perfect mix of enthusiasm and approachability. "Your girl Prisma just landed on Amalur, and let me tell you, this place? Vibe check approved. I mean, *look* at this beautiful purple sunset! Like O.M.G."
Excitedly, she stood up and twirled in her latest SpaceX x Balenciaga collab suit – a chromatic polycarbon bodysuit that adjusted its color based on atmospheric conditions. Today it was shifting between deep purples and electric blues, matching Amalur's red dwarf starset. The suit's built-in climate control and radiation shielding were top-of-the-line, but more importantly, it made her look absolutely fierce.
"First things first, loves, let's talk about what I'm wearing because I know you're dyyyyyyyyyyyinnnnnnng!" She gestured at her suit, triggering a cascade of product information in her followers' neural feeds. "This isn't just any space suit – it's the new Balenciaga Stellar Series powered by SpaceX tech, and yes, it comes with full emotional sync-tech. You can literally feel how gorgeous I feel wearing it!"
The corporate habitat dome loomed behind her, its transparent graphene panels refracting the alien sunlight. Inside, the Amazon-Microsoft arcology stretched toward the purple sky, its bio-engineered surfaces crawling with luminescent algae that helped power the colony's quantum computing grid.
"And check out my new Gucci smart-skin overlays!" She lifted her arm, showing off the iridescent patterns swimming across her epidermis. The nanite-infused designs were all the rage back on Earth, allowing wearers to change their skin patterns as easily as switching outfits. "They're programmed to adapt to alien atmospheres, so they'll evolve new patterns based on Amalur's unique radiation signature. How cool is that?"
Her personal drone, a sleek Apple iFloat Pro, circled her gracefully, capturing every angle of her arrival outfit. The hemline of her suit rippled with programmable fabric, displaying scrolling holo-ads for her sponsors: Tesla Interstellar, Beyond Meat Quantum, and of course, her own brand of consciousness-altering beauty supplements, Prisma's Paradise Pills.
"Now, I know what you're thinking – 'Prisma, why would you leave Earth's luxury arcologies for some corporate colony?' Well, babies, your girl's about to be the face of the new Coca-Cola Consciousness campaign! That's right, I'm here to promote their latest neural beverage line, designed specifically for post-human colonists!"
She walked toward the habitat's airlock, her gravity-adjusting heels automatically compensating for Amalur's 1.3G pull. The latest Christian Louboutin anti-grav collection was worth every steloj, even if she'd had to sign away another year of neural advertising rights to afford them.
"But first, let me give you a tour of my new pod! The Tesla-Hilton Floating Pavilions are literally to die for!" She approached a sleek, egg-shaped structure suspended twenty meters above the purple soil. "And wait until you see the quantum-entangled closet they've given me – it links directly to Fashion Week shows back on Earth!"
The airlock hissed open, its bioscanners confirming her corporate citizenship and influence rating. Inside, the pod's AI assistant welcomed her with a personalized light show and her favorite synthetic nootropic cocktail.
"Okay star-babies, time for a quick outfit change! Can't meet the colony's corporate board wearing the same suit twice, am I right?" She laughed, her neural crown broadcasting the carefully curated sound to millions of envious followers. "Don't forget to sync your consciousness to my premium neural feed for exclusive access to my evening look! Love you all to Proxima Centauri and back!"
MORE PUBLISHED WEEKLY - STAY TUNED
Chapter 1
Prisma Rodriguez-Liu adjusted her neural interface crown, its pellucid filaments reflecting the indigo light of Amalur's setting star.
She was late. Nothing was going to plan. She hadn't realized that 6:30pm eastern time meant nothing on this new world and that time keeping was not done on Earth's time.
As a result, her 500 million followers were getting antsy. Constant beeps and bonks went off on her wrist-mounted smartwatch.
One of them, which she skimmed as she hurried to her quarters, read, "Where ARE you, Primsa? Coca-Cola's CMO just gave me an ear full. He's threatening to pull the midrolls for your next 5 streams and just eat the termination fees."
Prisma didn't answer. It'd just slow her down.
She finally made it to her quarters only 5 minutes late. Those 5 minutes would cost her thousands of steloj, if not hundreds of thousands.
Out of breath and shaking she took a moment to center herself. She remembered what her yoga teacher had told her, "Remember sweetie, everything happens exactly when it's meant to happen. Just breathe and manifest your truth."
She breathed in slowly. Deliberately. On the in take of breath she moves her hands, palms out, towards her chest. Then when she breathes out, emptying her lungs, she pushes them away.
"Push away the negative energy. Only positive intentions now. Okay, Prisma, you got this. You. Got. This."
She switched on her holo-camera and practiced her smile a few times, showing her face from different angles. Then she noticed it. A slight smudge underneath her right eye. Her mascara had smudged on the way to her quarters. This would not do. It couldn't do. Could it?
It was too late. *She* was too late. Oh the agony. Any further time spent fixing her makeup would be more money lost. Perhaps entire sponsorship deals going up in flames.
The show had to go on.
Chapter 2
Her 1.1 billion followers were about to get the first-ever live holo-stream from an interstellar colony.
Well, not really. Truth was that the Consortium's social media team had live streamed the entire landing and conducted stilted interviews with key colony administrators in the days after landing.
But that didn't matter. Not to Prisma. That wasn't *real* content. It *barely* even got a billion views. Nor did it bring any *real* money. How much did they charge for their preroll ads? A cool mil? That's chump change compared to *her* numbers. There was a reason Coca-Cola, Nike, Adidas, GAP, and countless other brands wanted *her.* Paid for *her*. Sent *her*. And not anyone else.
She was the best there was. No one else could command buyers to do corporate bidding like *she* could.
Hitting the red 'START RECORD' button caused her crown's filaments to light up. They became a distinct shade of rose -- her favorite color.
The crown's delicate circuitry interfaced directly with her nervous system, allowing her subscribers to experience everything she felt -- from the artificial gravity's subtle pull to excitement bubbling in her augmented limbic system.
"Heyyyy star-babeeeees!" She beamed her signature greeting, her metaconscious automatically adjusting her mood stabilizers to project the perfect mix of enthusiasm and approachability. "Your girl Prisma just landed on Amalur, and let me tell you, this place? Vibe check approved. I mean, *look* at this beautiful purple sunset! Like O.M.G."
Excitedly, she stood up and twirled in her latest SpaceX x Balenciaga collab suit – a chromatic polycarbon bodysuit that adjusted its color based on atmospheric conditions. Today it was shifting between deep purples and electric blues, matching Amalur's red dwarf starset. The suit's built-in climate control and radiation shielding were top-of-the-line, but more importantly, it made her look absolutely fierce.
"First things first, loves, let's talk about what I'm wearing because I know you're dyyyyyyyyyyyinnnnnnng!" She gestured at her suit, triggering a cascade of product information in her followers' neural feeds. "This isn't just any space suit – it's the new Balenciaga Stellar Series powered by SpaceX tech, and yes, it comes with full emotional sync-tech. You can literally feel how gorgeous I feel wearing it!"
The corporate habitat dome loomed behind her, its transparent graphene panels refracting the alien sunlight. Inside, the Amazon-Microsoft arcology stretched toward the purple sky, its bio-engineered surfaces crawling with luminescent algae that helped power the colony's quantum computing grid.
"And check out my new Gucci smart-skin overlays!" She lifted her arm, showing off the iridescent patterns swimming across her epidermis. The nanite-infused designs were all the rage back on Earth, allowing wearers to change their skin patterns as easily as switching outfits. "They're programmed to adapt to alien atmospheres, so they'll evolve new patterns based on Amalur's unique radiation signature. How cool is that?"
Her personal drone, a sleek Apple iFloat Pro, circled her gracefully, capturing every angle of her arrival outfit. The hemline of her suit rippled with programmable fabric, displaying scrolling holo-ads for her sponsors: Tesla Interstellar, Beyond Meat Quantum, and of course, her own brand of consciousness-altering beauty supplements, Prisma's Paradise Pills.
"Now, I know what you're thinking – 'Prisma, why would you leave Earth's luxury arcologies for some corporate colony?' Well, babies, your girl's about to be the face of the new Coca-Cola Consciousness campaign! That's right, I'm here to promote their latest neural beverage line, designed specifically for post-human colonists!"
She walked toward the habitat's airlock, her gravity-adjusting heels automatically compensating for Amalur's 1.3G pull. The latest Christian Louboutin anti-grav collection was worth every steloj, even if she'd had to sign away another year of neural advertising rights to afford them.
"But first, let me give you a tour of my new pod! The Tesla-Hilton Floating Pavilions are literally to die for!" She approached a sleek, egg-shaped structure suspended twenty meters above the purple soil. "And wait until you see the quantum-entangled closet they've given me – it links directly to Fashion Week shows back on Earth!"
The airlock hissed open, its bioscanners confirming her corporate citizenship and influence rating. Inside, the pod's AI assistant welcomed her with a personalized light show and her favorite synthetic nootropic cocktail.
"Okay star-babies, time for a quick outfit change! Can't meet the colony's corporate board wearing the same suit twice, am I right?" She laughed, her neural crown broadcasting the carefully curated sound to millions of envious followers. "Don't forget to sync your consciousness to my premium neural feed for exclusive access to my evening look! Love you all to Proxima Centauri and back!"
MORE PUBLISHED WEEKLY - STAY TUNED
Chapter 1
Prisma Rodriguez-Liu adjusted her neural interface crown, its pellucid filaments reflecting the indigo light of Amalur's setting star.
She was late. Nothing was going to plan. She hadn't realized that 6:30pm eastern time meant nothing on this new world and that time keeping was not done on Earth's time.
As a result, her 500 million followers were getting antsy. Constant beeps and bonks went off on her wrist-mounted smartwatch.
One of them, which she skimmed as she hurried to her quarters, read, "Where ARE you, Primsa? Coca-Cola's CMO just gave me an ear full. He's threatening to pull the midrolls for your next 5 streams and just eat the termination fees."
Prisma didn't answer. It'd just slow her down.
She finally made it to her quarters only 5 minutes late. Those 5 minutes would cost her thousands of steloj, if not hundreds of thousands.
Out of breath and shaking she took a moment to center herself. She remembered what her yoga teacher had told her, "Remember sweetie, everything happens exactly when it's meant to happen. Just breathe and manifest your truth."
She breathed in slowly. Deliberately. On the in take of breath she moves her hands, palms out, towards her chest. Then when she breathes out, emptying her lungs, she pushes them away.
"Push away the negative energy. Only positive intentions now. Okay, Prisma, you got this. You. Got. This."
She switched on her holo-camera and practiced her smile a few times, showing her face from different angles. Then she noticed it. A slight smudge underneath her right eye. Her mascara had smudged on the way to her quarters. This would not do. It couldn't do. Could it?
It was too late. *She* was too late. Oh the agony. Any further time spent fixing her makeup would be more money lost. Perhaps entire sponsorship deals going up in flames.
The show had to go on.
Chapter 2
Her 1.1 billion followers were about to get the first-ever live holo-stream from an interstellar colony.
Well, not really. Truth was that the Consortium's social media team had live streamed the entire landing and conducted stilted interviews with key colony administrators in the days after landing.
But that didn't matter. Not to Prisma. That wasn't *real* content. It *barely* even got a billion views. Nor did it bring any *real* money. How much did they charge for their preroll ads? A cool mil? That's chump change compared to *her* numbers. There was a reason Coca-Cola, Nike, Adidas, GAP, and countless other brands wanted *her.* Paid for *her*. Sent *her*. And not anyone else.
She was the best there was. No one else could command buyers to do corporate bidding like *she* could.
Hitting the red 'START RECORD' button caused her crown's filaments to light up. They became a distinct shade of rose -- her favorite color.
The crown's delicate circuitry interfaced directly with her nervous system, allowing her subscribers to experience everything she felt -- from the artificial gravity's subtle pull to excitement bubbling in her augmented limbic system.
"Heyyyy star-babeeeees!" She beamed her signature greeting, her metaconscious automatically adjusting her mood stabilizers to project the perfect mix of enthusiasm and approachability. "Your girl Prisma just landed on Amalur, and let me tell you, this place? Vibe check approved. I mean, *look* at this beautiful purple sunset! Like O.M.G."
Excitedly, she stood up and twirled in her latest SpaceX x Balenciaga collab suit – a chromatic polycarbon bodysuit that adjusted its color based on atmospheric conditions. Today it was shifting between deep purples and electric blues, matching Amalur's red dwarf starset. The suit's built-in climate control and radiation shielding were top-of-the-line, but more importantly, it made her look absolutely fierce.
"First things first, loves, let's talk about what I'm wearing because I know you're dyyyyyyyyyyyinnnnnnng!" She gestured at her suit, triggering a cascade of product information in her followers' neural feeds. "This isn't just any space suit – it's the new Balenciaga Stellar Series powered by SpaceX tech, and yes, it comes with full emotional sync-tech. You can literally feel how gorgeous I feel wearing it!"
The corporate habitat dome loomed behind her, its transparent graphene panels refracting the alien sunlight. Inside, the Amazon-Microsoft arcology stretched toward the purple sky, its bio-engineered surfaces crawling with luminescent algae that helped power the colony's quantum computing grid.
"And check out my new Gucci smart-skin overlays!" She lifted her arm, showing off the iridescent patterns swimming across her epidermis. The nanite-infused designs were all the rage back on Earth, allowing wearers to change their skin patterns as easily as switching outfits. "They're programmed to adapt to alien atmospheres, so they'll evolve new patterns based on Amalur's unique radiation signature. How cool is that?"
Her personal drone, a sleek Apple iFloat Pro, circled her gracefully, capturing every angle of her arrival outfit. The hemline of her suit rippled with programmable fabric, displaying scrolling holo-ads for her sponsors: Tesla Interstellar, Beyond Meat Quantum, and of course, her own brand of consciousness-altering beauty supplements, Prisma's Paradise Pills.
"Now, I know what you're thinking – 'Prisma, why would you leave Earth's luxury arcologies for some corporate colony?' Well, babies, your girl's about to be the face of the new Coca-Cola Consciousness campaign! That's right, I'm here to promote their latest neural beverage line, designed specifically for post-human colonists!"
She walked toward the habitat's airlock, her gravity-adjusting heels automatically compensating for Amalur's 1.3G pull. The latest Christian Louboutin anti-grav collection was worth every steloj, even if she'd had to sign away another year of neural advertising rights to afford them.
"But first, let me give you a tour of my new pod! The Tesla-Hilton Floating Pavilions are literally to die for!" She approached a sleek, egg-shaped structure suspended twenty meters above the purple soil. "And wait until you see the quantum-entangled closet they've given me – it links directly to Fashion Week shows back on Earth!"
The airlock hissed open, its bioscanners confirming her corporate citizenship and influence rating. Inside, the pod's AI assistant welcomed her with a personalized light show and her favorite synthetic nootropic cocktail.
"Okay star-babies, time for a quick outfit change! Can't meet the colony's corporate board wearing the same suit twice, am I right?" She laughed, her neural crown broadcasting the carefully curated sound to millions of envious followers. "Don't forget to sync your consciousness to my premium neural feed for exclusive access to my evening look! Love you all to Proxima Centauri and back!"
MORE PUBLISHED WEEKLY - STAY TUNED
Chapter 1
Prisma Rodriguez-Liu adjusted her neural interface crown, its pellucid filaments reflecting the indigo light of Amalur's setting star.
She was late. Nothing was going to plan. She hadn't realized that 6:30pm eastern time meant nothing on this new world and that time keeping was not done on Earth's time.
As a result, her 500 million followers were getting antsy. Constant beeps and bonks went off on her wrist-mounted smartwatch.
One of them, which she skimmed as she hurried to her quarters, read, "Where ARE you, Primsa? Coca-Cola's CMO just gave me an ear full. He's threatening to pull the midrolls for your next 5 streams and just eat the termination fees."
Prisma didn't answer. It'd just slow her down.
She finally made it to her quarters only 5 minutes late. Those 5 minutes would cost her thousands of steloj, if not hundreds of thousands.
Out of breath and shaking she took a moment to center herself. She remembered what her yoga teacher had told her, "Remember sweetie, everything happens exactly when it's meant to happen. Just breathe and manifest your truth."
She breathed in slowly. Deliberately. On the in take of breath she moves her hands, palms out, towards her chest. Then when she breathes out, emptying her lungs, she pushes them away.
"Push away the negative energy. Only positive intentions now. Okay, Prisma, you got this. You. Got. This."
She switched on her holo-camera and practiced her smile a few times, showing her face from different angles. Then she noticed it. A slight smudge underneath her right eye. Her mascara had smudged on the way to her quarters. This would not do. It couldn't do. Could it?
It was too late. *She* was too late. Oh the agony. Any further time spent fixing her makeup would be more money lost. Perhaps entire sponsorship deals going up in flames.
The show had to go on.
Chapter 2
Her 1.1 billion followers were about to get the first-ever live holo-stream from an interstellar colony.
Well, not really. Truth was that the Consortium's social media team had live streamed the entire landing and conducted stilted interviews with key colony administrators in the days after landing.
But that didn't matter. Not to Prisma. That wasn't *real* content. It *barely* even got a billion views. Nor did it bring any *real* money. How much did they charge for their preroll ads? A cool mil? That's chump change compared to *her* numbers. There was a reason Coca-Cola, Nike, Adidas, GAP, and countless other brands wanted *her.* Paid for *her*. Sent *her*. And not anyone else.
She was the best there was. No one else could command buyers to do corporate bidding like *she* could.
Hitting the red 'START RECORD' button caused her crown's filaments to light up. They became a distinct shade of rose -- her favorite color.
The crown's delicate circuitry interfaced directly with her nervous system, allowing her subscribers to experience everything she felt -- from the artificial gravity's subtle pull to excitement bubbling in her augmented limbic system.
"Heyyyy star-babeeeees!" She beamed her signature greeting, her metaconscious automatically adjusting her mood stabilizers to project the perfect mix of enthusiasm and approachability. "Your girl Prisma just landed on Amalur, and let me tell you, this place? Vibe check approved. I mean, *look* at this beautiful purple sunset! Like O.M.G."
Excitedly, she stood up and twirled in her latest SpaceX x Balenciaga collab suit – a chromatic polycarbon bodysuit that adjusted its color based on atmospheric conditions. Today it was shifting between deep purples and electric blues, matching Amalur's red dwarf starset. The suit's built-in climate control and radiation shielding were top-of-the-line, but more importantly, it made her look absolutely fierce.
"First things first, loves, let's talk about what I'm wearing because I know you're dyyyyyyyyyyyinnnnnnng!" She gestured at her suit, triggering a cascade of product information in her followers' neural feeds. "This isn't just any space suit – it's the new Balenciaga Stellar Series powered by SpaceX tech, and yes, it comes with full emotional sync-tech. You can literally feel how gorgeous I feel wearing it!"
The corporate habitat dome loomed behind her, its transparent graphene panels refracting the alien sunlight. Inside, the Amazon-Microsoft arcology stretched toward the purple sky, its bio-engineered surfaces crawling with luminescent algae that helped power the colony's quantum computing grid.
"And check out my new Gucci smart-skin overlays!" She lifted her arm, showing off the iridescent patterns swimming across her epidermis. The nanite-infused designs were all the rage back on Earth, allowing wearers to change their skin patterns as easily as switching outfits. "They're programmed to adapt to alien atmospheres, so they'll evolve new patterns based on Amalur's unique radiation signature. How cool is that?"
Her personal drone, a sleek Apple iFloat Pro, circled her gracefully, capturing every angle of her arrival outfit. The hemline of her suit rippled with programmable fabric, displaying scrolling holo-ads for her sponsors: Tesla Interstellar, Beyond Meat Quantum, and of course, her own brand of consciousness-altering beauty supplements, Prisma's Paradise Pills.
"Now, I know what you're thinking – 'Prisma, why would you leave Earth's luxury arcologies for some corporate colony?' Well, babies, your girl's about to be the face of the new Coca-Cola Consciousness campaign! That's right, I'm here to promote their latest neural beverage line, designed specifically for post-human colonists!"
She walked toward the habitat's airlock, her gravity-adjusting heels automatically compensating for Amalur's 1.3G pull. The latest Christian Louboutin anti-grav collection was worth every steloj, even if she'd had to sign away another year of neural advertising rights to afford them.
"But first, let me give you a tour of my new pod! The Tesla-Hilton Floating Pavilions are literally to die for!" She approached a sleek, egg-shaped structure suspended twenty meters above the purple soil. "And wait until you see the quantum-entangled closet they've given me – it links directly to Fashion Week shows back on Earth!"
The airlock hissed open, its bioscanners confirming her corporate citizenship and influence rating. Inside, the pod's AI assistant welcomed her with a personalized light show and her favorite synthetic nootropic cocktail.
"Okay star-babies, time for a quick outfit change! Can't meet the colony's corporate board wearing the same suit twice, am I right?" She laughed, her neural crown broadcasting the carefully curated sound to millions of envious followers. "Don't forget to sync your consciousness to my premium neural feed for exclusive access to my evening look! Love you all to Proxima Centauri and back!"
MORE PUBLISHED WEEKLY - STAY TUNED
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