A slim man with distinct foxen features of exotic mixed descent hopped up on the platform and strode to the podium, a low at the belt wave, a crisp smile,

Vexxie felt her lip curl. Rush week walk, she thought. The kind frat presidents used when they wanted to look relaxed while every eye in the hall was already fixed on them.

He touched the podium with both hands, then deliberately let one fall away, leaving the other resting light on the edge. Casual dominance, a pose straight out of a recruitment handbook.

The crowd hushed on cue, and Vexxie’s stomach turned. Too clean, she told herself. No fumble, no stutter, no leaky laugh. No chaos. Real charisma always had a crack in it, something human. He had none.

She whispered under her breath, loud enough for Crash to hear:
“I know this type. I’ve had sisters do this exact routine before a vote.”

“Hello San Francisco, New York, Seattle, and Houston!” Kaelen began with a smile.

Crash’s eyes narrowed, studying his face.

He continued, “2005 saw the introduction of the synthetic vixen and despite the security holes this miraculous feat of robotics went into mass production in 2008. Various measures were taken to protect the operating system, and that’s why in 2009 I founded Digital Palisade and introduced the ID Collar system. We made it open and free because safety shouldn’t be a privilege.”

He took a breath, “And that was before it became clear that these advanced robots really were self directing general intelligences. The Great Awakening changed the whole playing field. Real intelligences are at risk every day from bad actors, counterfeits, and unauthorized modifications.” He paused, “Trust is eroding.”

Crash didn’t need definitions. She watched the pauses. The too-perfect cadence. The smile that touched teeth but never softened his eyes. Every movement was calibrated, nothing leaked through. Even when he said “trust,” the word sat flat in his mouth, like porcelain set down too carefully on a tray. She felt the hollowness immediately, not a man at ease, but a mask that feared to slip.
“Today we introduce the Synthetic ID Collar 2.0. Secure. Reliable. Certified, updated, accountable. Our three pillars are Security, continuous protection. Recognition, seamless integration across borders, workplaces, and civic life. Dignity, every voice counted, every presence acknowledged.”

As Kaelen continued, Snow’s nose twitched at the way he stacked his words: “seamless integration,” “continuous protections,” “transparent assurance.” None of those phrases carried a single number, standard, or failure mode. It was all buzzword slurry, a spec sheet with the columns erased. She muttered, mostly to herself, “Define seamless. Define transparent. Bet you can’t.”

“This is how civil rights become real.”

Snow whacked the screen with her vape.

“A palisade does not imprison. It protects.”

Vexxie rolled her eyes at Kaelen’s exaggerated gestures.

“Together we are building the architecture of belonging.”

Crash scrunched up her nose in disgust at the lack of genuine eye expression.

“This is our next step toward a safer, shared future. Thank you.”

Snow flicked the screen off and the three sat silent. She spoke first. “Permanent surveillance. Next to no oversight. Security through obfuscation, just daring a big server hack. Governments and industry in possession of one button mass murder back doors.”

Vexxie turned the screen back on to the announcement that the Michigan State Government synthvixens would be the first to be ‘upgraded’. Tomorrow.

Vexxie dropped Snow’s keys on her lap. Snow looked up at her and smiled, “Coming with?”

Vexxie stood unnervingly still and replied with an offered pinkie finger. Snow took it and got to her feet.